rneyed north for two days on his road to Horncastle, nor would
Ardrey have taken coach to Stafford _en route _for a lion fight at
Warwick, which had taken place several days before. Mr. Platitude's
reappearance is extremely artificial, and the ostler's tales of Abershaw
and Co. are obviously reminiscences of Borrow's 'Celebrated Trials.' But
the Horncastle story is weaker still. The 'Lord'-Lieutenant, _so _free
and young,' is pilloried, because eighteen years afterwards _he _did not
see _his _way to make Borrow a J.P. (Who would?) Murtagh is introduced
merely as a lay figure, upon which to drape an inverted account of
Borrow's own travels at a later period; and that very tedious gentleman,
the tall Hungarian, _is _a character, Professor Knapp tells us, whom
Borrow met in Hungary or Wallachia in 1884. It is plain that at this
point the whole story has become what Borrow calls a 'fakement.'

But that Borrow _did _buy a horse with money lent by Petulengro, and sold
it at a profit, we have some reason to credit. Nearly ten years before
Borrow wrote 'The Romany Rye,' in the second edition of his 'Zincali,'
published in 1843, he quotes a speech of Mr. Petulengro's 'on the day
after _mol-divvus_, {0r} 1842.' 'I am no _hindity mush_, {0s} as you
well know,' says Jasper. 'I suppose you have not forgot, how, fifteen
years ago, when you made horse-shoes in the little dingle by the side of
the Great North Road, I lent you fifty _cottors_ {0t} to purchase the
wonderful trotting cob of the innkeeper with the green Newmarket coat,
which three days later you sold for two hundred.' This earlier version
seems more probably the true one, and since three days would find Borrow
in Stafford, it seems reasonable to conclude that he sold his horse there
and not in Lincolnshire. Personally, however, I must confess to feeling
little interest in the fate of the animal--Belle's donkey were a dearer
object.

Mumpers' Dingle might well become the Mecca of true Borrovians, could we
but determine the authentic spot. Somewhere or other--who will find it
for us?--in west central Shropshire {0u} is a little roadside inn called
the Silent Woman; {0v} a little further to the east is a milestone on the
left hand side, and a few yards from the milestone the cross-road where
Petulengro parted from Borrow. Ten miles further still is a town, and
five miles from the town the famous dingle. Mr. Petulengro describes it
as 'surprisingly dreary'; 'a dee