It was difficult, even for Mr. Hill's sagacity, to make sense of this
dream: but he had the wise art of always finding in his dreams something
that confirmed his waking determinations. Before he went to sleep, he
had half resolved to consult the king of the gipsies, in the absence of
the attorney; and his dream made him now wholly determined upon this
prudent step. "From Bampfylde the Second," thought he, "I shall learn
for certain who made the hole under the cathedral, who pulled down my
rick of bark, and who made away with my dog Jowler; and then I shall
swear examinations against O'Neill, without waiting for attorneys. I
will follow my own way in this business: I have always found my own way
best."
So, when the dusk of the evening increased, our wise man set out towards
the wood to consult the cunning man. Bampfylde the Second, king of the
gipsies, resided in a sort of hut made of the branches of trees; the
verger stooped, but did not stoop low enough, as he entered this
temporary palace, and, whilst his body was almost bent double, his peruke
was caught upon a twig. From this awkward situation he was relieved by
the consort of the king; and he now beheld, by the light of some embers,
the person of his gipsy majesty, to whose sublime appearance this dim
light was so favourable that it struck a secret awe into our wise man's
soul; and, forgetting Hereford Cathedral, and oak bark, and Limerick
gloves, he stood for some seconds speechless.
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