"
The king of the gipsies was, without further ceremony, committed to the
house of correction. We should not omit to mention that, on searching
his hat, the Irish haymaker's purse was found, which some of his
majesty's train had emptied. The whole set of gipsies decamped upon the
news of the apprehension of their monarch.
Mr. Hill stood in profound silence, leaning upon his walking-stick,
whilst the committal was making out for Bampfylde the Second. The fear
of ridicule was struggling with the natural positiveness of his temper.
He was dreadfully afraid that the story of his being taken in by the king
of the gipsies would get abroad; and, at the same time, he was unwilling
to give up his prejudice against the Irish glover.
"But, Mr. Marshal," cried he, after a long silence, "the hole under the
foundation of the cathedral has never been accounted for--that is, was,
and ever will be, an ugly mystery to me; and I never can have a good
opinion of this Irishman till it is cleared up, nor can I think the
cathedral in safety."
"What!" said Mr. Marshal, with an arch smile, "I suppose the verses of
the oracle still work upon your imagination, Mr. Hill. They are
excellent in their kind. I must have them by heart, that when I am asked
the reason why Mr. Hill has taken an aversion to an Irish glover, I may
be able to repeat them:--
"Now, take my word,
Wise men of Hereford,
None in safety may be,
Till the bad man doth flee.
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