It is a superb morning, the hedge-rows prettier than ever; the larks are rising; now and then a hare darts across the road in advance. The whirr of the partridge or pheasant stirs the sportsman's blood, and upon every tree some feathered songster pours forth his song. Faust need not have sold himself to the devil for youth, after all. We find it here in this glorious gypsy life.
Upon remounting the coach after an hour's frolic in the lane, some one wanted the reciter to repeat the verse which had caused the stop, but he said there was a second verse which also had its moral, and, if permitted, he would give this instead. Agreed to, provided he would give the ladies a copy of both verses for their books—one copy for the lot, and this each would copy for herself. His terms, however, were that he should repeat it alone to Miss —— and teach it to her (sly dog), and she could make the copies. He then gave us the second verse:
"If those who've wronged us own their faults
And kindly pity pray,
When shall we listen and forgive?
To-day, my love, to-day.
But if stern justice urge rebuke
And warmth from memory borrow,
When shall we chide, if chide we must?
To-morrow, love, to-morrow."