The gipsy quarter of Granada is one of the great sights of the place, and is the most romantic spot one can imagine. The pencil of a Doré and the pen of a Théophile Gautier have made it familiar enough to students of Spain and its people.
CHAPTER XXV.
“WHAT’S BECOME OF WARING?”
Oh, never star
Was lost here but it rose afar!
Look east, where whole new thousands are!
In Vishnu-land what Avatar!
—Browning.
Two years had passed away since Elsworth’s disappearance, and a little party of house physicians and surgeons—all young men and recently qualified—were sitting round the roaring fire in the snug quarters of the senior house surgeon at our hospital, discussing the sad fate of their old comrade. Young Harvey Bingley—a thoughtful and cultivated man, who, besides passing his exams, with credit, found time and inclination for literary pursuits, and especially loved to dig into Robert Browning’s poetry and extract a nugget from time to time—propounded the theory that perhaps Elsworth had gone off like Waring in Browning’s poem. Nobody saw the allusion, because nobody there knew anything of Browning; but Bingley was always worth listening to when he got on his hobby, so he was required to explain.
“Well, you see, the poem opens with the question,—