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a freak of nature。〃
〃Well； and how was it found out？〃 I again jogged him。
〃One of Sir William's keepers played the spy on them。 He spread it all over the place how he had seen them on moonlight nights sitting together in the dingle； drinking champagne； and laughing and talking as merry as you please； and； of course； it came in time to Sir William〃
〃You see that green lane there；〃 he broke off； pointing to a romantic path winding along the heath side； 〃it was along there he used to go of a night to meet her after every one was in bed； and when it all came out there was a regular cartload of bottles found there。 The squire had them all broken up； but the pieces are there to this day。
〃Yes；〃 he again proceeded； 〃it hit Sir William very hard。 He's never been the same man since。〃
I am afraid that my sympathies were less with Sir William than better regulated sympathies would have been。 I confess that my imagination was more occupied with that picture of the two lovers making merry together in the moonlit dingle。
Is it not； indeed； a fascinating little story； with its piquant contrasts and its wild love…at…all…costs？ And how many such stories are hidden about the country； lying carelessly in rustic memories； if one only knew where to find them！
At this point my companion left me； and Iwell； I confess that I retraced my steps to the common and rambled up that green lane； along which the romantic schoolmaster used to steal in the moonlight to the warm arms of his love。 How eagerly he had trodden the very turf I was treading；we never know at what moment we are treading sacred earth！ But for that old man； I had passed along this path without a thrill。 Had I not but an hour ago stood upon this very common； vainly； so it seemed； invoking the spirits of passion and romance； and the grim old common had never made a sign。 And now I stood in the very dingle where they had so often and so wildly met； and it was all gone； quite gone away for ever。 The hours that had seemed so real； the kisses that had seemed like to last for ever； the vows； the tears； all now as if they had never been； gone on the four winds； lost in the abysses of time and space。
And to think of all the thousands and thousands of lovers who had loved no less wildly and tenderly； made sweet these lanes with their vows； made green these meadows with their feet； and they； too； all gone； their bright eyes fallen to dust； their sweet voices for ever put to silence。
To which I would add； for the benefit of the profane； that I sought in vain for those broken bottles。
CHAPTER XII
THE TRUTH ABOUT THE GIPSIES
I felt lonely after losing my companion； and I met nobody to take his place。 In fact； for a couple of hours I met nothing worth mentioning； male or female； with the exception of a gipsy caravan； which I suppose was both； but it was a poor show。 Borrow would have blushed for it。 In fact； it is my humble opinion that the gipsies have been overdone； just as the Alps have been over…climbed。 I have no great desire to see Switzerland； for I am sure the Alps must be greasy with being climbed。
Besides； the Alps and the gipsies； in common with waterfalls and ruined castles； belong to the ready…made operatic poetry of the world； from which the last thrill has long since departed。 They are； so to say； public poetry； the public property of the emotions； and no longer touch the private heart or stir the private imagination。 Our fathers felt so much about them that there is nothing left for us to feel。 They are as a rose whose fragrance has been exhausted by greedy and indiscriminate smelling。 I would rather find a little Surrey common for myself and idle about it a summer day； with the other geese and donkeys； than climb the tallest Alp。
Most gipsies are merely tenth…rate provincial companies； travelling with and villainously travestying Borrow's great pieces of 〃Lavengro〃 and 〃Romany Rye。〃 Dirty； ill…looking； scowling men； dirty； slovenly； and wickedly ugly women； children to match； snarling； filthy little curs； with a ready beggar's whine on occasion。 A gipsy encampment to…day is little more than a moving slum； a scab of squalor on the fair face of the countryside。
But there was one little trifle of an incident that touched me as I passed this particular caravan。 Evidently one of the vans had come to grief； and several men of the party were making a great show of repairing it。 After I had run the gauntlet of the begging children； and was just out of ear… shot of the group； I turned round to survey it from a distance。 It was encamped on a slight rise of the undulating road； and from where I stood tents and vans and men were clearly silhouetted against the sky。 The road ran through and a little higher than the encampment； which occupied both sides of it。 Presently the figure of a young man separated itself from the rest； stept up on to the smooth road； and standing in the middle of it； in an absorbed attitude； began to make a movement with his hands as though winding string round a top。 That in fact was his occupation； and for the next five minutes he kept thus winding the cord； flinging the top to the ground； and intently bending down to catch it on his hand； none of the others； not even the children； taking the slightest notice of him；he entirely alone there with his poor little pleasure。 There seemed to me pathos in his loneliness。 Had some one spun the top with him； it would have vanished； and presently； no doubt at the bidding of an oath I could not hear； he hurriedly thrust the top into his pocket； and once more joined the straining group of men。 The snatched pleasure must be put by at the call of reality； the world and its work must rush in upon his dream。 I have often thought about the top and its spinner； as I have noted the absorbed faces of other people's pleasures in the streets；two lovers passing along the crowded Strand with eyes only for each other； a student deep in his book in the corner of an omnibus； a young mother glowing over the child in her arms； the wild…eyed musician dreamily treading on everybody's toes； and begging nobody's pardon； the pretty little Gaiety Girl hurrying to rehearsal with no thought but of her own sweet self and whether there will be a letter from Harry at the stage… door；yes； if we are alone in our griefs； we are no less alone in our pleasures。 We spin our tops as in an enchanted circle； and no one sees or heeds save ourselves；as how should they with their own tops to spin？ Happy indeed is he； who has his top and cares still to spin it； for to be tired of our tops is to be tired of life； saith the preacher。
As the young gipsy's little holiday came to an end； I turned with a sigh upon my way； and here； while still on the subject； may I remark on the curious fact that probably Borrow has lived and died without a single gipsy having heard of him； just as the expertest anglers know nothing of Izaak Walton。
Has the British soldier； one wonders； yet discovered Rudyard Kipling； or is the Wessex peasant aware of Thomas Hardy？ It is odd to think that the last people to read such authors are the very people they most concern。 For you might spend your life； say； in studying the