A party of wandering English Arabs had pitched their tents on the
brow of the hill just under the first cluster of trees, and materially
increased the romantic appearance of the scene. The group consisted of
men, women, and children, a tilted cart with two or three asses, and a
lurcher who announced our approach. My companions were, I soon found,
well known to the females, who familiarly approached our party, while
the male animals as condescendingly betook themselves into the recesses
of the wood. "Black Nan," said Echo, "and her daughter, the gypsy
beauty, the Bagley brunette."--"Shall I tell your honour's fortune?"
said the elder of the two, approaching me; while Eglantine, who had
already dismounted and given his horse to one of the brown urchins
of the party, had encircled the waist of the younger sibyl, and was
tickling her into a trot in an opposite direction. "Ay do, Nan," ~161~~
said Echo, "cast his nativity, open the book of fate, and tell the boy
his future destiny." It would be the height of absurdity to repeat
half the nonsense this oracle of Bagley uttered relative to my future
fortunes; but with the cunning peculiar to her cast, she discovered I
was fresh, and what tormented me more, (although on her part it was
no doubt accidental) alluded to an amour in which my heart was much
interested with a little divinity in the neighbourhood of Eton.
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