1826.] An Old Gipsy : a Village Sicclch. 17 



true — at the end of three days, when all the family except herself had 

 forgotten the story, our pretty souhrette, half bursting with the long 

 retention, took the opportunity of lacing on my new half-boots to reveal 

 the prophecy. " She was to see within the week, and this was Satur- 

 day, the young man, the real young man, whom she was to marry." 

 " Why, Harriet, you know poor Joel." " Joel, indeed ! the gipsy said 

 that the young man, the real young man, was to ride up to the house 

 drest in a dark great coat (and Joel never wore a great coat in his life — 

 all the world knew that he wore smock-frocks and jackets), and mounted 

 on a white horse — and where should Joel get a white Jiorse ?" " Had 

 this real young man made his appearance yet ?" " No ; there had not 

 been a white horse past the place since Tuesday : so it must certainly 

 be to-day." 



A good look-out did Harriet keep for white horses during this fateful 

 Saturday, and plenty did she see. It was the market-day at B., and 

 team after team came by with one, two, and three white horses ; cart 

 after cart, and gig after gig, each with a white steed ; Colonel M.'s 

 carriage, with its prancing pair — but still no horseman. At length one 

 appeared ; but he had a great coat whiter than the animal he rode ; 

 another, but he was old farmer Lewington, a married man ; a third, but 

 he was little Lord L., a school-boy, on his Arabian poney. Besides, 

 they all passed the house ; and as the day wore on, Harriet began, 

 alternately, to profess her old infidelity on the score of fortune-telling, 

 and to let out certain apprehensions that, if the gipsy did really possess 

 the power of foreseeing events, and no such iiorseman arrived, she 

 might possiblj' be unlucky enough to die an old maid — a case for 

 which, although the proper destiny of a coquette, our village beauty 

 seemed to entertain a very decided aversion. 



At last, just at dusk, just a& Harriet, making believe to close our 

 casement shutters, was taking her last peep up the road, something 

 white appeared in the distance coming leisurely down the hill. Was it 

 really a horse ? Was it not rather Titus Strong's cow driving home to 

 milking ? A minute or two dissipated that fear : it certainly was a 

 horse, and as certainly it had a dark rider. Very slowly he descended 

 the hill, pausing most provokingly at the end of the village, as if about 

 to turn up the Vicarage-lane. He came on, however, and after another 

 short stop at the Rose, rode fidl up to bur little gate, and catching 

 Harriet's hand as she was opening the wicket, displayed to the half- 

 pleased, half-angry damsel the smiling triumphant face of her own Joel 

 Brent, equipped in a new great coat, and mounted on his master's 

 newly -purchased market nag. Oh, Joel ! Joel ! The gipsy ! the gipsy I 



M. 



SONG. 



Some say 'tis hard to gain the heart 

 Of woman, tho' we seek it ; 



Some say 'tis harder to impart 

 Sufficient warmth to keep it. 



Yet when possession gives a chill, 

 And love begins to waver, 



Some say retreat requires a skill. 

 Much harder a manoeuvre. 



M. M. NexK Series.— Vol. I. No. 1. D 



B. T. 



