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"Tu tawnie vassavie lubbeny, Tu chal from miry tan abri; Had a Romany chal kair'd tute cambri, Then I had penn'd ke tute chie, But tu shan a vassavie lubbeny With gorgikie rat to be cambri." "There's some kernel in those songs, brother," said Mr. Petulengro, when the songs and music were over. "Yes," said I; "they are certainly very remarkable songs.
It is bien chien, chie chante, well cacked and cackled, shitten, and sung in matter of talk. Let us resolve on somewhat. Trouil. I do not gainsay it. Pan. Have a little patience. Seeing I cannot on this side draw any blood of you, I will try if with the lancet of my judgment I be able to bleed you in another vein. Are you married, or are you not? Trouil.
Clavering had handed me as an introduction at our late interview, I laid it underneath the last line of writing on the second page. One glance was sufficient. Henry Ritchie Clavering on the card; H chie in the same handwriting on the letter. "Clavering it is," said he, "without a doubt." But I saw he was not surprised. "And now," I continued, "for its general tenor and meaning."
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