"On the old spot, brother." "Any news since we parted?" "Two deaths, brother." "Who are dead, Jasper?" "Father and mother, brother." "Where did they die?" "Where they were sent, brother." "And Mrs. Herne?" "She's alive, brother." "Where is she now?" "In Yorkshire, brother." "What is your opinion of death, Mr. Petulengro?" said I, as I sat down beside him. "My opinion of death, brother, is much the same as that in the old song of Pharaoh, which I have heard my grandam sing:-- 'Cana marel o manus chivios ande puv, Ta rovel pa leste o chavo ta romi'. When a man dies, he is cast into the earth, and his wife and child sorrow over him. If he has neither wife nor child, then his father and mother, I suppose; and if he is quite alone in the world, why, then, he is cast into the earth, and there is an end of the matter." "And do you think that is the end of a man?" "There's an end of him, brother, more's the pity." "Why do you say so?" "Life is sweet, brother." "Do you think so?" "Think so! There's night and day, brother, both sweet things; sun, moon and stars, brother, all sweet things; there's likewise the wind on the heath. Life is very sweet, brother; who would wish to die?" "I would wish to die--" "You talk like a gorgio--which is the same as talking like a fool--were you a Rommany Chal you would talk wiser. Wish to die, indeed! A Rommany Chal would wish to live for ever!" "In sickness, Jasper?" "There's the sun and stars, brother." "In blindness, Jasper?" "There's the wind on the heath, brother; if I could only feel that, I would gladly live for ever. Dosta, we'll now go to the tents and put on the gloves; and I'll try to make you feel what a sweet thing it is to be alive, brother!" CHAPTER XXVI. How for everything there is a time and a season, and then how does the glory of a thing pass from it, even like the flower of the grass! This is a truism, but it is one of those which are continually forcing themselves upon the mind. Many years have not passed over my head, yet during those which I can call to remembrance, how many things have I seen flourish, pass away, and become forgotten, except by myself, who, in spite of all my endeavours, never can forget anything. I have known the time when a pugilistic encounter between two noted champions was almost considered in the light of a national affair; when tens of thousands of individuals, high and low, meditated and brooded upon it, the first thing in the morning and the last at night, until the great event was decided. But the time is past, and many people will say, thank God that it is; all I have to say is, that the French still live on the other side of the water, and are still casting their eyes hitherward--and that in the days of pugilism it was no vain boast to say, that one Englishman was a match for two of t'other race; at present it would be a vain boast to say so, for these are not the days of pugilism.