Here I interrupted the jockey. “How singular,” said I, “is the fall and debasement of words; you talk of a gang, or set, of shorters; you are, perhaps, not aware that gang and set were, a thousand years ago, only connected with the great and Divine; they are ancient Norse words, which may be found in the heroic poems of the north, and in the Edda, a collection of mythologic and heroic songs. In these poems we read that such and such a king invaded Norway with a gang of heroes; or so and so, for example, Erik Bloodaxe, was admitted to the set of gods; but at present gang and set are merely applied to the vilest of the vile, and the lowest of the low,—we say a gang of thieves and shorters, or a set of authors. How touching is this debasement of words in the course of time; it puts me in mind of the decay of old houses and names. I have known a Mortimer who was a hedger and ditcher, a Berners who was born in a workhouse, and a descendant of the De Burghs, who bore the falcon, mending old kettles, and making horse and pony shoes in a dingle.” “Odd enough,” said the jockey; “but you were saying you knew one Berners—man or woman? I would ask.” “A woman,” said I. “What might her Christian name be?” said the jockey. “It is not to be mentioned lightly,” said I with a sigh. “I shouldn’t wonder if it were Isopel,” said the jockey with an arch glance of his one brilliant eye. “It was Isopel,” said I; “did you know Isopel Berners?” “Aye, and have reason to know her,” said the jockey, putting his hand into his left waistcoat pocket, as if to feel for something, “for she gave me what I believe few men could do—a most confounded whopping. But now, Mr. Romany Rye, I have again to tell you that I don’t like to be interrupted when I’m speaking, and to add that if you break in upon me a third time, you and I shall quarrel.” “Pray, proceed with your story,” said I; “I will not interrupt you again.” “Good!” said the jockey. “Where was I? Oh, with a set of people who had given up their minds to shortening! Reducing the coin, though rather a lucrative, was a very dangerous trade. Coin filed felt rough to the touch; coin clipped could be easily detected by the eye; and as for coin reduced by aquafortis, it was generally so discoloured that, unless a great deal of pains was used to polish it, people were apt to stare at it in a strange manner, and to say: ‘What have they been doing to this here gold?’ My grandfather, as I said before, was connected with a gang of shorters, and sometimes shortened money, and at other times passed off what had been shortened by other gentry.