These are all the adventures I have to tell you at present, but you must own that they are sufficiently exciting for these prosaic days. If you yawn over this letter and scoff in your superfine way at my Tinker, my Diana, my red-cloaked Witch, I will never again put pen to paper for your pleasure. If my correspondence is not so exciting as the romances of Dumas, it has at least the merit of being perfectly true, which is more than you can say for the glibly uttered lies of a thousand bragging Bobadils who have been to Africa and shot mythical elephants. In my next letter I will narrate my departure from this place, and my touching farewells of my gipsy friends. After all, I am not sure that I won't travel with them. They are a fascinating lot, though rather in want of soap and water. I may as well play my part of vagrant thoroughly, though, I must confess, I have hitherto been a dismal failure. Evidently I have not dressed the character properly, for the most addle-headed yokel calls me "zur," and looks expectant of a shilling. I am trying to get up an accent, but it's mighty difficult. Greek, which the monks said was an invention of the devil, is easy compared with this lingo. You can write me a letter in reply to this, addressed to "Dan, Post Office, Farbis," and I'll call for it. Dan is my travelling name. It is, I think, admirably suited to me, and I like it better than the one given to me by my godparents. Peter is quite well, and sends his love. He is having a glorious time, and actually got within a yard of a rabbit the other day. Simon is sleek and steady, and holds his tongue, which is more than I can say of Peter. And now, my friend, I must close this letter, for which you ought to be very grateful, as it is written under great difficulties, with a bad pencil, in a bad light. To keep up the spirit of the thing, I sign my travelling name, and take leave of you so. Dan, Proprietor of caravan, horse, and dog, at present encamped at Farbis. P.S.--Should I meet with Diana, I will give you a full account of the interview. What she said, what I said, how we met and how we parted, and all the rest of it. CHAPTER VII. DIANA OF FARBIS. The determination of Dan to remain at Farbis did not result in any immediate reward for such aiding of Destiny. Not a glimpse did he obtain of Meg Merle, and he began to think her invisible, after the fashion of the nameless nymph in "Lamia." Sometimes he heard her singing in the distance; but, though he followed the sound of her voice, he never succeeded in casting eyes on her face. It might be that she evaded a meeting, for while searching he caught at times the echo of a laugh. Then her singing would recommence further off, and he would again be lured onward, only to be disappointed anew. She flitted through the pine wood like a spectre, and though her voice filled it with music, she was as hidden as any bird. Were she viewless Echo herself, she could not have been more invisible.