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 		<meta property="se:subject">Fiction</meta>
 		<dc:description id="description">A young man with a passion for learning languages is befriended by a group of gypsies and travels Britain, encountering a variety of interesting characters.</dc:description>
 		<meta id="long-description" property="se:long-description" refines="#description">
-			&lt;p&gt;&lt;i&gt;Lavengro, the Scholar, the Gypsy, the Priest&lt;/i&gt;, published in 1851, is a heavily fictionalized account of &lt;a href="https://standardebooks.org/ebooks/george-borrow"&gt;George Borrow&lt;/a&gt;'s early years. Borrow, born in 1803, was a writer and self-taught polyglot, fluent in many European languages, and a lover of literature.&lt;/p&gt;
+			&lt;p&gt;&lt;i&gt;Lavengro, the Scholar, the Gypsy, the Priest&lt;/i&gt;, published in 1851, is a heavily fictionalized account of &lt;a href="https://standardebooks.org/ebooks/george-borrow"&gt;George Borrow&lt;/a&gt;’s early years. Borrow, born in 1803, was a writer and self-taught polyglot, fluent in many European languages, and a lover of literature.&lt;/p&gt;
 			&lt;p&gt;&lt;i&gt;The Romany Rye&lt;/i&gt;, published six years later in 1857, is sometimes described as the “sequel” to &lt;i&gt;Lavengro&lt;/i&gt;, but in fact it begins with a straight continuation of the action of the first book, which breaks off rather suddenly. The two books therefore are best considered as a whole and read together, and this Standard Ebooks edition combines the two into one volume.&lt;/p&gt;
 			&lt;p&gt;In the novel Borrow tells of his upbringing as the son of an army recruiting officer, moving with the regiment to different locations in Britain, including Scotland and Ireland. It is in Ireland that he first encounters a strange new language which he is keen to learn, leading to a life-long passion for acquiring new tongues. A couple of years later in England, he comes across a camp of gypsies and meets the gypsy Jasper Petulengro, who becomes a life-long friend. Borrow is delighted to discover that the Romany have their own language, which of course he immediately sets out to learn.&lt;/p&gt;
 			&lt;p&gt;Borrow’s subsequent life, up to his mid-twenties, is that of a wanderer, traveling from place to place in Britain, encountering many interesting individuals and having a variety of entertaining adventures. He constantly comes in contact with the gypsies and with Petulengro, and becomes familiar with their language and culture.&lt;/p&gt;

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@@ -46,7 +46,7 @@
 				<p>“And what has that to do with the story?”</p>
 				<p>“Everything. I have told you that the young maidens were in the habit of praying to her and requesting her favour and assistance in their love adventures, which it seems she readily granted to those whom she took any interest in. Now the readiest way to secure this interest and to procure her assistance in any matter of the heart, was to flatter her on the point where she was the most sensible. Whence the offering.”</p>
 				<p>“And what was the offering?”</p>
-				<p>“It was once a common belief that the young maiden who should wash her linen white in pure running water and should ‘watch’ it whilst drying before a fire from eleven to twelve at night, would, at the stroke of midnight, see the face of the man appear before her who was destined to be her husband, and the child says that this was the ‘Wake of Freya.’”<a href="endnotes.xhtml#note-96" id="noteref-96" epub:type="noteref">96</a></p>
+				<p>“It was once a common belief that the young maiden who should wash her linen white in pure running water and should ‘watch’ it whilst drying before a fire from eleven to twelve at night, would, at the stroke of midnight, see the face of the man appear before her who was destined to be her husband, and the child says that this was the ‘Wake of Freya.’ ”<a href="endnotes.xhtml#note-96" id="noteref-96" epub:type="noteref">96</a></p>
 				<p>“I have heard of it before,” said my father, “but under another name. So you were engaged in one of these watchings.”</p>
 				<p>“It was no fault of mine,” said my mother; “for, as I told you, I was very young, scarcely ten years of age; but I had a sister considerably older than myself, a nice girl, but somewhat giddy and rather unsettled. Perhaps, poor thing, she had some cause; for a young man to whom she had been betrothed, had died suddenly, which was of course a terrible disappointment to her. Well, it is at such times that strange ideas, temptations perhaps, come into our head. To be brief, she had a mighty desire to know whether she was doomed to be married or not. I remember that at that time there were many odd beliefs and superstitions which have since then died away; for those times were not like these; there were highwaymen in the land, and people during the winter evenings used to sit round the fire and tell wonderful tales of those wild men and their horses; and these tales they would blend with ghost stories and the like. My sister was acquainted with all the tales and superstitions afloat and believed in them. So she determined upon the wake, the night-watch of Freya, as the child calls it. But with all her curiosity she was a timid creature, and was afraid to perform the ceremony alone. So she told me of her plan, and begged me to stand by her. Now, though I was a child, I had a spirit of my own and likewise a curiosity; and though I had other sisters, I loved her best of all of them, so I promised her that I would stand by her. Then we made our preparations. The first thing we did was to walk over to the town, which was about three miles distant⁠—the pretty little rural town which you and the child admire so much, and in the neighbourhood of which I was born⁠—to purchase the article we were in need of. After a considerable search we found such an one as we thought would suit. It was of the best Holland, and I remember that it cost us all the little pocket money we could muster. This we brought home; and that same night my sister put it on and wore it for that once only. We had washed it in a brook on the other side of the moor. I remember the spot well; it was in a little pool beneath an old hollow oak. The next night we entered on the ceremony itself.</p>
 				<p>“It happened to be Saturday, which was lucky for us, as my father that night would be at the town, whither he went every Saturday to sell grain; for he farmed his own little estate, as you know.”</p>

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 				<p>“We of Rome,” said the man in black, “know two or three things of which the heretics are quite ignorant; for example, there are those amongst us⁠—those, too, who do not pretend to be philologists⁠—who know what Amen is, and moreover, how we got it. We got it from our ancestors, the priests of ancient Rome; and they got the word from their ancestors of the East, the priests of Buddha and Brahma.”</p>
 				<p>“And what is the meaning of the word?” I demanded.</p>
 				<p>“Amen,” said the man in black, “is a modification of the old Hindu formula, <i xml:lang="sa-Latn">Omani batsikhom</i>,<a href="endnotes.xhtml#note-227" id="noteref-227" epub:type="noteref">227</a> by the almost ceaseless repetition of which the Indians hope to be received finally to the rest or state of forgetfulness of Buddha or Brahma; a foolish practice you will say, but are you heretics much wiser, who are continually sticking Amen to the end of your prayers, little knowing when you do so, that you are consigning yourselves to the repose of Buddha! Oh, what hearty laughs our missionaries have had when comparing the eternally-sounding Eastern gibberish of <i xml:lang="sa-Latn">Omani batsikhom, Omani batsikhom</i>, and the Ave Maria and Amen Jesus of our own idiotical devotees.”</p>
-				<p>“I have nothing to say about the Ave Marias and Amens of your superstitious devotees,” said I; “I dare say that they use them nonsensically enough, but in putting Amen to the end of a prayer, we merely intend to express, ‘So let it be.’”</p>
+				<p>“I have nothing to say about the Ave Marias and Amens of your superstitious devotees,” said I; “I dare say that they use them nonsensically enough, but in putting Amen to the end of a prayer, we merely intend to express, ‘So let it be.’ ”</p>
 				<p>“It means nothing of the kind,” said the man in black; “and the Hindus might just as well put your national oath at the end of their prayers, as perhaps they will after a great many thousand years, when English is forgotten, and only a few words of it remembered by dim tradition without being understood. How strange if, after the lapse of four thousand years, the Hindus should damn themselves to the blindness so dear to their present masters, even as their masters at present consign themselves to the forgetfulness so dear to the Hindus; but my glass has been empty for a considerable time; perhaps, <i xml:lang="it">Bellissima Biondina</i>,”<a href="endnotes.xhtml#note-228" id="noteref-228" epub:type="noteref">228</a> said he, addressing Belle, “you will deign to replenish it?”</p>
 				<p>“I shall do no such thing,” said Belle, “you have drunk quite enough, and talked more than enough, and to tell you the truth, I wish you would leave us alone.”</p>
 				<p>“Shame on you, Belle,” said I, “consider the obligations of hospitality.”</p>

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@@ -21,7 +21,7 @@
 				<p>“<i xml:lang="de">Zigeuner!</i>” said the Hungarian; “by Isten! I do know those people.”</p>
 				<p>“Romany <i xml:lang="rom">chals</i>!” said the jockey; “whew! I begin to smell a rat.”</p>
 				<p>“What do you mean by smelling a rat?” said I.</p>
-				<p>“I’ll bet a crown,” said the jockey, “that you be the young chap what certain folks call ‘the Romany Rye.’”</p>
+				<p>“I’ll bet a crown,” said the jockey, “that you be the young chap what certain folks call ‘the Romany Rye.’ ”</p>
 				<p>“Ah!” said I, “how came you to know that name?”</p>
 				<p>“Be not you he?” said the jockey.</p>
 				<p>“Why, I certainly have been called by that name.”</p>

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@@ -14,7 +14,7 @@
 					<p>
 						<span>‘There’s a chovahanee, and a chovahano,</span>
 						<br/>
-						<span>The nav se len is Petulengro.’”<a href="endnotes.xhtml#note-245" id="noteref-245" epub:type="noteref">245</a></span>
+						<span>The nav se len is Petulengro.’ ”<a href="endnotes.xhtml#note-245" id="noteref-245" epub:type="noteref">245</a></span>
 					</p>
 				</blockquote>
 				<p>“Hold your tongue, sir,” said <abbr>Mrs.</abbr> Petulengro; “you make me ashamed of you with your vulgar ditties. We are come a visiting now, and everything low should be left behind.”</p>

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@@ -20,7 +20,7 @@
 				<p>With respect to <i epub:type="se:name.publication.book">Lavengro</i>, the author feels that he has no reason to be ashamed of it. In writing that book he did his duty, by pointing out to his country-people the nonsense which, to the greater part of them, is as the breath of their nostrils, and which, if indulged in, as it probably will be, to the same extent as hitherto, will, within a very few years, bring the land which he most loves beneath a foreign yoke⁠—he does not here allude to the yoke of Rome.</p>
 				<p>Instead of being ashamed, has he not rather cause to be proud of a book which has had the honour of being rancorously abused and execrated by the very people of whom the country has least reason to be proud?<a href="endnotes.xhtml#note-219" id="noteref-219" epub:type="noteref">219</a></p>
 				<blockquote>
-					<p>“One day Cogia Efendy went to a bridal festival. The masters of the feast, observing his old and coarse apparel, paid him no consideration whatever. The Cogia saw that he had no chance of notice; so going out, he hurried to his house, and, putting on a splendid pelisse, returned to the place of festival. No sooner did he enter the door than the masters advanced to meet him, and saying, ‘Welcome, Cogia Efendy,’ with all imaginable honour and reverence, placed him at the head of the table, and said, ‘Please to eat, Lord Cogia.’ Forthwith the Cogia, taking hold of one of the furs of his pelisse, said, ‘Welcome my pelisse; please to eat, my lord.’ The masters looking at the Cogia with great surprise, said, ‘What are you about?’ Whereupon the Cogia replied, ‘As it is quite evident that all the honour paid, is paid to my pelisse, I think it ought to have some food too.’”</p>
+					<p>“One day Cogia Efendy went to a bridal festival. The masters of the feast, observing his old and coarse apparel, paid him no consideration whatever. The Cogia saw that he had no chance of notice; so going out, he hurried to his house, and, putting on a splendid pelisse, returned to the place of festival. No sooner did he enter the door than the masters advanced to meet him, and saying, ‘Welcome, Cogia Efendy,’ with all imaginable honour and reverence, placed him at the head of the table, and said, ‘Please to eat, Lord Cogia.’ Forthwith the Cogia, taking hold of one of the furs of his pelisse, said, ‘Welcome my pelisse; please to eat, my lord.’ The masters looking at the Cogia with great surprise, said, ‘What are you about?’ Whereupon the Cogia replied, ‘As it is quite evident that all the honour paid, is paid to my pelisse, I think it ought to have some food too.’ ”</p>
 					<cite>—⁠<i epub:type="se:name.publication.book">Pleasantries of the Cogia Nasr Eddin Efendi</i></cite>
 				</blockquote>
 			</section>