ears the distant bark of the prowling fox, and the
melancholy hootings of the wood owls; he marks the shriek of the
night-wandering weasel, and the rustle of the bushes as some startled
forest creature darts into deep coverts; or, perchance, the faint sounds
from a sequestered hamlet of a great city. Cradled from infancy in such
haunts as these 'places of nestling green for poets made,' and surely for
Gipsies too, no wonder if, after the fitful fever of town life, he sleeps
well, with the unforgotten and dearly-loved lullabies of his childhood
soothing him to rest."

The following is in their own Gipsy language to each other, and exhibits
a true type of the feeling of revenge they foster to one another for
wrongs done and injuries received, and may be considered a fair specimen
of the disposition of thousands of Gipsies in our midst:--"Just see,
mates, what a blackguard he is. He has been telling wicked lies about
us, the cursed dog. I will murder him when I get hold of him. That
creature, his wife, is just as bad. She is worse than he. Let us thrash
them both and drive them out of our society, and not let them come near
us, such cut-throats and informers as they are. They are nothing but
murderers. They are informers. We shall all come to grief through their
misdoings." Not much poetry and romance in language and characters of
this description.

"These Indians ne'er forget
Nor evermore forgive an injury."

The following is a wail of their own, taken from Smart and Crofton, and
will show that the Gipsies themselves do not think tent life is so
delightful, happy, and free as has been pictured in the imaginative brain
of novel writers, whose knowledge has been gained by visiting the Gipsies
as they have basked on the grassy banks on a hot summer day, surrounded
by the warbling songsters and rippling brooks of water, as clear as
crystal, at their feet, sending forth dribbling sounds of enchantment to
fall upon musical ears, touching the cords of poetic affection and lyric
sympathy:--"Now, mates, be quick. Put your tent up. Much rain will come
down, and snow, too--we shall all die to-night of cold; and bring
something to make a good fire, too. Put the tent down well, much wind
will come this night. My children will die of cold. Put all the rods in
the ground properly to make it stand well. The poor children cry for
food. My God! what shall I do to give them food to eat? I have nothing
to give th