house. I found them wrapped in a
piece of paper, by a deserted gypsy camp, where they had been lost:--

A NEW HOUSE.

_Good Lodging for Travellers_. _With a Large Private Kitchen_.

THE CROSS KEYS,
WEST STREET . . . MAIDENHEAD.

BY J. HARRIS.

The "private kitchen" indicates that the guests will have facilities for
doing their own cooking, as all of them bring their own victuals in
perpetual picnic. In the inclosure of the house in Hersham, the tops of
two or three gypsy vans could always be seen above the high fence, and
there was that general air of mystery about the entire establishment
which is characteristic of all places haunted by people whose ways are
not as our ways, and whose little games are not as our little games. I
had become acquainted with it and its proprietor, Mr. Hamilton, in that
irregular and only way which is usual with such acquaintances. I was
walking by the house one summer day, and stopped to ask my way. A
handsome dark-brown girl was busy at the wash-tub, two or three older
women were clustered at the gate, and in all their faces was the manner
of the _diddikai_ or _chureni_, or half-blood gypsy. As I spoke I
dropped my voice, and said, inquiringly,--

"Romanes?"

"Yes," was the confidential answer.

They were all astonished, and kept quiet till I had gone a few rods on my
way, when the whole party, recovering from their amazement, raised a
gentle cheer, expressive of approbation and sympathy. A few days after,
walking with a lady in Weybridge, she said to me,--

"Who is that man who looked at you so closely?"

"I do not know."

"That's very strange. I am quite sure I heard him utter two words in a
strange language, as you passed, as if he only meant them for you. They
sounded like _sarshaun baw_." Which means, "How are you, sir?" or
friend. As we came up the street, I saw the man talking with a
well-dressed, sporting-looking man, not quite a gentleman, who sat
cheekily in his own jaunty little wagon. As I passed, the one of the
wagon said to the other, speaking of me, and in pure Romany, evidently
thinking I did not understand,--

"_Dikk'adovo Giorgio_, _adoi_!" (Look at that Gorgio, there!)

Being a Romany rye, and not accustomed to be spoken of as a Gorgio, I
looked up at him, angrily, when he, seeing that I understood him, smiled,
and bowed pol