as to language, and preserves many of
the picturesque traits of his race which are now so rapidly vanishing.
But then he has such excellent opportunity for gypsying. In Wales there
are yet thousands of acres of wild land, deep ravines, rocky corners, and
roadside nooks, where he can boil the kettle and _hatch the tan_, or
pitch his tent, undisturbed by the rural policeman. For it is a charming
country, where no one need weary in summer, when the days are long, or in
early autumn,--

"When the barley is ripe,
And the frog doth pipe,
In golden stripe
And green all dressed;
When the red apples
Roll in the chest."

Then it is pleasant walking in Wales, and there too at times, between
hedge-rows, you may meet with the Romany.

I was at Aberystwith by the sea, and one afternoon we went, a party of
three gentlemen and three ladies, in a char-a-banc, or wagonette, to
drive. It was a pleasant afternoon, and we had many a fine view of
distant mountains, on whose sides were mines of lead with silver, and of
which there were legends from the time of Queen Elizabeth. The hills
looked leaden and blue in the distance, while the glancing sea far beyond
recalled silver,--for the alchemy of imagery, at least, is never wanting
to supply ideal metals, though the real may show a sad _deficit_ in the
returns.

As we drove we suddenly overtook a singular party, the first of whom was
the leader, who had lagged behind. He was a handsome, slender, very dark
young man, carrying a violin. Before him went a little open cart, in
which lay an old woman, and by her a harp. With it walked a good-looking
gypsy girl, and another young man, not a gypsy. He was by far the
handsomest young fellow, in form and features, whom I ever met among the
agricultural class in England; we called him a peasant Apollo. It became
evident that the passional affinity which had drawn this rustic to the
gypsy girl, and to the roads, was according to the law of natural
selection, for they were wonderfully well matched. The young man had the
grace inseparable from a fine figure and a handsome face, while the girl
was tall, lithe, and pantherine, with the diavolesque charm which, though
often attributed by fast-fashionable novelists to their heroines, is
really never found except among the lowborn beauties of nature. It is
the beauty of the Imp and of the Serpent; it fades with letters; it dies
in the drawing-room or on the stage. You