a mixed party I can well believe. Here, on one hand, were indubitable
swells, above their usual range; there, on the other, were the dusky
vagabonds of the road; and it could be no common condescending patronage,
for I was speaking neither Welsh nor English, and our friendly fraternity
was evident. Yes, many a time, in England, have I seen the civil
landlady or the neat-handed Phillis awed with bewilderment, as I have
introduced Plato Buckland, or the most disreputable-looking but
oily--yea, glycerine-politeful--old Windsor Frog, into the parlor, and
conversed with him in mystic words. Such an event is a rare joy to the
gypsy. For he loves to be lifted up among men; he will tell you with
pride of the times when he was pointed at, and people said, "_He's_ the
man!" and how a real gentleman once invited him into his house and gave
him a glass of wine. But to enter the best room of the familiar tavern,
to order, in politest but imperative tones, "beer"--sixpenny beer--for
himself and "the other gentleman," is indeed bliss. Then, in addition to
the honor of moving in distinguished society, before the very eyes and in
the high places of those who have hitherto always considered him as a
lowly cuss, the Romany realizes far more than the common peasant the
contrast-contradiction, or the humor of the drama, its bit of
mystification, and especially the mystification of the house-folk. This
is unto him the high hour of the soul, and it is not forgotten. It
passes unto the golden legends of the heart, and you are tenderly
enshrined in it.

Once, when I was wandering afoot with old Cooper, we stopped at an inn,
and in a room by ourselves ordered luncheon. The gypsy might have had
poultry of the best; he preferred cold pork. While the attendant was in
the room, he sat with exemplary dignity at the table; but as the girl
left, he followed her step sounds with his ears, like a dog, moved his
head, glanced at me with a nod, turned sideways from the table, and,
putting his plate on his knees, proceeded to eat without a fork.

"For it isn't proper for me to eat at the table with you, or _as_ you
do."

The Welsh gypsy played well, and his sister touched the harp and sang,
the ale circulated, and the villagers, assembling, gazed in a crowd into
the hall. Then the girl danced solo, just as I have seen her sisters do
in Egypt and in Russia, to her brother's fiddling. Even so of old,
Syrian and Egyptian girls haunted gardens a