f
might in the secrets of state, and one whom I have met in high
society. And, oh! _if_ he had known who it was that was up-stairs,
laughing at him for a fool!

While she was forth, A. asked me, "Do you tell fortunes, or _what_?"
"My sister," I replied, "I'll tell thee the truth. I do tell
fortunes. I keep a house for the purchase of stolen goods. I am
largely engaged in making counterfeit money and all kinds of forgery.
I am interested in burglary. I lie, swear, cheat, and steal, and get
drunk on Sunday. And I do many other things. I am a real Romany
witch." This little confession of faith brought down the house.
"Bravo! bravo!" they cried, laughing.

Sister and I had brought a great tipsy-cake for the children, and
they were all sitting under a table, eating it. It was a pretty
picture. I thought I saw in it myself and all my sisters and
brothers as we were once. Just such little gypsies and duckling
Romanys! And now! And then! What a comedy some lives are,--yea,
such lives as mine! And now it is _you_ who are behind the scenes;
anon, I shall change with you. _Va Pierre_, _vient Pierette_. Then
I surprised a little brown maiden imp of five summers stealing my
beer, and as she was caught in the act, and tore away shrieking with
laughter, she looked, with her great black eyes and flowing jetty
curling locks, like a perfect little Bacchante.

Then we said, "Thank you for the happy time!" "Good luck!" and "Good
day!" giving our promises to come again. So we went home all well.
I hope to see you at the races here. Good luck and good-night also
to you.

Always your friend,

BRITANNIA LEE

I have somewhat abbreviated the Romany text of this letter, and Miss Lee
herself has somewhat polished and enlarged the translation, which is
strictly fit and proper, she being a very different person in English
from what she is in gypsy, as are most of her kind. This letter may be,
to many, a strange lesson, a quaint essay, a social problem, a fable, an
epigram, or a frolic,--just as they choose to take it. To me it is a
poem. Thou, my friend, canst easily understand why all that is wild and
strange, out-of-doors, far away by night, is worthy of being Tennysoned
or Whitmanned. If there be given unto thee stupendous blasted trees,
looking in t