who live like the birds and hares,
not of the house-born or the town-bred, but free and at home only with
nature.

I am at some pleasant watering-place, no matter where. Let it be
Torquay, or Ilfracombe, or Aberystwith, or Bath, or Bournemouth, or
Hastings. I find out what old churches, castles, towns, towers, manors,
lakes, forests, fairy-wells, or other charms of England lie within twenty
miles. Then I take my staff and sketch-book, and set out on my day's
pilgrimage. In the distance lie the lines of the shining sea, with ships
sailing to unknown lands. Those who live in them are the Bohemians of
the sea, homing while roaming, sleeping as they go, even as gypsies dwell
on wheels. And if you look wistfully at these ships far off and out at
sea with the sun upon their sails, and wonder what quaint mysteries of
life they hide, verily you are not far from being affected or elected
unto the Romany. And if, when you see the wild birds on the wing,
wending their way to the South, and wish that you could fly with
them,--anywhere, anywhere over the world and into adventure,--then you
are not far in spirit from the kingdom of Bohemia and its seven castles,
in the deep windows of which AEolian wind-harps sing forever.

Now, as you wander along, it may be that in the wood and by some grassy
nook you will hear voices, and see the gleam of a red garment, and then
find a man of the roads, with dusky wife and child. You speak one word,
"Sarishan!" and you are introduced. These people are like birds and
bees, they belong to out-of-doors and nature. If you can chirp or buzz a
little in their language and know their ways, you will find out, as you
sit in the forest, why he who loves green bushes and mossy rocks is glad
to fly from cities, and likes to be free of the joyous citizenship of the
roads, and everywhere at home in such boon company.

When I have been a stranger in a strange town, I have never gone out for
a long walk without knowing that the chances were that I should meet
within an hour some wanderer with whom I should have in common certain
acquaintances. These be indeed humble folk, but with nature and summer
walks they make me at home. In merrie England I could nowhere be a
stranger if I would, and that with people who cannot read; and the
English-born Romany rye, or gentleman speaking gypsy, would in like
manner be everywhere at home in America. There was a gypsy family always
roaming between Windsor and L