"One of the prityist girls takes a strol by herself down to a butyfull streem of water to have herself a wash, and she begins singing to the sound of a waterfall close by her, when all of a suden a very nice looking young gentleman, who got tiard fishing in the morning, and the day being very hot, took a bit of a lull on his face, his basket on his back, and Fishing-rod by his side (the girl did not see him) nor him her) until he was atracted by some strange sound, when all of a instant he sprung upon his heels, and to his surprise seen a most butyfull creature with her bear bosom and her long black hair and butyfull black eyes, white teeth, and a butyfull figure. He stared with all the eyes he had, and he made a advance towards her, and when she seen him she stared also at him, and aproaching slowly towards her and saying, from whence comest thou hear, my butyfull maid (and staring at her butyfull figure) thinking that she was some angel as droped down (when she with a pleasant smile by showing her ivory and her sparkling eyes) Oh, my father's tents are not fare off, and seen the day very warm I thought to have a little wash.

"Gentleman Well indeed I have been fishing to day, and cot a few this morning; but the day turned out so excesably hot I was obliged to go in to a shade and have a sleep, but was alarmed at your sweet voice mingling with the murmuring waters. They boath steer up to the camp, when now and then as he is speaking to her on the road going up, a loude and shrill laugh is heard many times-the same time he does not sho the least sign of vulgaraty by taking any sort of liberty with her whatever. They arrive at the tents, when one or the little boys says to his dady Dady, dady, there is a rye a velin a pra. The gentleman sitts himself down and pulls out a big Flask very near full of Brandy and toboco, and offers to the old man.

"By this time that young girl goes in her Tent and pull down the front, and presently out she comes butyfully dressed, which bewitched the young gentleman, and he said that they were welcome to come there to stop as long as they had a mind so as they would not tear the Headges. He goes and leaves them highly delighted towards hime, and he should pay them another visit. This camping ground belonged to the young gentleman's father, and is situated in a butyfull part of Derbyshire. One of the little girls sees two young ladys coming a little sideways across the common from a gentleman's house which is very near, which turns out to be the gentleman's two sisters. The little girl, Mamey, mamey, der is doi Rawngas avelin accai atch a pray. The young ladys comes to the tents and smiles, when the old woman says to one of them, Good day, meyam, it's a very fine day, meyam; shall I tell you a few words, meyam? The old woman takes them on one side and tells them something just to please them, now and then a word of truth, the rest a good lot of lies.

"The old man goes off for a stroll with a couple of dogs.

"One of the young boys asks his mother for some money, and she refuses him, or says she has got none. The boy says, Where is the 000 tooteys sold froom those doi Rawngas maw did accai I held now from them they pend them not appopolar? One of the other brothers says to him, Hear, Abraham, ile lend you 5s. Will you, my blessed brother. Yes, I will; hear it is. Now we will boath of us go to the gav togeather. One gets his fiddle ready and the other the Tamareen.

The harp is too heavy to carry. They go to call at the post office for a chinginargery-they boath come home rather wary.

"The next day the Boys go a fishing again and bring home a good lot (as the day was not near so hot as the day before) and comes home in good time to play the harp and violin (and sometimes the Tambureen) for the county gouges [green horns], as a good many comes to have a dance on the green-the collection would be the boys pocket money.

"There is a great deal of amus.e.m.e.nt found by those that us to follow Barns. The have many country people coming them to hear there music and to dance on the green, or sometimes in the barn, but most oftener in the house in a big kitchen, and the country people would be staring at the collays, Gipsies, with all there eyes, and the Gipsies would stare at the people to see them such Dinalays [fools].

"Those who followed Barns, us to call gentlemen's houses with the Harps, and us to be called in and make a good thing of it.

"Dear Mr.-With your permission I will leave of now, and let you know a little more when I come. Hoping that I have not trespased on your time to read such follishness. All that I have written has happened.

"I again beg to remain, "Yours very respectfully, "WELSHANENGAY BORY BOSHAHENGBO.

[Hedge Fiddler.]

"I beg to acquaint you that I am the oldest living Welsh Harper in the world at the present time. Mr. Thomas G---, Welsh Harper to the Prince of Wales, is next to me."

It would be perhaps a difficult task to find a score of Gipsies out of the 15,000 to 20,000 there are in this country who can write as well as the foregoing letter.

The following may be considered a fair specimen of the high cla.s.s or "Gentleman Gipsy," so much admired by those who have got the Gipsy spell round their necks, the Gipsy spectacles before their eyes, the Gipsy charm in their pocket, and who can see nothing but what is lively, charming, fascinating, and delightful in the Gipsy, from the crown of his head to the sole of his foot. To those of my friends I present them with an account of Ryley Bosvil as a man after their own heart, at the same time I would call their attention to his ending, as related by Borrow.

Ryley Bosvil was a native of Yorkshire, a county where, as the Gipsies say, "There's a deadly sight of Bosvils." He was above the middle height, exceedingly strong and active, and one of the best riders in Yorkshire, which is saying a great deal. He was thoroughly versed in all the arts of the old race; he had two wives, never went to church, and considered that when a man died he was cast into the earth and there was an end of him. He frequently used to say that if any of his people became Gorgios he would kill them. He had a sister of the name of Clara, a nice, delicate girl, about fourteen years younger than himself, who travelled about with an aunt; this girl was noticed by a respectable Christian family, who, taking great interest in her, persuaded her to come and live with them. She was instructed by them, in the rudiments of the Christian religion, appeared delighted with her new friends, and promised never to leave them. After the lapse of about six weeks there was a knock at the door, and a dark man stood before it, who said he wanted Clara. Clara went out trembling, had some discourse with the man in an unknown tongue, and shortly returned in tears, and said that she must go. "What for?" said her friends. "Did you not promise to stay with us?" "I did so," said the girl, weeping more bitterly; "but that man is my brother, who says I must go with him; and what he says must be." So with her brother she departed, and her Christian friends never saw her again. What became of her? Was she made away with? Many thought she was, but she was not. Ryley put her into a light cart, drawn by a "flying pony," and hurried her across England, even to distant Norfolk, where he left her with three Gipsy women. With these women the writer found her encamped in a dark wood, and had much discourse with her both on Christian and Egyptian matters. She was very melancholy, bitterly regretted her having been compelled to quit her Christian friends, and said that she wished she had never been a Gipsy. She was exhorted to keep a firm grip of her Christianity, and was not seen again for a quarter of a century, when she was met on Epsom Downs on the Derby day, when the terrible horse, "Gladiateur," beat all the English steeds.

She was then very much changed indeed, appearing as a full-blown Egyptian matron, with two very handsome daughters flaringly dressed in genuine Gipsy fashion, to whom she was giving motherly counsels as to the best means to _hok_ and _dukker_ the gentlefolk. All her Christianity she appeared to have flung to the dogs, for when the writer spoke to her on that very important subject she made no answer save by an indescribable Gipsy look. On other matters she was communicative enough, telling the writer, amongst other things, that since he saw her she had been twice married, and both times very well, for that her first husband, by whom she had the two daughters, whom the writer "kept staring at," was a man every inch of him, and her second, who was then on the Downs grinding knives with a machine he had, though he had not much manhood, being nearly eighty years old, had something much better, namely, a mint of money, which she hoped shortly to have in her possession.

Ryley, like most of the Bosvils, was a tinker by profession; but though a tinker, he was amazingly proud and haughty of heart. His grand ambition was to be a great man among his people, a Gipsy king (no such individuals as either Gipsy kings or queens ever existed). To this end he furnished himself with clothes made after the costliest Gipsy fashion; the two hinder b.u.t.tons of the coat, which was of thick blue cloth, were broad gold pieces of Spain, generally called ounces; the fore-b.u.t.tons were English "spaded guineas," the b.u.t.tons of the waistcoat were half-guineas, and those of the collar and the wrists of his shirt were seven-shilling gold-pieces. In this coat he would frequently make his appearance on a magnificent horse, whose hoofs, like those of the steed of a Turkish Sultan, were cased in shoes of silver. How did he support such expense?

it may be asked. Partly by driving a trade in "wafedo loovo,"

counterfeit coin, with which he was supplied by certain honest tradespeople of Brummagem; partly and princ.i.p.ally by large sums of money which he received from his two wives, and which they obtained by the practice of certain arts peculiar to Gipsy females. One of his wives was a truly remarkable woman. She was of the Petalengro or Smith tribe. Her Christian name, if Christian name it can be called, was Xuri or Shuri, and from her exceeding smartness and cleverness she was generally called by the Gipsies Yocky Shuri-that is, smart or clever Shuri, Yocky being a Gipsy word signifying "clever." She could dukker-that is, tell fortunes-to perfection, by which alone, during the racing season, she could make a hundred pounds a month. She was good at the big hok-that is, at inducing people to put money into her hands in the hope of it being multiplied; and, oh, dear! how she could caur-that is, filch gold rings and trinkets from jewellers' cases, the kind of thing which the Spanish Gipsies call ustibar pastesas-filching with hands. Frequently she would disappear and travel about England, and Scotland too, dukkering, hokking, and cauring, and after the lapse of a month return and deliver to her husband, like a true and faithful wife, the proceeds of her industry. So no wonder that the Flying Tinker, as he was called, was enabled to cut a grand appearance. He was very fond of hunting, and would frequently join the field in regular hunting costume, save and except that instead of the leather hunting cap he wore one of fur, with a gold band round it, to denote that though he mixed with Gorgios he was still a Romany chal. Thus equipped, and mounted on a capital hunter, whenever he encountered a Gipsy encampment he would invariably dash through it, doing all the harm he could, in order, as he said, to let the juggals know that he was their king, and had a right to do what he pleased with his own. Things went on swimmingly for a great many years, but, as prosperity does not continue for ever, his dark hour came at last. His wives got into trouble in one or two expeditions, and his dealings in wafedo loovo to be noised about. Moreover, by his grand airs and violent proceedings, he had incurred the hatred of both Gorgios and Gipsies, particularly of the latter, some of whom he had ridden over and lamed for life. One day he addressed his two wives-

"The Gorgios seek to hang me, The Gipsies seek to kill me; This country we must leave."

SHURI.

"I'll join with you to heaven, I'll fare with you, Yandors, But not if Lura goes."

LURA.

"I'll join with you to heaven And to the wicked country, Though Shuri goeth too."

RYLEY.

"Since I must choose betwixt you, My choice is Yocky Shuri, Though Lura loves me best."

LURA.

"My blackest curse on Shuri; Oh, Ryley, I'll not curse you, But you will never thrive."

She then took her departure, with her cart and donkey, and Ryley remained with Shuri.

RYLEY.

"I've chosen now betwixt ye, Your wish you now have gotten, But for it you shall smart."

He then struck her with his fist on the cheek and broke her jaw-bone.

Shuri uttered no cry or complaint, only mumbled-

"Although with broken jaw-bone, I'll follow thee, my Riley, Since Lura doesn't fal."

Thereupon Ryley and Yocky Shuri left Yorkshire and wended their way to London, where they took up their abode in the Gipsyry near Shepherd's Bush. Shuri went about dukkering and hokking, but not with the spirit of former times, for she was not quite so young as she had been, and her jaw, which was never properly cured, pained her very much. Ryley went about tinkering, but he was unacquainted with London and its neighbourhood, and did not get much to do. An old Gipsy man, who was driving about a little cart filled with skewers, saw him standing in a state of perplexity at a place where four roads met:-

OLD GIPSY.

"Methinks I see a brother.

Who's your father? Who's your mother?

And what be your name?"

RYLEY.

"A Bosvil was my father, A Bosvil was my mother, And Ryley is my name."

OLD GIPSY.

"I'm glad to see you, brother; I am a kaulo camlo. {218a} What service can I do?"

RYLEY.

"I'm jawing petulengring, {218b} But do not know the country; Perhaps you'll show me round."

OLD GIPSY.

"I'll sikker tulle prala!

Ino bikkening escouyor, {218c} And av along with me."

The old Gipsy showed Ryley about the country for a week or two, and Ryley formed a kind of connection and did a little business. He, however, displayed little or no energy, was gloomy and dissatisfied, and frequently said that his heart was broken since he had left Yorkshire.

Shuri did her best to cheer him, but without effect. Once when she bade him get up and exert himself, he said that if he did it would be of no use, and asked her whether she did not remember the parting prophecy of his other wife, that he would never thrive. At the end of about two years he ceased going his rounds, and did nothing but smoke under the arches of the railroad and loiter about beershops. At length he became very weak and took to his bed; doctors were called in by his faithful Shuri, but there is no remedy for a bruised spirit. A Methodist came and asked him, "What was his hope?" "My hope," said he, "is that when I am dead I shall be put into the ground, and my wife and children will weep over me," and such, it may be observed, is the last hope of every genuine Gipsy. His hope was gratified. Shuri and his children, of whom he had three-two stout young fellows and a girl-gave him a magnificent funeral, and screamed and shouted and wept over his grave. They then returned to the "arches," not to divide his property among them, and to quarrel about the division, according to Christian practice, but to destroy it. They killed his swift pony-still swift though twenty-seven years of age-and buried it deep in the ground without depriving it of its skin. Then they broke the caravan to pieces, making of the fragments a fire, on which they threw his bedding, carpets, curtains, blankets, and everything which would burn. Finally, they dashed his mirrors, china, and crockery to pieces, hacked his metal pots, dishes, and what not to bits, and flung the whole on the blazing pile. {219} Such was the life, such the death, and such were the funeral obsequies of Ryley Bosvil, a Gipsy who will be long remembered amongst the English Romany for his b.u.t.tons, his two wives, grand airs, and last not least, for having been the composer of various stanzas in the Gipsy tongue, which have plenty of force if nothing else to recommend them. One of these, addressed to Yocky Shuri, runs as follows:-

"Beneath the bright sun there is none, There is none I love like my Yocky Shuri; With the greatest delight in blood I would fight To the knees for my Yocky Shuri."

How much better and happier it would have been for this poor, hardened, ignorant, old Gipsy, if, instead of indulging in such rubbish as he did in the last hours of an idle and wasted life, he could, after a life spent in doing good to the Gipsies and others over whom he had influence, as the shades of the evening of life gathered round him, sung, from the bottom of his heart-fetching tears to his eyes as it did mine a Sunday or two ago-the following verses to the tune of "Belmont:"-

"When in the vale of lengthened years My feeble feet shall tread, And I survey the various scenes Through which I have been led,