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ets PRY | 
the camp fires, with their picturesque dresses, had a charming 
effect. On inquiring if we might be allowed to light our pipes, we 
were kindly invited to partake of their supper. The kettles were 
slung on tripods, according to their custom, and a very appetising 
smell issued from them. We were nothing loth to accept of their 
hospitality, having had a long walk that day, and the delicious 
stew we partook of we shall always remember. The old chief 
informed us it was composed of “urchins,” for so he named the 
Hedgehog ; but I fancy there were both hares, rabbits, and chickens 
_in the compound, as I got the leg bone of the former on my dish. 
Nevertheless, it was a dainty repast, and they would take no 
recompense for their kindness. After the meal was done, tobacco 
__ was brought forth, and both sexes seemed to enjoy the soothing 
weed. Song after song was sung, and I only regret that I was 
unable to write shorthand, as I should like to have chronicled their 
ditties. Some were very quaint, some rather rude, and others 
sentimental. We were led to believe from the chief that these 
songs had been handed down from generation to generation, and 
PAROS 5) 
were never in print. In fact, he said in courtesy to us they were 
sung in English, but when no strangers were present they were 
sung in their own language, the “‘Rommany.” I have heard in 
my many wanderings in rural districts some curious songs, but 
never any to compare with those we heard in the gipsies’ camp. 
After the singing was over, dancing began, which both old and 
_ young engaged in, to the strains of a violin, which was fairly played 
by the old man. It was break of day when we broke up, with 
_ many hearty good wishes for our welfare. I came across the 
same lot some years after in different parts of the border, and in 
the county, and was always kindly received. 
| People who are late risers cannot imagine the beautiful colours 
% which damask the sky in the early mornings of spring and summer 
_ about sunrise ; cannot even dream of the splendour in which the 
7 east is robed before “old Sol” shows his face above the distant 
hills. No painter could ever imitate in colours, no poet describe 
SS 
in the most beautiful language, such gorgeous skies as we have 
“Witnessed at these seasons of the year. Oft in the sweet simmer 
—— 
