[Illustration:  Pluming Her Wings]

[Illustration:  The Gipsy Encampment]

Fortune-telling.

    Each city, each town, and every village
    Affords us either an alms or pillage. 
    And if the weather be cold and raw,
    Then in a barn we tumble on straw. 
    If warm and fair, by yea-cock and nay-cock,
    The fields will afford us a hedge or a hay-cock.

    Merry beggars.

As I was walking one evening with the Oxonian, Master Simon, and the general, in a meadow not far from the village, we heard the sound of a fiddle rudely played, and looking in the direction from whence it came, we saw a thread of smoke curling up from among the trees.  The sound of music is always attractive; for, wherever there is music, there is good humour, or goodwill.  We passed along a footpath, and had a peep, through a break in the hedge, at the musician and his party, when the Oxonian gave us a wink, and told us that if we would follow him we should have some sport.

It proved to be a gipsy encampment, consisting of three or four little cabins, or tents, made of blankets and sail-cloth, spread over hoops that were stuck in the ground.  It was on one side of a green lane, close under a hawthorn hedge, with a broad beech-tree spreading above it.  A small rill tinkled along close by, through the fresh sward, that looked like a carpet.

A tea-kettle was hanging by a crooked piece of iron, over a fire made from dry sticks and leaves, and two old gipsies, in red cloaks, sat crouched on the grass, gossiping over their evening cup of tea; for these creatures, though they live in the open air, have their ideas of fireside comforts.  There were two or three children sleeping on the straw with which the tents were littered; a couple of donkeys were grazing in the lane, and a thievish-looking dog was lying before the fire.  Some of the younger gipsies were dancing to the music of a fiddle, played by a tall, slender stripling, in an old frock coat, with a peacock’s feather stuck in his hatband.

As we approached, a gipsy girl, with a pair of fine roguish eyes, came up, and, as usual, offered to tell our fortunes.  I could not but admire a certain degree of slattern elegance about the baggage.  Her long black silken hair was curiously plaited in numerous small braids, and negligently put up in a picturesque style that a painter might have been proud to have devised.  Her dress was of a figured chintz, rather ragged, and not over clean, but of a variety of most harmonious and agreeable colours; for these beings have a singularly fine eye for colours.  Her straw hat was in her hand, and a red cloak thrown over one arm.

[Illustration:  A Gipsy Girl]

The Oxonian offered at once to have his fortune told, and the girl began with the usual volubility of her race; but he drew her on one side near the hedge, as he said he had no idea of having his secrets overheard.  I saw he was talking to her instead of she to him, and by his glancing towards us now and then, that he was giving the baggage some private hints.  When they returned to us, he assumed a very serious air.  “Zounds!” said he, “it’s very astonishing how these creatures come by their knowledge; this girl has told me some things that I thought no one knew but myself!”