The great love for red and yellow among the Gipsies was long ago pointed out by a German writer as a proof of Indian origin, but the truth is, I believe, that all dark people instinctively choose these hues as agreeing with their complexion.  A brunette is fond of amber, as a blonde is of light blue; and all true kaulo or dark Rommany chals delight in a bright yellow pongdishler, or neckerchief, and a red waistcoat.  The long red cloak of the old Gipsy fortune-teller is, however, truly dear to her heart; she feels as if there were luck in it—­that bak which is ever on Gipsy lips; for to the wanderers, whose home is the roads, and whose living is precarious, Luck becomes a real deity.  I have known two old fortune-telling sisters to expend on new red cloaks a sum which seemed to a lady friend very considerable.

I have spoken in another chapter of the deeply-seated faith of the English Gipsies in the evil eye.  Subsequent inquiry has convinced me that they believe it to be peculiar to themselves.  One said in my presence, “There was a kauli juva that dicked the evil yack ad mandy the sala—­my chavo’s missis—­an’ a’ter dovo I shooned that my chavo was naflo.  A bongo-yacki mush kairs wafro-luckus. Avali, the Gorgios don’t jin it—­it’s saw Rommany.”

I.e., “There was a dark woman that looked the evil eye at me this morning—­my son’s wife—­and after that I heard that my son was ill.  A squint-eyed man makes bad-luck.  Yes, the Gorgios don’t know it—­it’s all Rommany.”

The Gipsy is of an eminently social turn, always ready when occasion occurs to take part in every conversation, and advance his views.  One day my old Rom hearing an artist speak of having rejected some uncalled-for advice relative to the employment of a certain model, burst out in a tone of hearty approbation with—­

“That’s what I say.  Every man his own juva (every man his own girl), an’ every painter his own morals.”

If it was difficult in the beginning for me to accustom the Gipsy mind to reply clearly and consistently to questions as to his language, the trouble was tenfold increased when he began to see his way, as he thought, to my object, and to take a real interest in aiding me.  For instance, I once asked—­

“Puro! do you know such a word as punji?  It’s the Hindu for capital.”

(Calmly.) “Yes, rya; that’s a wery good word for capital.”

“But is it Rommany?”

(Decidedly.) “It’ll go first-rateus into Rommany.”

“But can you make it out?  Prove it!”

(Fiercely.) “Of course I can make it out. Kushto.  Suppose a man sells ’punge-cake, would’nt that be his capital? Punje must be capital.”