artist your poem of the piper, that I should ever retail the story in
Rommany to a tinker. But who knows with whom he may associate in this
life, or whither he may drift on the great white rolling sea of humanity?
Did not Lord Lytton, unless the preface to Pelham err, himself once tarry
in the tents of the Egyptians? and did not Christopher North also wander
with them, and sing--

"Oh, little did my mother think,
The day she cradled me,
The lands that I should travel in,
Or the death that I should dee;
Or gae rovin' about wi' tinkler loons,
And sic-like companie"?

"You know, sir," said the Gipsy, "that we have two languages. For
besides the Rummany, there's the reg'lar cant, which all tinkers talk."

"_Kennick_ you mean?"

"Yes, sir; that's the Rummany for it. A 'dolly mort' is Kennick, but
it's _juva_ or _rakli_ in Rummanis. It's a girl, or a rom's _chi_."

"You say _rom_ sometimes, and then _rum_."

"There's _rums_ and _roms_, sir. The _rum_ is a Gipsy, and a _rom_ is a
husband."

"That's your English way of calling it. All the rest of the world over
there is only one word among Gipsies, and that is _rom_."