ell as performers.
Pougratz and Patikarus are names beloved wherever the "Czardas" is
listened to; and where, in Hungary, is not the "Czardas" listened to? No
one can play a "Czardas" like a gypsy, and he is often rewarded for it
in the most exaggerated manner; for he soon has his audience so excited
that they call for it again and again, and heap recompense on
recompense, until, in their passionate delight, the last ducat, the last
watch, ring, and even horse, has been bestowed. The gypsies of Hungary
conclude all pieces ending in the minor key by substituting the major
chord for the minor chord; for instance, a passage written thus,

[Illustration: MUSIC.]

they finish thus:

[Illustration: MUSIC.]

following instinctively a rule which we find frequently observed in the
most classical compositions. The following is a martial dance of the
gypsies, but the most elaborate notation would only be the skeleton of
any example: the best parts of all their performances are those they
improvise while playing:

[Illustration: MUSIC.]

It may be said that the gypsy has no nationality, and can therefore have
no national music. This is hardly true. The gypsy has no country, but
his sentiment of nationality is strong and persistent, and his music is
as peculiar as his language and customs. It is true that he steals the
music of the country in which he sojourns just as readily as he steals
the poultry from the roost or the linen from the line, but he always
imparts to it some echo of his far Eastern home and some flavor of the
tent and the hedgerow. Twice in my life this fact has struck me in a
remarkable manner. Once, on the skirts of a pine forest in the wilds of
Argyleshire, I came suddenly on a gypsy-camp celebrating a wedding. The
women were dancing the "Romalis" to a violin and tambourine. The music,
the dance, the conical tents, the flashing swarthy faces, the careless
piquant dresses, were all so Oriental in character that in spite of the
mountains, the moors and the heather I found it hard to realize that I
was in the heart of Scotland. Even when the most distinctive Scotch
pibrochs were played I was quite conscious of an Eastern clash in them
which no Scot could or would have given. Again: eighteen months ago I
found a camp of English gypsies in the Rocky Mountains a little beyond
Golden. One man was leaning against a tree fiddling negro melodies to
the birds, but negro melodies with the flavor of the tent instead of