t has come to pass that farmers entertain a belief that the tent of
the wanderer, with its nightly blaze and its dark shadows flitting
about it, is a protection to their property. There is every
probability in favour of the justice of this character. The life of
the gipsy is not unlucrative: his wants are few and coarse, and the
calls upon him are scarcely any. He pays no rent: he is exempt from
taxes: he spends nothing in the luxury of attire: no man can bring him
in a bill. Being himself a mender and universal repairer, he is under
the necessity of demanding no man's aid. His horse or his ass feeds on
Nature's common, the hedge-side, the waste corner, the forest thicket,
well known and long haunted by him and his tribe. Gipsies are subject
to few diseases: they seldom ask the doctor's assistance but for one
friendly office, and that serves a man his lifetime. The open air, the
inconstancy of their labour, the sufficiency of their food, and the
quantity of healthy exercise, necessarily render these Arabs of
civilization the healthiest part of the people. As the monks of old
always managed to select a happy site for their establishments, so
does the gipsy always contrive to fix upon a pleasant and healthy spot
for the pitching of his tent. It is sure to be near a brook for the
supply of fresh water for the pot, and a washing-place for the family
rags: it generally lies under the shelter of some umbrageous tree, it
will always be found to have a view of the road, and invariably placed
on the edge of some nice short and sweet morsel of grass for the
recreation of the quadrupeds of the party.

The character of the gipsy has not been well understood. It is
altogether oriental: he is quiet, patient, sober, long suffering,
pleasant in speech, indolent but handy, far from speculative, and yet
good at succedaneum: when his anger is kindled, it descends like
lightning: unlike his dog, his wrath gives no notice by grumbling: he
blazes up like one of his own fires of dried fern. Quarrels do not
often take place among them, but when they do, they are dreadful. The
laws of the country in which they sojourn have so far banished the use
of knives from among them that they only grind them, otherwise these
conflicts would always be fatal. They fight like tigers with tooth and
nail, and knee and toe, and seem animated only with the spirit of
daemonism. Luckily the worst weapon they use is a stick, and, if the
devil tempts, a hedge-stake.