urious that Hindus, Persians, and gypsies have in
common an expression of the eye which distinguishes them from all other
Oriental races, and chief in this expression is the Romany. Captain
Newbold, who first investigated the gypsies of Egypt, declares that,
however disguised, he could always detect them by their glance, which is
unlike that of any other human being, though something resembling it is
often seen in the ruder type of the rural American. I believe myself
that there is something in the gypsy eye which is inexplicable, and which
enables its possessor to see farther through that strange mill-stone, the
human soul, than I can explain. Any one who has ever seen an old
fortune-teller of "the people" keeping some simple-minded maiden by the
hand, while she holds her by her glittering eye, like the Ancient
Mariner, with a basilisk stare, will agree with me. As Scheele de Vere
writes, "It must not be forgotten that the human eye has, beyond
question, often a power which far transcends the ordinary purposes of
sight, and approaches the boundaries of magic."

But one glance, and my companion whispered, "Answer me in Romany when I
speak, and don't seem to notice her." And then, in loud tone, he
remarked, while looking across the street,--

"_Adovo's a kushto puro rinkeno ker adoi_." (That is a nice old pretty
house there.)

"_Avali_, _rya_" (Yes, sir), I replied.

There was a perceptible movement by the woman in the red shawl to keep
within ear-shot of us. Mine uncle resumed,--

"_Boro kushto covva se ta rakker a jib te kek Gorgio iinella_." (It's
nice to talk a language that no Gentile knows.)

The red shawl was on the trail. "_Je crois que ca mord_," remarked my
uncle. We allowed our artist guide to pass on, when, as I expected, I
felt a twitch at my outer garment. I turned, and the witch eyes,
distended with awe and amazement, were glaring into mine, while she said,
in a hurried whisper,--

"Wasn't it Romanes?"

"_Avah_," I replied, "_mendui rakker sarja adovo jib_. _Butikumi ryeskro
lis se denna Gorgines_." (Yes, we always talk that language. Much more
genteel it is than English.)

"_Te adovo wavero rye_?" (And that _other_ gentleman?) with a glance of
suspicion at our artist friend.

"_Sar tacho_" (He's all right), remarked mine uncle, which I greatly fear
meant, when correctly translated in a Christian sense, "He's all wrong."
But there is a natural sympathy and intelligence between B