he was sure enough.  He was beginning to
examine this troublesome tail a little too minutely,
when the gipsy drew his knife, cut it off above
the join, drew blood, as of course, and throwing
the false length into the sea, called out, "Swear
to the ox now, you loon!"  The servant was
confounded, and the tinkler went on his way
with his tailless ox to a convenient market hard
by.

Billy Marshall, the gipsy chief in Gallowayshire,
had a passage-at-arms with the Laird of
Bargally, whom he attacked and robbed, losing
his cap in the struggle.  A respectable farmer,
passing by soon after, picked up the cap and
wore it, which, the laird seeing—recognising
only the head-gear, and confused as to the head
beneath—he accused him of the assault and
robbery, and had him brought to trial on the
charge.  It would have gone hard with him
then, had not the gipsy come to the rescue.
Putting on the cap in open court, he puzzled
and confounded still more the poor bewildered
laird, who could only, as the gipsy said, swear
to the bonnet what head soever it was on, and
who therefore lost his cause, both rogue and
honest man going free by the rogue's own
voluntary risk.

A slight dash of superstition was mingled
with Jock Johnstone's fate.  Jock had the
misfortune to kill an old alewife at Lonegate, near
Dumfries, by knocking her on the head with a
pewter pint stoup; and next day he was
apprehended and taken to Dumfries jail.  He had a
favourite jackdaw which always accompanied
him (he was famous for his harem and his
jackdaw), and when the lords, going on the circuit,
passed the jail, the trumpeters gave a loud blast;
on which the jackdaw fluttered against the iron
bars of the window, and dropped dead on the
floor.  "Lord have mercy on me, for I am
gone!"  said Jock.

And so it proved.  He was tried and
condemned; but he would not walk to the place of
execution, so they had to carry him by main
force.  He fought and struggled with such
tremendous power, that the executioner, an old
man, could not turn him off; and every one else
refused to touch him.  At last a burgh officer
came forward, and the gipsy was hanged secundum
legem artemque; but the old people about
Dumfries used to say that the burgh officer
never prospered afterwards.

There are more anecdotes of the same nature
than can possibly be extracted.  Indeed, the
whole book is one mosaic of anecdotes set into
a framework of "philosophy" neither so interesting
nor so reliable as the facts; it being in the
nature of hobby-riders to gallop their favourites
to death, and to leave not a rag of housing
untouched by their tailoring.  And as it is not
even known how many gipsies, pure, undefiled,
and confessed, are now living in Great Britain—
some saying eighteen and others thirty-six
thousand—we may be excused if we somewhat
doubt the accuracy of statements which cannot
be proved nor tested by any modern methods
known to us; and if we pause a moment before we
subscribe to the "shepherd kings," the "mixed
multitude," or to the Sudras driven from
Hindustan by the cruelty of Timour, or to the close
and almost universal interfiltration of the Anglo-
Saxon by the gipsy blood—unseen, unknown,
and unsuspected.  Our lady's maids may be
gipsies with fair hair and blue eyes, "chattering
gipsy" secretly to other "romany managies,"
likewise cunningly disguised; soldiers and
sailors may meet other "nawkens" or gipsies
like themselves in the enemy's camp, and cry
"Zincali! zincali!"  as at the discovery of a
brother; it may be that we are all living in a
society gipsy-haunted and gipsy-riddled—but we
do not believe it.  Nothing is easier than to
make up a mystery; and Jesuits or gipsies,
"reds" or spies, it is all one to the mystery-
monger, provided only he can weave his webs
with the faintest show of reason.

The first appearance of the gipsies in Europe
was in the beginning of the fifteenth century;
and the earliest mention made of them is, as
having been seen in Germany in 1414.  They
did not come to England till 1512, having taken,
nearly a century in passing from the Continent
to us.  They were in Switzerland in 1418, in.
Italy in 1422, and in France and Spain in 1427.
Giles Hather was the king, and one Calot the
queen, of the English gipsies in the early days;
and they rode through the country  "on horseback,
and in strange attire, and had a pretty
train after them."  Their character has been
always much the same, at all times and in all
places.  Theft, quarrelling, child-stealing, horse-
stealing, fire-raising in fact, turbulence and
lawlessness generally have marked them
wherever found; and times would be bad for the
peaceable if ever the gipsy element had the
upper hand, and the "nawkens" became "been
gaugies:"  which, being interpreted, means, if
many of our gentlemen were gipsies, as Mr.
Simson would have us believe, if so be that his
theory of indestructible vitality and general
interfiltration is true.

                     NEMESIS.

      WE were sisters, fortune favour'd,
        Born of noble race;
      She was fragile, timid, tender,
        With the sweetest face!

      Like a shy half-hidden snowdrop,
        Pure, and pale, and meek;
      Not the faintest glow of summer
        Resting on her cheek.

      She was guileless, good, and gentle
        I was restless, strong,
      With a fierce ambition burning,
        Goading me along.

      She was like a star at evening,
        Exquisitely bright;
      I was like a flashing meteor,
        Putting out her light.

      To be fairest, first, and greatest,
        Heart of heart's desire,
      Raged beneath my proud cold bosom
        Like consuming fire.