purpose. Chairs are bottomed at prices ranging from one shilling and upwards. Some of them do scissor-grinding, for which they charge exorbitant prices. Sir G. H. Beaumont, Bart., of Coleorton Hall, told me very recently that one of the Boswell gang had charged him two shillings for grinding one knife. Some of the women, who are not good hands at fortune-telling, sell artificial flowers, combs, brushes, lace, &c. The women who are good at fortune-telling can make a good thing out of it, even at this late day, in the midst of so much light and Christianity, and they carry it out very adroitly and cleverly too. Two or three months ago I was invited by some Gipsy friends to have tea with them on the outskirts of London. They very kindly sent for twopenny worth of butter for me, and allowed me the honour of using the only cup and saucer, which they said were over one hundred years old. The tea for the grown-up sons and daughters was handed round in mugs, jugs, and basins. The good old man cut my bread and butter with his dark coloured hands pretty thin, but the bread for his sons and daughters was like pieces of bricks, which, with pieces of bacon, he pitched at them without any ceremony, and as they caught it they, although men and women, kept saying “Thank you, pa,” “Thank you, pa,” and down it went without either knives or forks, or very little grinding. We were all sitting upon the floor, my table being an undressed brick out of some old building, and it was with some difficulty I could keep the pigs that were running loose in the yard from taking a piece off my plate, but with a pretty free use of my toe I kept sending the little grunters squeaking away. After tea I felt a little curious to know what was in the big old Gipsy dame’s basket, for I had an idea one or two hair-brushes, combs, laces, and other small trifles which lay on the top of a small piece of oilcloth covering the inside of the basket had, by their greasy appearance, done duty for many a long day. I told the old Gipsy dame that I was going home the next day, and should like to take a little thing or two for my little ones at home, as having been bought of a Gipsy woman near London. The sharp old woman was not long in offering me one or two of her trifles that lay on the top of her basket, but these I said were not so suitable as I should like. “Had she nothing more suitable lower down as a small present?” After a little fumbling and flustering she began to see my motive, and said, “Ah! I see what you are after. I will tell you the truth and show you all.” She turned the oilcloth off the basket, underneath of which were “shank ends” of joints, ham-bones, pieces of bacon, and crusts. “These,” she said, “have been given to me by servant girls and others for telling their fortunes, really lies, and I have brought them here for my children to live upon, and this is how we live.” [Picture: Gipsy Fortune-tellers cooking their evening meal]