Groome then turned to another of the performers, and was answered in English Romany. At last he found one, and one only, in the band who was a Roumelian gipsy, and a conversation between them at once began. This incident affords an illustration of the width as well as the thoroughness of Groome’s knowledge of Romany matters. I have affirmed in ‘Aylwin’ that Sinfi Lovell—a born linguist who could neither read nor write—was the only gipsy who knew both English and Welsh Romany. Groome was one of the few Englishmen who knew the most interesting of all varieties of the Romany tongue. But latterly he talked a great deal of the vast knowledge of the Welsh gipsies, both as to language and folklore, possessed by Mr. John Sampson, University Librarian at Liverpool, the scholar who did so much to aid Groome in his last volume on Romany subjects, called ‘Gypsy Folk-Tales.’ It therefore gives me the greatest pleasure to end these very inadequate words of mine with a beautiful little poem in Welsh Romany by Mr. Sampson upon the death of the “Tarno Rye.” In a very few years Welsh Romany will become absolutely extinct, and then this little gem, so full of the Romany feeling, will be greatly prized. I wish I could have written the poem myself, but no man could have written it save Mr. Sampson:— STANYAKERÉSKI. Romano ráia, prala, jinimángro, Konyo chumeráva to chīkát, Shukar java mangi, ta mukáva Tut te ’jâ kamdóm me—kushki rat! Kamli, savimáski, sas i sarla, Baro zī sas tut, sar, tarno rom, Lhatián i jivimáski patrin, Ta līán o purikeno drom. Boshadé i chiriklé veshténdi; Sanilé ’pre tuti chal ta chai; Mūri, pūv ta pāni tu kamésas Dudyerás o sonakó lilaí. Palla ’vena brishin, shil, la baval: Sa’o divés tu murshkinés pīrdán: Ako kino ’vesa, rat avéla, Chēros sī te kesa tiro tan. Parl o tamlo merimásko pāni Dava tuki miro vast, ta so Tu kamésas tire kokoréski Mai kamáva—“Te sovés mīstō!” _Translation_. TO FRANCIS HINDES GROOME. Scholar, Gypsy, Brother, Student, Peacefully I kiss thy forehead, Quietly I depart and leave Thee whom I loved—“Good night.” Sunny, smiling was the morning; A light heart was thine, as, a youth, Thou dids’t strike life’s trail And take the ancient road. The birds sang in the woods, Man and maid laughed on thee, The hills, field, and water thou didst love The golden summer illuminated. Then come the rain, cold, and wind, All the day thou hast tramped bravely. Now thou growest weary, night comes on. It is time to make thy tent. Across death’s dark stream I give thee my hand; and what Thou wouldst have desired for thyself I wish thee—mayst thou sleep well. II.