There are certain practices of the gypsies which by many may be regarded as a “trifle shady,” one of such is the vocation of fortune telling. It is pretty generally known that—as has already been pointed out—fortune telling as a profession has for years been illegal; nevertheless, it is still practised, and at races and similar concourses of people one may—to quote an old song: “... meet with the smiling gypsy maid, your fortune true to tell,” but the modern, smiling gypsy maid is not to be caught napping, and any circular, business card or booklet she may issue to her public will be found, almost invariably, to be so carefully worded that her profession does not come “within the meaning of the Act.” I know a gypsy who does a good business in this direction with “the quality.” She informed me that the game paid well. I inquired what was her usual fee and she replied— “Posh koraunas you dick,” which may be translated—Half-crowns, you understand. It was in the autumn that I last saw this woman, and there was little business doing save at a few fairs. We sat at the camp fire one night, and—to use an expressive colloquialism—“talked shop,” discussing gypsy arts, including the telling of fortunes and the books purporting to teach it; usually these books treat mainly of palmistry, and have a few diagrams of the principal lines of the hand with “explanations.” Even at the risk of repeating some of my previous observations I must not omit to give a summary of our exchange of views and certain of my own deductions. Much of the ordinary fortune teller’s knowledge of her client’s circumstances appears to be inferential,—cast of features, conformation and condition of hands, and other characteristics being rapidly absorbed, but inferential reasoning alone will not explain many a gypsy pronouncement. I will give an instance or two which aptly illustrate this:— Quite late one Saturday night I found that, contrary to my expectations, the succeeding day would be quite free from matters needing my presence at home, therefore I decided, when too late to communicate my intention to any one, to visit some gypsy acquaintances who would be encamped—I presumed—at a place some twenty-five miles from my home. Starting early on the Sunday morning, I arrived eventually at the camping ground, where I found the families I had in mind late on the previous night. After the usual greetings, I remarked— “You don’t seem much surprised to have me come upon you suddenly in this fashion.” “No, we’re not,” said one of the women; “we knew you was a-coming—your spirit’s been here.”