Around us, about the fair ground, weird lights now glimmered, moved and disappeared, appeared again, wandered and went out, fires here and there flared up for a minute, died down, flickered and left a glow which dimly illuminated in an eerie fashion caravan, framework, and the jumble of preparation for the morrow’s business. Now and again some one threaded his way in the uncertain light, a man stumbled over a peg in the shadow near me and relieved his feelings in the customary manner; one of the party around our dying fire remarked that “old Noah had got ’em again,” another, who seemed to have a philosophy and a code of ethics of her own, sagely observed:— “Swear words was sent for our use, and what I says is,—a man or woman as swears and don’t mean nothin’ by it, will be forgiven, but not a person as tells a lie.” Here, it may be well to point out, that by gypsies it is often considered permissible, if not praiseworthy, to tell lies of all sorts and sizes to a gorgio, but a gypsy who tells a “whopper” to his own folk is “an out-and-out bad ’un.” At one period in our history it was considered to be right and proper for all gentlemen to curse and swear, and to make use of every description of curious or picturesquely worded blasphemy; to-day, the prevalent conception of what constitutes a gentleman taboos profanity in any guise, but an incident I recollect which is relevant to the subject must certainly not go unrecorded:— An old woman told a friend of mine that she _did_ like to hear her son swear, as he “always swore so hearty it did her real good.” Probably, every one will not be able to view the matter in the same light. On that night before the fair I renewed acquaintance with a number of gypsies whom I had last seen in the strawberry country, and much was talked of that related to happenings since that date and our mutual arrangements for meeting again in the hop gardens, a relation of which would be wearisome to the general reader, but the following snatches of conversation and jottings from my notebook of this date are not devoid of interest as they cast a sort of side-light on the character of the Romanies:— ... The words “dear” and “dearie” are frequently used,—“take that dear little bird in, it’s getting cold” (referring to a caged gold-finch, hanging outside caravan). ... “Yes, it’s dreadful to think of the dear little children wanting food” (referring to German atrocities in Belgium). ... “You go and witch yourself,” said a girl to an older relative, during a brief display of temper; the woman to whom this was addressed, turned to me and observed:— “Ain’t that a dreadful thing to say to anybody, eh, Rye? She’s a devil, she is.” ... Upon seeing a photograph of girls boxing, a woman remarked:— “No, I don’t like to see women boxing, it’s too much like men. Women should be women, and men should be men, I think.”