that had been sitting on the bank by the road-side opposite their house; but his wife said one of them was the handsomest beggar she _ever_ saw. “Ay, they were both good-looking,” said the man, “and had famous things on.” The groom at the parsonage-gate “didn’t know the gentleman in the mustachios; but the women, bless you, they were no _ladies_.” “Why?” “O, they carried it on too far for ladies here, I assure you.” “What did they do?” “O! they came ringing at the bell like new ’uns; six or seven times they called us out--they would take no nay.” Little did these fair _ladies_, when sallying out for this frolic in the sylvan lanes of Surrey, dream, I dare say, that they should meet “a chiel takin’ notes,” that would put their exploits into print. Here they are, however; and if they should chance to see this, I must tell them, that they were very sweet nondescripts, but not very perfect beggars; and far, far indeed, from perfect Zinganies. For Madge Wildfires, they were not amiss; but beggars, impudent as they are, seldom ask for sixpences; seldom appear in new apparel; never run by the side of carriages--that is left to beggar children. Pleading looks, and a pitiful whining tone, with low genuflections, mark the young beggar-woman, as she stands fixed at one place;--her husband is dead, and she is going home to her parents or parish; or he is gone for a soldier, and she is following to the garrison. Lancashire witches they would have done for capitally--but then witches don’t tell fortunes by palmistry; their vocation is by spell and cauldron; and as for gipsies, why it is just as difficult to mistake the particular expression and cultivated voice of an English lady, as it is the features and voice of the real gipsy-woman. Black eyes and black hair these ladies had; but they had neither the olive skin, nor the bold, easy _degagée_ air of the gipsy belle; and what do gipsies with such beautifully _slender_ and delicate hands? They were importunate; but nothing but a life and an education in the gipsy-camp, and perhaps the blood and descent of the gipsy, can give the peculiar style of palaver--the _suaviter in modo_--the unique flattery--the “you are born fortunate, sir”--with which the gipsy accosts you. And the costume! The gipsy wears nothing short. She has a long gown,--a long red cloak--a handkerchief tied over her head, it is true, but upon _it_ a large flapping bonnet with lace trimming, or black beaver hat;--instead of that fairy form, she is generally strapping, tall, and strong--and instead of those taper ankles and small feet, which could evidently dance down the four-and-twenty hours, she has her lower limbs arrayed in black stockings and stout shoes that would do for a wagoner. Young gipsy women walk with sticks! how rarely do you see an old one with one? Knowing now who these ladies were, I should, beforehand, have expected a closer personation of the gipsy; but the result only proves the difficulty of the attempt. It