from thence, and fiercely brandishes it aloft, till at last, with a
yell she tosses it high into the air, like a ball, and then, with
neck and head thrown back, receives it, as it falls, on her hands
and breast, extracting a cry from the terrified beholders. Is it
possible she can be singing? Yes, in the wildest style of her
people; and here is a snatch of the song, in the language of Roma,
which she occasionally screams -


'En los sastos de yesque plai me diquelo,
Doscusanas de sonacai terelo, -
Corojai diquelo abillar,
Y ne asislo chapescar, chapescar.'

'On the top of a mountain I stand,
With a crown of red gold in my hand, -
Wild Moors came trooping o'er the lea,
O how from their fury shall I flee, flee, flee?
O how from their fury shall I flee?'


Such was the Gitana in the days of Ferdinand and Isabella, and much
the same is she now in the days of Isabel and Christina.

Of the Gitanas and their practices I shall have much to say on a
future occasion, when speaking of those of the present time, with
many of whom I have had no little intercourse. All the ancient
Spanish authors who mention these women speak of them in unmeasured
terms of abhorrence, employing against them every abusive word
contained in the language in which they wrote. Amongst other vile