I had in those days as fine clothes as any young Gipsy in England--good coats, and shirts, and handkerchiefs.
"And that man hurt many a man after me, but he never had any luck.

He'd steal from his own father; but he died miserably in East Kent." It was characteristic of the venerable wanderer who had installed himself as my permanent professor of Rommany, that although almost every phrase which he employed to illustrate words expressed some act at variance with law or the rights of property, he was never weary of descanting on the spotlessness, beauty, and integrity of his own life and character.

These little essays on his moral perfection were expressed with a touching artlessness and child-like simplicity which would carry conviction to any one whose heart had not been utterly hardened, or whose eye-teeth had not been remarkably well cut, by contact with the world.

In his delightful _naivete_ and simple earnestness, in his ready confidence in strangers and freedom from all suspicion--in fact, in his whole deportment, this Rommany elder reminded me continually of one--and of one man only--whom I had known of old in America.

Need I say that I refer to the excellent -- - -- -?
It happened for many days that the professor, being a man of early habits, arrived at our rendezvous an hour in advance of the time appointed.