There is almost "no tan to hatch," or place to stay in.

So it has come to pass, that those among them who cannot settle down like unto the Gentiles, have gone across the Great Water to America, which is their true Canaan, where they flourish mightily, the more enterprising making a good thing of it, by _prastering graias_ or "running horses," or trading in them, while the idler or more moral ones, pick up their living as easily as a mouse in a cheese, on the endless roads and in the forests.

And so many of them have gone there, that I am sure the child is now born, to whom the sight of a real old-fashioned gipsy will be as rare in England as a Sioux or Pawnee warrior in the streets of New York or Philadelphia.

But there is a modified and yet real Rommany-dom, which lives and will live with great vigour, so long as a regularly organised nomadic class exists on our roads--and it is the true nature and inner life of this class which has remained for ages, an impenetrable mystery to the world at large.

A member of it may be a tramp and a beggar, the proprietor of some valuable travelling show, a horse-dealer, or a tinker.