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I, too, would sooner be a salteadóra (highway woman,) or a chalana (she-jockey,) than steal with the hands, or tell bájis.' "Myself. You do not mean to say, O Tuerta, that you are a jockey, and that you rob on the high-way.'

"The One-eyed. - 'I am a chalana, brother, and many a time I have robbed upon the road, as all our people know. I dress myself as a man, and go forth with some of them. I have robbed alone, in the pass of the Guadarama, with my horse and escopéta. I alone once robbed a cuadrilla of twenty Gallégos, who were returning to their own country, after cutting the harvests of Castile; I stripped them of their earnings, and could have stripped them of their very clothes had I wished, for they were down on their knees like cowards. I love a brave man, be he Busnó or Gypsy. When I was not much older than the Scorpion, I went with several others to rob the cortijo of an old man; it was more than twenty leagues from here. We broke in at midnight, and bound the old man; we knew he had money; but he said no, and would not tell us where it was; so we tortured him, pricking him with our knives and burning his hands over the lamp; all, however,

would not do. At last I said, "Let us try the pimientos" so we took the green pep per husks, pulled open his eye-lids, and rubbed the pupils with the green pepper fruit. That was the worst pinch of all. Would you believe it? the old man bore it. Then our people said, "Let us kill him," but I said, no, It were a pity: so we spared him, though we got nothing. I have loved that old man ever since for his firm heart, and should have wished him for a husband.'

"The Scorpion.-Ojalá, that I had been in that cortijo to see such sport!' "Myself. Do you fear God, O Tuérta ?'

"The One-eyed.-' Brother, I fear nothing.'

"Myself. Do you believe in God, O Tuérta ?'

"The One-eyed.- Brother, I do not; I hate all connected with that name; the whole is folly; me diñela cónche. If I go to church, it is but to spit at the images. I spat at the búlto of María this morning; and I love the Corojai, and the Londoné, because they are not baptized.'

“Myself.— You, of course, never say a prayer.'

"The One-eyed.-'No, no; there are three or four old words, taught me by some old people, which I sometimes say to myself; I believe they have both force and virtue.'

"Myself. I would fain hear; pray tell me them.'

"The One-eyed.-Brother, they are words not to be repeated.'

"Myself. Why not?'

"The One-eyed.—They are holy words, brother.'

"Myself.-Holy! You say there is no God; if there be none, there can be nothing holy; pray tell me the words, O Tuérta.'

"The One-eyed. Brother, I dare not.' Myself. Then you do fear some

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however hardened, who is utterly godless." "I repeat that there is no individual,

pains to enlighten their minds and to Again, after having taken infinite touch their hearts, he has the satisfaction of witnessing the following pleas ing evidence of the serious impression he had succeeded in making:

"My little congregation, if such I may call it, consisted entirely of women; the men seldom or never visited me, save they stood in need of something which they hoped to obtain from me. This circumstance I little regretted, their manners and conversation being the reverse of interesting. It must not, however, be supposed that, even with respect to the women, matters went on invariably in a smooth and satisfactory manner. The following little anecdote will show what slight dependence can be placed upon them, and how disposed they are at all times to take part in what is grotesque and malicious. One day they arrived, attended by a Gypsy jockey whom I had never previously seen. We had scarcely been seated a minute, when this fellow, rising, took me to the window, and without any preamble or circumlocution, said, -Don Jorge, you shall lend me two barias' (ounces of gold.) Not to your whole race, my excellent friend,' said I; "are you frantic? Sit down and be discreet.' He obeyed me literally, sat down, and when the rest departed, followed with

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them. We did not invariably meet at my own house, but occasionally at one in a street inhabited by Gypsies. On the appointed day I went to this house, where I found the women assembled; the jockey was also present. On seeing me, he advanced, again took me aside, and again said, Don Jorge, you shall lend me two barias.' I made him no answer, but at once entered on the subject which brought me thither. I spoke for some time in Spanish; I chose for the theme of my discourse the situation of the Hebrews in Egypt, and pointed out its similarity to that of the Gitános of Spain. I spoke of the power of God, manifested in preserving both as separate and distinct people amongst the nations until the present day. I warmed with my subject. I subsequently produced a manuscript book, from which I read a portion of scripture, and the Lord's Prayer and Apostle's Creed, in Rommany. When I had concluded, I looked around me.

"The features of the assembly were twisted, and the eyes of all turned upon me with a frightful squint; not an individual present but squinted, the genteel Pépa, the good-humored Chicharona, the Casdami, &c., &c., all squinted. The Gypsy fellow, the contriver of the burla, squinted worst of all. Such are the Gypsies."

No wonder that he remarks on one occasion, with some simplicity, and with a truth which may be fairly set down as incontrovertible-" I was convinced that should I travel to the end of the universe, I should meet with no people more in need of a little Christian exhortation!"

We will conclude with one more anecdote to illustrate the trait of the fraternal spirit which binds them all together, as well as the hatred and contempt with which they regard all others, or Busné. At Badajoz he is visited by an old Gypsy named Antonio. It should be borne in mind, that from his knowledge of the Rommany, or Gypsy tongue, Mr. Borrow was generally regarded by them as one of their own blood:

"Antonio.-"Give me your hand, brother! I should have come to see you before, but I have been to Olivensas in search of a horse. What I have heard of you has filled me with much desire to know you, and I now see that you can tell me many things which I am ignorant of. I am Zincalo by the four sides,-I love our blood, and I hate that of the Busné. Had

I my will I would wash my face every day in the blood of the Busné, for the Busné are made only to be robbed and to be slaughtered; but I love the Caloré, and I love to hear of things of the Caloré, especially from those of foreign lands; for the Caloré of foreign lands know more than we of Spain, and more resemble our fathers of old.'

"Myself.-Have you ever met before with Caloré who were not Spaniards ?' "Antonio.-"I will tell you, brother. I served as a soldier in the war of the independence against the French. War, it is true, is not the proper occupation of a Gitano, but those were strange times, and all those who could bear arms were compelled to go forth to fight; so I went with the English armies, and we chased the Gabiné to the frontier of France; and it happened once that we joined in desperate battle, and there was a confusion, and the two parties became intermingled, and fought sword to sword and bayonet to bayonet, and a French soldier singled me out, and we fought for a long time, cutting, goring, and cursing each other, till at last we flung down our arms and grappled; long we wrestled, body to body, but I found that I was the weaker, and I fell. The French soldier's knee was on my breast, and his grasp was on my throat, and he seized his bayonet, and he raised it to thrust me through the jaws; and his cap had fallen off, and I lifted up my eyes wildly to his face, and our eyes met, and gave a loud shriek, and cried Zincalo, Zincalo! and I felt him shudder, and he relaxed his grasp and started up, and he smote his forehead and wept, and then he came to me and knelt down by my side, for I was almost dead, and he took my hand and called me Brother and Zincalo, and he produced his flask and poured wine into my mouth, and I revived, and he raised me up, and led me from the concourse, and we sat down on a knoll, and the two parties were fighting all around, and he said, "Let the dogs fight, and tear each other's throats till they are all destroyed, what matters it to the Zincali; they are not of our blood, and shall that be shed for them ?" So we sat for hours on the knoll and discoursed on matters pertaining to our people; and I could have listened for years, for he told me secrets which made my ears tingle, and I soon found that I knew nothing, though I had before considered myself quite Zincalo; but as for him he knew the whole cuenta; the Bengui Lango himself could have told him nothing but what he knew. So we sat till the sun went down and the battle was over, and he proposed that we should both flee to his own country and

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to you, our kind guide; and to you, poor wanderers-we wish you a happier lot in the future, than you have met with in the past. We could hope that, so long as you love your roving life, the wildernesses of the world might be left open to you, and that you might forsake these only for gardens of pure and beautiful culture. May the bright

stars which you once so devoutly worshipped, shed their gentlest influences upon you; and, degraded and ignorant as you now are, may Heaven's last born star lead you to that faith and hope which can make man, erring, imperfect though he be, but "a little lower than the angels."

LINES IN A BALL ROOM,

TO A BEAUTIFUL PERSON WHO OUGHT NOT TO HAVE BEEN THERE.

I SAW thee mid that radiant throng,
Where all were innocent but thou;
And marvelled that a soul so wrong
Could lurk beneath so fair a brow.

Thine eye was bright, thy laugh was loud,
And to thy cheek no blushes came,
And every look and step was proud,
As though thou wert not lost to fame.

Some meteor drooping from the skies
Thus blazes toward the murky flood,
Beheld by all the pitying eyes

That sparkle where it lately stood.

Not Hebe's fault was dark as thine,

Though banished from the eternal sphere,
No more she pour'd the ethereal wine,
Nor dared again in heaven appear.

The pearls that bound thy jetty hair,
The jewel glittering on thy breast,
As sparks by night contrasted glare,
The deeper all thy guilt expressed.

Say, when that bauble met thy gaze-
The ring, the signet of thy shame-
Swept not the thoughts of better days
Along thy shuddering heart like flame?

Thou hast a maiden's softness yet,
Thou hast a voice of Circean guile;
Thy waywardness we might forget,
But for the serpent in thy smile.
Go weep! there's virtue in a tear;
Go blush! repentance yet may save;
And if thy off'ring be sincere,

May heaven restore the light it gave!

VINCENT E. BARON.

THIS IS NOT THY REST.

"Arise and depart, for this is not thy rest."

THAT strain-it comes when weariness
Steals on the stricken heart,
And Hope's bright phantoms, one by one,
Like summer flowers depart ;-
It cometh, when the spirit bows
To Sorrow's mild behest,

And pointing upward, sweetly breathes-
"This-this is not thy rest!"

That strain-it comes when Pleasure
Lights up the banquet hall,

And hearts are bounding joyously
To music's fairy call.

It comes and laughter dies away,

Like sunlight in the West,

And sick of mirth, the reveller sighs

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This-this is not thy rest!"

That strain-it comes upon the soul
In triumph's noon-tide hour,

When Glory twines her brightest wreaths,
To bind the brow of power,

It cometh-and the clarion's voice
Thrills not the victor's breast,

For through his laurels breathes that strain-
"This-this is not thy rest."

That strain-it cometh still alway;
It whispers 'mid the throng;

It mingles with the words of love,
And Glory's triumph song.
It cometh alway-for a void
Is alway in the breast,
And ceaselessly the spirit sighs—
"This-this is not thy rest."

New Bedford, Mass.

RH. S. S. ANDROS.

THE RHODE ISLAND QUESTION.

THERE have been already, in the history of this nation, several occasions on which it has been necessary to recur to the first principles of government in general, and to the nature of our own in particular. Ordinarily, in the quiet movement of its machinery, we lose sight of the ultimate principles upon which government depends, and according to which it has been constructed. But if ever any part of this machinery breaks, or it has become necessary to enlarge it or apply its power in a new direction, we set ourselves directly to consider the principle itself. The present is such an occasion. The Rhode Island controversy has started several questions, not new in the days of our forefathers, but apparently forgotten by us, which can only be solved by the application of ultimate principles. The turn which the contest has taken cannot affect these questions. Whether the movement against the charter and in favor of a new constitution has been finally stifled, or whether it will re-appear, the questions of law and of policy remain. There cannot be a better time for their examination. Everybody knows that the colony of Rhode Island was governed by a charter granted by Charles the Second, which incorporated certain associates and all such others as should be admitted free of the company and society, and which provided that the government thereof should be administered by a governor, deputy governor, and ten assistants, chosen by the freemen of the company, and by representatives, not exceed ing six for Newport, four for each of the towns of Providence, Portsmouth and Warwick, and two for each other place, town, or city; that the Assembly could admit any persons to be freemen whom they pleased to admit, without any qualification whatever; that they did, however, prescribe a property qualification, which was finally established in 1762, as it now stands, confining the elective franchise to persons having a freehold of the value of one hundred and thirty-four dollars, and the eldest sons of such freeholders; that no con

stitution whatever was adopted at the Revolution, but the government continued to be administered according to the charter; and that in its actual state, the legislative body was elected by less than one-half of the white male adult resident citizens of the United States, and even then, so far from representing the people, or the electors, in proportion to their numbers, the majority of the Assembly were elected by about onethird of the freemen.

At the time this charter was granted, and for a long time afterwards, the population of the State was chiefly agricultural. Limiting the franchise to freeholders and their eldest sons, excluded but a small number of persons. The apportionment of representatives was also, then, nearly in proportion to the population. Newport was one of the most important and flourishing towns in America, while Providence was scarcely greater than Portsmouth or Warwick. In the lapse of eighty years, the State has passed through great changes. Newport has fallen from its pre-eminence, and is now chiefly thought of as an unequalled watering place of 8000 inhabitants. Portsmouth has 1700 inhabitants, while Providence has 23,172: yet Newport has six representatives, and Portsmouth and Providence each four. The popu lation of the State has become eminently manufacturing and commercial; so that while the whole number of adult male resident citizens is 23,000, the number of electors, according to the charter and the existing law, is supposed to be only about nine thousand.

To change this system, various efforts have been made from time to time within the last thirty-five years. Motions and petitions to open the elective franchise and to equalize the representation, or to call a convention for the purpose of forming a constitution, were made and lost, renewed and rejected, till at length, early in the last year, they who had so long appealed in vain to the Assembly determined to appeal to it no longer, but to what they

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