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Imagination will easily conceive how dismal and horrid the inside of such Gipsey huts must be to civilised humanity. Air and daylight excluded, very damp, and full of filth, they have more the appearance of wild beasts’ dens, that of the habitations of intelligent beings. Rooms or separate apartments are not even thought of; all is one open space: in the middle is the fire, serving both for the purpose of cooking and warmth; the father and mother lie half naked, the children entirely so, round it. Chairs, tables, beds or bedsteads, find no place here; they sit, eat, sleep, on the bare ground, or at most spread an old blanket, or, in the Banat, a sheep-skin, under them. Every fine day the door is set open for the sun to shine in, which they continue watching so long as it is above the horizon; when the day closes, they shut their door and consign themselves over to rest. When the weather is cold, or the snow prevents them opening the door, they make up the fire, and sit round it till they fall asleep, without any more light than it affords.