Part II. Commencement of the Gipsy Crusade. (continued 3)

“‘When I come again what shall I bring you?’ said Mr. Smith, in most reckless fashion, to the Egyptian Queen. ‘Well,’ said she, without a moment’s hesitation, ‘if there is one thing more than another that I do want, it’s a silk handkercher for my head—a real Bandana.’ The request was characteristic. Of the tales we heard one or two were curious, one positively laughable, and one related to a deed of blood. Mr. Smith, going into a tent, found an aged Gipsy woman, to whom he told the object of his visiting the Gipsies, and what he hoped to accomplish for the children, and she forwith handed him a money gift. On more than one occasion a well-polished silver coin of small value, a penny, or a farthing has been quietly put into Mr. Smith’s hands, in furtherance of his work, by some poor Gipsy woman. The story which made us laugh was of a Gipsy marriage. It is one of the unwritten laws of Gipsy life that the wife works while the husband idles about the tent. The wife hawks with the basket or the cart and sells, while the husband loiters about the encampment or cooks the evening meal. But one young Gipsy fell in love with an Irish girl named Kathleen, and from the day of their marriage Tom never had an idle moment. In vain did he plead the usages of Gipsy married life. Kathleen was deaf to all such modes of argument, and drove her husband forth from tent and encampment, by voice or by stake, until she completely cured him of his idleness, and she remained mistress of the field. Whenever a young Gipsy is supposed to be courting a stranger, the fate of Tom at the hands of Kathleen is told him as a warning. During the afternoon we were continually exhorted to see ‘Granny’ before we left. Every one spoke of her with respect, and when we were about to leave, Patience offered to show us ‘Granny’s tent.’ Repentance joined her sister, and before we were up and out of the tent opening, we saw Patience at a tent not far off; she dived head and shoulders through an opening she made, and then appeared to be pulling vigorously. Her activity was soon explained. We thrust our heads through the opening, and were face to face with a shrivelled-faced old woman, whose cheeks were like discoloured parchment, and whose hands and arms appeared to be mere bones. But her eye was bright, and her tongue proved her to be in possession of most of her faculties. She could not stand or walk, nor could she sit up for many minutes at a time, and the action of Patience was caused by her hastily seizing the old woman by her arms as she lay on her straw floor, and dragging her into a sitting position. If the old dame had been asleep, Patience had thoroughly aroused her. She greeted us with Gipsy courtesy, and told us she was ‘fourscore and six years of age.’ Her name, in answer to our query, she said was ‘Sinfire Smith.’ ‘Why, that’s the same as mine,’ said Mr. Smith. ‘O, likely,’ said Sinfire, ‘the Smiths is a long family.’ For four score and six years poor Sinfire has led a Gipsy life, and though her house now is only a tent, and her bed and bedding straw, she made no moan, and there was nothing she wished to have.”

“Farewell, farewell! so rest there, blade! Entomb me where our chiefs are laid; But, hark, methinks I hear the drum, I would that holy man were come.”—Harris.

“What sound is that as of one knocking gently? Yet who would enter here at hour so late? Arise! draw back the bolt—unclose the portal. What figure standeth there before the gate?

“He bears to thee sweet messages from Heaven, Whispers of love from dear ones folded there, And tells thee that a place for thee is waiting, That thou shalt join them in their home so fair.”

A. F. B.—“Sunday at Home.”