Extract from the “Liverpool Review,” June 19th, 1886.

The poor Laplanders have now to play second fiddle to another wandering tribe whose origin is lost in the mists of antiquity. Ever since their celebrated moonlight flit the little northerners had been under a cloud, but their social extinction has been completed by the advent of the “Epping Forest Gipsies.” The King and Queen of these nomads bear the prosaic name of Smith. Nevertheless they claim to be in the line of descent of “Romany Ri.” It is an open question whether the Gitano complexion—the tawny complexion, the vellum of the pedigree they claim—cannot be whitened by partaking of gin and water in unfair proportions. This result is sometimes brought about among certain vagabond followers of Isis, but it would be the height of injustice to suggest that such retributive facial pallor can be laid to the account of Mr. George Smith, the ruler of the Exhibition gipsy encampment. The absence of swarthiness in his Majesty’s case must be attributed to other causes, for if rumour is correct we believe the monarch is a staunch teetotaler. Like the great majority of Bohemians, he is addicted to trafficking in horses, while his Royal consort and her young princesses do a good business in basket selling and fortune telling. The Queen is well known in the neighbourhood of Everton, hers being one of the most familiar figures to those who are in the habit of travelling to town in trams. For some time past she has chosen Liverpool as her winter residence, pitching her camp on the waste ground near Walton Breck, and during the absence of her lord and master in Ireland her caravan has been the resort of credulous nursemaids and naïve servant girls. A more respectable tribe than that of the Smiths never trod the open heath. They might be objected to as being a little too genteel. The interior of their camp is more like a Turkish divan than the good old smoke-begrimed vagrant habitation. Indeed they are so highly civilised as to boast of the patronage of Queen Victoria, who it appears paid them a special visit in Scotland. Another instance of the process of modern refinement on these Pharaohites is that they occupy exactly the same position as the other hirers of stands—they have paid for the privilege of showing their peculiar method of travelling and mode of life. Unlike the Laps, they have not been engaged as one of the attractions of the Exhibition, and on coming forward on their own account they display a business enterprise which does credit to their commercial instincts. On Whit Monday they did a roaring trade, many ladies of social standing persisting in having their fortunes told—“just for the fun of the thing, you know.” The female gipsies were attired in gaudy garments and quite captivated crowds of young “mashers,” who had come to see what they were like. For the moment the new comers are all the rage, and have snuffed out the blighted Laplanders.