usly as a tinman within a short time of his death. If he had
rather a sharp eye for a little gift, that is a trait of character by no
means confined to Gipsies. One of his daughters was married here to a
member of the Boswell tribe, and another, who rejoiced in the name of
Britannia, I buried in her father's grave two years ago. After his death
she and her mother removed to an adjoining parish, where she was
confirmed by Bishop Selwyn in 1876. Regular as was the old man at
church, I never could persuade his wife to come. In 1859 I baptized,
privately, an infant of the same tribe, whose parents were travelling
through the parish, and whose mother was named Elvira. Great was the
admiration of my domestics at the sight of the beautiful lace which
ornamented the robe in which the child was brought to my house. Clearly
there are Gipsies, and those of a well-known tribe, glad to receive the
ministrations of the Church."

I next turned my steps towards London, having heard that Gipsies were to
be found in the outskirts of this Babylon. I set off early one morning
in quest of them from my lodgings, not knowing whither; but my earliest
association came to my relief. Knowing that Gipsies are generally to be
found in the neighbourhood of brick-yards, I took the 'bus to Notting
Hill, and after asking the policeman, for neither clergyman or other
ministers could tell me where they were to be found, I wended my way to
Wormwood Scrubs, and the following letter, which appeared in the _Daily
News_, September 6th of last year, is the outcome of that "run out," and
is as follows:--"It has been the custom for years--I might almost say
centuries--when speaking of the Gipsies, to introduce in one form or
other during the conversation either 'the King of the Gipsies,' 'the
Queen,' or some other member of 'the Royal Family.' It may surprise many
of your readers who cling to the romantic side of a Gipsy's life, and
shut their eyes to the fearful amount of ignorance, wretchedness, and
misery there is amongst them, to say that this extraordinary being is
nothing but a mythological jack-o'-th'-lantern, phantom of the brain,
illusion, the creation of lying tongues practising the art of deception
among some of the 'green horns' in the country lanes, or on the village
greens. It is true there are some 'horse-leeches' among the Gipsies who
have got fat out of their less fortunate hedge-bottom brethren and the
British public, who delight in c