slums and sink-gutters and write the word
"Gipsy" upon their back, instead of "scamp," and send them through the
country with a few donkeys, some long sticks, old blankets and rags, dark
eyes, dirty faces, filthy bodies, short petticoats, and old scarlet hoods
and cloaks, you would in fifty years make this country not worth living
in. It is my decided conviction that unless we are careful, and take the
"bull by the horns," and compel them to educate their children, and to
put their habitations, tents, and vans under better sanitary
arrangements, we shall be fostering seeds in these dregs of society that
will one day put a stop to the work of civilisation, and bring to an end
the advance in arts, science, laws, and commerce that have been making
such rapid strides in this country of late years.

It is more pleasant to human nature to sit upon a stile on a midsummer
eve, down a country lane, in the twilight, as the shades of evening are
gathering around you, the stars twinkling over head, the little silver
stream rippling over the pebbles at your feet in sounds like the distant
warbling of the lark, and the sweet notes of the nightingale ringing in
your ears, than to visit the abodes of misery, filth, and squalor among
the Gipsies in their wigwams. It is more agreeable to the soft parts of
our hearts and our finer feelings to listen to the melody and harmony of
lively, lovely damsels as they send forth their enchanting strains than
to hear the cries of the poor little, dirty Gipsy children sending forth
their piteous moans for bread. It is more delightful to the poetic and
sentimental parts of our nature to guide over the stepping-stones a
number of bright, sharp, clean, lively, interesting, little dears, with
their "hoops," "shuttle-cocks," and "battle-doors," than to be seated
among a lot of little ragged, half-starved Gipsy children, who have never
known what soap, water, and comb are. It is more in harmony with our
sensibilities to sit and listen to the drollery, wit, sarcasm, and fun of
_Punch_ than to the horrible tales of blood, revenge, immorality, and
murder that some of the adult Gipsies delight in setting forth. It is
more in accordance with our feelings to sit and admire the innocent,
angelic being, the perfection of the good and beautiful, than to sit by
the hardened, wicked, ugly, old Gipsy woman who has spent a lifetime in
sin and debauchery, cursing the God who made her as she expires.
Nevertheless, th