good gold and silver for them. The ground
was a dark and muddy field, surrounded by
dingy tents, which had, however, a faint
glow about them, as if there were plenty of
light within. We approached the nearest with
cautious and hesitating steps, noiseless on
the soft ground; but a voice immediately
saluted us with the invitation, " Come in, ladies.
Don't be afraid of the poor gipsies." A smooth,
pleasant, fawning voice, with flexible tones in
it, such as the voices of uneducated people
rarely possess, but which seemed to be the
common property of all this tribe. We lifted
a flap of the tent, and, stooping low, entered.
This was the scene we came upon.

A long, low tent, about twenty feet in length,
and not more than seven feet in height, and of
the same height and breadth from one end to
the other. The frame was made of strong hoops
placed pretty closely together, with strengthening
girders between; it was well covered with
good Scotch blankets, which had once been,
the gipsy told me, "as white as the driven
snow," but which were now brown and
weather-stained. A kind of division was made
across the middle of the tent. In the front
was a space answering to the kitchen and family
sitting-room, the centre of which was occupied
by a large convenient brazier, filled with glowing
charcoal; this had a circular shake-down
of straw, perfectly fresh and clean, surrounding
it. The further portion of the tent
contained a bed, resting on the ground, but
piled high with mattresses, and covered with
rugs and blankets of the most brilliant colours,
scarlet, amber, and blue; two or three boxes,
also covered with gorgeous rugs; a set of
china richly painted, and a silver tea service;
a parrot in a ludicrous brass cage; a picture
or two; and a real Christmas tree, with its
ordinary accompaniments of oranges and sweet-
meats suspended to its decorated branches. A
pretty lamp, which hung from the middle of
the low roof, shed a brilliant light upon all;
while the charcoal fire made the tent even
warmer than was desirable on a mild winter's
night. The occupants were two only: a widow
and her unmarried daughter, who was a
handsome and graceful young woman of seven-and-
twenty, expressing a lofty contempt for the men
of her tribe, and informing us that she put up
and took down their large tent, alone, without
their aid. These two possessed, besides their
tent, a caravan, and the mother held a licence
as travelling hawker. The daughter was sitting
cross-legged on the straw, with a very large
earthenware bowl before her, where she was
mixing the ingredients for their Christmas
pudding, which seemed likely to be of
incredible proportions for a family of two, as she
was stoning three pounds of raisins for it.
Both were busy, and evidently not in a mood for
fortune-telling, or possibly they did not consider
us worthy of any exercise of their powers.
Very courteous they were, with a finer sort of
dignity in their manner than many an English
lady would show under a similar infliction — the
visit of perfect strangers at a domestic crisis.
Two little girls came flying into the tent, with
new scarlet frieze frocks in their hands, fresh
from the fingers of the dressmaker, and trimmed
with black velvet and bugles, which were to be
worn for the first time on Christmas Day. I
spoke to the old gipsy, of Epping Forest, and
she told me, with a touch of poetry in the
words, that her daughter was "a real forest
bird," having been born in " Grandmother's
parlour:" a spot of the old forest now enclosed
and built upon. It was easy to trace the same
poetic vein in most of them. I told one young
mother, with a child in her arms, how we called
a little girl belonging to us, Daisy, because she
was born when the' daisies were springing;
her bright black eyes glistened and grew
softer as she said it was like her own self, she
called her little Oscar " Bee," for when he was
a baby, the humming-bees used to fly in and
out of her tent, and help to sing him to sleep.

We were asked to visit two or three other
tents. One especially, which was even larger
and richer than the first, belonging to a
married daughter of the old gipsy. The husband
was away, and the young woman was sitting
alone; she was dressed in an elegant light print
dress, and wore gold earrings four inches long,
dropping to her shoulders. Amidst the bright-
coloured rugs behind her, and upon a pillow
as white as snow, lay the curly black head of a
little child, sleeping soundly under the full
glare of the lamp. She was languidly shredding
herbs for the stuffing of a turkey for
the morrow's dinner. A large pan was boiling
over the charcoal fire, with that placid,
equable, gentle bubble, which must give
indescribable satisfaction and peace to the heart of
a cook; while a delicious savour diffused itself,
not too obtrusively, throughout the tent. A
large tray of china plates and dishes stood in
the background. The whole interior was a
picture of extreme comfort, blended with an
air of luxury and romance. The rich crimsons,
purples, and ambers, of the colouring; the
mother's beauty and languid grace; the half
hidden face upon the pillow, rosy with sleep;
the smokeless fire, with its little bubbling
accompaniment of cheery music; these made us
linger, till the flap of the tent was gently stirred,
and two rough maids-of-all-work entered,
who had stolen a few minutes from their
lawful business of doing errands, to snatch the
brief delight of paying to have their fortunes
told.

Of course, we went away, and went with
the most innocent and honourable intentions;
but finding the ground too muddy in the
direction we took, we retraced our steps past the
tent, and observed two or three minute
peepholes, which proved irresistibly tempting. The
young gipsy woman, with her fine air of
superiority, was keeping her seat, while one of the
rough-looking girls knelt before her,
stammering out an apology for her hand not being
over clean.

"Never mind, child," said the gipsy, while
she read it closely for a minute or two.
You've a high spirit."