University of Virginia Library

GIPSIES.

Jovial Crew.

Since the rencontre with the gipsies, which I
have related in a former paper, I have observed
several of them haunting the purlieus of the
Hall, in spite of a positive interdiction of the
Squire's. They are part of a gang that has
long kept about this neighbourhood, to the great
annoyance of the farmers; whose poultry yards
often suffer from their nocturnal invasions. They
are, however, in some measure patronized by the
Squire, who considers the race as belonging to
the “good old times,” which, to confess the
private truth, seem to have abounded with good
for nothing characters.

This roving crew is called “Star-light Tom's
gang,” from the name of its chieftain, a notorious
poacher. I have heard repeatedly of the
misdeeds of this “minion of the moon;” for
every midnight depredation that takes place in
park, or fold, or farm yard, is laid to his charge.
Star-light Tom in fact answers to his name; he
seems to walk in darkness, and like a fox, to be
traced in the mornings by the mischief he has
done. He reminds me of that fearful personage
in the nursery rhyme:

In short, Star-light Tom is the scape-goat of
the neighbourhood; but as cunning and adroit
that there is no detecting him. Old Christy
and the gamekeeper have watched many a night
in hopes of entrapping him; and Christy often
patrols the park with his dogs, for the purpose,
but all in vain. It is said that the Squire winks
hard at his misdeeds, having an indulgent feeling

toward the vagabond, because of his being
very expert at all kinds of games, a great shot
with the cross bow, and the best morrice dancer
in the country.

The Squire also suffers the gang to lurk unmolested
about the skirts of his estate, on condition
that they do not come about the house. The
approaching wedding, however, has made a kind
of saturnalia at the Hall, and has caused a suspension
of all sober rule. It has produced a
great sensation throughout the female part of the
household; not a housemaid but dreams of wedding
favours, and has a husband running in her
head. Such a time is a harvest for the gipsies.
There is a public footpath leading across one
part of the park, by which they have free ingress;
and they are continually hovering about the
grounds, telling the servant girls' fortunes, or
getting smuggled in to the young ladies.

I believe the Oxonian amuses himself very
much by furnishing them with hints in private,
and bewildering all the weak brains in the house
with their wonderful revelations. The general

certainly was very much astonished by the communications
made to him the other evening by
the gipsy girl; he kept a wary silence towards
us on the subject, and affected to treat it lightly;
but I have noticed that he has since redoubled his
attentions to Lady Lillycraft and her dogs.

I have seen, also, Phoebe Wilkins, the house-keeper's
pretty and love-sick niece, holding a
long conference with one of these old sybils behind
a large tree in the avenue, and often looking
round to see that she was not observed. I
make no doubt that she was endeavouring to get
some favourable augury about the result of her
love quarrel with young Ready-Money, as oracles
have always been more consulted on love
affairs than upon any thing else. I fear, however,
that in this instance the response was not
as favourable as usual, for I perceived poor
Phoebe returning pensively towards the house,
her head hanging down, her hat in her hand, and
the ribband trailing along the ground.

At another time, as I turned a corner of a
terrace, at the bottom of the garden, just by a

clump of trees and a large stone urn, I came
upon a bevy of the young girls of the family,
attended by this same Phoebe Wilkins. I was
at a loss to comprehend the meaning of their
blushing and giggling, and their apparent agitation,
until I saw the red cloak of a gipsy vanishing
among the shrubbery. A few moments
after I caught sight of Master Simon and the
Oxonian stealing along one of the walks in the
garden, chuckling and laughing at their successful
waggery, having evidently put the gipsy
“up to the thing,” and instructed her what to
say.

After all, there is something strangely pleasing
in these tamperings with the future, even
where we are convinced of the fallacy of the
prediction. It is singular how willingly the
mind will half deceive itself, and with what a
degree of awe we will listen to these babblers
about futurity. For my part I cannot feel angry
with those poor vagabonds, that seek to deceive
us into bright hopes and expectations. I have
always been something of a castle builder, and

have found my liveliest pleasures arising from
the illusions which fancy has cast over common-placed
realities. As I get on in life, I find it
more difficult to deceive myself in this delightful
manner; and I should be thankful to any
prophet, however false, that should conjure the
clouds which hang over futurity into palaces,
and all its doubtful regions into fairy land.

The Squire, who, as I have observed, has a
private good will toward gipsies, has suffered
considerable annoyance on their account. Not
that they requite his indulgence with ingratitude,
for they do not depredate very flagrantly on his
estate, but because their pilferings and misdeeds
occasion loud murmurs in the village.

For my own part, I have a great toleration
for all kinds of vagrant, sunshiny existence, and
must confess I take a pleasure in observing the
ways of gipsies. The English, who are accustomed
to them from childhood, and often suffer
from their petty depredations, consider them as
mere nuisances; but I have been very much
struck with their peculiarities. I like to behold

their clear olive complexions, their romantic
black eyes, their raven locks, their lithe slender
figures, and to hear them, in low silver
tones, dealing forth magnificent promises of
honours and estates, of world's wealth, and
ladies' love.

Their mode of life, too, has something in it
very fanciful and picturesque. They are the
denizens of nature, and maintain a primitive
independence in spite of law and gospel, of
county gaols and country magistrates. It is curious
to see this obstinate adherence to the wild
unsettled habits of savage life transmitted from
generation to generation, and preserved in the
midst of one of the most cultivated, populous,
and systematic countries in the world. They
are totally distinct from the busy, thrifty people
about them. They seem to be like Indians,
either above or below the ordinary cares and
anxieties of mankind. Heedless of power, of
honour, of wealth; and indifferent to the fluctuations
of the times, the rise or fall of grain, or
stock, or empires; they seem to laugh at the toiling,

fretting world around them, and to live according
to the philosophy of the old song:
In this way they wander from county to county,
keeping about the purlieus of villages, or in
plenteous neighbourhoods, where there are fat
farms and rich country seats. Their encampments
are generally made in some beautiful spot;
either a green shady nook of a road, or on the
border of a common, under a sheltering hedge,
or on the skirts of a fine spreading wood. They
are always to be found lurking about fairs and
races, and rustic gatherings, wherever there is
pleasure, and throng, and idleness. They are
the oracles of milkmaids and simple serving
girls; and sometimes have even the honour of
perusing the white hands of gentlemen's daughters,
when rambling about their father's grounds.
They are the bane of good housewives and
thrifty farmers, and odious in the eyes of country
justices; but, like all vagabond beings, they
have something to commend them to the fancy.
They are among the last traces, in these matter-of-fact
days, of the motly population of former
times; and are whimsically associated in my
mind with fairies and witches, Robin Good Fellow,
Robin Hood, and the other fantastical personages
of poetry.