way, and the poor fellow was _rudely dragged_ from his
earthly judge. It is hoped, as a penitent sinner, he obtained the more
needful mercy of God, through the abounding grace of Christ. After this
scene, the author could not remain in court. As he returned, he found
the mournful intelligence had been communicated to some Gipsies who had
been waiting without, anxious to learn the fate of their companion. They
seemed distracted.

On the outside of the court, seated on the ground, appeared an old woman,
and a very young one, and with them two children, the eldest three years,
and the other an infant but fourteen days old. The former sat by its
mother's side, alike unconscious of her bitter agonies, and of her
father's despair. The old woman held the infant tenderly in her arms,
and endeavoured to comfort its weeping mother, soon to be a widow under
circumstances the most melancholy. _My dear_, _don't cry_, said she,
_remember you have this dear little baby_. Impelled by the sympathies of
pity and a sense of duty, the author spoke to them on the evil of sin,
and expressed his hope that the melancholy event would prove a warning to
them, and to all their people. The poor man was executed about a
fortnight after his condemnation.

This sad scene, together with Hoyland's Survey of the Gipsies, which the
author read about this time, combined to make a deep impression on his
mind, and awaken an earnest desire which has never since decreased, to
assist and improve this greatly neglected people. The more he
contemplated their condition and necessities, the difficulties in the way
of their reformation continued to lessen, and his hope of success, in
case any thing could be done for them, became more and more confirmed.
He could not forget the poor young widow whom he had seen in such deep
distress at Winchester, and was led to resolve, if he should meet her
again, to offer to provide for her children.

Some weeks elapsed before he could hear any thing of her, till one day he
saw the old woman sitting on the ground at the entrance of Southampton,
with the widow's infant on her knee. "Where is your daughter?" he
inquired. "Sir," she replied, "She is my niece; she is gone into the
town." "Will you desire her to call at my house?" "I will, sir," said
the poor old woman, to whom the author gave his address.

In about an hour after this conversation, the widow and her aunt
appeared. After inviting them to sit down, he