nd sells, while the husband loiters about the
encampment or cooks the evening meal. But one young Gipsy fell in love
with an Irish girl named Kathleen, and from the day of their marriage Tom
never had an idle moment. In vain did he plead the usages of Gipsy
married life. Kathleen was deaf to all such modes of argument, and drove
her husband forth from tent and encampment, by voice or by stake, until
she completely cured him of his idleness, and she remained mistress of
the field. Whenever a young Gipsy is supposed to be courting a stranger,
the fate of Tom at the hands of Kathleen is told him as a warning.
During the afternoon we were continually exhorted to see 'Granny' before
we left. Every one spoke of her with respect, and when we were about to
leave, Patience offered to show us 'Granny's tent.' Repentance joined
her sister, and before we were up and out of the tent opening, we saw
Patience at a tent not far off; she dived head and shoulders through an
opening she made, and then appeared to be pulling vigorously. Her
activity was soon explained. We thrust our heads through the opening,
and were face to face with a shrivelled-faced old woman, whose cheeks
were like discoloured parchment, and whose hands and arms appeared to be
mere bones. But her eye was bright, and her tongue proved her to be in
possession of most of her faculties. She could not stand or walk, nor
could she sit up for many minutes at a time, and the action of Patience
was caused by her hastily seizing the old woman by her arms as she lay on
her straw floor, and dragging her into a sitting position. If the old
dame had been asleep, Patience had thoroughly aroused her. She greeted
us with Gipsy courtesy, and told us she was 'fourscore and six years of
age.' Her name, in answer to our query, she said was 'Sinfire Smith.'
'Why, that's the same as mine,' said Mr. Smith. 'O, likely,' said
Sinfire, 'the Smiths is a long family.' For four score and six years
poor Sinfire has led a Gipsy life, and though her house now is only a
tent, and her bed and bedding straw, she made no moan, and there was
nothing she wished to have."

"Farewell, farewell! so rest there, blade!
Entomb me where our chiefs are laid;
But, hark, methinks I hear the drum,
I would that holy man were come."--HARRIS.

"What sound is that as of one knocking gently?
Yet who would enter here at hour so late?
Arise! draw back the bolt--unclose the porta