first of them came from Egypt. 2. They cannot form any idea of the number in England. 5. The more common names are Smith, Cooper, Draper, Taylor, Boswell, Lee, Lovell, Leversedge, Allen, Mansfield, Glover, Williams, Carew, Martin, Stanley, Buckley, Plunkett, and Corrie. 6 and 7. The gangs in different towns have not any connection or organisation. 8. In the county of Herts it is computed there may be sixty families, having many children. Whether they are quite so numerous in Buckinghamshire, Bedfordshire, and Northamptonshire the answers are not sufficiently definite to determine. In Cambridgeshire, Oxfordshire, Warwickshire, Wiltshire, and Dorsetshire, greater numbers are calculated upon. 9. More than half their numbers follow no business; others are dealers in horses and asses, &c., &c. 10. Children are brought up in the habits of their parents, particular to music and dancing, and are of dissolute conduct. 11. The women mostly carry baskets with trinkets and small wares, and tell fortunes. 13. In most counties there are particular situations to which they are partial. 15, 16, and 17. Do not know of any person that can write the language, or of any written specimen of it. 19. Those who profess any religion represent it to be that of the country in which they reside; but their description of it seldom goes beyond repeating the Lord’s Prayer, and only a few of them are capable of that. 20. They marry, for the most part, by pledging to each other, without any ceremony. 21. They do not teach their children religion. 22 and 23. Not one in a thousand can read. Most of these answers were confirmed by Riley Smith, who, during many years, was accounted the chief of the Gipsies in Northamptonshire. Mr. John Forster and Mr. William Carrington, respectable merchants of Biggleswade, and who knew Riley Smith well, corroborated his statements. After Hoyland had published his book no one stepped into the breach, with flag in hand, to take up the cry; and for several years—except the efforts of a clergyman here and there—the interest in the cause of the
Gipsies dwindled down, and became gradually and miserably less, and the consequence was the Gipsies have not improved an iota during the three centuries they have been in our midst. As they were, so they are, and likely to remain unless brought under State control.
“On the winds
A voice came murmuring, ‘We must work and wait’;
And every echo in the far-off fen
Took up the utterance: ‘We must work and wait.’
Her spirit felt it, ‘We must work and wait.’”Harris.
No one heeded the warning. No one listened to the cries of the poor Gipsy children as they glided into eternity. No one put out their hands to save them as they kept disappearing from the gaze of the bystanders, among whom were artificial Christians, statesmen, and philanthropists. All was as still as death, and the poor black wretches passed away.
Whether His Majesty George III. had ever read Grellmann’s or Hoyland’s works on Gipsies has not been shown. The following interesting account will show that royal personages are not deaf to the cries of suffering humanity, be it in a Gipsy’s wigwam, a cottage, or palace. It is taken from a missionary magazine for June, 1823, and in all probability the circumstance took place not many years prior to this date, and is as follows:—“A king of England of happy memory, who loved his people and his God better than kings in general are wont to do, occasionally took the exercise of hunting. Being out one day for this purpose, the chase lay through the shrubs of the forest. The stag had been hard run; and, to escape the dogs, had crossed the river in a deep part. As the dogs could not be brought to follow, it became necessary, in order to come up with it, to make a circuitous route along the banks of the river, through some thick and troublesome underwood. The roughness of
the ground, the long grass and frequent thickets, gave opportunity for the sportsmen to separate from each other, each one endeavouring to make the best and speediest route he could. Before they had reached the end of the forest the king’s horse manifested signs of fatigue and uneasiness, so much so that his Majesty resolved upon yielding the pleasures of the chase to those of compassion for his horse. With this view he turned down the first avenue in the forest and determined on riding gently to the oaks, there to wait for some of his attendants. His Majesty had only proceeded a few yards when, instead of the cry of the hounds, he fancied he heard the cry of human distress. As he rode forward he heard it more distinctly. ‘Oh, my mother! my mother! God pity and bless my poor mother!’ The curiosity and kindness of the king led him instantly to the spot. It was a little green plot on one side of the forest, where was spread on the grass, under a branching oak, a little pallet, half covered with a kind of tent, and a basket or two, with some packs, lay on the ground at a few paces distant from the tent. Near to the root of the tree he observed a little swarthy girl, about eight years of age, on her knees, praying, while her little black eyes ran down with tears. Distress of any kind was always relieved by his Majesty, for he had a heart which melted at ‘human woe’; nor was it unaffected on this occasion. And now he inquired, ‘What, my child, is the cause of your weeping? For what do you pray?’ The little creature at first started, then rose from her knees, and pointing to the tent, said, ‘Oh, sir! my dying mother!’ ‘What?’ said his Majesty, dismounting, and fastening his horse up to the branches of the oak, ‘what, my child? tell me all about it.’ The little creature now led the king to the tent; there lay, partly covered, a middle-aged female Gipsy in the last stages of a decline, and in the last moments of life. She turned her dying eyes expressively to the royal visitor, then looked up to heaven; but not a word did she utter; the organs of
speech had ceased their office! the silver cord was loosed, and the wheel broken at the cistern. The little girl then wept aloud, and, stooping down, wiped the dying sweat from her mother’s face. The king, much affected, asked the child her name, and of her family; and how long her mother had been ill. Just at that moment another Gipsy girl, much older, came, out of breath, to the spot. She had been at the town of W---, and had brought some medicine for her dying mother. Observing a stranger, she modestly curtsied, and, hastening to her mother, knelt down by her side, kissed her pallid lips, and burst into tears. ‘What, my dear child,’ said his Majesty, ‘can be done for you?’ ‘Oh, sir!’ she replied, ‘my dying mother wanted a religious person to teach her and to pray with her before she died. I ran all the way before it was light this morning to W---, and asked for a minister, but no one could I get to come with me to pray with my dear mother!’ The dying woman seemed sensible of what her daughter was saying, and her countenance was much agitated. The air was again rent with the cries of the distressed daughters. The king, full of kindness, instantly endeavoured to comfort them. He said, ‘I am a minister, and God has sent me to instruct and comfort your mother.’ He then sat down on a pack by the side of the pallet, and, taking the hand of the dying Gipsy, discoursed on the demerit of sin and the nature of redemption. He then pointed her to Christ, the all-sufficient Saviour. While the king was doing this the poor creature seemed to gather consolation and hope; her eyes sparkled with brightness, and her countenance became animated. She looked up; she smiled; but it was the last smile; it was the glimmering of expiring nature. As the expression of peace, however, remained strong in her countenance, it was not till some little time had elapsed that they perceived the struggling spirit had left mortality.
“It was at this moment that some of his Majesty’s attendants, who had missed him at the chase, and who had
been riding through the forest in search of him, rode up, and found the king comforting the afflicted Gipsies. It was an affecting sight, and worthy of everlasting record in the annals of kings.
“His Majesty now rose up, put some gold into the hands of the afflicted girls, promised them his protection, and bade them look to heaven. He then wiped the tears from his eyes and mounted his horse. His attendants, greatly affected, stood in silent admiration. Lord L--- was now going to speak, when his Majesty, turning to the Gipsies, and pointing to the breathless corpse, and to the weeping girls, said, with strong emotion, ‘Who, my lord, who, thinkest thou, was neighbour unto these?’”