“At one time a woman brought an exceedingly fat child for us to look at, and she wanted Esmeralda to suckle it, which was, of course, hastily declined. We began to ask ourselves if this was forest seclusion. Still our visitors were kind, good-humoured people, and some drank our brandy, and some smoked our English tobacco. After our tea, at five o’clock, we had a pleasant stroll. Once more we were with Nature. There we lingered till the scenes round us, in their vivid beauty, seemed graven deep in our thought. How graphic are the lines of Moore:—
“‘The turf shall be my fragrant shrine,
My temple, Lord, that arch of Thine,
My censor’s breath the mountain airs,
And silent thoughts my only prayers.“‘My choir shall be the moonlight waves,
When murm’ring homeward to their caves,
Or when the stillness of the sea
Even more of music breathes of Thee!’
How appropriate were the words of the great poet to our feelings. We went and sat down.” “As we were seated by our camp fire, a tall, old man, looking round our tents, came and stood contemplating us at our tea. He looked as if he thought we were enjoying a life of happiness. Nor was he wrong. He viewed us with a pleased and kindly expression, as he seemed half lost in contemplation. We sent for the flask of brandy. Returning to our tents we put on our Napoleon boots and made some additions to our toilette.” Of course, kind Mr. Petalengro would assist lovely Esmeralda with hers. “Whilst we were engaged some women came to our tents. The curiosity of the sex was exemplified, for they were dying to look behind the tent partition which screened us from observation. We did not know what they expected to see; one, bolder than the rest, could not resist the desire to look behind the scenes, and hastily drew back and dropped the curtain, when we said rather sharply, ‘Nei! nei!’ Esmeralda shortly afterwards appeared in her blue dress and silver buttons. Then we all seated ourselves on a mossy bank, on the side of the terrace, with a charming view across the valley of the Logan. At eight o’clock the music commenced. The sun shone beautifully, and the mosquitoes and midges bit right and left with hungry determination. We sat in a line on the soft mossy turf of the grassy slope, sheltered by foliage. Esmeralda and Noah with their tambourines, myself with the castanets, and Zachariah with his violin. Some peasant women and girls came up after we had played a short time. It was a curious scene. Our tents were pleasantly situated on an open patch of green sward, surrounded by border thickets, near the sunny bank and the small flat terrace. The rising hills and rugged ravines on the other side of the valley all gave a singular and
romantic beauty to the lovely view. Although our Gipsies played with much spirit until nine o’clock, none of the peasants would dance. At nine o’clock our music ceased, and we all retired to our tents with the intention of going to bed. When we were going into our tents, a peasant and several others with him, who had just arrived, asked us to play again. At length, observing several peasant girls were much disappointed, we decided to play once more. It was past nine o’clock when we again took up our position on the mossy bank; so we danced, and the peasant girls, until nearly ten o’clock. Once we nearly whirled ourself and Esmeralda over the slope into the road below. Esmeralda’s dark eyes flashed fire and sparkled with merriment and witchery.”
“The bacon and fish at dinner were excellent; we hardly knew which was best. A peasant boy brought us a bundle of sticks for our fire. The sun became exceedingly hot. Esmeralda and myself went and sat in some shade near our tents.” “Noah stood in the shade blacking his boots, and observed to Esmeralda, ‘I shall not help my wife as Mr. Petalengro does you.’ ‘Well,’ said Esmeralda, ‘what is a wife for?’ ‘For!’ retorted Noah, sharply, giving his boot an extra brush, ‘why, to wait upon her husband.’ ‘And what,’ said Esmeralda, ‘is a husband for?’ ‘What’s a husband for!’ exclaimed Noah, with a look of profound pity for his sister’s ignorance, ‘why, to eat and drink, and look on.’” Mr. Petalengro goes on to say: “It would seem to us that the more rude energy a man has in his composition the more a woman will be made to take her position as helpmate. It is always a mark of great civilisation and the effeminacy of a people when women obtain the undue mastery of men.” And he farther goes on to say: “We were just having a romp with Esmeralda and her two brothers as we were packing up our things, and a merry laugh, when some men appeared at the fence near our camping-ground. We little think,” says Mr. Petalengro, “how much we can do in this world to lighten a lonely wayfarer’s heart.”
Esmeralda and Mr. Petalengro tell each other their fortunes. “Esmeralda and myself were sitting in our tents. Then the thought occurred to her that we should tell her fortune. ‘Your fortune must be a good one,’ said we, laughing; ‘let me see your hand and your lines of life.’ We shall never forget Esmeralda. She looked so earnestly as we regarded attentively the line of her open hand.” (Mr. Petalengro does not say that tears were to be seen trickling down those lovely cheeks of Esmeralda while this fortune-telling, nonsensical farce was being played out.) “Then we took her step by step through some scenes of her supposed future. We did not tell all. The rest was reserved for another day. There was a serious look on her countenance as we ended; but, reader, such secrets should not be revealed. Esmeralda commenced to tell our fortunes. We were interested to know what she would say. We cast ourselves on the waves of fate. The Gipsy raised her dark eyes from our hand as she looked earnestly in the face. You are a young gentleman of good connections. Many lands you have seen. But, young man, something tells me you are of a wavering disposition.’” And then charming Esmeralda would strike up “The Little Gipsy”—
“My father’s the King of the Gipsies, that’s true,
My mother she learned me some camping to do;
With a packel on my back, and they all wish me well,
I started up to London some fortunes for to tell.“As I was a walking up fair London streets,
Two handsome young squires I chanced for to meet,
They viewed my brown cheeks, and they liked them so well,
They said ‘My little Gipsy girl, can you my fortune tell?’“‘Oh yes! kind Sir, give me hold of your hand,
For you have got honours, both riches and land;
Of all the pretty maidens you must lay aside,
For it is the little Gipsy girl that is to be your bride.’“He led me o’er the Mils, through valleys deep I’m sure,
Where I’d servants for to wait on me, and open me the door;
A rich bed of down to lay my head upon—
In less than nine months after I could his fortune tell.“Once I was a Gipsy girl, but now a squire’s bride,
I’ve servants for to wait on me, and in my carriage ride.
The bells shall ring so merrily, sweet music they shall play,
And will crown the glad tidings of that lucky, lucky day.”
The drawback to this evening’s whirligig farce was that the mosquitoes determined to come in for a share. These little, nipping, biting creatures preferred settling upon young blood, full of life and activity, existing under artificial circumstances, to the carcase of a dead horse lying in the knacker’s yard. To prevent these little stingers drawing the sap of life from the sweet bodies of these pretty, innocent, lovable creatures, the Gipsies acted a very cruel part in dressing their faces over with a brown liquid, called the “tincture of cedar.” It is not stated whether the “tincture of cedar “was made in Shropshire or Lebanon, nor whether it was extracted from roses, or a decoction of thistles. Alas, alas! how fickle human life is! How often we say and do things in jest and fun which turn out to be stern realities in another form.
“As we looked upon the church and parsonage, surrounded as they were by the modern park, with the broad silver lake near, the rising mountains on all sides, and the clear blue sky above, our senses seemed entranced with the passing beauty of the scene. It was one of those glimpses of perfect nature which casts the anchor deep in memory, and leaves a lasting impression of bygone days.” And then Esmeralda danced as she sang the words of her song; the words not in English are her own, for I cannot find them even in the slang Romany, and what she meant by her bosh is only known to herself.