The record-union., 1892-11-05
Especial Correspondence of the RECORD
UNION. Copyright, 1921

LONDON, October "A, 1Sy2.
To me there is no one thing more pict-
uresquely suggestive of the dying year
than the scurrying toward winter quar-
ters in any land by innumerable bands of
pilgriming folk, my tawny friends, the
gypsies.
With your own fancy's eyes you may
see the farthest southern flights of song
birds which have deserted your lowering
skies for lands of endless summer balms,
and feel its certain premonition of frozen
days to come, or contemplate the myr-
lads of brown leaves whipped along the
ways and fences by advance picket lines
of winters resistless hosts, and possess
all the tender, mournful musings of the
changeful autumn time.
But this fastening of a whole people
from out the summer heart of the coun-
tryside, this reluctant, driven, hurried
human scattering from hedgeside home
beneath the sun and stars to the misera-
BILE makeshifts of city housing, has in it
far more impressive revelation of win
ter's coming than all the autumn flights
of birds and wind-whipped beatings
of bare branches and be draggled brown
leaves.
Illus gifts old, doan't hus?''
This from tinker Zeke, the other morn
ing, where 1 had remained over night
with q gypsy caravan beside a dreary
down on the old stage road to Bath.
Barebeaded and barefooted he had clam
bered outside of his tiny roadside habita-
ton to ''look DER the day" L could see
him through the frowsy tent-mouth look
ing anxiously 1or omens in the still half
darkened sky, the crisp wind tossing his
graying locks and tapping the unbut-
toned corners of his woolen shirt-front
across his shaggy breast. He looked
again and again at the sky, and over to
the SatfrOn-tlnted east. Then, with both
hands deep in his trousers pockets,
he gave his old body a sort of shudder-
ing rub and twist, and vouchsafed defect
edly:
Illus gifts old, doan't hus?"
''How's that, Zeke2'' L answered mer-
rily enough, determined to provoke a
continuation of his strain OF gypsy phil
osophy if possible. "Gypsies never get
old. And, besides, you're too brave an
old rascal, Zeke, TO whimper about get
ting on in years little"
''Hi tells ye, hus all gifts DID," This
vehemently, Hi never quits the conn
try 'thout mindin' me o. hit. Hits like
moulian dying, leastwise fur me to jaw
yree the drom ITO leave the road. Cams
sturdie the towns prison)p'
Here was a genuine exhibition of gypsy
sentiment. Zeke pumped himself down
alongside the moldering campfire, with
his elbows upon his knees and his fine
old head in his hands, and apparently
gave way TO the most gloomy reflections.
Catching a gypsy OF his guard is not
common thing, and 1 felt like prodding
him a little.
Turn Gorgio (non-gypsy) then, Zeke;
enjoy every day ofIlfe with happy. per-
manent nome over your head; 90 to
church like white man, and finally get
TO heaven where there won't be any rough
gypsy winters"
He looked at me first in blank amaze
ment. A fine scOrn came into his swar-
thy face. Then, in tone of mingled re-
proof, disbelief and almost pathetic long
ing he said, with ridiculous solemnity:
Aye, m HPd turn Gorgio, nor even
kair rajah town or false gypsy, the most
contemplate of all beings in the esti-
nation of road gypsies) fur a. that-made
surer'
All, honest Zelze, and who would not?
Here were, perhaps, two score vans,
with all their ramshackle belongings,
their ponies, asses and dogs, their crock
cry, cocoanuts and oilcloths, their skew
ers, pegs, rush baskets, dried flowers and
leaves, and their far more odd and inter-
esting owners. Some OF the wanderers
had come from as far north as Beamly in
Scotland, from away up in classic Words
worth and by the quiet English lakes,
from off southwest by the shore hooks of
Somerset and DeyonShire, and even from
st. Ives and PenZance in Cornwall, but
most from dickering and dukkering in
the midland and western counties fairs.
AS II by some secret understanding theV
had driited together for a bit of roadside
reunion at the edge of these wind-swept
lno0rs, where few of the conStabulary
come with their remorseless summons of
Move on, you gypsy dogs!" Returning
to the great city from a country tramp III
BuckinghamShire, by right of rank and
station as Gorgio Chal (gypsy's friend),
had become one of them in the little roist-
ering, before their final abandonment of
the seasons wanderings by blossoming
lane and road.
Camp was to be broken this very morn
ing. The dark places of London would
close upon the tawny crew, scattered in
little groups and families, by night. 1t
was absolutely certain they would never
all meet again, even though separate fam
lies or bands should again know the
boundless joy OF the springtime outgoing
And there is large and ample human re-
gard one for another, in this community
of roadside interest and companionship
which we of the ''civilizedn thought and
ways can never know.
Tinker Zeke was not alone in his
mournful regret. The camp was rife with
it, lust as the landscape, sky and air we're
ing year. 1t seemed to me, nor was it all
of seeming, that the fires themselves
burned with less crackie and flame
Even the sizzling pots, hanging from the
grimy kettle-Sticks, boiled and blubbered
in minor hearthside tones.
Over in the stunted copses of the moor
the tethered donkeys stood meekly silent.
with bowed heads, or nibbled at the
frosty grass as if in serious rumination
As the morning advanced good wives sat
by the tent-mouths, or in the open van
doors. in open discussion with their hus-
bands, or busted themselves with the
morning meal, less spry and clipper than
is the gypsy woman's way. Youths
bringing water from the stream or re-
turning to camp with fodder for the ami
mails and dead moor brushwood for the
fires, did their work gloomily. and with
none OF the summertime whoop and hal
loo. Here and there were groups of the
elder gypsy men, seated on reversed
buckets, Vanthills, or leaning their backs
against vanwheels, smoking their pipes
with long, strong, interpretive putfs,
and saying little, while that little was
measured and reflective.
Old spae-wives puttered and bothered
ENORMOUSLY. unsteadier in tone, more
restless in movement, and full of that pet
ulant resentment to change, so true and
pathetic a seal upon the over-ripe facul-
lies of old age. Gypsy lassies, ever de-
lnure in the presence of potent act or fact
i'm their elders, but miracles of winsome
nhysicaI and heart-free abandonment in
iovous hours, looked twice their age in
their long gowns and faces. And even
the gypsy dogs, those rare, sad-Vlsaged,
voiceless cheats, whose pretense of sod
den ignorance out-gypsy the slyest Ro-
many themselves, sat ranged at deteren-
7ial distances from the camp-fireS, the