Morning journal and courier., 1894-04-07
TALES OF TEN TRAVELLERS.
 A GYPSY PATTERAN.
BY EDGAR L. wAKEMAN.

Copyright, 1894 All rights reserved.
 The situation may always be considered a serious one in any community when 6 deputation of ladies feels called upon to get forth upon the mission of adjusting Its general grievances or lighting It's individ- ual affairs.
 Curiously, too, history proves that the intensity of purpose on the part of such expeditions Is invariably revealed by the hour of the day chosen for Its sally.
 If it be late its character Is usually one of mild reproof; If at midday or there about, its counsel and protest are firmer and more vigorous; but If 1t happen in the early morning, as this one did, 1t may be relied upon to possess clements of &C., tive determination, precluding all gsinsay- ing or appeal.
 A dim consciousness of all this seemed to rest upon tinker Bob's perplsxed, kind ly but still defiant face, as he stood before his little hooded tent, the crisp morning wind tossing his grsyipg locks and flap ping the unbuttoned corners of his shirt. front across his shaggy breast He kicked few half burnt embers into the smoldsr- | ing fire before him with his bare foot, ss If with desire to brighten things up @ bit as a delegation of gipsy women ad- vanced.
 They were five in number, wives of the most influential members Of the band. There was Mrs. Stanley, Mrs. Boswell, Mrs. Blythe, Mrs. Reynolds and Mrs. Fall. Their toilets lacked usual attention, but the determined looks they wore more than counter balanced any absence of scrupu, lousness in their attire. Mrs. Blythe, who had evidently been selected to speak the sentiments of the delegation, held sorar of paper in her hand. This she handed with an official and sccusativs air to Bob when the women seated themselves silent ly upon @ fallen log beside the tent and gloomily awaited the effect of Its reading upon the tinker.
 Gipsy Bob Wharton was no scholar, bu he could write laboriously and could read without much stumbling, anything whict ran along smoothly in simple words; sni he was not long in making out and fairly understanding these lines:
 | PATrERAS.
 Two tiny hands that nestle within one
 Of mine; two dainty, tireless feet; Two lustrous eyes; two lips which greet l My own and cling there, never done
 Such is my matchless gipsy sweet.
 But raised between my Gorgio blood | And her relentless, mystic race, | wall of hate has set It's face,
 Which Love, the king, nor storm, nor flood,
 Nor time himself can e'er displace.
 All day the sluggish train trails on.
 Al night the campfires gleam like stars.
 While gwarthy guards, as those in wars,
 Hold jealous watch, till pale and wap,
 The night lets down the morning bars.
 All day the sluggish train trails on;
 An. love is faithful night and day. /
 Sprays of strewn grass, her patteraD, With blue bells and anemone. =
 All night the campfres pale and flare;
 Bnt, true as truth, one loyal light
 Throbs back and forth our twin-hear prayer, And, though apart our souls unitel , O priceless passion flower of East! rhouas fife mould ebS in that mad feast, Ap,th shall lead to parsdise. "Hits poetry" the tinker remarked qu ' etly, turning the scrap of paper aroun l and around edgewise, when he had fir , ishsd It's reading. ..-. "Hits love poetry, Bob Stanley" retor, ed Mrs. Blythe, coming at once closely t 7 the object of the delegation's visit. 3 ttShould ventur' 'twus, Mistress Blythe,
 returned Bob msekly. ''though Hi isn't D 3 ways qualified f say" 5 "See here, Bob Stanley, no use O dodl 3 | in hus. Hi are't t be trifed with, nc deceived howsumdever." . "Thsre's none smarter than yerseP 'twee : Kirk Yetholm, Scotland, an Texss, in u 0 Blythe family;" answered Bob kindly. r sYe old bite, shouted Mrs. Fall savag @ ly,, "eive OCT meddlin' wi those Gorg D pings (non-gipsy devils)" ? 6Mistress Blythe, HI aren't meddli . vi lem. Pears like 'twus you" t Here the deputation broke forth into