The old sexton had left me to wander and ruminate as I listed within this ancient temple, after he had recounted all he knew of its founders, and the historic annals connected with its antique monuments; and I had fallen into a momentary abstraction, produced by the religious sanctity of the building, which might have lasted some time had not the light footsteps of the sexton's granddaughter reminded me that the quick was near as well as the dead. She came to ask whether I would like to view the gipsy's grave. Now this was the very motive which had induced me to visit this country churchyard, for the story of its sleeping inhabitants had been related to me with so much pathos, that it seemed truly an object of interest to a traveller. I readily accepted the services of this prepossessing little guide, and we left the church together. I have already noticed some of the rural features of this burial-place, but there is one which I have neglected to mention, which struck me very forcibly during our ramble: it was the ancient English custom of giving the villager the right of passing at all times through a path in the churchyard. This practice, from time immemorial, had been sacredly preserved here. And, as I paced along this devious avenue, I thought that in olden times there was doubtless good intended to the living by appropriating these solemn lanes to weekday meditation-although it might be perhaps but for a passing moment. For I fancied it was originally proposed to exhibit a moral lesson to the rustic; that, in his daily path across the churchyard, he might be reminded by the mouldering relie of friend or kindred slumbering quietly in their "narrow cell," of his own frail mortality, and that the same inevitable destiny awaited his perishing body. And thus he might be led to consider the simple yet important fact, that, although sweet spring had put on its refreshing garb of loveliness and verdure-the orchis and the daisy fringing once more the border of field and meadow with tints of beauty, the song of thrush and nightingale floating as it was wont upon his ear-yet the pleasant voices of his kindred and friends would never again be heard upon earth. The majestic elm in the grave-yard might spread its broad and luxuriant canopy of leaves towards the bright blue sky, but the arms of those whom he had so tenderly loved-now cold and dead-would never again be stretched out to meet his warm and affectionate embrace. If this was the moral and significant aim of the village patriarchs of old, in making paths through their church-yards serve as an admonition to the living-by causing the simple rustic to look with the eyes of faith for a re-union with his kindred in heaven-it was doing them a kind service by making their daily path literally a path of instruction. We had now arrived at the termination of our walk: here was the gipsy's grave, pointed out by my little guide, who stooped down at the same time to clear away some weeds which were encroaching upon the flowers that covered its surface. There was not a grave in the yard upon which more attention had been bestowed seemingly than this in the selection of funereal plant and flower; yet it was but a poor gipsy's sepulchre This is no extraordinary instance of the kind. Crabb, in his "Gipsies' Advocate," records the following fact:-"A female gipsy has just sent 7s. 6d. a distance of 75 miles to pay the sexton for repairing the graves of three of her children." the quiet bed of a young mother and her child. I could not help being struck by this circumstance, as well as the unusual pains taken by my guide in weeding out every stray blade of grass from amongst the flowers, and I inquired if she was the one who had kept this small plot in such order. She replied in the affirmative. "And who pays you for your trouble?" "O, the gipsies always make grandfather a present every Christmas and Easter, and he puts it by for me. They think a great deal of grandfather." "And why do they think so much of your grandfather?" "Because he has been kind to them. Our curate says they are a great deal better than they used to be when he first came into the parish he goes among them very often whenever they are here for any considerable time; but there has not been one near the village since Easter.” "Did you ever see the gipsy woman who is buried here?" 66 "O yes, very often: she was called handsome Ruth." Here my dialogue with this intelligen tlittle girl was broken off by the appearance of a messenger from her grandfather, with the keys of the church, who directed her to return home with them, as he had to attend a summons at the parsonage instantly. She had, however, in these few words, given a correct statement relating to the gipsies, for it was the curate of this rural district who had been successful in reforming many amongst them; the most conspicuous one of whom was-as she termed her-handsome Ruth." The following brief recital will develop some of the leading circumstances connected with the subject:-There never was a quiet village more annoyed by a gipsy crew than this one was before the present curate came into it. He immediately interested himself in the forlorn condition of these wanderers; but he talked, prayed, and reasoned on religious subjects in vain: he could make no permanent impression upon them, yet he did not despair of rendering them less troublesome to the neighbourhood than they had hitherto been. And, whereas some had been lawless and revengeful from the harsh treatment they had received, they soon became peaceable neighbours, if not the most desirable ones. An amicable understanding had thus grown up and been established between these belligerent parties, through the influence of this good and considerate man. The poor gipsies recognized friends in the vicar and curate, who allowed them to hold their Christmas festival in the old churchyard, as their tribe had been wont to do time out of mind, until the unhappy difference between them and the villagers had debarred them of that privilege for a season. All these desirable results had been brought about by the agency of the curate, and he considered it no insignificant matter even to be a peace-maker, if he could not be a reformer. Thus had matters been adjusted between the gipsies and villagers. They would now willingly assist the neighbouring farmers to gather in their crops at harvest time, whilst they also refrained from committing any more overt acts that could be called criminal or construed into a breach of covenant now tacitly entered into between the respective parties. The curate was meditating on this pleasant theme during his evening walk amongst the winding lanes that skirted the corn fields in which a party of gipsies were mingled with other village gleaners, all working together in perfect harmony gathering in the harvest grain. He recognized all the principal gipsy characters, male and female, but one she was absent, and being the most noted individual amongst them, he was induced to inquire into the cause of Ruth's absence from the gleaners' festival. For no voice rang so loud with song and merriment in binding up the sheaves as Ruth's; no one seemed so light-hearted or gay at these annual field revels-for they partook more of that character than sober toil-as gipsy Ruth. He now learnt that her child was dying, having been sick but a very short time. As soon as he was informed of this circumstance, he set off for the gipsy encampment, which was not far distant. As he approached the little wood in which they nestled, he was met by the husband, whose look indicated more sorrow than is commonly seen in a gipsy countenance: it bespoke deep grief-his child was dead! He turned back with the good curate and conducted him into his rude dwelling-simply a canvas tent-that he might witness and alleviate if he could the anguish of a bereaved mother. Lowly indeed in the scale of humanity were these people-outcast gipsies whom the world scorned and sneered at. Degraded and reckless they might be, but heartless they were not; nor did affection seem less interesting or intense because it had only lighted the wandering pathway of those who are commonly considered callous to the ordinary impulses of virtue or religion. a great measure from pride-a feeling not confined to any class in life however: it may be observed in the poor, as well as among the rich. It was pride even in this poor gipsy woman, because she had concentrated all her perceptions, all her thoughts in the beauty of her child, now lying dead at her side, and looking like a piece of sculptured marble. In her anguish she saw nothing, thought of nothing but this inanimate form, upon whom she lavished every endearing epithet, as if that availed anything to the "dull cold ear of death." The curate read this page of human nature, however, in a moment. There was something remarkably affecting in the deep maternal grief of this woman-misery so deep and poignant. It is sometimes, however, amid the heart's desolation that the small still voice of religion will be heard-times of anguish when even the most insensible will listen-times when they will not turn away from the friend who addresses them upon a solemn theme. So it was even now with Ruth. She refused not to listen to the words that fell from the curate's lips, as he prayed for her over the ashes of her child. Although the lofty and sublime language of revelation fell upon her ear almost like an unknown tongue-although when he told her "that the dead shall rise, and they shall be changed," her untutored and benighted mind failed to comprehend or grasp the subject instantly, it was not lost upon her. No, from that hour Ruth was quite a different person: the words of holy writ had not been spoken entirely in vain, for the tears of affliction had softened her froward heart, and the seeds of heaven supplanted those of cumulative ignorance. The curate stood within the tent with all the warm sympathies of his benevolent heart awakened Within a year after the death of her child, the at the scene before him. There lay the dead child gipsy mother was sleeping by its side in the with a smile upon its beautiful countenance, just church-yard; but one very Sunday previous to her as if the little thing had dropped into a quiet death, until prevented by sickness from attending, slumber, pleased with the last present it had re- the curate never missed her from the sanctuary. ceived in its tiny hand; for a child somewhat older Although this may perhaps be considered a remarkthan Ruth's had been in the tent a short time pre-able circumstance in gipsy annals, yet well authenvious, and brought a few flowers to divert a dying playmate. How gently must death have stolen upon this youthful victim, to have left so sweet an expression! Yet there was an awe-the mysterious awe of death-flung round the presence even of that miniature resemblance of breathing life; for death had entered the gipsy's tent and made it mournful and solemn. How few, it may be said, take the pains or trouble to understand their fellow creatures! How few know or can truly estimate the grief which sometimes annihilates, almost in a moment, all joy in the human heart, leaving the canker sorrow in its place, and making life "as tedious as a twicetold tale." Few would believe such an impression could be made upon a gipsy woman at the loss of her child; yet when the curate looked at the now desolaté Ruth, kneeling in despair beside her beautiful child, he saw there was no mistaking her grief for the very deepest kind that had ever fallen within his observation. True it arose from a rare trait perhaps in an humble person like her, but it was the same, and as strong a feeling as that which dwelt in the queenly Constance* for her pretty Arthur, whose anguish at his death absorbs and merges every precious sense into profound grief. It was a peculiar passion in Ruth, for it sprang in * Shakspeare's King John. ticated statements clearly prove that it is not a solitary instance of the kind. There was also an interesting fact connected with the subject. At the usual annual meeting of the gipsies held in the church-yard after the death of Ruth, there was observed to be a marked improvement in their conduct. When they had collected here in former years, they made it a kind of social assembly, and it frequently degenerated into a noisy, festive meeting. Now they were perfectly orderly and decorous whilst they gathered round her grave. They brought with them choice and beautiful flowers, as well as wreaths of evergreen-for it was Christmas eve-and scattered them upon her grave. They also decorated, in a very tasteful manner, the grave of a benevolent lady who had often befriended them, and who was thus yearly remembered. Having performed this self-imposed duty, they commenced singing the burden of a wild yet solemn strain of music, somewhat similar to the rude melody of the waits at Christmas time, and, moving slowly to the irregular harmony of their voices, they departed peaceably out of the church-yard. It was the foregoing simple traits and incidents of gipsy character and conduct that caused me to view them in another light than the mere embellishment of a rural landscape; for they are the representatives of a remarkable and curious race, who connect the past with the present in a most singular manner; and cut off, as they seem to be in a great measure, from the sympathies of the world around them- through viciousness and degradation-it is interesting to mark the existence of sentiments and feelings that illustrate tenderness and affection so vividly. These refined funereal observances-poetical as well as pathetic-it may be said, are only imitated by gipsies through vanity, and are productive of no direct moral tendency. They should not be condemned, however, upon these uncharitable suppositions; for they would not perhaps appear isolated, or marked exceptions, if the charge of vanity were preferred against others beyond the pale of their fraternity. The simple fact alone of a poor gipsy mother sending a sum of money seventy-five miles, to pay the sexton for repairing the graves of her children, is of itself a fair illustration of maternal affection, and ought to palliate any accusation of vanity which may be coupled with acts of a kindred nature amongst them. And this humble grave, in which sleeps a gipsy mother and her child, garnished as it is with sweet summer flowers which have never been permitted to languish for want of attention, is to my mind rather a strong evidence of stedfast remembrance than the ebullition of wild fancy and idle show-not the display of inane custom, but the genuine exhibition of impulsive attachment. A holy creed It is, and most delightful unto all Blend with our hopes of heaven, which holds that death Departed spirits from this lower sphere". So at least I felt inclined to interpret the language of these funereal flowers, which seemed to speak eloquently for the sleeping dust beneath; nay, more impressively than any laboured epitaph. They were only frail memorials-nature's perishing remembrances-it is true; yet nevertheless they did emphatically proclaim that there could be serious and holy feelings connected even with a gipsy's grave. RAILWAY LABOURERS. D. TRAVELLER! when at the call of business, pleasare, or affection, you enter the commodious carriage of a well-appointed train, and, with a motion swift yet almost imperceptible, are whirled onwards towards your destined home-listen to the monitor who whispers in your ear, "a word for the poor labourers on the railroad." Rejoicing in your own facilities of journeying, you are not perhaps aware of the price which has been paid for your convenience. Those vast embankments, those lengthened tunnels, have not been completed but by the protracted labours of congregated masses of your countrymen; and it is a mournful fact, too notorious for denial, that, wherever they have laboured, they have demoralized. Many an abiding root of bitterness is planted in villages and neighbourhoods through which a line of railroad has passed; here, a parent mourns a child lost to virtue; there, a deserted husband, and worse than motherless little ones, look in vain for her who should have "done them good and not evil, all the days of her life." Our agricultural labourers, tempted by the hope of • Professor Wilson. higher wages, are sometimes induced to seek employment on the line; but of such it may almost invariably be said the last state of that man is worse than the first." Village boys, who had previously borne a fair moral character, speedily become corrupted, while every serious impression made in our schools is soon obliterated. To those thus removed from the restraints of home, withdrawn from the regular influence of the parochial clergy, with neither the fear of God nor of man before their eyes, the mischief of associating with the navigators is incalculably great. The position of this class of men is peculiar, and their spiritual wants cannot be met in the ordinary way. Employed upon works continually progressing, they are speedily carried beyond the reach of friendly visits or pastoral exhortations from the local clergy. No church could accommodate their numbers in addition to its own parishioners, even were desires after better things awakened in their minds. No clergyman, without neglecting his more especial charge, can devote his energies to the instruction of these benighted wanderers. Our object, then, is the employment of clergymen of our national church, who shall devote themselves exclusively to the religious instruction of these men. Neglected, they are moral pests wherever they go; while, cared for and instructed, they may be restrained from desolating our quiet villages with licentious habits, and eventually become themselves subjects of the grace of God. The attempt has been already made. Chaplains have been found willing to labour in this uninviting sphere, and navigators have lent a ready ear to their exhortations. Nos. 5, 6, and 7, of the Church Pastoral-Aid Society's "Occasional Papers" furnish deeply-interesting details of the success attending the labours of chaplains salaried by that society on different railways. Funds, funds alone are wanting. Shall we, urgent as are the calls upon that admirable society from so many parts of our land, impose on it the additional burden of maintaining railway chaplains? Christian traveller! a sum amply sufficient to maintain as many curates as are needed for the especial care of railroad men might be raised, if all to whom this appeal may come would consent to give sixpence deavour to prevail upon their friends to do the every time they travel by railway, and would en same. Who grudges a sixpence? Who will miss a sixpence? Who will not rather rejoice to contribute this trifling sum towards relieving the urgent spiritual wants of a large body of men whose profligate habits now contaminate every parish into which they come? 66 You, who feel it a blessed privilege to support Christian missions in foreign lands, will you not feel doubly bound to pity and to care for those who are perishing before your eyes? You, whose hearts are not yet touched by the wants of the heathen, will you not at once be roused to feel for your own countrymen? You, who tremble at the a thank-offering to him whose tender care has 'perils by the way," can you refuse so humble broken?" "kept all your bones, so that not one of them was You, who desire to fulfil the sacred command, "Owe no man anything, but to love debt here, and hasten to pay willingly, nay, joyone another," will you not consider yourselves in fully, this self-imposed tax, dating it from the very day on which the suggestion falls into your hands? Are there not some, whose hearts, glow- | concerted and pusillanimous alibi (see the ing with Christian love, readily respond to this trials passim), have for the most part escaped, call, but who rarely if ever adopt this mode of or, by a traverse to the next assizes, provided conveyance? Would you gladly offer your mite towards bringing to a knowledge of the truth themselves with the best facilities for evading those for whom a merciful Saviour is yet waiting even the minor indictments on which they to be gracious, but who, in a Christian land, are are arraigned? Even your redoubtable. perishing for lack of knowledge? Think not Feargus, at the first practical operation of his yourselves excluded, but come and render your counsels-in the shape of a dangerous riotaid in the form of a trifling annual subscription, a fled from the scene of contest; uttering, in plan which might also be preferred in some cases effect, the magnanimous order of the Italian by the Christian traveller. You may also effectufight on-never ally and easily promote this interesting object, by general to his troops, to " circulating this or any suitable appeal, and by mind his running away!" offering to receive the contributions of the many who may be willing to give without liking the trouble of collecting. It is for us to use the means, humbly relying upon the divine assistance for a blessing. "With good Still overcoming evil, and by small The Church Pastoral-Aid Society has consented to undertake the management of "The Railway Chaplains' Fund.” "What, if the little rain should plead, Can ne'er refresh the thirsty mead, I'll tarry in the sky? What, if the shining beam of noon, Can not create a day? Does not each rain-drop help to form CHARTISM*. I CAUTION, therefore, you, the industrious and laborious class, to listen only to those respectable and responsible members of society, in whose welfare you are as much interested in your proportion as the parties themselves; for, what would you gain by the ruin of your masters and employers? Who is to raise the capital to build your factories, or to set you to work in the mining and other extensive operations? You have tried the scheme of "labour exchanges" in several most favourable localities; but has there ever been one which was found practically to succeed? The simple fact is, my friends, you have been sailing under false colours, and have been detected; you have been lectured, harangued, and provoked on wrong principles, and their wretched error has been fatally exposed. You have been taught that all men. are on a political level; but the highest authority in matters of law-even the law of God-declares that there are "higher powers;" and, if there are higher powers, there must be "lower orders." You are, moreover, taught that "all power is from the people." The same high authority declares, on the contrary, that "the powers that be are ordained of God:" You are taught, further, that "the charter" is to banish all distinctions between rich and poor, and to render such a condition as poverty impossible. Again, the law of God predicts that "the poor shall never cease out of the land;" and if you object to this as an Old Testament prophecy-and I know you have been led to despise every thing old, the Old Testament not excepted-then turn to the New, and hear your compassionate Redeemer stating— "The poor ye have always with you;" and, therefore, the contemptible fallacies, that seduce you to think that your interests would be promoted by a national equality and brigand-like division of the spoil of property, are as profane as they are false. If the trade of one individual could not be carried on without capital or credit, could the business of a great nation be transacted without either, or with insolvency for its resources O that our poor deluded brethren would and knavery for its agents? Perhaps your have the candour and the common-sense to hired lecturers-and, remember, you hire consider these facts! The homeliest mother-them yourselves; you fee your corrupwit is adequate to the task of seeing and reaching the conclusion that, of the late schemes for ameliorating your condition and raising you above your appointed sphere, only one verdict can be returned-"miserable comforters are they all." ters to befool you-perhaps they will say folly and guilt of the unenlightened human heart. But into what power would they put the people? or rather, I should ask, into whose power? And, judging from past events, and looking at the notorious characteristics of the parties, I should unhesitatingly answer their own power; and once let them get you into their power, and the Dantons, Marats, and Robespierres-the statesmen of all revolutions would fearfully expound to you what they really meant, and what is always meant by the sanguinary and ferocious outlaws who prate about "the power of the people." It would resolve the nation into a mere imperial banditti, consigning every miserable province to the despotism of its district marauder-in-chief. That such are and inevitably would be the results of the charter is evident from the fact, that it is declared to be but "a means to an end;" and what that "end" may be is not disclosed; and, if they were not ashamed of it, why conceal it? If we were to judge by the only specimens of the working of charter principles already, perhaps prematurely, discovered, and find that they comprise the destruction of machinery and workshops, the coercion of the artisans and labourers, the murder of the police, the burning of the houses of the magistracy and clergy-as if neither God nor man should have a law among them-the interruption of trade and commerce, and even attacks upon the modes of public conveyance -it is an effrontery, of which none but a chartist leader is capable, to deny that the ulterior objects of the charter are of the most infamous and revolting character. Then, I say, let every man that has any thing to lose, and every man that has any thing really to gain, treat the proposals of the charter as a covert injury to his possessions or his prospects; a deliberate conspiracy against his rights as the highest or the humblest Englishman; an intolerable insult to his common sense and integrity; a cruel mockery of his difficulties and hardships, if he is called upon to endure any; a treacherous attempt to involve him in the guilt and peril of a hopeless contest with the law; implicating his loyalty towards his sovereign, his duty to his country, and his submission to the will of God. And, if any of our readers should have been led astray by the false reasoning and unfounded statements and absurd speculations of the chartists, let me conjure them-by the decent gravity of an English citizen-by the love of our common fatherland-by the patriotic spirit of our illustrious sovereign lady the queen-by the glory of our national arts and arms-by the tenderness and virtue of our wives and daughters by a father's agony, that bleeds over his un happy felon son, on the eve of chartist transportation-and by a mother's tears, that weep for him that shall return no more to heal a broken heart-and, above all, by the dread vengeance of an almighty God, whose canon is fixed against rebellion-by all these sanctions I conjure you to turn a deaf ear to the voice of dangerous, self-seeking demagogues. Be warned, by the late disastrous failure of the charter, of what you are to expect from it. "Seize wisdom ere it is a torment to be wise; AN ASHANTEE DINNER. The king gives a public dinner.-28th. About seven A.M. the king sent us all an invitation to dine with him to-day; and requested me to send my cook to assist in preparing the dinner. About a quarter before three we were ushered into a large, open, oblong square yard, about eighty feet by forty-five (the same place in which the king was seated to receive the presents); where, under the shade of several large umbrellas, a long table Our dinner consisted of was placed before us. boiled plantains, kidney beans, &c., all very soup, fish, roast mutton, roast fowls, boiled yams, nicely served up in European style. At the end of our table were placed two other tables, with very short legs (about twelve or fourteen inches long), on which were placed plates and dishes for the king and the principal members of the royal family; and on one of these tables were displayed several pieces of silver plate of Portuguese manufacture. Before we sat down, we informed the king that all these good things were the gifts of God, and that we always felt it our duty to ask his blessing in the use of them, to which he very readily consented; and my interpreter asked a We then took our seats. blessing aloud in the vernacular tongue of Ashanti. the head of the table; and the princes, William I was requested to take Quantamissa and John Ansah, supported me on my right hand and left. The other guests at our table were Mr. Smith, the rev. Mr. Brooking, M. Huydecoper (the Dutch agent), and my interpreter. At the head of the low table, directly opposite to me, sat the king, in an European dress. lace, such as might have been fashionable in EngHis coat was of brown velvet, covered with silver land in the latter end of the reign of George III. His trousers were white satin, his shirt white linen, his hat (which he took off when we sat down) black beaver, with three bands of silver lace round it, and the under side of the brim His sandals were highly covered with silver lace. ornamented with gold and silver. He also wore a spotted silk muslin sash. A pair of golden knives, with mother-of-pearl handles, in golden sheaths, suspended from the neck by a gold chain, and an immense gold chain coiled six or eight times round his neck, and hanging loosely down the breast nearly to the waist, completed the dress of the monarch of Ashanti. On his left hand, a short distance from the table, sat Osai Kujol, the successor to the throne, in a fantastic military dress of red velvet with yellow stripes, and a squarecornered cap, with tassels of the same description. |