I am surprised that the Gipsies should choose such an exposed, damp place for camping-ground, as it is always partly under water, and the only shelter afforded being a few houses at the back and one side; the rest faces, and is consequently exposed to, the bleak winds blowing over the marsh and the river. At the entrance I was met by a poor woman taking a child to the doctor, her chief dread being that if she did not the law would be down upon her. She had put the journey off to the last minute, for the poor thing looked nearly dead then. Once in the camp one could not but notice the miserable appearance of the place. Women and children, not one of whom could read and write, with scarcely any clothing, the latter without shoes or stockings. Twenty to twenty-five old, ragged, and dirty tents—not canvas, but old, worn-out blankets—separated by the remains of old broken vans, buckets, and rubbish that must have taken years to accumulate. Everything betokened age and poverty. Evidently this field has been a camping-ground for some years. Three old vans were all the place could boast of, and one of those was made out of a two-wheeled cart. I was for the first ten minutes fully occupied in trying to keep a respectable distance from a number of dogs of all sizes and breeds, which had the usual appetite for fresh meat and tweed trowsering, and, at the same time, endeavouring in vain to find solid ground upon which to stand, for the place at the entrance and all round the tents was one regular mass of deep “slush.” It soon became known that my pockets were plentifully supplied with half-ounces of tobacco and sweets. These I soon disposed off, especially the latter, for there seemed no end to the little bare-footed children that could walk, and those that couldn’t were brought in turn by their sisters or brothers. I was invited to visit all the tents, but I could gain but little information beyond an account of the severe winter, bad state of trade, your visit in one of the black, dense fogs, &c. [Picture: Inside a Christian Gipsy’s Van—Mrs. Simpson’s] The men followed the occupation of either tinkers or peg-makers, and all the young women will pull out their pipe and ask for tobacco as readily as the old ones. The camp is one of the Lees. The majority of the men, women, and children are of light complexion, and, as for a dark-eyed beauty, one was not to be found. I stayed most of the time under the “blanket” of the old man, Thomas Lee, who is a jolly old fellow about sixty, and the father of eleven young children. He was evidently the life of the camp, for they all flock round his tent to hear his interesting snatches of song and story. He had heard that Her Majesty had sent £50 to assist you in getting the children educated, and just before I left I was pleased to hear him give vent to his feelings with the rough but patriotic speech that “She was a rare good woman, and a Queen of the right sort.”