was in Winchester, and wishing to speak with the sheriff's chaplain, he went to the court for that purpose. He happened to enter just as the judge was passing sentence of death on two unhappy men. To one he held out the hope of mercy; but to the other, a poor Gipsy, who was convicted of horse-stealing, he said, no hope could be given. The young man, for he was but a youth, immediately fell on his knees, and with uplifted hands and eyes, apparently unconscious of any persons being present but the judge and himself, addressed him as follows: "Oh! my Lord, save my life!" The judge replied, "No; you can have no mercy in this world: I and my brother judges have come to the determination to execute horse-stealers, especially Gipsies, because of the increase of the crime." The suppliant, still on his knees, entreated-" Do, my Lord Judge, save my life! do, for God's sake, for my wife's sake, for my baby's sake!" "No," replied the judge, "I cannot: you should have thought of your wife and children before." He then ordered him to be taken away, and the poor fellow was dragged from his earthly judge while on his knees. It is hoped, as a penitent sinner, he obtained the more needful mercy of God, through the abounding grace of Christ. After this scene, the author could not remain in court. As he returned, he found the mournful intelligence had been communicated to some Gipsies who had been waiting without, anxious to learn the fate of their companion. They seemed distracted.

On the outside of the court, seated on the ground, appeared an aid woman, and a very young one, and with them two children, the elder three years, and the other as infant but fourteen days old. The former sat by its mother's side, alike unconscious of her bitter agnies, and of her father's despair. The old woman held the infant tenderly in her arms, and endeavoured to court its weeping mother, soon to be a widow under circumstances the most melancholy. My dear, don't cry, said she, remender you have this dear Bittle baby. Impelled by the sympathies of pity and a sense of daty, the author spoke to them on the evil of sin, and expressed his hope that the melancholy event would prove a warning to them, and to all their people. The poor man was executed about a fortnight after bis condemnation.

This sad scene, together with Hoyland's Survey of the Gipsies, which the author read about this time, combined to make a deep impression on his mind, and awaken an earnest desire which has never since decreased, to assist and improve this greatly neglected people. The more he contemplated their condition and necessities, the difficulties in the way of their reformation continued to lessen, and his hope of success, in case any thing could be done for them, became more and more confirmed. He could not forget the poor young widow whom he had seen in such deep distress at Winchester, and was led to resolve, if he should meet her again, to offer to provide for her children.

Some weeks elapsed before he could hear any thing of her, till one day he saw the old woman sitting on the ground at the entrance of Southampton, with the widow's infant on her knee. "Where is your daugh

ter?" he inquired. Sir," she replied, "she is my niece; she is gone into the town."

"Will

you desire her to call at my house?" "I will, sir," said the poor old woman, to whom the author gave his address.

In about an hour after this conversation, the widow and her aunt appeared. After inviting them to sit down, he addressed the young woman thus :— "My good woman, you are now a poor widow, and I wished to see you, to tell you that I would be your friend. I will take your children, if you will let me have them, and be a father to them, and educate them; and, when old enough to work, will have them taught some honest trade." "Thank you, sir," said she; "but I don't like to part with my children. The chaplain at the prison offered to take my oldest, and to send her to London to be taken care of; but I could not often see her there." I replied, "I commend you for not parting with her, unless you could occasionally see her; for I suppose you love your children dearly." "Oh! yes, sir," said the widow. The old aunt also added, "Our people set great store by their children." "Well," I replied, "I do not wish you to determine on this business hastily; it is a weighty You had better take a fortnight for consideration, and then give me a another call."

one.

How improbable did it then appear that this inter

view would ultimately lead to so much good to many of her people! When the fortnight expired, the widow and her aunt again appeared, when the following conversation took place. "I am glad you are come again," said their friend. "Yes," replied the widow," and I will now let you have my Betsy ;" and the aunt immediately added, pointing to one of her grand-children, "I will let you have my little deary, if you will take care of her. Her father," continued she, was condemned to die, but is transported for life, and her mother now lives with another man." The proposal was readily accepted; and three days after, these two children were brought washed very clean, and dressed in their best clothes. It was promised the women, that they should see their children whenever they chose, and all parties were pleased. The eldest of these children was six years of age; the widow's little daughter, only three. The first day they amused themselves with running up and down stairs, and through the rooms of the house. But when put to bed at night, they cried for two hours, saying that the house would fall upon them. They had never spent a day in a house before, and were at night like birds that had been decoyed, and then robbed of their liberty. A few kisses and some promises at length quieted them, and they went to sleep.

After remaining with the author three days, they were removed to one of the Infants' Schools, where they were often visited by the widow and her aunt,

Soon after this the eldest girl was taken ill. A medical gentleman attended her at the tent, a little way from the town, whither her grandmother had begged to remove her for change of air. But the sickness of this child was unto death. She was a lovely and affectionate girl, notwithstanding the disadvantages under which she had necessarily laboured. When on her bed in the tent, suffering much pain, she was asked by a gentleman," Although you love Mr. Crabb so much, would you rather live with him, or die, and go to Jesus?" She answered, “I would rather die and go to Jesus." Her death very much affected her grandmother. She would not leave the corpse, which she often affectionately embraced, till persuaded she would endanger her own life. This appeared a melancholy event to all who wished well to the Gipsies in the neighbourhood of Southampton. For the widow, fearing her child would become ill and die too, immediately removed her from the school. And many of the Gipsy people treated the women with great contempt for giving up their children; and the prospects of doing them lasting good became very much beclouded. It was however represented to them that God was doing all things for the best, and their spirits were soothed; and in consequence, the little fatherless girl was again brought to the school.

After this event, the widow and her aunt remained a considerable time in the neighbourhood, waiting to see if the little one, again given up to the author, would be kindly treated. By this detention they were