. . .e p. 6visit the spot, a sort of pilgrimage to Mecca as it were; but alas, how different a form it presents to that which it did in my boyhood’s days.

House dwellers often have remarked as to the life we lead: many have suggested it to be unhealthy.  Now to prove to the contrary, my dear mother died at the age of 75, and my father at the age of 81.

I think, speaking of one family only, this will be a sufficient answer as to whether the life of a gipsy, breathing nature’s own atmosphere, is as good as a dweller in houses or not.  My family consists of eight children—four boys and four girls—the eldest whom is now 28, the youngest reaching 16.

As a boy, I travelled the greater part of the United Kingdom, when reaching twelve, my aptitude for trading in horses (thanks to my father’s tuition) began to exhibit itself.  My first business transaction consisted of receiving a present of a pony.  One day, shortly after the Ep. . . Read More