The taste of gypsy life which I was now enjoying contributed to add a sort of personal element to that general interest which hangs about the curious Banjaris, whom we met constantly, with their families and their bullocks, along our road. Banjara is literally “forest-wanderer.”  The women were especially notable for their tall stature, shapely figures and erect carriage; which circumstances are all the more wonderful from the life of hardship which they lead, attending as they do at once to the foraging of the cattle, the culinary preparations for the men and the cares of the children.  From the profusion of ornaments which they wore, one may imagine, however, that they were well cared for by their lords in return for their affectionate labors; and the general bearing of the tall Banjara who bore a long two-handed sword gave evidence of a certain inward sense of protection over his belongings which probably found vent in many an affectionate gift of rings and bracelets to his graceful partner.  It must be confessed that the gypsying of these Eastern Bohemians is not so free a life as is popularly supposed.  The naik or sovereign of each tanda, or camp, seems to be possessed of absolute power, and in this connection the long two-handed sword suggested much less gentle reflections.  The Banjara, however, though a nomad, is a serviceable one, for he is engaged in trade.  With his bullocks he is the carrier of Central India, and is to be met with all over that section, bringing salt and other commodities and returning with interior produce.

FRA ALOYSIUS

  Fra Aloysius, vexed with skeptic fears,
    Nigh crazed with thought to all the saints did pray
    For faith in those mysterious words that say,
  “One day is with the Lord a thousand years,
    A thousand years with Him are as a day.”

  An erudite and holy monk was he,
    And yet his brethren trembled lest his brain
    Should lose its poise, so long he dwelt in vain
  On that perplexing verse to find its key,
    And strove to make its hidden meaning plain.

  Racked by a sleepless night, one fresh spring morn
    Forth from the cloister Aloysius strolled. 
    The wood was dewy-bright, clear beams of gold
  Illumined it, and to his heart was borne
    A sense of freedom, peace and joy untold.

  Beside a laughing brook he sat to rest,
    Above whose wave did long-haired willows weep;
    Midmost the dense green forest, still and deep,
  Lulled by the trickling waters and possessed
    By tranquil thoughts, the friar fell asleep.

  And, overworn, he slept the livelong day,
    Nor waked until the twilight shadows fell,
    That flung a brown night o’er that leafy dell. 
  Then up he rose refreshed and went his way,
    And, half ashamed, he heard the vesper-bell.

  Back to the convent fared he; at the gate
    A stranger gave him entrance, but he passed
    Into the chapel with meek eyes downcast,
  In truant guise returning home thus late,
    And toward his wonted seat made seemly haste.