Their mode of life, too, has something in it very fanciful and picturesque.  They are the free denizens of nature, and maintain a primitive independence, in spite of law and gospel; of county gaols and country magistrates.  It is curious to see the obstinate adherence to the wild, unsettled habits of savage life transmitted from generation to generation, and preserved in the midst of one of the most cultivated, populous, and systematic countries in the world.  They are totally distinct from the busy, thrifty people about them.  They seem to be like the Indians of America, either above or below the ordinary cares and anxieties of mankind.  Heedless of power, of honours, of wealth; and indifferent to the fluctuations of the times, the rise or fall of grain, or stock, or empires, they seem to laugh at the toiling, fretting world around them, and to live according to the philosophy of the old song: 

“Who would ambition shun,
And loves to lie i’ the sun,
Seeking the food he eats,
And pleased with what he gets,
Come hither, come hither, come hither;
Here shall he see
No enemy,
But winter and rough weather.”

In this way they wander from county to county, keeping about the purlieus of villages, or in plenteous neighbourhoods, where there are fat farms and rich country seats.  Their encampments are generally made in some beautiful spot; either a green shady nook of a road; or on the border of a common, under a sheltering hedge; or on the skirts of a fine spreading wood.  They are always to be found lurking about fairs and races, and rustic gatherings, wherever there is pleasure, and throng, and idleness.  They are the oracles of milkmaids and simple serving girls; and sometimes have even the honour of perusing the white hands of gentlemen’s daughters, when rambling about their father’s grounds.  They are the bane of good housewives and thrifty farmers, and odious in the eyes of country justices; but, like all other vagabond beings, they have something to commend them to the fancy.  They are among the last traces, in these matter-of-fact days, of the motley population of former times; and are whimsically associated in my mind with fairies and witches, Robin Goodfellow, Robin Hood, and the other fantastical personages of poetry.

[Illustration:  Fortune-Telling]

[Illustration:  Village Worthies]

Village worthies.

     Nay, I tell you, I am so well beloved in our town, that not
     the worst dog in the street would hurt my little finger.

     Collier of Croydon.

As the neighbouring village is one of those out-of-the-way, but gossiping little places, where a small matter makes a great stir, it is not to be supposed that the approach of a festival like that of May-Day can be regarded with indifference, especially since it is made a matter of such moment by the great folks at the Hall.  Master Simon, who is the faithful factotum of the worthy squire, and jumps with his humour in everything, is frequent just now in his visits to the village, to give directions for the impending fete; and as I have taken the liberty occasionally of accompanying him, I have been enabled to get some insight into the characters and internal politics of this very sagacious little community.