ig6 MEMOIR OF 



erected a substantial monument, acknowledging 

 the receipt and marking the last resting-place 

 of his borrowed earth. He was buried on a 

 Saturday afternoon, Russell exacting a promise 

 from his son Seth, that he and his camp would 

 not move on the Sabbath-day. But, on the 

 following Monday, Russell, having occasion to 

 travel moorwards, found them on a waste place 

 near Stonecross, four miles from the encampment 

 they had occupied on the Saturday. 



"How's this?" said he, hailing the young 

 gipsy, who stepped out to meet him; "you 

 promised me not to move till this morning ; and 

 you must have come here yesterday. I thought 

 I could trust you, Seth." 



" So you can, sir ; but we couldn't help it. 



Mr. " (a neighbouring magistrate) "sent a 



constable to order us off directly, or he said we 

 should all be locked up in jail." 



While they were yet speaking, a handsome 

 young gipsy woman, apparently in the bloom of 

 health and vigour, came forth from one of the 

 tents, and, with a prophetic air, said, " Good 

 morning, Mr. Russell ; the next person you bury 

 will be myself." And on that day week, as the 

 Swymbridge register will testify, he buried her. 

 She was the old king's daughter. 



Now, Russell was neither a superstitious nor 

 a very credulous man — the Vicar of Wakefield 

 and he in that respect could scarcely be more 



