
A VIEW OF A ROUMANIAN GYPSY CAMP, THE HEAD- 
of the Stanley tribe, and all her followers, 
big and little. 
Queen Stella, unlike most royalty, is quite 
approachable. In the royal tent—which is 
anything but royal in appearance—she will 
welcome you with a shrewd glance and a 
generous smile. After you have crossed her 
palm with silver—romance is purchasable 
in Romany, as elsewhere—she will unfold 
to you the future. This is a necessary, nay, 
an indispensable, prelude to conversation 
with any Romany woman, queen or beggar. 
Like all the gringos, you will begin with 
questions touching the ancestry of these 
strange people. Why are they wanderers ? 
Where did they come from and whither are 
they going? Although the origin of the 
Gypsy has been lost in antiquity and their 
history so enwrapped with superstition and 
legend that the most eminent savant can 
learn no more of them than a little child, 
pride of race is distinguishable in every ges- 
tune; 
‘““We are older than the pyramids—we 
were from the beginning of time; our 
ancestors builded ancient Thebes of the 
Hundred Gates!”’ Queen Stella will tell you. 
Something in her voice speaks of long-for- 
gotten royalty—her bent form proudly 
straightens; who knows but she may be 
right after all? There is something in the 
proud bearing and classic grace of Romany’s 
daughters that bears out this assumption of 
royal lineage. A haunting sadness looks out 
from the big, dark eyes of the Gypsy chil- 
dren, which deepens into universal sorrow 
in midlife and softens to wistfulness in the 
dimmed vision of the aged. 
While the delicate blue spirals of smoke 
from wood fire rise heavenward in the soft 
autumn atmosphere we will take a look at 
the Gypsy camp. The pungent aroma of 
the burning green wood mingled with the 
scent of the good brown earth, the elusive 
fragrance of the September verdure, comes 
pleasantly to the nostrils, contrasting with the 
unwholesome odors of the city. The new 
canvas tent yonder, with the bright red 
scallops, is the future home of a princess 
bride and her consort. 
The stove-pipe projects from a round 
hole cut in the canvas wall and is propped 
up with a forked stick from the outside. 
The stove itself is a small, open-front affair 
with its back to the entrance, with a view to 
keeping all the heat and all the smoke inside 
