So he went to work afresh upon now hypotheses, and pleasantly the hours fled by. Quires of paper were exhausted; he worked all day and all the evening with no result. That it was not in a foreign language my friend was well assured.

"For well hee knows the Latine and the Dutche; Of Fraunce and Toscanie he hath a touche."

Russian is familiar to him, and Arabic would not have been an unknown quantity. So he began again with the next day, and had been breaking the Sabbath until four o'clock in the afternoon, when I entered, and the mystic advertisement was submitted to me. I glanced at it, and at once read it into English, though as I read the smile at my friend's lost labour vanished in a sense of sympathy for what the writer must have suffered. It was as follows, omitting names:—

"MANDY jins of —- —-. Patsa mandy, te bitcha lav ki tu shan. Opray minno lav, mandy'l kek pukka til tute muks a mandi. Tute's di's see se welni poggado. Shom atrash tuti dad'l jal divio. Yov'l fordel sor. For miduvel's kom, muk lesti shoon choomani."

In English: "I know of —-. Trust me, and send word where you are. On my word, I will not tell till you give me leave. Your mother's heart is wellnigh broken. I am afraid your father will go mad. He will forgive all. For God's sake, let him know something."

This was sad enough, and the language in which it was written is good English Rommany. I would only state in addition, that I found that in the very house in which I was living, and at the same time, a lady had spent three days in vainly endeavouring to ascertain the meaning of these sentences.

It is possible that many Gipsies, be they of high or low degree, in society or out of it, may not be pleased at my publishing a book of their language, and revealing so much of what they fondly cherish as a secret. They need be under no apprehension, since I doubt very much whether, even with its aid, a dozen persons living will seriously undertake to study it—and of this dozen there is not one who will not be a philologist; and such students are generally aware that there are copious vocabularies of all the other Gipsy dialects of Europe easy to obtain from any bookseller. Had my friend used the works of Pott or Paspati, Ascoli or Grellman, he would have found it an easy thing to translate this advertisement. The truth simply is, that for scholars there is not a single secret or hidden word in English Gipsy or in any other Rommany dialect, and none except scholars will take pains to acquire it. Any man who wished to learn sufficient Gipsy to maintain a conversation, and thereby learn all the language, could easily have done so half a century ago from the vocabularies published by Bright and other writers. A secret which has been for fifty years published in very practical detail in fifty books, is indeed a secret de Ponchinelle.

I have been asked scores of times, "Have the Gipsies an alphabet of their own? have they grammars of their language, dictionaries, or books?" Of course my answer was in the negative. I have heard of vocabularies in use among crypto-Rommanies, or those who having risen from the roads live a secret life, so to speak, but I have never seen one. But they have songs; and one day I was told that in my neighbourhood there lived a young Gipsy woman who was a poetess and made Rommany ballads. "She can't write," said my informant; "but her husband's a Gorgio, and he can. If you want them, I'll get you some." The offer was of course accepted, and the Gipsy dame, flattered by the request, sent me the following. The lyric is without rhyme, but, as sung, not without rhythm.



"GILLI OF A RUMMANY JUVA.

"Die at the gargers (Gorgios), The gargers round mandy! Trying to lel my meripon, My meripon (meripen) away.

I will care (kair) up to my chungs (chongs), Up to my chungs in Rat, All for my happy Racler (raklo).

My mush is lelled to sturribon (staripen), To sturribon, to sturribon; Mymush is lelled to sturribon, To the Tan where mandy gins (jins)."



TRANSLATION.

"Look at the Gorgios, the Gorgios around me! trying to take my life away.

"I will wade up to my knees in blood, all for my happy boy.

"My husband is taken to prison, to prison, to prison; my husband is taken to prison, to the place of which I know."



CHAPTER X. GIPSIES IN EGYPT.

Difficulty of obtaining Information.—The Khedive on the Gipsies.—Mr Edward Elias.—Mahomet introduces me to the Gipsies.—They call themselves Tataren.—The Rhagarin or Gipsies at Boulac.—Cophts.—Herr Seetzen on Egyptian Gipsies.—The Gipsy with the Monkey in Cairo.—Street- cries of the Gipsy Women in Egypt. Captain Newbold on the Egyptian Gipsies.

Since writing the foregoing pages, and only a day or two after one of the incidents therein described, I went to Egypt, passing the winter in Cairo and on the Nile. While waiting in the city for the friend with whom I was to ascend the mysterious river, it naturally occurred to me, that as I was in the country which many people still believe is the original land of the Gipsies, it would be well worth my while to try to meet with some, if any were to be found.

It is remarkable, that notwithstanding my inquiries from many gentlemen, both native and foreign, including savans and beys, the only educated person I ever met in Egypt who was able to give me any information on the subject of its Gipsies was the Khedive or Viceroy himself, a fact which will not seem strange to those who are aware of the really wonderful extent of his knowledge of the country which he rules. I had been but a few days in Cairo when, at an interview with the Khedive, Mr Beardsley, the American Consul, by whom I was presented, mentioned to his Highness that I was interested in the subject of the Gipsies, upon which the Khedive said that there were in Egypt many people known as "Rhagarin" (Ghagarin), who were probably the same as the "Bohemiens" or Gipsies of Europe. His words were, as nearly as I can remember, as follows:—

"They are wanderers who live in tents, and are regarded with contempt even by the peasantry. Their women tell fortunes, tattoo, {189} and sell small-wares; the men work in iron (quincaillerie). They are all adroit thieves, and noted as such. The men may sometimes be seen going around the country with monkeys; in fact, they appear to be in all respects the same people as the Gipsies of Europe."

This was all that I could learn for several days; for though there were Gipsies—or "Egypcians"—in Egypt, I had almost as much trouble to find them as Eilert Sundt had to discover their brethren in Norway. In speaking of the subject to Mr Edward Elias, a gentleman well known in Egypt, he most kindly undertook to secure the aid of the chief of police, who in turn had recourse to the Shekh of the Gipsies. But the Shekh I was told was not himself a Gipsy, and there were none of his subjects in Cairo. After a few days, three wanderers, supposed to be Rommany, were arrested; but on examination they proved to be ignorant of any language except Arabic. Their occupation was music and dancing "with a stick;" in fact, they were performers in those curious and extremely ancient Fescennine farces, or Atellanae, which are depicted on ancient vases, and are still acted on the roads in Egypt as they were in Greece before the days of Thespis. Then I was informed that Gipsies were often encamped near the Pyramids, but research in this direction was equally fruitless.

Remembering what his Highness had told me, that Gipsies went about exhibiting monkeys, I one day, on meeting a man bearing an ape, endeavoured to enter into conversation with him. Those who know Cairo can imagine with what result! In an instant we were surrounded by fifty natives of the lower class, jabbering, jeering, screaming, and begging—all intent, as it verily seemed, on defeating my object. I gave the monkey-bearer money; instead of thanking me, he simply clamoured for more, while the mob became intolerable, so that I was glad to make my escape.

At last I was successful. I had frequently employed as donkey-driver an intelligent and well-behaved man named Mahomet, who spoke English well, and who was familiar with the byways of Cairo. On asking him if he could show me any Rhagarin, he replied that every Saturday there was a fair or market held at Boulac, where I would be sure to meet with women of the tribe. The men, I was told, seldom ventured into the city, because they were subject to much insult and ill-treatment from the common people. On the day appointed I rode to the market, which was extremely interesting. There were thousands of blue-shirted and red-tarbouched or white-turbaned Egyptians, buying or selling, or else merely amusing themselves; dealers in sugar-cane, pipe-pedlars, and vendors of rosaries; jugglers and minstrels. At last we came to a middle-aged woman seated on the ground behind a basket containing beads, glass armlets, and similar trinkets. She was dressed like any Arab woman of the lower class, but was not veiled, and on her chin blue lines were tattooed. Her features and whole expression were, however, evidently Gipsy.

I spoke to her in Rommany, using such words as would have been intelligible to any of the race in England, Germany, or Turkey; but she did not understand me, and declared that she could speak nothing but Arabic. At my request Mahomet explained to her that I had travelled from a distant country in "Orobba," where there were many Rhagarin who declared that their fathers came from Egypt, and that I wished to know if any in the latter country could speak the old language. She replied that the Rhagarin of "Montesinos" could still speak it, but that her people in Egypt had lost the tongue. Mahomet declared that Montesinos meant Mount Sinai or Syria. I then asked her if the Rhagarin had no peculiar name for themselves, and she replied, "Yes, we call ourselves Tataren."

This was at least satisfactory. All over Southern Germany and in Norway the Rommany are sailed Tataren; and though the word means Tartars, and is simply a misapplied term, it indicates a common race. The woman seemed to be very much gratified at the interest I manifested in her people. I gave her a double piastre, and asked for its value in blue-glass armlets. She gave me two pair, and as I turned to depart called me back, and with a good-natured smile handed me four more as a present. This generosity was very Gipsy-like, and very unlike the usual behaviour of any common Egyptian.

While on the Nile, I inquired of people in different towns if they had ever seen Gipsies where they lived, and was invariably answered in the negative. Remembering to have read in some book a statement that the Ghawazi or dancing-girls formed a tribe by themselves, and spoke a peculiar language, I asked an American who has lived for many years in Egypt if he thought they could be Gipsies. He replied that an English lady of title, who had also been for a long time in the country, had formed this opinion. But when I questioned dancing-girls myself, I found them quite ignorant of any language except Arabic, and knowing nothing relating to the Rommany. Two Ghawazi whom I saw had, indeed, the peculiarly brilliant eyes and general expression of Gipsies. The rest appeared to be Egyptian-Arab; and I found on inquiry that one of the latter had really been a peasant girl who till within seven months had worked in the fields, while two others were occupied alternately with field-work and dancing.

At the market in Boulac, Mahomet took me to a number of Rhagarin. They all resembled the one whom I have described, and were all occupied in selling exactly the same class of articles. They all differed slightly, as I thought, from the ordinary Egyptians in their appearance, and were decidedly unlike them, in being neither importunate for money nor disagreeable in their manners. But though they were certainly Gipsies, none of them would speak Rommany, and I doubt very much if they could have done so.

Bonaventura Vulcanius, who in 1597 first gave the world a specimen of Rommany in his curious book "De Literis et Lingua Getarum" (which specimen, by the way, on account of its rarity, I propose to republish in another work), believed that the Gipsies were Nubians; and others, following in his track, supposed they were really Cophtic Christians (Pott, "Die Zigeuner," &c., Halle, 1844, p. 5). And I must confess that this recurred forcibly to my memory when, at Minieh, in Egypt, I asked a Copht scribe if he were Muslim, and he replied, "La, ana Gipti" ("No, I am a Copht"), pronouncing the word Gipti, or Copht, so that it might readily be taken for "Gipsy." And learning that romi is the Cophtic for a man, I was again startled; and when I found tema (tem, land) and other Rommany words in ancient Egyptian (vide Brugsch, "Grammaire," &c.), it seemed as if there were still many mysteries to solve in this strange language.

Other writers long before me attempted to investigate Egyptian Gipsy, but with no satisfactory result. A German named Seetzen ascertained that there were Gipsies both in Egypt and Syria, and wrote (1806) on the subject a MS., which Pott ("Die Zigeuner," &c.) cites largely. Of these Roms he speaks as follows: "Gipsies are to be found in the entire Osmanli realm, from the limits of Hungary into Egypt. The Turks call them Tschinganih; but the Syrians and Egyptians, as well as themselves, Nury, in the plural El Nauar. It was on the 24th November 1806 when I visited a troop of them, encamped with their black tents in an olive grove, to the west side of Naplos. They were for the greater part of a dirty yellow complexion, with black hair, which hung down on the side from where it was parted in a short plait, and their lips are mulatto- like." (Seetzen subsequently remarks that their physiognomy is precisely like that of the modern Egyptians.) "The women had their under lips coloured dark blue, like female Bedouins, and a few eaten-in points around the mouth of like colour. They, and the boys also, wore earrings. They made sieves of horse-hair or of leather, iron nails, and similar small ironware, or mended kettles. They appear to be very poor, and the men go almost naked, unless the cold compels them to put on warmer clothing. The little boys ran about naked. Although both Christians and Mahometans declared that they buried their dead in remote hill corners, or burned them, they denied it, and declared they were good Mahometans, and as such buried their dead in Mahometan cemeteries." (This corresponds to their custom in Great Britain in the past generation, and the earnestness which they display at present to secure regular burial like Christians.) "But as their instruction is even more neglected than that of the Bedouins, their religious information is so limited that one may say of them, they have either no religion at all, or the simplest of all. As to wine, they are less strict than most Mahometans. They assured me that in Egypt there were many Nury."

The same writer obtained from one of these Syrian-Egyptian Gipsies a not inconsiderable vocabulary of their language, and says: "I find many Arabic, Turkish, and some Greek words in it; it appears to me, however, that they have borrowed from a fourth language, which was perhaps their mother-tongue, but which I cannot name, wanting dictionaries." The words which he gives appear to me to consist of Egyptian-Arabic, with its usual admixture from other sources, simply made into a gibberish, and sometimes with one word substituted for another to hide the meaning—the whole probably obtained through a dragoman, as is seen, for instance, when he gives the word nisnaszeha, a fox, and states that it is of unknown origin. The truth is, nisnas means a monkey, and, like most of Seetzen's "Nuri" words, is inflected with an a final, as if one should say "monkeyo." I have no doubt the Nauar may talk such a jargon; but I should not be astonished, either, if the Shekh who for a small pecuniary consideration eagerly aided Seetzen to note it down, had "sold" him with what certainly would appear to any Egyptian to be the real babble of the nursery. There are a very few Rommany words in this vocabulary, but then it should be remembered that there are some Arabic words in Rommany.

The street-cry of the Gipsy women in Cairo is [ARABIC TEXT which cannot be reproduced] "Neduqq wanetahir!" "We tattoo and circumcise!" a phrase which sufficiently indicates their calling. In the "Deutscher Dragoman" of Dr Philip Wolff, Leipzig, 1867, I find the following under the word Zigeuner:—

"Gipsy—in Egypt, Gagri" (pronounced more nearly 'Rh'agri), "plural Gagar; in Syria, Newari, plural Nawar. When they go about with monkeys, they are called Kurudati, from kird, ape. The Gipsies of Upper Egypt call themselves Saaideh—i.e., people from Said, or Upper Egypt (vide Kremer, i. 138-148). According to Von Gobineau, they are called in Syria Kurbati, [ARABIC TEXT which cannot be reproduced] (vide 'Zeitschrift der D. M. G.,' xi. 690)."

More than this of the Gipsies in Egypt the deponent sayeth not. He has interrogated the oracles, and they were dumb. That there are Roms in the land of Mizr his eyes have shown, but whether any of them can talk Rommany is to him as yet unknown.

* * * * *

Since the foregoing was printed, I have found in the Journal of the Royal Asiatic Society (Vol. XVI., Part 2, 1856, p. 285), an article on The Gipsies in Egypt, by the late Captain Newbold, F.R.S., which gives much information on this mysterious subject. The Egyptian Gipsies, as Captain Newbold found, are extremely jealous and suspicious of any inquiry into their habits and mode of life, so that he had great difficulty in tracing them to their haunts, and inducing them to unreserved communication.

These Gipsies are divided into three kinds, the Helebis, Ghagars (Rhagarin), and Nuris or Nawer. Of the Rhagars there are sixteen thousand. The Helebi are most prosperous of all these, and their women, who are called Fehemis, are the only ones who practice fortune-telling and sorcery. The male Helebis are chiefly ostensible dealers in horses and cattle, but have a bad character for honesty. Some of them are to be found in every official department in Egypt, though not known to be Gipsies—(a statement which casts much light on the circumstance that neither the chief of police himself nor the Shekh of the Rhagarin, with all their alleged efforts, could find a single Gipsy for me). The Helebis look down on the Rhagarin, and do not suffer their daughters to intermarry with them, though they themselves marry Rhagarin girls. The Fehemi, or Helebi women, are noted for their chastity; the Rhagarin are not. The men of the Rhagarin are tinkers and blacksmiths, and sell cheap jewellery or instruments of iron and brass. Many of them are athletes, mountebanks, and monkey-exhibitors; the women are rope-dancers and musicians. They are divided into classes, bearing the names of Romani, Meddahin, Ghurradin, Barmeki (Barmecides), Waled Abu Tenna, Beit er Rafai, Hemmeli, &c. The Helebis and Rhagarin are distinctly different in their personal appearance from the other inhabitants of Egypt, having the eyes and expression peculiar to all Gipsies. Captain Newbold, in fact, assumes that any person "who remains in Egypt longer than the ordinary run of travellers, and roams about the streets and environs of the large towns, can hardly fail to notice the strange appearance of certain females, whose features at once distinguish them from the ordinary Fellah Arabs and Cophts of the country."

"The Nuris or Nawers are hereditary thieves, but are now (1856) employed as police and watchmen in the Pacha's country estates. In Egypt they intermarry with the Fellahin or Arabs of the soil, from whom, in physical appearance and dress, they can hardly be distinguished. Outwardly they profess Mohammedanism, and have little intercourse with the Helebis and Ghagars (or Rhagarin)."

Each of these tribes or classes speak a separate and distinct dialect or jargon. That of the Rhagarin most resembles the language spoken by the Kurbats, or Gipsies of Syria. "It seems to me probable," says Captain Newbold, "that the whole of these tribes had one common origin in India, or the adjacent countries on its Western frontier, and that the difference in the jargons they now speak is owing to their sojourn in the various countries through which they have passed. This is certain, that the Gipsies are strangers in the land of Egypt."

I am not astonished, on examining the specimens of these three dialects given by Captain Newbold, with the important addition made by Mr W. Burckhardt Barker, that I could not converse with the Rhagarin. That of the Nawers does not contain a single word which would be recognised as Rommany, while those which occur in the other two jargons are, if not positively either few and far between, strangely distorted from the original. A great number are ordinary vulgar Arabic. It is very curious that while in England such a remarkably large proportion of Hindustani words have been preserved, they have been lost in the East, in countries comparatively near the fatherland—India.

I would, in conclusion to this work, remark that numbers of Rommany words, which are set down by philologists as belonging to Greek, Slavonian, and other languages, were originally Hindu, and have only changed their form a little because the wanderers found a resemblance to the old word in a new one. I am also satisfied that much may be learned as to the origin of these words from a familiar acquaintance with the vulgar dialects of Persia, and such words as are not put down in dictionaries, owing to their provincial character. I have found, on questioning a Persian gentleman, that he knew the meaning of many Rommany words from their resemblance to vulgar Persian, though they were not in the Persian dictionary which I used.



ROMMANI GUDLI; OR, GIPSY STORIES AND FABLES.

The Gipsy to whom I was chiefly indebted for the material of this book frequently narrated to me the Gudli or small stories current among his people, and being a man of active, though child-like imagination, often invented others of a similar character. Sometimes an incident or saying would suggest to me the outline of a narrative, upon which he would eagerly take it up, and readily complete the tale. But if I helped him sometimes to evolve from a hint, a phrase, or a fact, something like a picture, it was always the Gipsy who gave it Rommany characteristics and conferred colour. It was often very difficult for him to distinctly recall an old story or clearly develop anything of the kind, whether it involved an effort of memory or of the imagination, and here he required aid. I have never in my life met with any man whose mind combined so much simplicity, cunning, and grotesque fancy, with such an entire incapacity to appreciate either humour or "poetry" as expressed in the ordinary language of culture. The metre and rhyme of the simplest ballad made it unintelligible to him, and I was obliged to repeat such poetry several times before he could comprehend it. Yet he would, while I was otherwise occupied than with him, address to his favourite wooden image of a little bear on the chimneypiece, grotesque soliloquies which would have delighted a Hoffman, or conduct with it dialogues which often startled me. With more education, he would have become a Rommany Bid- pai; and since India is the fatherland of the fable, he may have derived his peculiar faculty for turning morals and adorning tales legitimately from that source.

I may state that those stories, which were made entirely; as a few were; or in part, by my assistant and myself, were afterwards received with approbation by ordinary Gipsies as being thoroughly Rommany. As to the language of the stories, it is all literally and faithfully that of a Gipsy, word by word, written down as he uttered it, when, after we had got a gudlo into shape, he told it finally over, which he invariably did with great eagerness, ending with an improvised moral.



GUDLO I. HOW A GIPSY SAVED A CHILD'S LIFE BY BREAKING A WINDOW.

'Pre yeck divvus (or yeckorus) a Rommany chal was kairin' pyass with the koshters, an' he wussered a kosh 'pre the hev of a boro ker an' poggered it. Welled the prastramengro and penned, "Tu must pooker (or pessur) for the glass." But when they jawed adree the ker, they lastered the kosh had mullered a divio juckal that was jawan' to dant the chavo. So the rani del the Rommany chal a sonnakai ora an' a fino gry.

But yeck koshter that poggers a hev doesn't muller a juckal.

TRANSLATION.

On a day (or once) a Gipsy was playing at cockshy, and he threw a stick through the window of a great house and broke the glass. Came the policeman and said, "You must answer (or pay) for the glass." But when they went into the house, they found the stick had killed a mad dog that was going to bite the child (boy). So the lady gave the Gipsy a gold watch and a good horse.

But every stick that breaks a window does not kill a dog.



GUDLO II. THE GIPSY STORY OF THE BIRD AND THE HEDGEHOG.

'Pre yeck divvus a hotchewitchi dicked a chillico adree the puv, and the chillico pukkered lesco, "Mor jal pauli by the kushto wastus, or the hunters' graias will chiv tute adree the chick, mullo; an' if you jal the waver rikk by the bongo wast, dovo's a Rommany tan adoi, and the Rommany chals will haw tute." Penned the hotchewitchi, "I'd rather jal with the Rommany chals, an' be hawed by foki that kaum mandy, than be pirraben apre by chals that dick kaulo apre mandy."

It's kushtier for a tacho Rom to be mullered by a Rommany pal than to be nashered by the Gorgios.

TRANSLATION.

On a day a hedgehog met a bird in the field, and the bird told him, "Do not go around by the right hand, or the hunters' horses will trample you dead in the dirt; and if you go around by the left hand, there's a Gipsy tent, and the Gipsies will eat you." Said the hedgehog, "I'd rather go with the Gipsies, and be eaten by folk that like me, than be trampled on by people that despise (literally, look black upon) me."

It is better for a real Gipsy to be killed by a Gipsy brother than to be hung by Gorgios.



GUDLO III. A STORY OF A FORTUNE-TELLER.

Yeckorus a tano Gorgio chivved apre a shubo an' jalled to a puri Rommany dye to get dukkered. And she pookered lester, "Tute'll rummorben a Fair Man with kauli yakkas." Then the raklo delled laki yeck shukkori an' penned, "If this shukkori was as boro as the hockaben tute pukkered mandy, tute might porder sar the bongo tem with rupp." But, hatch a wongish!—maybe in a divvus, maybe in a curricus, maybe a dood, maybe a besh, maybe waver divvus, he rummorbend a rakli by the nav of Fair Man, and her yakkas were as kaulo as miri juva's.

There's always dui rikk to a dukkerben.

TRANSLATION.

Once a little Gorgio put on a woman's gown and went to an old Gipsy mother to have his fortune told. And she told him, "You'll marry a Fair Man with black eyes." Then the young man gave her a sixpence and said, "If this sixpence were as big as the lie you told me, you could fill all hell with silver." But, stop a bit! after a while—maybe in a week, maybe a month, maybe in a year, maybe the other day—he married a girl by the name of Fair Man, and her eyes were as black as my sweetheart's.

There are always two sides to a prediction.



GUDLO IV. HOW THE ROYSTON ROOK DECEIVED THE ROOKS AND PIGEONS.

'Pre yeck divvus a Royston rookus jalled mongin the kaulo chiriclos, an' they putched (pootschered) him, "Where did tute chore tiro pauno chukko?" And yuv pookered, "Mandy chored it from a biksherro of a pigeon." Then he jalled a-men the pigeons an' penned, "Sarishan, pals?" And they putched lesti, "Where did tute lel akovo kauli rokamyas te byascros?" And yuv penned, "Mandy chored 'em from those wafri mushis the rookuses."

Pash-ratis pen their kokeros for Gorgios mongin Gorgios, and for Rommany mongin Rommany chals.

TRANSLATION.

On a day a Royston rook {206} went among the crows (black birds), and they asked him, "Where did you steal your white coat?" And he told (them), "I stole it from a fool of a pigeon." Then he went among the pigeons and said, "How are you, brothers?" And they asked him, "Where did you get those black trousers and sleeves?" And he said, "I stole 'em from those wretches the rooks."

Half-breeds call themselves Gorgio among Gorgios, and Gipsy among Gipsies.



GUDLO V. THE GIPSY'S STORY OF THE GORGIO AND THE ROMMANY CHAL.

Once 'pre a chairus (or chyrus) a Gorgio penned to a Rommany chal, "Why does tute always jal about the tem ajaw? There's no kushtoben in what don't hatch acai." Penned the Rommany chal, "Sikker mandy tute's wongur!" And yuv sikkered him a cutter (cotter?), a bar, a pash-bar, a pash-cutter, a pange-cullo (caulor?) bittus, a pash-krooner (korauna), a dui-cullos bittus, a trin-mushi, a shuckori, a stor'oras, a trin'oras, a dui'oras, a haura, a poshero, a lulli, a pash-lulli. Penned the Rommany chal, "Acovo's sar wafri wongur." "Kek," penned the Gorgio; "se sar kushto an' kirus. Chiv it adree tute's wast and shoon it ringus." "Avo," penned the Rommany chal. "Tute pookered mandy that only wafri covvas keep jallin', te 'covo wongur has jalled sar 'pre the 'tem adusta timei (or timey)."

Sar mushis aren't all sim ta rukers (rukkers.) Some must pirraben, and can't besh't a lay.

TRANSLATION.

Once upon a time a Gorgio said to a Gipsy, "Why do you always go about the country so? There is 'no good' in what does not rest (literally, stop here)." Said the Gipsy, "Show me your money!" And he showed him a guinea, a sovereign, a half-sovereign, a half-guinea, a five-shilling piece, a half-crown, a two-shilling piece, a shilling, a sixpence, a fourpenny piece, a threepence, a twopence, a penny, a halfpenny, a farthing, a half-farthing. Said the Gipsy, "This is all bad money." "No," said the other man; "it is all good and sound. Toss it in your hand and hear it ring!" "Yes," replied the Gipsy. "You told me that only bad things keep going, and this money has gone all over the country many a time."

All men are not like trees. Some must travel, and cannot keep still.



GUDLO VI. HOW THE GIPSY BRIBED THE POLICEMAN.

Once apre a chairus a Rommany chal chored a rani chillico (or chiriclo), and then jalled atut a prastramengro 'pre the drum. "Where did tute chore adovo rani?" putchered the prastramengro. "It's kek rani; it's a pauno rani that I kinned 'dree the gav to del tute." "Tacho," penned the prastramengro, "it's the kushtiest pauno rani mandy ever dickdus. Ki did tute kin it?"

Avali, many's the chairus mandy's tippered a trinmushi to a prastramengro ta mukk mandy hatch my tan with the chavvis.

TRANSLATION.

Once on a time a Gipsy stole a turkey, and then met a policeman on the road. "Where did you steal that turkey?" asked the policeman. "It's no turkey; it's a goose that I bought in the town to give you." "Fact," said the policeman, "it is the finest goose I ever saw. Where did you buy it?"

Yes, many's the time I have given a shilling (three fourpence) to a policeman to let me pitch my tent with the children. {209}



GUDLO VII. HOW A GIPSY LOST THREEPENCE.

Yeckorus a choro mush besht a lay ta kair trin horras-worth o' peggi for a masengro. There jessed alang's a rye, who penned, "Tool my gry, an' I'll del tute a shukori." While he tooled the gry a rani pookered him, "Rikker this trushni to my ker, an' I'll del tute a trin grushi." So he lelled a chavo to tool the gry, and pookered lester, "Tute shall get pash the wongur." Well, as yuv was rikkinin' the trushnee an' siggerin burry ora bender the drum, he dicked a rye, who penned, "If tute'll jaw to the ker and hatch minni's juckal ta mandy, mi'll del tute a pash-korauna." So he got a waver chavo to rikker the trushnee for pash the wongur, whilst he jalled for the juckal. Wellin' alangus, he dicked a barvelo givescro, who penned, "'Avacai an' husker mandy to lel my guruvni (gruvni) avree the ditch, and I'll del you pange cullos" (caulos). So he lelled it. But at the kunsus of the divvus, sa yuv sus kennin apre sustis wongurs, he penned, "How wafro it is mandy nashered the trinoras I might have lelled for the mass-koshters!"

A mush must always pet the giv in the puv before he can chin the harvest.

TRANSLATION.

Once a poor man sat down to make threepence-worth of skewers {210} for a butcher. There came along a gentleman, who said, "Hold my horse, and I'll give you a sixpence." While he held the horse a lady said to him, "Carry this basket to my house, and I'll give you a shilling." So he got a boy to hold the horse, and said to him, "You shall have half the money." Well, as he was carrying the basket and hurrying along fast across the road he saw a gentleman, who said, "If you'll go to the house and bring my dog to me, I will give you half-a-crown." So he got another boy to carry the basket for half the money, while he went for the dog. Going along, he saw a rich farmer, who said, "Come and help me here to get my cow out of the ditch, and I'll give you five shillings." So he got it. But at the end of the day, when he was counting his money, he said, "What a pity it is I lost the threepence I might have got for the skewers!" (literally, meat-woods.)

A man must always put the grain in the ground before he can cut the harvest.



GUDLO VIII. THE STORY OF THE GIPSY'S DOG.

'Pre yeck divvus a choro mush had a juckal that used to chore covvas and hakker them to the ker for his mush—mass, wongur, horas, and rooys. A rye kinned the juckal, an' kaired boot dusta wongur by sikkerin' the juckal at wellgooras.

Where barvelo mushis can kair wongur tacho, chori mushis have to loure.

TRANSLATION.

On a day a poor man had a dog that used to steal things and carry them home for his master—meat, money, watches, and spoons. A gentleman bought the dog, and made a great deal of money by showing him at fairs.

Where rich men can make money honestly, poor men have to steal.



GUDLO IX. A STORY OF THE PRIZE-FIGHTER AND THE GENTLEMAN.

'Pre yeck chairus a cooromengro was to coor, and a rye rakkered him, "Will tute mukk your kokero be koored for twenty bar?" Penned the cooromengro, "Will tute mukk mandy pogger your herry for a hundred bar?" "Kek," penned the rye; "for if I did, mandy'd never pirro kushto ajaw." "And if I nashered a kooraben," penned the engro, "mandy'd never praster kekoomi."

Kammoben is kushtier than wongur.

TRANSLATION.

On a time a prize-fighter was to fight, and a gentleman asked him, "Will you sell the fight" (i.e., let yourself be beaten) "for twenty pounds?" Said the prize-fighter, "Will you let me break your leg for a hundred pounds?" "No," said the gentleman; "for if I did, I should never walk well again." "And if I lost a fight," said the prize-fighter (literally, master, doer), "I could never 'run' again."

Credit is better than money.



GUDLO X. OF THE GENTLEMAN AND THE OLD GIPSY WOMAN.

Pre yeck chairus a Rommany dye adree the wellgooro rakkered a rye to del laker trin mushi for kushto bak. An' he del it, an' putchered laki, "If I bitcher my wongur a-mukkerin' 'pre the graias, ki'll manni's bak be?" "My fino rye," she penned, "the bak'll be a collos-worth with mandy and my chavvis."

Bak that's pessured for is saw (sar) adoi.

TRANSLATION.

On a time a Gipsy mother at the fair asked a gentleman to give her a shilling for luck. And he gave it, and asked her, "If I lose my money a- betting on the horses, where will my luck be?" "My fine gentleman," she said, "the luck will be a shilling's worth with me and my children."

Luck that is paid for is always somewhere (literally, there).



GUDLO XI. THE GIPSY TELLS OF THE CAT AND THE HARE.

Yeckorus the matchka jalled to dick her kako's chavo the kanengro. An' there welled a huntingmush, an' the matchka taddied up the choomber, pre durer, pre a rukk, an' odoi she lastered a chillico's nest. But the kanengro prastered alay the choomber, longodurus adree the tem.

Wafri bak kairs A choro mush ta jal alay, But it mukks a boro mush To chiv his kokero apre. {213}



TRANSLATION.

Once the cat went to see her cousin the hare. And there came a hunter, and the cat scrambled up the hill, further up, up a tree, and there she found a bird's nest. But the hare ran down the hill, far down into the country.

Bad luck sends a poor man further down, but it causes a great man to rise still more.



GUDLO XII. OF THE GIPSY WOMAN AND THE CHILD.

Pre yeck chairus a chi jalled adree a waver tem, an' she rikkered a gunno pre laki dumo with a baulo adree. A rakli who was ladge of her tikno chored the baulo avree the gunno and chivved the chavi adree. Pasch a waver hora the chi shooned the tikno rov (ruvving), and dicked adree the gunno in boro toob, and penned, "If the baulos in akovo tem puraben into chavos, sa do the chavos puraben adree?"

TRANSLATION.

Once a woman went into a strange land, and she carried a bag on her back with a pig in it. A girl who was ashamed of her child stole the pig from the bag and put the baby in (its place). After an hour the woman heard the child cry, and looked into the bag with great amazement, and said, "If the pigs in this country change into children, into what do the children change?"



GUDLO XIII. OF THE GIRL THAT WAS TO MARRY THE DEVIL.

'Pre yeck divvus a Rommany dye dukkered a rakli, and pookered laki that a kaulo rye kaumed her. But when the chi putchered her wongur, the rakli penned, "Puri dye, I haven't got a poshero to del tute. But pen mandy the nav of the kaulo rye." Then the dye shelled avree, very hunnalo, "Beng is the nav of tute's pirryno, and yuv se kaulo adusta."

If you chore puri juvas tute'll lel the beng.

TRANSLATION.

On a day a Gipsy mother told a girl's fortune, and said to her that a dark (black) gentleman loved her. But when the woman demanded her money, the girl said, "Old mother, I haven't got a halfpenny to give you. But tell me the name of the dark gentleman." Then the mother roared out, very angry, "Devil is the name of your sweetheart, and he is black enough."

If you cheat old women you will catch the devil.



GUDLO XIV. OF THE GIPSY WHO STOLE THE HORSE.

Yeckorus a mush chored a gry and jalled him avree adree a waver tem, and the gry and the mush jalled kushti bak kettenus. Penned the gry to his mush, "I kaums your covvas to wearus kushtier than mandy's, for there's kek chucknee or mellicus (pusimigree) adree them." "Kek," penned the mush pauli; "the trash I lel when mandy jins of the prastramengro an' the bitcherin' mush (krallis mush) is wafrier than any chucknee or busaha, an' they'd kair mandy to praster my miramon (miraben) avree any divvus."

TRANSLATION.

Once a man stole a horse and ran him away into another country, and the horse and the man became very intimate. Said the horse to the man, "I like your things to wear better than I do mine, for there's no whip or spur among them." "No," replied the man; "the fear I have when I think of the policeman and of the judge (sending or "transporting" man, or king's man) is worse than any whip or spur, and they would make me run my life away any day."



GUDLO XV. THE HALF-BLOOD GIPSY, HIS WIFE, AND THE PIG.

'Pre yeck divvus there was a mush a-piin' ma his Rommany chals adree a kitchema, an' pauli a chairus he got pash matto. An' he penned about mullo baulors, that he never hawed kek. Kenna-sig his juvo welled adree an' putched him to jal kerri, but yuv pookered her, "Kek—I won't jal kenna." Then she penned, "Well alang, the chavvis got kek habben." So she putchered him ajaw an' ajaw, an' he always rakkered her pauli "Kek." So she lelled a mullo baulor ap her dumo and wussered it 'pre the haumescro pre saw the foki, an' penned, "Lel the mullo baulor an' rummer it, an' mandy'll dick pauli the chavos."

TRANSLATION.

Once there was a man drinking with his Gipsy fellows in an alehouse, and after a while he got half drunk. And he said of pigs that had died a natural death, he never ate any. By-and-by his wife came in and asked him to go home, but he told her, "No—I won't go now." Then she said, "Come along, the children have no food." So she entreated him again and again, and he always answered "No." So she took a pig that had died a natural death, from her back and threw it on the table before all the people, and said, "Take the dead pig for a wife, and I will look after the children." {218}



GUDLO XVI. THE GIPSY TELLS THE STORY OF THE SEVEN WHISTLERS.

My raia, the gudlo of the Seven Whistlers, you jin, is adree the Scriptures—so they pookered mandy.

An' the Seven Whistlers (Efta Shellengeri) is seven spirits of ranis that jal by the ratti, 'pre the bavol, parl the heb, like chillicos. An' it pookers 'dree the Bible that the Seven Whistlers shell wherever they praster atut the bavol. But aduro timeus yeck jalled avree an' got nashered, and kenna there's only shove; but they pens 'em the Seven Whistlers. An' that sims the story tute pookered mandy of the Seven Stars.

TRANSLATION.

Sir, the story of the Seven Whistlers, you know, is in the Scriptures—so they told me.

An' the Seven Whistlers are seven spirits of ladies that go by the night, through the air, over the heaven, like birds. And it tells (us) in the Bible that the Seven Whistlers whistle wherever they fly across the air. But a long time ago one went away and got lost, and now there are only six; but they call them the Seven Whistlers. And that is like the story you told me of the Seven Stars. {219}



GUDLO XVII. AN OLD STORY WELL KNOWN TO ALL GIPSIES.

A Rommany rakli yeckorus jalled to a ker a-dukkerin'. A'ter she jalled avree, the rakli of the ker missered a plachta, and pookered the rye that the Rommany chi had chored it. So the rye jalled aduro pauli the tem, and latched the Rommany chals, and bitchered them to staruben. Now this was adree the puro chairus when they used to nasher mushis for any bitti covvo. And some of the Rommany chals were nashered, an' some pannied. An' sar the gunnos, an' kavis, and covvas of the Rommanis were chivved and pordered kettenus 'pre the bor adree the cangry-puv, an' kek mush tooled 'em. An' trin dood (or munti) pauli, the rakli was kairin' the baulors' habben at the kokero ker, when she latched the plachta they nashered trin dood adovo divvus. So the rakli jalled with the plachta ta laki rye, and penned, "Dick what I kaired on those chuvvenny, chori Rommany chals that were nashered and pannied for adovo bitti covvo adoi!"

And when they jalled to dick at the Rommanis' covvas pauli the bor adree the cangry-puv, the gunnos were pordo and chivved adree, chingered saw to cut-engroes, and they latched 'em full o' ruppeny covvos—rooys an' churls of sonnakai, an' oras, curros an' piimangris, that had longed o' the Rommany chals that were nashered an' bitschered padel.

TRANSLATION.

A Gipsy girl once went to a house to tell fortunes. After she went away, the girl of the house missed a pudding-bag (literally, linen cloth), and told the master the Gipsy girl had stolen it. So the master went far about the country, and found the Gipsies, and sent them to prison. Now this was in the old time when they used to hang people for any little thing. And some of the Gipsies were hung, and some transported (literally, watered). And all the bags, and kettles, and things of the Gipsies were thrown and piled together behind the hedge in the churchyard, and no man touched them. And three months after, the maid was preparing the pigs' food at the same house, when she found the linen cloth they lost three months (before) that day. So the girl went with the cloth to her master, and said, "See what I did to those poor, poor Gipsies that were hung and transported for that trifle (there)!"

And when they went to look at the Gipsies' things behind the hedge in the churchyard, the bags were full and burst, torn all to rags, and they found them full of silver things—spoons and knives of gold, and watches, cups and teapots, that had belonged to the Gipsies that were hung and transported. {221a}



GUDLO XVIII. HOW THE GIPSY WENT TO CHURCH.

Did mandy ever jal to kangry? Avali, dui koppas, and beshed a lay odoi. I was adree the tale tem o' sar, an' a rye putched mandy to well to kangry, an' I welled. And sar the ryas an' ranis dicked at mandy as I jalled adree. {221b} So I beshed pukkenus mongin some geeros and dicked upar again the chumure praller my sherro, and there was a deer and a kanengro odoi chinned in the bar, an' kaired kushto. I shooned the rashai a-rakkerin'; and when the shunaben was kerro, I welled avree and jalled alay the drum to the kitchema.

I latchered the raias mush adree the kitchema; so we got matto odoi, an' were jallin' kerri alay the drum when we dicked the raias wardo a-wellin'. So we jalled sig 'dusta parl the bor, an' gavered our kokeros odoi adree the puv till the rye had jessed avree.

I dicked adovo rye dree the sala, and he putched mandy what I'd kaired the cauliko, pash kangry. I pookered him I'd pii'd dui or trin curros levinor and was pash matto. An' he penned mandy, "My mush was matto sar tute, and I nashered him." I pookered him ajaw, "I hope not, rya, for such a bitti covvo as dovo; an' he aint cammoben to piin' levinor, he's only used to pabengro, that don't kair him matto." But kek, the choro mush had to jal avree. An' that's sar I can rakker tute about my jallin' to kangry.

TRANSLATION.

Did I ever go to church? Yes, twice, and sat down there. I was in the lower land of all (Cornwall), and a gentleman asked me to go to church, and I went. And all the ladies and gentlemen looked at me as I went in. So I sat quietly among some men and looked up on the wall above my head, and there were a deer and a rabbit cut in the stone, beautifully done. I heard the clergyman speaking; and when the sermon was ended (literally, made), I came out and went down the road to the alehouse.

I found the gentleman's servant in the alehouse; so we got drunk there, and were going home down the road when we saw the gentleman's carriage coming. So we went quickly enough over the hedge, and hid ourselves there in the field until the gentleman was gone.

I saw the gentleman in the morning, and he asked me what I had done the day before, after church. I told him I'd drunk two or three cups of ale and was half tipsy. And he said, "My man was drunk as you, and I sent him off." I told him then, "I hope not, sir, for such a little thing as that; and he is not used to drink ale, he's only accustomed to cider, that don't intoxicate him." But no, the poor man had to go away. And that's all I can tell you about my going to church.



GUDLO XIX. WHAT THE LITTLE GIPSY GIRL TOLD HER BROTHER.

Penned the tikni Rommani chavi laki pal, "More mor the pishom, 'cause she's a Rommani, and kairs her jivaben jallin' parl the tem dukkerin' the ruzhas and lellin' the gudlo avree 'em, sar moro dye dukkers the ranis. An' ma wusser bars at the rookas, 'cause they're kaulos, an' kaulo ratt is Rommany ratt. An' maun pogger the bawris, for yuv rikkers his tan pre the dumo, sar moro puro dadas, an' so yuv's Rommany."

TRANSLATION.

Said the little Gipsy girl to her brother, "Don't kill the bee, because she is a Gipsy, and makes her living going about the country telling fortunes to the flowers and taking honey out of them, as our mother tells fortunes to the ladies. And don't throw stones at the rooks, because they are dark, and dark blood is Gipsy blood. And don't crush the snail, for he carries his tent on his back, like our old father" (i.e., carries his home about, and so he too is Rommany).



GUDLO XX. HOW CHARLEY LEE PLAYED AT PITCH-AND-TOSS.

I jinned a tano mush yeckorus that nashered sar his wongur 'dree the toss- ring. Then he jalled kerri to his dadas' kanyas and lelled pange bar avree. Paul' a bitti chairus he dicked his dadas an' pookered lester he'd lelled pange bar avree his gunnas. But yuv's dadas penned, "Jal an, kair it ajaw and win some wongur againus!" So he jalled apopli to the toss-ring an' lelled sar his wongur pauli, an' pange bar ferridearer. So he jalled ajaw kerri to the tan, an' dicked his dadas beshtin' alay by the rikk o' the tan, and his dadas penned, "Sa did you keravit, my chavo?" "Kushto, dadas. I lelled sar my wongur pauli; and here's tute's wongur acai, an' a bar for tute an' shtar bar for mi-kokero."

An' that's tacho as ever you tool that pen in tute's waster—an' dovo mush was poor Charley Lee, that's mullo kenna.

TRANSLATION.

I knew a little fellow once that lost all his money in the toss-ring (i.e., at pitch-and-toss). Then he went home to his father's sacks and took five pounds out. After a little while he saw his father and told him he'd taken five pounds from his bags. But his father said, "Go on, spend it and win some more money!" So he went again to the toss-ring and got all his money back, and five pounds more. And going home, he saw his father sitting by the side of the tent, and his father said, "How did you succeed (i.e., do it), my son?" "Very well, father. I got all my money back; and here's your money now, and a pound for you and four pounds for myself."

And that's true as ever you hold that pen in your hand—and that man was poor Charley Lee, that's dead now.



GUDLO XXI. OF THE TINKER AND THE KETTLE.

A petulamengro hatched yeck divvus at a givescro ker, where the rani del him mass an' tood. While he was hawin' he dicked a kekavi sar chicklo an' bongo, pashall a boro hev adree, an' he putchered, "Del it a mandy an' I'll lel it avree for chichi, 'cause you've been so kushto an' kammoben to mandy." So she del it a lester, an' he jalled avree for trin cooricus, an' he keravit apre, an' kaired it pauno sar rupp. Adovo he welled akovo drum pauli, an' jessed to the same ker, an' penned, "Dick acai at covi kushti kekavi! I del shove trin mushis for it, an' tu shall lel it for the same wongur, 'cause you've been so kushto a mandy."

Dovo mush was like boot 'dusta mushis—wery cammoben to his kokero.

TRANSLATION.

A tinker stopped one day at a farmer's house, where the lady gave him meat and milk. While he was eating he saw a kettle all rusty and bent, with a great hole in it, and he asked, "Give it to me and I will take it away for nothing, because you have been so kind and obliging to me." So she gave it to him, and he went away for three weeks, and he repaired it (the kettle), and made it as bright (white) as silver. Then he went that road again, to the same house, and said, "Look here at this fine kettle! I gave six shillings for it, and you shall have it for the same money, because you have been so good to me."

That man was like a great many men—very benevolent to himself.



GUDLO XXII. THE STORY OF "ROMMANY JOTER."

If a Rommany chal gets nashered an' can't latch his drum i' the ratti, he shells avree, "Hup, hup—Rom-ma-ny, Rom-ma-ny jo-ter!" When the chavvis can't latch the tan, it's the same gudlo, "Rom-ma-ny jo-ter!" Joter pens kett'nus.

And yeck ratti my dadas, sixty besh kenna, was pirryin' par the weshes to tan, an' he shooned a bitti gudlo like bitti ranis a rakkerin' puro tacho Rommanis, and so he jalled from yeck boro rukk to the waver, and paul' a cheirus he dicked a tani rani, and she was shellin' avree for her miraben, "Rom-ma-ny, Rom-ma-ny jo-ter!" So my dada shokkered ajaw, "Rom-ma-ny chal, ak-ai!" But as he shelled there welled a boro bavol, and the bitti ranis an' sar prastered avree i' the heb like chillicos adree a starmus, and all he shunned was a savvaben and "Rom-ma- ny jo-ter!" shukaridir an' shukaridir, pash sar was kerro.

An' you can dick by dovo that the kukalos, an' fairies, an' mullos, and chovihans all rakker puro tacho Rommanis, 'cause that's the old 'Gyptian jib that was penned adree the Scripture tem.

TRANSLATION.

If a Gipsy is lost and cannot find his way in the night, he cries out, "Hup, hup—Rom-ma-ny, Rom-ma-ny jo-ter!" When the children cannot find the tent, it is the same cry, "Rom-ma-ny jo-ter!" Joter means together.

And one night my father, sixty years ago (literally, now), was walking through the woods to his tent, and he heard a little cry like little ladies talking real old Gipsy, and so he went from one great tree to the other (i.e., concealing himself), and after a while he saw a little lady, and she was crying out as if for her life, "Rom-ma-ny, Rom-ma-ny jo-ter!" So my father cried again, "Gipsy, here!" But as he hallooed there came a great blast of wind, and the little ladies and all flew away in the sky like birds in a storm, and all he heard was a laughing and "Rom-ma-ny jo-ter!" softer and softer, till all was done.

And you can see by that that the goblins (dwarfs, mannikins), and fairies, and ghosts, and witches, and all talk real old Gipsy, because that is the old Egyptian language that was talked in the Scripture land.



GUDLO XXIII. OF THE RICH GIPSY AND THE PHEASANT.

Yeckorus a Rommany chal kaired adusta wongur, and was boot barvelo an' a boro rye. His chuckko was kashno, an' the crafnies 'pre lester chuckko were o' sonnakai, and his graias solivaris an' guiders were sar ruppeny. Yeck divvus this here Rommany rye was hawin' habben anerjal the krallis's chavo, an' they hatched adree a weshni kanni that was kannelo, but saw the mushis penned it was kushtidearer. "Bless mi-Duvel!" rakkered the Rommany rye shukar to his juvo, "tu and mandy have hawed mullo mass boot 'dusta cheiruses, mi-deari, but never soomed kek so wafro as dovo. It kauns worse than a mullo grai!"

Boro mushis an' bitti mushis sometimes kaum covvas that waver mushis don't jin.

TRANSLATION.

Once a Gipsy made much money, and was very rich and a great gentleman. His coat was silk, and the buttons on his coat were of gold, and his horse's bridle and reins were all silver. One day this Gipsy gentleman was eating (at table) opposite to the king's son, and they brought in a pheasant that smelt badly, but all the people said it was excellent. "Bless me, God!" said the Gipsy gentleman softly (whispering) to his wife, "you and I have eaten dead meat (meat that died a natural death) many a time, my dear, but never smelt anything so bad as that. It stinks worse than a dead horse!"

Great men and small men sometimes like (agree in liking things) that which other people do not understand.



GUDLO XXIV. THE GIPSY AND THE "VISITING-CARDS."

Yeckorus a choro Rommany chal dicked a rani hatch taller the wuder of a boro ker an' mukked adovo a bitti lil. Then he putched the rakli, when the rani jessed avree, what the lil kaired. Adoi the rakli pukkered lesco it was for her rani ta jin kun'd welled a dick her. "Avali!" penned the Rommany chal; "that's the way the Gorgios mukks their patteran! We mukks char apre the drum."

The grai mukks his pirro apre the drum, an' the sap kairs his trail adree the puv.

TRANSLATION.

Once a poor Gipsy saw a lady stop before the door of a great house and left there a card (little letter). Then he asked the girl, when the lady went away, what the card meant (literally, did). Then (there) the girl told him it was for her lady to know who had come to see her. "Yes!" said the Gipsy; "so that is the way the Gorgios leave their sign! We leave grass on the road."

The horse leaves his track on the road, and the snake makes his trail in the dust.



GUDLO XXV. THE GIPSY IN THE FOREST.

When I was beshin' alay adree the wesh tale the bori rukkas, mandy putched a tikno chillico to latch mandy a bitti moro, but it jalled avree an' I never dicked it kekoomi. Adoi I putched a boro chillico to latch mandy a curro o' tatti panni, but it jalled avree paul' the waver. Mandy never putchered the rukk parl my sherro for kek, but when the bavol welled it wussered a lay to mandy a hundred ripe kori.

TRANSLATION.

When I was sitting down in the forest under the great trees, I asked a little bird to bring (find) me a little bread, but it went away and I never saw it again. Then I asked a great bird to bring me a cup of brandy, but it flew away after the other. I never asked the tree over my head for anything, but when the wind came it threw down to me a hundred ripe nuts.



GUDLO XXVI. THE GIPSY FIDDLER AND THE YOUNG LADY.

Yeckorus a tano mush was kellin' kushto pre the boshomengro, an' a kushti dickin rani pookered him, "Tute's killaben is as sano as best-tood." And he rakkered ajaw, "Tute's mui's gudlo sar pishom, an' I'd cammoben to puraben mi tood for tute's pishom."

Kushto pash kushto kairs ferridearer.

TRANSLATION.

Once a young man was playing well upon the violin, and a beautiful lady told him, "Your playing is as soft as cream." And he answered, "Your mouth (i.e., lips or words) is sweet as honey, and I would like to exchange my cream for your honey."

Good with good makes better.



GUDLO XXVII. HOW THE GIPSY DANCED A HOLE THROUGH A STONE.

Yeckorus some plochto Rommany chals an' juvas were kellin' the pash-divvus by dood tall' a boro ker, and yeck penned the waver, "I'd be cammoben if dovo ker was mandy's." And the rye o' the ker, kun sus dickin' the kellaben, rakkered, "When tute kells a hev muscro the bar you're hatchin' apre, mandy'll del tute the ker." Adoi the Rom tarried the bar apre, an' dicked it was hollow tale, and sar a curro 'pre the waver rikk. So he lelled dui sastern chokkas and kelled sar the ratti 'pre the bar, kairin' such a gudlo you could shoon him a mee avree; an' adree the sala he had kaired a hev adree the bar as boro as lesters sherro. So the barvelo rye del him the fino ker, and sar the mushis got matto, hallauter kettenus.

Many a cheirus I've shooned my puri dye pen that a bar with a hev adree it kairs kammoben.

TRANSLATION.

Once some jolly Gipsy men and girls were dancing in the evening by moonlight before a great house, and one said to the other, "I'd be glad if that house was mine." And the gentleman of the house, who was looking at the dancing, said, "When you dance a hole through (in the centre of) the stone you are standing on, I'll give you the house." Then the Gipsy pulled the stone up, and saw it was hollow underneath, and like a cup on the other side. So he took two iron shoes and danced all night on the stone, making such a noise you could hear him a mile off; and in the morning he had made a hole in the stone as large as his head. So the rich gentleman gave him the fine house, and all the people got drunk, all together.

Many a time I've heard my old mother say that a stone with a hole in it brings luck.



GUDLO XXVIII. STORY OF THE GENTLEMAN AND THE GIPSY.

Yeckorus a boro rye wouldn't mukk a choro, pauvero, chovveny Rommany chal hatch odoi 'pre his farm. So the Rommany chal jalled on a puv apre the waver rikk o' the drum, anerjal the ryas beshaben. And dovo ratti the ryas ker pelled alay; kek kash of it hatched apre, only the foki that loddered adoi hullered their kokeros avree ma their miraben. And the ryas tikno chavo would a-mullered if a Rommany juva had not lelled it avree their pauveri bitti tan.

An' dovo's sar tacho like my dad, an' to the divvus kenna they pens that puv the Rommany Puv.

TRANSLATION.

Once a great gentleman would not let a poor, poor, poor Gipsy stay on his farm. So the Gipsy went to a field on the other side of the way, opposite the gentleman's residence. And that night the gentleman's house fell down; not a stick of it remained standing, only the people who lodged there carried themselves out (i.e., escaped) with their lives. And the gentleman's little babe would have died if a Gipsy woman had not taken it into their poor little tent.

And that's all true as my father, and to this day they call that field the Gipsy Field.



GUDLO XXIX. HOW THE GIPSY WENT INTO THE WATER.

Yeck divvus a prastramengro prastered pauli a Rommany chal, an' the chal jalled adree the panni, that was pordo o' boro bittis o' floatin' shill, and there he hatched pall his men with only his sherro avree. "Hav avree," shelled a rye that was wafro in his see for the pooro rnush, "an' we'll mukk you jal!" "Kek," penned the Rom; "I shan't jal." "Well avree," penned the rye ajaw, "an' I'll del tute pange bar!" "Kek," rakkered the Rom. "Jal avree," shokkered the rye, "an' I'll del tute pange bar an' a nevvi chukko!" "Will you del mandy a walin o' tatto panni too?" putched the Rommany chal. "Avail, avail," penned the rye; "but for Duveleste hav' avree the panni!" "Kushto," penned the Rommany chal, "for cammoben to tute, rya, I'll jal avree!" {235}

TRANSLATION.

Once a policeman chased a Gipsy, and the Gipsy ran into the river, that was full of great pieces of floating ice, and there he stood up to his neck with only his head out. "Come out," cried a gentleman that pitied the poor man, "and we'll let you go!" "No," said the Gipsy; "I won't move." "Come out," said the gentleman again, "and I'll give you five pounds!" "No," said the Gipsy. "Come out," cried the gentleman, "and I'll give you five pounds and a new coat!" "Will you give me a glass of brandy too?" asked the Gipsy. "Yes, yes," said the gentleman; "but for God's sake come out of the water!" "Well," exclaimed the Gipsy, "to oblige you, sir, I'll come out!"



GUDLO XXX. THE GIPSY AND HIS TWO MASTERS.

"Savo's tute's rye?" putched a ryas mush of a Rommany chal. "I've dui ryas," pooked the Rommany chal: "Duvel's the yeck an' beng's the waver. Mandy kairs booti for the beng till I've lelled my yeckora habben, an' pallers mi Duvel pauli ajaw."

TRANSLATION.

"Who is your master?" asked a gentleman's servant of a Gipsy. "I've two masters," said the Gipsy: "God is the one, and the devil is the other. I work for the devil till I have got my dinner (one-o'clock food), and after that follow the Lord."



GUDLO XXXI. THE LITTLE GIPSY BOY AT THE SILVERSMITH'S.

A bitti chavo jalled adree the boro gav pash his dadas, an' they hatched taller the hev of a ruppenomengro's buddika sar pordo o' kushti-dickin covvas. "O dadas," shelled the tikno chavo, "what a boro choromengro dovo mush must be to a' lelled so boot adusta rooys an' horas!"

A tacho covva often dicks sar a hokkeny (huckeny) covva; an dovo's sim of a tacho mush, but a juva often dicks tacho when she isn't.

TRANSLATION.

A little boy went to the great village (i.e., London) with his father, and they stopped before the window of a silversmith's shop all full of pretty things. "O father," cried the small boy, "what a great thief that man must be to have got so many spoons and watches!"

A true thing often looks like a false one; and the same is true (and that's same) of a true man, but a girl often looks right when she is not.



GUDLO XXXII. THE GIPSY'S DREAM.

Mandy sutto'd I was pirraben lang o' tute, an' I dicked mandy's pen odoi 'pre the choomber. Then I was pirryin' ajaw parl the puvius, an' I welled to the panni paul' the Beng's Choomber, an' adoi I dicked some ranis, saw nango barrin' a pauno plachta 'pre lengis sherros, adree the panni pash their bukkos. An' I pookered lengis, "Mi-ranis, I putch tute's cammoben; I didn't jin tute sus acai." But yeck pre the wavers penned mandy boot kushti cammoben, "Chichi, mor dukker your-kokero; we just welled alay acai from the ker to lel a bitti bath." An' she savvy'd sa kushto, but they all jalled avree glan mandy sar the bavol, an' tute was hatchin' pash a maudy sar the cheirus.

So it pens, "when you dick ranis sar dovo, you'll muller kushto." Well, if it's to be akovo, I kaum it'll be a booti cheirus a-wellin.' Tacho!

TRANSLATION.

I dreamed I was walking with you, and I saw my sister (a fortune-teller) there upon the hill. Then I (found myself) walking again over the field, and I came to the water near the Devil's Dyke, and there I saw some ladies, quite naked excepting a white cloth on their heads, in the water to the waists. And I said to them, "Ladies, I beg your pardon; I did not know you were here." But one among the rest said to me very kindly, "No matter, don't trouble yourself; we just came down here from the house to take a little bath." And she smiled sweetly, but they all vanished before me like the cloud (wind), and you were standing by me all the time.

So it means, "when you see ladies like that, you will die happily." Well, if it's to be that, I hope it will be a long time coming. Yes, indeed.



GUDLO XXXIII. OF THE GIRL AND HER LOVER.

Yeckorus, boot hundred beshes the divvus acai, a juva was wellin' to chore a yora. "Mukk mandy hatch," penned the yora, "an' I'll sikker tute ki tute can lel a tikno pappni." So the juva lelled the tikno pappni, and it pookered laki, "Mukk mandy jal an' I'll sikker tute ki tute can chore a bori kani." Then she chored the bori kani, an' it shelled avree, "Mukk mandy jal an' I'll sikker tute ki you can loure a rani-chillico." And when she lelled the rani-chillico, it penned, "Mukk mandy jal an' I'll sikker tute odoi ki tute can lel a guruvni's tikno." So she lelled the guruvni's tikno, an' it shokkered and ruvved, an' rakkered, "Mukk mandy jal an' I'll sikker tute where to lel a fino grai." An' when she loured the grai, it penned laki, "Mukk mandy jal an' I'll rikker tute to a kushto-dick barvelo rye who kaums a pirreny." So she lelled the kushto tauno rye, an' she jivved with lester kushto yeck cooricus; but pash dovo he pookered her to jal avree, he didn't kaum her kekoomi. "Sa a wafro mush is tute," ruvved the rakli, "to bitcher mandy avree! For tute's cammoben I delled avree a yora, a tikno pappni, a boro kani, a rani-chillico, a guruvni's tikno, an' a fino grai." "Is dovo tacho?" putched the raklo. "'Pre my mullo dadas!" sovahalled the rakli," I del 'em sar apre for tute, yeck paul the waver, an' kenna tu bitchers mandy avree!" "So 'p mi-Duvel!" penned the rye, "if tute nashered sar booti covvas for mandy, I'll rummer tute." So they were rummobend.

Avali, there's huckeny (hokkeny) tachobens and tacho huckabens. You can sovahall pre the lil adovo.

TRANSLATION.

Once, many hundred years ago (to-day now), a girl was going to steal an egg. "Let me be," said the egg, "and I will show you where you can get a duck." So the girl got the duck, and it said (told) to her, "Let me go and I will show you where you can get a goose" (large hen). Then she stole the goose, and it cried out, "Let me go and I'll show you where you can steal a turkey" (lady-bird). And when she took the turkey, it said, "Let me go and I'll show you where you can get a calf." So she got the calf, and it bawled and wept, and cried, "Let me go and I'll show you where to get a fine horse." And when she stole the horse, it said to her, "Let me go and I'll carry you to a handsome, rich gentleman who wants a sweetheart." So she got the nice young gentleman, and lived with him pleasantly one week; but then he told her to go away, he did not want her any more. "What a bad man you are," wept the girl, "to send me away! For your sake I gave away an egg, a duck, a goose, a turkey, a calf, and a fine horse." "Is that true?" asked the youth. "By my dead father!" swore the girl, "I gave them all up for you, one after the other, and now you send me away!" "So help me God!" said the gentleman, "if you lost so many things for me, I'll marry you." So they were married.

Yes, there are false truths and true lies. You may kiss the book on that.



GUDLO XXXIV. THE GIPSY TELLS OF WILL-O'-THE-WISP.

Does mandy jin the lav adree Rommanis for a Jack-o'-lantern—the dood that prasters, and hatches, an' kells o' the ratti, parl the panni, adree the puvs? Avali; some pens 'em the Momeli Mullos, and some the Bitti Mullos. They're bitti geeros who rikker tute adree the gogemars, an' sikker tute a dood till you're all jalled apre a wafro drum an nashered, an' odoi they chiv their kokeros pauli an' savs at tute. Mandy's dicked their doods adusta cheiruses, an' kekoomi; but my pal dicked langis muis pash mungwe yeck ratti. He was jallin' langus an' dicked their doods, and jinned it was the yag of lesters tan. So he pallered 'em, an' they tadered him dukker the drum, parl the bors, weshes, puvius, gogemars, till they lelled him adree the panni, an then savvy'd avree. And odoi he dicked lender pre the waver rikk, ma lesters kokerus yakkis, an' they were bitti mushis, bitti chovihanis, about dui peeras boro. An' my pal was bengis hunnalo, an' sovahalled pal' lengis, "If I lelled you acai, you ratfolly juckos! if I nashered you, I'd chin tutes curros!" An' he jalled to tan ajaw an' pookered mandy saw dovo 'pre dovo rat. "Kun sus adovo?" Avali, rya; dovo was pash Kaulo Panni—near Blackwater.

TRANSLATION.

Do I know the word in Rommanis for a Jack-o'-lantern—the light that runs, and stops, and dances by night, over the water, in the fields? Yes; some call them the Light Ghosts, and some the Little Ghosts. They're little men who lead you into the waste and swampy places, and show you a light until you have gone astray and are lost, and then they turn themselves around and laugh at you. I have seen their lights many a time, and nothing more; but my brother saw their faces close and opposite to him (directly vis-a-vis) one night. He was going along and saw their lights, and thought it was the fire of his tent. So he followed them, and they drew him from the road over hedges, woods, fields, and lonely marshes till they got him in the water, and then laughed out loud. And there he saw them with his own eyes, on the opposite side, and they were little fellows, little goblins, about two feet high. And my brother was devilish angry, and swore at them! "If I had you here, you wretched dogs! if I caught you, I'd cut your throats!" And he went home and told me all that that night. "Where was it?" Yes, sir; that was near Blackwater.



GUDLO XXXV. THE GIPSY EXPLAINS WHY THE FLOUNDER HAS HIS MOUTH ON ONE SIDE.

Yeckorus sar the matchis jalled an' suvved kettenescrus 'dree the panni. And yeck penned as yuv was a boro mush, an' the waver rakkered ajaw sa yuv was a borodiro mush, and sar pookered sigan ket'nus how lengis were borodirer mushis. Adoi the flounder shelled avree for his meriben "Mandy's the krallis of you sar!" an' he shelled so surrelo he kaired his mui bongo, all o' yeck rikkorus. So to akovo divvus acai he's penned the Krallis o' the Matchis, and rikkers his mui bongo sar o' yeck sidus.

Mushis shouldn't shell too shunaben apre lengis kokeros.

TRANSLATION.

Once all the fish came and swam together in the water. And one said that he was a great person, and the other declared that he was a greater person, and (at last) all cried out at once what great characters (men) they all were. Then the flounder shouted for his life, "I'm the king of you all!" and he roared so violently he twisted his mouth all to one side. So to this day he is called the King of the Fishes, and bears his face crooked all on one side.

Men should not boast too loudly of themselves.



GUDLO XXXVI. A GIPSY ACCOUNT OF THE TRUE ORIGIN OF THE FISH CALLED OLD MAIDS OR YOUNG MAIDS.

Yeckorus kushti-dickin raklos were suvvin' 'dree the lun panni, and there welled odoi some plochti raklis an' juvas who pooked the tano ryas to hav' avree an' choomer 'em. But the raklos wouldn't well avree, so the ranis rikkered their rivabens avree an' pirried adree the panni paul' lendy. An' the ryas who were kandered alay, suvved andurer 'dree the panni, an' the ranis pallered 'em far avree till they were saw latchered, raklos and raklis. So the tauno ryas were purabened into Barini Mushi Matchis because they were too ladge (latcho) of the ranis that kaumed 'em, and the ranis were kaired adree Puri Rani Matchis and Tani Rani Matchis because they were too tatti an' ruzli.

Raklos shouldn't be too ladge, nor raklis be too boro of their kokeros.

TRANSLATION.

Once some handsome youths were swimming in the sea, and there came some wanton women and girls who told the young men to come out and kiss them. But the youths would not come out, so the ladies stripped themselves and ran into the water after them. And the gentles who were driven away swam further into the water, and the ladies followed them far away till all were lost, boys and girls. So the young men were changed into Codfish because they were too shy of the girls that loved them, and the ladies were turned into Old Maids and Young Maids because they were too wanton and bold.

Men should not be too modest, nor girls too forward.



GUDLO XXXVII. HOW LORD COVENTRY LEAPED THE GIPSY TENT. A TRUE STORY.

I dicked Lord Coventry at the Worcester races. He kistured lester noko grai adree the steeple-chase for the ruppeny—kek,—a sonnakai tank I think it was,—but he nashered. It was dovo tano rye that yeck divvus in his noko park dicked a Rommany chal's tan pash the rikk of a bor; and at yeck leap he kistered apre the bor, and jalled right atut an' parl the Rommany chal's tan. "Ha, kun's acai?" he shelled, as he dicked the tikno kaulos; "a Rommany chal's tan!" And from dovo divvus he mukked akovo Rom hatch his cammoben 'pre his puv. Tacho.

Ruzlo mushis has boro sees.

TRANSLATION.

I saw Lord Coventry at the Worcester races. He rode his own horse in the steeple-chase for the silver—no, it was a gold tankard, I think, but he lost.

It was that young gentleman who one day in his own park saw a Gipsy tent by the side of a hedge, and took a flying leap over tent, hedge, and all. "Ha, what's here?" he cried, as he saw the little brown children; "a Gipsy's tent!" And from that day he let that Gipsy stay as much as he pleased on his land.

Bold men have generous hearts.



GUDLO XXXVIII. OF MR BARTLETT'S LEAP.

Dovo's sim to what they pens of Mr Bartlett in Glo'stershire, who had a fino tem pash Glo'ster an' Bristol, where he jivved adree a boro ker. Kek mush never dicked so booti weshni juckalos or weshni kannis as yuv rikkered odoi. They prastered atut saw the drumyas sim as kanyas. Yeck divvus he was kisterin' on a kushto grai, an' he dicked a Rommany chal rikkerin' a truss of gib-puss 'pre lester dumo pral a bitti drum, an' kistered 'pre the pooro mush, puss an' sar. I jins that puro mush better 'n I jins tute, for I was a'ter yeck o' his raklis yeckorus; he had kushti-dick raklis, an' he was old Knight Locke. "Puro," pens the rye, "did I kair you trash?" "I mang tute's shunaben, rya," pens Locke pauli; "I didn't jin tute sus wellin'!" So puro Locke hatched odoi 'pre dovo tem sar his miraben, an' that was a kushti covva for the puro Locke.

TRANSLATION.

That is like what is told of Mr Bartlett in Gloucestershire, who had a fine place near Gloucester and Bristol, where he lived in a great house. No man ever saw so many foxes or pheasants as he kept there. They ran across all the paths like hens. One day he was riding on a fine horse, when he saw a Gipsy carrying a truss of wheat-straw on his back up a little path, and leaped over the poor man, straw and all. I knew that old man better than I know you, for I was after one of his daughters then; he had beautiful girls, and he was old Knight Locke. "Old fellow," said the gentleman, "did I frighten you?" "I beg your pardon, sir," said Locke after him; "I didn't know you were coming!" So old Locke stayed on that land all his life, and that was a good thing for old Locke.



GUDLO XXXIX. THE GIPSY, THE PIG, AND THE MUSTARD.

Yeckorus a Rommany chal jalled to a boro givescroker sa's the rye sus hawin'. And sikk's the Rom wan't a-dickin', the rye all-sido pordered a kell-mallico pash kris, an' del it to the Rommany chal. An' sa's the kris dantered adree his gullo, he was pash tassered, an' the panni welled in his yakkas. Putched the rye, "Kun's tute ruvvin' ajaw for?" An' he rakkered pauli, "The kris lelled mandys bavol ajaw." Penned the rye, "I kaum the kris'll del tute kushti bak." "Parraco, rya," penned the Rom pauli; "I'll kommer it kairs dovo." Sikk's the rye bitchered his sherro, the Rommany chal loured the krissko-curro ma the ruppeny rooy, an' kek dicked it. The waver divvus anpauli, dovo Rom jalled to the ryas baulo- tan, an' dicked odoi a boro rikkeno baulo, an' gillied, "I'll dick acai if I can kair tute ruv a bitti."

Now, rya, you must jin if you del a baulor kris adree a pabo, he can't shell avree or kair a gudlo for his miraben, an' you can rikker him bissin', or chiv him apre a wardo, an' jal andurer an' kek jin it. An' dovo's what the Rommany chal kaired to the baulor, pash the sim kris; an' as he bissered it avree an' pakkered it adree a gunno, he penned shukkar adree the baulor's kan, "Calico tute's rye hatched my bavol, an' the divvus I've hatched tute's; an' yeckorus your rye kaumed the kris would del mandy kushti bak, and kenna it has del mengy kushtier bak than ever he jinned.

Ryes must be sig not to kair pyass an' trickis atop o' choro mushis.

TRANSLATION.

Once a Gipsy went to a great farmhouse as the gentleman sat at table eating. And so soon as the Gipsy looked away, the gentleman very quietly filled a cheese-cake with mustard and gave it to the Gipsy. When the mustard bit in his throat, he was half choked, and the tears came into his eyes. The gentleman asked him, "What are you weeping for now?" And he replied, "The mustard took my breath away." The gentleman said, "I hope the mustard will give you good luck!" "Thank you, sir," answered the Gipsy; "I'll take care it does" (that). As soon as the gentleman turned his head, the Gipsy stole the mustard-pot with the silver spoon, and no one saw it. The next day after, that Gipsy went to the gentleman's pig-pen, and saw there a great fine-looking pig, and sang, "I'll see now if I can make you weep a bit."

Now, sir, you must know that if you give a pig mustard in an apple, he can't cry out or squeal for his life, and you can carry him away, or throw him on a waggon, and get away, and nobody will know it. And that is what the Gipsy did to the pig, with the same mustard; and as he ran it away and put it in a bag, he whispered softly into the pig's ear, "Yesterday your master stopped my breath, and to-day I've stopped yours; and once your master hoped the mustard would give me good luck, and now it has given me better luck than he ever imagined."

Gentlemen must be careful not to make sport of and play tricks on poor men.



GUDLO XL. EXPLAINING THE ORIGIN OF A CURRENT GIPSY PROVERB OR SAYING.

Trin or shtor beshes pauli kenna yeck o' the Petulengros dicked a boro mullo baulor adree a bitti drum. An' sig as he latched it, some Rommany chals welled alay an' dicked this here Rommany chal. So Petulengro he shelled avree, "A fino baulor! saw tulloben! jal an the sala an' you shall have pash." And they welled apopli adree the sala and lelled pash sar tacho. And ever sense dovo divvus it's a rakkerben o' the Rommany chals, "Sar tulloben; jal an the sala an' tute shall lel your pash."

TRANSLATION.

Three or four years ago one of the Smiths found a great dead pig in a lane. And just as he found it, some Gipsies came by and saw this Rommany. So Smith bawled out to them, "A fine pig! all fat! come in the morning and you shall have half." And they returned in the morning and got half, all right. And ever since it has been a saying with the Gipsies, "It's all fat; come in the morning and get your half."



GUDLO XLI. THE GIPSY'S FISH-HOOK.

Yeckorus a rye pookered a Rommany chal he might jal matchyin' 'dree his panni, and he'd del lester the cammoben for trin mushi, if he'd only matchy with a bongo sivv an' a punsy-ran. So the Rom jalled with India- drab kaired apre moro, an' he drabbered saw the matchas adree the panni, and rikkered avree his wardo sar pordo. A boro cheirus pauli dovo, the rye dicked the Rommany chal, an' penned, "You choramengro, did tute lel the matchas avree my panni with a hook?" "Ayali, rya, with a hook," penned the Rom pale, werry sido. "And what kind of a hook?" "Rya," rakkered the Rom, "it was yeck o' the longi kind, what we pens in amandis jib a hookaben" (i.e., huckaben or hoc'aben).

When you del a mush cammoben to lel matchyas avree tute's panni, you'd better hatch adoi an' dick how he kairs it.

TRANSLATION.

Once a gentleman told a Gipsy he might fish in his pond, and he would give him permission to do so for a shilling, but that he must only fish with a hook and a fishing-pole (literally, crooked needle). So the Gipsy went with India-drab (juice of the berries of Indicus cocculus) made up with bread, and poisoned all the fish in the pond, and carried away his waggonful. A long time after, the gentleman met the Gipsy, and said, "You thief, did you catch the fish in my pond with a hook?" "Yes, sir, with a hook," replied the Gipsy very quietly. "And what kind of a hook?" "Sir," said the Gipsy, "it was one of the long kind, what we call in our language a hookaben" (i.e., a lie or trick).

When you give a man leave to fish in your pond, you had better be present and see how he does it.



GUDLO XLII. THE GIPSY AND THE SNAKE.

If you more the first sappa you dicks, tute'll more the first enemy you've got. That's what 'em pens, but I don't jin if it's tacho or nettus. And yeckorus there was a werry wafro mush that was allers a-kairin' wafri covvabens. An' yeck divvus he dicked a sap in the wesh, an' he prastered paller it with a bori churi adree lester waster and chinned her sherro apre. An' then he rakkered to his kokerus, "Now that I've mored the sap, I'll lel the jivaben of my wenomest enemy." And just as he penned dovo lav he delled his pirro atut the danyas of a rukk, an' pet alay and chivved the churi adree his bukko. An' as he was beshin' alay a-mullerin' 'dree the weshes, he penned to his kokerus, "Avali, I dicks kenna that dovo's tacho what they pookers about morin' a sappa; for I never had kek worser ennemis than I've been to mandy's selfus, and what wells of morin' innocen hanimals is kek kushtoben."

TRANSLATION.

If you kill the first snake you see, you'll kill the first (principal) enemy you have. That is what they say, but I don't know whether it is true or not. And once there was a very bad man who was always doing bad deeds. And one day he saw a snake in the forest, and ran after it with a great knife in his hand and cut her head off. And then he said to himself, "Now that I've killed the snake, I'll take the life of my most vindictive (literally, most venomous) enemy." And just as he spoke that word he struck his foot against the roots of a tree, and fell down and drove the knife into his own body (liver or heart). And as he lay dying in the forests, he said to himself, "Yes, I see now that it is true what they told me as to killing a snake; for I never had any worse enemy than I have been to myself, and what comes of killing innocent animals is naught good."



GUDLO XLIII. THE STORY OF THE GIPSY AND THE BULL.

Yeckorus there was a Rommany chal who was a boro koorin' mush, a surrelo mush, a boro-wasteni mush, werry toonery an' hunnalo. An' he penned adusta cheiruses that kek geero an' kek covva 'pre the drumyas couldn't trasher him. But yeck divvus, as yuv was jallin' langs the drum with a waver pal, chunderin' an' hookerin' an' lunterin', an' shorin' his kokero how he could koor the puro bengis' selfus, they shooned a guro a-goorin' an' googerin', an' the first covva they jinned he prastered like divius at 'em, an' these here geeros prastered apre ye rukk, an' the boro koorin' mush that was so flick o' his wasters chury'd first o' saw (sar), an' hatched duri-dirus from the puv pre the limmers. An' he beshed adoi an' dicked ye bullus wusserin' an' chongerin' his trushnees sar aboutus, an' kellin' pre lesters covvas, an' poggerin' to cutengroes saw he lelled for lesters miraben. An' whenever the bavol pudered he was atrash he'd pelt-a-lay 'pre the shinger-ballos of the gooro (guro). An' so they beshed adoi till the sig of the sala, when the mush who dicked a'ter the gruvnis welled a-pirryin' by an' dicked these here chals beshin' like chillicos pre the rukk, an' patched lengis what they were kairin' dovo for. So they pookered him about the bullus, an' he hankered it avree; an' they welled alay an' jalled andurer to the kitchema, for there never was dui mushis in 'covo tem that kaumed a droppi levinor koomi than lender. But pale dovo divvus that trusheni mush never sookered he couldn't be a trashni mush no moreus. Tacho.

TRANSLATION.

Once there was a Gipsy who was a great fighting man, a strong man, a great boxer, very bold and fierce. And he said many a time that no man and no thing on the roads could frighten him. But one day, as he was going along the road with another man (his friend), exaggerating and bragging and boasting, and praising himself that he could beat the old devil himself, they heard a bull bellowing and growling, and the first thing they knew he ran like mad at them; and these men hurried up a tree, and the great fighting man that was so handy with his fists climbed first of all, and got (placed) himself furtherest from the ground on the limbs. And he sat there and saw the bull tossing and throwing his baskets all about, and dancing on his things, and breaking to pieces all he had for his living. And whenever the wind blew he was afraid he would fall on the horns of the bull. And so they sat there till daybreak, when the man who looked after the cows came walking by and saw these fellows sitting like birds on the tree, and asked them what they were doing that for. So they told him about the bull, and he drove it away; and they came down and went on to the alehouse, for there never were two men in this country that wanted a drop of beer more than they. But after that day that thirsty man never boasted he could not be a frightened man. True.



GUDLO XLIV. THE GIPSY AND HIS THREE SWEETHEARTS.

Yeckorus a tano mush kaired his cammoben ta trin juvas kett'nus an' kek o' the trin jinned yuv sus a pirryin' ye waver dui. An 'covo raklo jivved adree a bitti tan pash the rikkorus side o' the boro lun panni, an' yeck ratti sar the chais welled shikri kett'nus a lester, an' kek o' the geeris jinned the wavers san lullerin adoi. So they jalled sar-sigan kett'nus, an' rakkered, "Sarshan!" ta yeck chairus. An' dovo raklo didn't jin what juva kaumed lester ferridirus, or kun yuv kaumed ye ferridirus, so sar the shtor besht-a-lay sum, at the habbenescro, and yuv del len habben an' levinor. Yeck hawed booti, but ye waver dui wouldn't haw kek, yeck pii'd, but ye waver dui wouldn't pi chommany, 'cause they were sar hunnali, and sookeri an' kuried. So the raklo penned lengis, yuv sos atrash if yuv lelled a juva 'at couldn't haw, she wouldn't jiv, so he rummored the rakli that hawed her habben.