Do you know the Gypsy way of taking the hand?
Aye, aye, brother.
Show it to me.
They does it so, brother.
A tramp has more fun than a Gypsy.
You have heard the word pazorrus. That is what is called by the Gentiles “trusted,” or in debt. In the old time the Roman who got from his brother money or other things on trust, and did not pay him again, could be made to work for him as horse, ass, or wood cutter for a year and a day. At present the matter is not so. If a Roman got money, or other things, from my hand on credit, and did not repay me, how could I make him labour for me as horse, ass, or stick-cutter for one day, not to say for a year?
Do you call this a fair? A very pretty fair is this: you might put it all into your pocket.
It is not a wise thing to say you have been wrong. If you allow you have been wrong, people will say: You may be a very honest fellow, but are certainly a very great fool.
Where are you living?
Mine is not living; mine is staying, to say the best of it; I am a traveller, brother!
When Roman people speak to one another, they say brother and sister. When parents speak to their children, they say, my son, or my daughter, or my child, gorgiko-like, to either. When children speak to their parents, they say, my father, or my mother.
My father, why were worms made? My son, that moles might live by eating them. My father, why were moles made? My son, that you and I might live by catching them. My father, why were you and I made? My son, that worms might live by eating us.
All farmers are fools. When they hear a citizen in the country say: That’s a fine horse! they say: ’Tis no horse, ’tis a mare; whether the thing’s a horse or not. The simpletons don’t know that a mare’s a horse, though a horse is not a mare.
No one like Gypsy Will’s wife for dancing in a platter.
When Constance Smith died, she was a hundred ten years old.
Do you know Mrs. Cooper?
I knows her very well, brother.
Do you like her?
I loves her very much, brother; and I have often, often said to the other Gypsies, when they speaking ill of her: She’s a gentlewoman; takes care of all of you; if it were not for her, you would all go to the devil.
What does she do for a living?
She tells fortunes, brother; she tells fortunes.
Is she a good hand at fortune-telling?
There’s no Roman woman under the sun so good at fortune-telling as Mrs. Cooper; it is impossible not to have your fortune told by her; she’s a true witch; she takes people by the hand, and tells their fortunes, whether they will or no.
’Tis no use to go seeking after Gypsies. When you wants to see them ’tis impossible to find one of them; but when you are thinking of other matters you see plenty, plenty of them.
I will swear neither falsely nor truly against any one; if they wishes to find out something, let them find it out themselves.
If he had been transported for a great robbery, I would have said nothing; but it makes me mad to think that he has been sent away, all along of a vile harlot, for the value of three-and-sixpence.
When he had committed the murder he made haste, and ran into the wood, where he hid himself in the hollow of a great old tree; but it was no use at all; the runners followed his track all along the forest till they came to the tree.
How many fortunes have you told to-day?
Only one lady’s, brother; yonder she’s coming back; I knows her by the black lace on her gown.
How much money did she give you?
Only one groat, brother; only one groat. May the devil run away with her bodily!
Hear the words of wisdom which Mike the Grecian said to Mrs. Trullifer: Mrs. Trollopr, you must live by your living; and if you have a pound you must spend it.
Can you speak Romany?
Aye, aye, brother!
What is Weshenjuggalslomomengreskeytemskeytudlogueri?
I don’t know what you say, brother.
Then you are no master of Romany.
ROMANE NAVIOR OF TEMES AND GAVIOR
GYPSY NAMES OF CONTRIES AND
TOWNS
Bitcheno padlengreskey tem |
Transported fellows’ country, Botany Bay |
Bokra-mengreskey tem |
Shepherds’ country, Sussex |
Bori-congriken gav |
Great church town, York |
Boro-rukeneskey gav |
Great tree town, Fairlop |
Boro gueroneskey tem |
Big fellows’ country, Northumberland |
Chohawniskey tem |
Witches’ country, Lancashire |
Choko-mengreskey gav |
Shoemakers’ town, Northampton |
Churi-mengreskey gav |
Cutlers’ town, Sheffield |
Coro-mengreskey tem |
Potters’ country, Staffordshire |
Cosht-killimengreskey tem |
Cudgel players’ country, Cornwall |
Curo-mengreskey gav |
Boxers’ town, Nottingham |
Dinelo tem |
Fools’ country, Suffolk |
Giv-engreskey tem |
Farmers’ country, Buckinghamshire |
Gry-engreskey gav |
Horsedealers’ town, Horncastle |
Guyo-mengreskey tem |
Pudding-eaters’ country, Yorkshire |
Hindity-mengreskey tem |
Dirty fellows’ country, Ireland |
Jinney-mengreskey gav |
Sharpers’ town, Manchester |
Juggal-engreskey gav |
Dog-fanciers’ town, Dudley |
Juvlo-mengreskey tem |
Lousy fellows’ country, Scotland |
Kaulo gav |
The black town, Birmingham |
Levin-engriskey tem |
Hop country, Kent |
Lil-engreskey gav |
Book fellows’ town, Oxford |
Match-eneskey gav |
Fishy town, Yarmouth |
Mi-krauliskey gav |
Royal town, London |
Nashi-mescro gav |
Racers’ town, Newmarket |
Pappin-eskey tem |
Duck country, Lincolnshire |
Paub-pawnugo tem |
Apple-water country, Herefordshire |
Porrum-engreskey tem |
Leek-eaters’ country, Wales |
Pov-engreskey tem |
Potato country, Norfolk |
Rashayeskey gav |
Clergyman’s town, Ely |
Rokrengreskey gav |
Talking fellows’ town, Norwich |
Shammin-engreskey gav |
Chairmakers’ town, Windsor |
Tudlo tem |
Milk country, Cheshire |
Weshen-eskey gav |
Forest town, Epping |
Weshen-juggal-slommo-mengreskey tem |
Fox-hunting fellows’ country, Leicestershire |
Wongareskey gav |
Coal town, Newcastle |
Wusto-mengresky tem |
Wrestlers’ country, Devonshire |
THOMAS ROSSAR-MESCRO, OR THOMAS HERNE
THOMAS ROSSAR-MESCRO
Prey Juniken bis diuto divvus, drey the besh yeck mille ochto shel shovardesh ta trin, mande jaw’d to dick Thomas Rossar-mescro, a puro Romano, of whom mande had shoon’d bute. He was jibbing drey a tan naveno Rye Groby’s Court, kek dur from the Coromengreskoe Tan ta Bokkar-engreskey Wesh. When mande dick’d leste he was beshing prey the poov by his wuddur, chiving misto the poggado tuleskey part of a skammin. His ker was posh ker, posh wardo, and stood drey a corner of the tan; kek dur from lesti were dui or trin wafor ker-wardoes. There was a wafudo canipen of baulor, though mande dick’d kekkeney. I penn’d “Sarshin?” in Romany jib, and we had some rokrapen kettaney. He was a boro mush, as mande could dick, though he was beshing. But though boro he was kek tulo, ta lescré wastes were tarney sar yek rawnie’s. Lollo leste mui sar yeck weneskoe paub, ta lescro bal rather lollo than parno. Prey his shero was a beti stadj, and he was kek wafudo riddo. On my putching leste kisi boro he was, ta kisi puro, he penn’d that he was sho piré sore but an inch boro, ta enyovardesh ta dui besh puro. He didn’t jin to rokkra bute in Romano, but jinn’d almost sore so mande rokkar’d te leste. Moro rokkrapen was mostly in gorgiko jib. Yeck covar yecklo drey lescro drom of rokkring mande pennsch’d kosko to rig in zi. In tan of penning Romany, sar wafor Romany chals, penn’d o Roumany, a lav which sig, sig rigg’d to my zi Roumain, the tatcho, puro nav of the Vallackiskie jib and foky. He seem’d a biti aladge of being of Romany rat. He penn’d that he was beano drey the Givengreskey Tem, that he was kek tatcho Romano, but yeckly posh ta posh: lescro dado was Romano, but lescri daya a gorgie of the Lilengreskoe Gav; he had never camm’d bute to jib Romaneskoenaes, and when tarno had been a givengreskoe raklo. When he was boro he jall’d adrey the Lilengrotemskey militia, and was desh ta stor besh a militia curomengro. He had jall’d bute about Engli-tem and the juvalo-mengreskey, Tem, drey the cheeros of the puri chingaripen, and had been adrey Monseer-tem, having volunteered to jal odoy to cour agen the parley-woo gueros. He had dick’d Bordeaux and the boro gav Paris. After the chingaripen, he had lell’d oprey skamminengring, and had jall’d about the tem, but had been knau for buter than trianda beshor jibbing in Lundra. He had been romado, but his romadi had been mullee bute, bute cheeros; she had dinn’d leste yeck chavo, so was knau a heftwardesh beshengro, dicking bute puroder than yo cocoro, ta kanau lying naflo of a tatti naflipen drey yeck of the wardes. He penn’d that at yeck cheeros he could kair dosta luvvu by skammin-engring, but kanau from his bori puripen could scarcely kair yeck tringurushee a divvus. “Ladjipen si,” I penn’d, “that a mush so puro as tute should have to booty.” “Kosko zi! kosko zi!” he penn’d; “Paracrow Dibble that mande is dosta ruslo to booty, and that mande has koskey camomescres; I shan’t be tugnis to jib to be a shel beshengro, though tatchipen si if mande was a rye mande would kair kek booty.” His chaveskoe chavo, a trianda ta pansch beshengro, well’d kanau ta rokkar’d mansar. He was a misto dicking ta rather misto riddo mush, sar chimouni jinneymengreskey drey lescro mui. He penn’d that his dadeskoe dad was a fino puro mush, savo had dick’d bute, and that dosta, dosta foky well’d odoy to shoon lescré rokkrapenes of the puro cheeros, of the Franciskie ta Amencanskie chingaripenes, and of what yo had dick’d drey wafu tems. That tatchipen to pen there was a cheeros when his drom was dur from kosko, for that he camm’d to cour, sollohaul ta kair himself motto, but that kanau he was a wafu mush, that he had muk’d sore curopen and wafudo rokkrapen, and, to corauni sore, was yeck tee-totaller, yo cocoro having kair’d leste sollohaul that he would pi kekomi neither tatti panie nor levinor: that he jall’d sore the curques either to congri or Tabernacle, and that tho’ he kek jinn’d to del oprey he camm’d to shoon the Miduveleskoe lil dell’d oprey to leste; that the panishkie ryor held leste drey boro camopen, and that the congriskoe rashi, and oprey sore Dr. P. of the Tabernacle had a boro opinionos of leste, ta penn’d that he would hal the Miduveleskoe habben sar moro Araunyo Jesus drey the kosko tem opral. Mande putch’d whether the Romany Chals well’d often to dick leste? He penn’d that they well’d knau and then to pen Koshto divvus and Sarshin? but dov’ odoy was sore; that neither his dadeskoe dad nor yo cocoro camm’d to dick lende, because they were wafodu foky, perdo of wafodupen and bango camopen, ta oprey sore bute envyous; that drey the wen they jall’d sore cattaney to the ryor, and rokkar’d wafodu of the puno mush, and pukker’d the ryor to let lester a coppur which the ryor had lent leste, to kair tatto his choveno puro truppo drey the cheeros of the trashlo shillipen; that tatchipen si their wafodupen kaired the puro mush kek dosh, for the ryor pukker’d lende to jal their drom and be aladge of their cocoré, but that it was kek misto to pensch that yeck was of the same rat as such foky. After some cheeros I dinn’d the puro mush a tawno cuttor of rupe, shook leste by ye wast, penn’d that it would be mistos amande to dick leste a shel-beshengro, and jaw’d away keri.
THOMAS HERNE
On the twenty-second day of June, in the year one thousand eight hundred and sixty-three, I went to see Thomas Herne, an old Gypsy, of whom I had heard a great deal. He was living at a place called Mr. Groby’s Court, not far from the Potteries and the Shepherd’s Bush. When I saw him, he was sitting on the ground by his door, mending the broken bottom of a chair. His house was half-house half-waggon, and stood in a corner of the court; not far from it were two or three other waggon-houses. There was a disagreeable smell of hogs, though I saw none. I said, “How you do?” in the Gypsy tongue, and we had discourse together. He was a tall man, as I could see, though he was sitting. But, though tall, he was not stout, and his hands were small as those of a lady. His face was as red as a winter apple, and his hair was rather red than grey. He had a small hat on his head, and he was not badly dressed. On my asking him how tall he was, and how old, he said that he was six foot high, all but an inch, and that he was ninety-two years old. He could not talk much Gypsy, but understood almost all that I said to him. Our discourse was chiefly in English. One thing only in his manner of speaking I thought worthy of remembrance. Instead of saying Romany, like other Gypsies, he said Roumany, a word which instantly brought to my mind Roumain, the genuine, ancient name of the Wallachian tongue and people. He seemed to be rather ashamed of being of Gypsy blood. He told me that he was born in Buckinghamshire, that he was no true Gypsy, but only half-and-half: his father was a Gypsy, but his mother was a Gentile of Oxford; he had never had any particular liking for the Gypsy manner of living, and when little had been a farmer’s boy. When he grew up he enlisted into the Oxford militia, and was fourteen years a militia soldier. He had gone much about England and Scotland in the time of the old war, and had been in France, having volunteered to go thither to fight against the French. He had seen Bordeaux and the great city of Paris. After war he had taken up chair-making, and had travelled about the country, but had been now for more than thirty years living in London. He had been married, but his wife had long been dead. She had borne him a son, who was now a man seventy years of age, looking much older than himself, and at present lying sick of a burning fever in one of the caravans. He said that at one time he could make a good deal of money by chair-making, but now from his great age could scarcely earn a shilling a day. “What a shame,” said I, “that a man so old as you should have to work at all!” “Courage! courage!” he cried; “I thank God that I am strong enough to work, and that I have good friends; I shan’t be sorry to live to be a hundred years old, though true it is that if I were a gentleman I would do no work.” His grandson, a man of about five-and-thirty, came now and conversed with me. He was a good-looking and rather well-dressed man, with something of a knowing card in his countenance. He said that his grandfather was a fine old man, who had seen a great deal, and that a great many people came to hear his stories of the old time, of the French and American wars, and of what he had seen in other countries. That, truth to say, there was a time when his way was far from commendable, for that he loved to fight, swear, and make himself drunk; but that now he was another man, that he had abandoned all fighting and evil speaking, and, to crown all, was a tee-totaller, he himself having made him swear that he would no more drink either gin or ale: that he went every Sunday either to church or Tabernacle, and that, though he did not know how to read, he loved to hear the holy book read to him; that the gentlemen of the parish entertained a great regard for him, and that the church clergyman and, above all, Dr. P. of the Tabernacle had a high opinion of him, and said that he would partake of the holy banquet with our Lord Jesus in the blessed country above. On my inquiring whether the Gypsies came often to see him, he said that they came now and then to say “Good day” and “How do you do?” but that was all; that neither his grandfather nor himself cared to see them, because they were evil people, full of wickedness and left-handed love, and, above all, very envyous; that in the winter they all went in a body to the gentlemen and spoke ill of the old man, and begged the gentlemen to take from him a blanket which the gentlemen had lent him to warm his poor old body with in the time of the terrible cold; that it is true their wickedness did the old man no harm, for the gentlemen told them to go away and be ashamed of themselves, but that it was not pleasant to think that one was of the same blood as such people. After some time I gave the old man a small piece of silver, shook him by the hand, said that I should be glad to see him live to be a hundred, and went away home.
KOKKODUS ARTARUS
Drey the puro cheeros there jibb’d a puri Romani juva, Sinfaya laki nav. Tatchi Romani juva i; caum’d to rokkra Romany, nav’d every mush kokkodus, ta every mushi deya. Yeck chavo was láki; lescro nav Artáros; dinnelo or diviou was O; romadi was lesgué; but the rommadi merr’d, mukking leste yeck chávo. Artáros caum’d to jal oprey the drom, and sikker his nangipen to rawnies and kair muior. At last the ryor chiv’d leste drey the diviou ker. The chávo jibb’d with his puri deya till he was a desch ta pantsch besh engro. Yeck divvus a Romani juva jalling along the drom dick’d the puri juva beshing tuley a bor roving: What’s the matter, Sinfaya, pukker’d i?
My chavo’s chavo is lell’d oprey,
deya.
What’s he lell’d oprey for?
For a meila and posh, deya.
Why don’t you jal to dick leste?
I have nash’d my maila, deya.
O má be tugni about your maila; jal and dick leste.
I don’t jin kah se, deya! diviou kokkodus Artáros jins, kek mande. Ah diviou, diviou, jal amande callico.
MANG, PRALA
BEG ON, BROTHER
MANG, PRALA
Romano chavo was manging sar bori gudli yeck rye te del les pasherro. Lescri deya so was beshing kek dur from odoy penn’d in gorgikey rokrapen: Meklis juggal, ta av acoi! ma kair the rye kinyo with your gudli! and then penn’d sig in Romany jib: Mang, Prala, mang! Ta o chavo kair’d ajaw till the rye chiv’d les yeck shohaury.
[Something like the following little anecdote is related by the Gypsies in every part of Continental Europe.]
BEG ON, BROTHER
A Gypsy brat was once pestering a gentleman to give him a halfpenny. The mother, who was sitting nigh, cried in English: Leave off, you dog, and come here! don’t trouble the gentleman with your noise; and then added in Romany: Beg on, brother! and so the brat did, till the gentleman flung him a sixpence.
ENGLISH GYPSY SONGS
WELLING KATTANEY: THE GYPSY MEETING
Coin si deya, coin
se dado?
Pukker mande drey Romanes,
Ta mande pukkeravava tute.
Rossar-mescri minri deya!
Vardo-mescro minro dado!
Coin se dado, coin si deya?
Mande’s pukker’d tute drey Romanes;
Knau pukker tute mande.
Petuiengro minro dado!
Purana minri deya!
Tatchey Romany si men—
Mande’s pukker’d tute drey Romanes,
Ta tute’s pukker’d mande.
THE GYPSY MEETING
Who’s your
mother, who’s your father?
Do thou answer me in Romany,
And I will answer thee.
A Hearne I have for mother!
A Cooper for my father!
Who’s your father, who’s your mother?
I have answer’d thee in Romany,
Now do thou answer me.
A Smith I have for father!
A Lee I have for mother!
True Romans both are we—
For I’ve answer’d thee in Romany,
And thou hast answer’d me.
LELLING CAPPI: MAKING A FORTUNE
“Av, my little
Romany chel!
Av along with mansar!
Av, my little Romany chel!
Koshto si for mangue.”
“I shall lel a curapen,
If I jal aley;
I shall lel a curapen
From my dear bebee.”
“I will jal on my chongor,
Then I’ll pootch your bebee.
‘O my dear bebee, dey me your chi,
For koshto si for mangue.’
“‘Since you pootch me for my
chi,
I will dey you lati.’”
Av, my little Romany chel!
We will jal to the wafu tem:
“I will chore a beti gry,
And so we shall lel cappi.”
“Kekko, meero mushipen,
For so you would be stardo;
“But I will jal a dukkering,
And so we shall lel cappi.”
“Koshto, my little Romany chel!
Koshto si for mangue.”
MAKING A FORTUNE
“Come along,
my little gypsy girl,
Come along, my little dear;
Come along, my little gypsy girl—
We’ll wander far and near.”
“I should get a leathering
Should I with thee go;
I should get a leathering
From my dear aunt, I trow.”
“I’ll go down on my two knees,
And I will beg your aunt.
‘O auntie dear, give me your child;
She’s just the girl I want!’
“‘Since you ask me for my child,
I will not say thee no!’
Come along, my little gypsy girl!
To another land we’ll go:
“I will steal a little horse,
And our fortunes make thereby.”
“Not so, my little gypsy boy,
For then you’d swing on high;
“But I’ll a fortune-telling go,
And our fortunes make thereby.”
“Well said, my little gypsy girl,
You counsel famously.”
LELLING CAPPI
No.2
“Av, my little
Rumni chel,
Av along with mansar;
We will jal a gry-choring
Pawdle across the chumba.
“I’ll jaw tuley on my chongor
To your deya and your bebee;
And I’ll pootch lende that they del
Tute to me for romadi.”
“I’ll jaw with thee, my Rumni
chal,
If my dye and bebee muk me;
But choring gristurs traishes me,
For it brings one to the rukie.
“’Twere ferreder that you should
ker,
Petuls and I should dukker,
For then adrey our tanney tan,
We kek atraish may sova.”
“Kusko, my little Rumni chel,
Your rokrapen is kusko;
We’ll dukker and we’ll petuls ker
Pawdle across the chumba.
“O kusko si to chore a gry
Adrey the kaulo rarde;
But ’tis not kosko to be nash’d
Oprey the nashing rukie.”
MAKING A FORTUNE
No.2
“Come along,
my little gypsy girl,
Come along with me, I pray!
A-stealing horses we will go,
O’er the hills so far away.
“Before your mother and your aunt
I’ll down upon my knee,
And beg they’ll give me their little girl
To be my Romadie.”
“I’ll go with you, my gypsy boy,
If my mother and aunt agree;
But a perilous thing is horse-stealinge,
For it brings one to the tree.
“’Twere better you should tinkering
ply,
And I should fortunes tell;
For then within our little tent
In safety we might dwell.”
“Well said, my little gypsy girl,
I like well what you say;
We’ll tinkering ply, and fortunes tell
O’er the hills so far away.
“’Tis a pleasant thing in a dusky
night
A horse-stealing to go;
But to swing in the wind on the gallows-tree,
Is no pleasant thing, I trow.”
THE DUI CHALOR
Dui Romany Chals
were bitcheney,
Bitcheney pawdle the bori pawnee.
Plato for kawring,
Lasho for choring
The putsi of a bori rawnee.
And when they well’d to the wafu tem,
The tem that’s pawdle the bori pawnee,
Plato was nasho
Sig, but Lasho
Was lell’d for rom by a bori rawnee.
You cam to jin who that rawnie was,
’Twas the rawnie from whom he chor’d the putsee:
The Chal had a black
Chohauniskie yack,
And she slomm’d him pawdle the bori pawnee.
THE TWO GYPSIES
Two Gypsy lads were
transported,
Were sent across the great water.
Plato was sent for rioting,
And Louis for stealing the purse
Of a great lady.
And when they came to the other country,
The country that lies across the great water,
Plato was speedily hung,
But Louis was taken as a husband
By a great lady.
You wish to know who was the lady,
’Twas the lady from whom he stole the purse:
The Gypsy had a black and witching eye,
And on account of that she followed him
Across the great water.
MIRO ROMANY CHl
As I was a jawing to
the gav yeck divvus
I met on the drom miro Romany chi;
I pootch’d las whether she come sar mande,
And she penn’d tu sar wafo rommadis;
O mande there is kek wafo romady,
So penn’d I to miro Romany chi,
And I’ll kair tute miro tatcho romadi
If you but pen tu come sar mande.
MY ROMAN LASS
As I to the town was
going one day
My Roman lass I met by the way;
Said I: Young maid, will you share my lot?
Said she: Another wife you’ve got.
Ah no! to my Roman lass I cried:
No wife have I in the world so wide,
And you my wedded wife shall be
If you will consent to come with me.
AVA, CHI
Hokka tute mande
Mande pukkra bebee
Mande shauvo tute—
Ava, Chi!
YES, MY GIRL
If to me you prove
untrue,
Quickly I’ll your auntie tell
I’ve been over-thick with you—
Yes, my girl, I will.
THE TEMESKOE RYE
Penn’d the
temeskoe rye to the Romany chi,
As the choon was dicking prey lende dui:
Rinkeny tawni, Romany rawni,
Mook man choom teero gudlo mui.
THE YOUTHFUL EARL
Said the youthful
earl to the Gypsy girl,
As the moon was casting its silver shine:
Brown little lady, Egyptian lady,
Let me kiss those sweet lips of thine.
CAMO-GILLIE
Pawnie birks
My men-engni shall be;
Yackors my dudes
Like ruppeney shine:
Atch meery chi!
Mā jal away:
Perhaps I may not dick tute
Kek komi.
LOVE-SONG
I’d choose as
pillows for my head
Those snow-white breasts of thine;
I’d use as lamps to light my bed
Those eyes of silver shine:
O lovely maid, disdain me not,
Nor leave me in my pain:
Perhaps ’twill never be my lot
To see thy face again.
TUGNIS AMANDE
I’m jalling
across the pāni—
A choring mas and morro,
Along with a bori lubbeny,
And she has been the ruin of me.
I sov’d yeck rarde drey a gran,
A choring mas and morro,
Along with a bori lubbeny,
And she has been the ruin of me.
She pootch’d me on the collico,
A choring mas and morro,
To jaw with lasa to the show,
For she would be the ruin of me.
And when I jaw’d odoy with lasa,
A choring mas and morro,
Sig she chor’d a rawnie’s kissi,
And so she was the ruin of me.
They lell’d up lata, they lell’d up
mande,
A choring mas and morro,
And bitch’d us dui pawdle pãni,
So she has been the ruin of me.
I’m jalling across the pāni,
A choring mas and morro,
Along with a bori lubbeny,
And she has been the ruin of me.
WOE IS ME
I’m sailing
across the water,
A-stealing bread and meat so free,
Along with a precious harlot,
And she has been the ruin of me.
I slept one night within a barn,
A-stealing bread and meat so free,
Along with a precious harlot,
And she has been the ruin of me.
Next morning she would have me go,
A-stealing bread and meat so free,
To see with her the wild-beast show,
For she would be the ruin of me.
I went with her to see the show,
A-stealing bread and meat so free,
To steal a purse she was not slow,
And so she was the ruin of me.
They took us up, and with her I,
A-stealing bread and meat so free:
Am sailing now to Botany,
So she has been the ruin of me.
I’m sailing across the water,
A-stealing bread and meat so free,
Along with a precious harlot,
And she has been the ruin of me.
THE RYE AND RAWNIE
The rye he mores
adrey the wesh
The kaun-engro and chiriclo;
You sovs with leste drey the wesh,
And rigs for leste the gono.
Oprey the rukh adrey the wesh
Are chiriclo and chiricli;
Tuley the rukh adrey the wesh
Are pireno and pireni.
THE SQUIRE AND LADY
The squire he roams
the good greenwood,
And shoots the pheasant and the hare;
Thou sleep’st with him in good green wood,
And dost for him the game-sack bear.
I see, I see upon the tree
The little male and female dove;
Below the tree I see, I see
The lover and his lady love.
ROMANY SUTTUR GILLIE
Jaw to sutturs, my
tiny chal;
Your die to dukker has jall’d abri;
At rarde she will wel palal
And tute of her tud shall pie.
Jaw to lutherum, tiny baw!
I’m teerie deya’s purie mam;
As tute cams her tud canaw
Thy deya meerie tud did cam.
GYPSY LULLABY
Sleep thee, little
tawny boy!
Thy mother’s gone abroad to spae,
Her kindly milk thou shalt enjoy
When home she comes at close of day.
Sleep thee, little tawny guest!
Thy mother is my daughter fine;
As thou dost love her kindly breast,
She once did love this breast of mine.
SHARRAFI KRALYISSA
Finor coachey innar
Lundra,
Bonor coachey innar Lundra,
Finor coachey, bonor coachey
Mande dick’d innar Lundra.
Bonor, finor coachey
Mande dick’d innar Lundra
The divvus the Kralyissa jall’d
To congri innar Lundra.
OUR BLESSED QUEEN
Coaches fine in
London,
Coaches good in London,
Coaches fine and coaches good
I did see in London.
Coaches good and coaches fine
I did see in London,
The blessed day our blessed Queen
Rode to church in London.
PLASTRA LESTI
Gare yourselves,
pralor!
Mã pee kek-komi!
The guero’s welling—
Plastra lesti!
RUN FOR IT!
Up, up, brothers!
Cease your revels!
The Gentile’s coming—
Run like devils!
FOREIGN GYPSY SONGS
Oy die-la, oy mama-la oy!
Cherie podey mangue penouri.Russian Gypsy Song.
THE
ROMANY SONGSTRESS
FROM THE RUSSIAN GYPSY
Her temples they are aching,
As if wine she had been taking;
Her tears are ever springing,
Abandoned is her singing!
She can neither eat nor nest
With love she’s so distress’d;
At length she’s heard to say:
“Oh here I cannot stay,
Go saddle me my steed,
To my lord I must proceed;
In his palace plenteously
Both eat and drink shall I;
The servants far and wide,
Bidding guests shall run and ride.
And when within the hall the multitude I see,
I’ll raise my voice anew, and sing in Romany.”
L’ERAJAI
Un erajai
Sinaba chibando un sermon;
Y lle falta un balicho
Al chindomar de aquel gao,
Y lo chanelaba que los Cales
Lo abian nicabao;
Y penela l’erajai, “Chaboró!
Guillate a tu quer
Y nicabela la peri
Que terela el balicho,
Y chibela andro
Una lima de tun chaborí,
Chabori,
Una lima de tun chabori.”
THE
FRIAR
FROM THE SPANISH GYPSY
A Friar
Was preaching once with zeal and with fire;
And a butcher of the town
Had lost a flitch of bacon;
And well the friar knew
That the Gypsies it had taken;
So suddenly he shouted: “Gypsy, ho!
Hie home, and from the pot!
Take the flitch of bacon out,
The flitch good and fat,
And in its place throw
A clout, a dingy clout of thy brat,
Of thy brat,
A clout, a dingy clout of thy brat.”
MALBRUN
FROM THE SPANISH GYPSY VERSION
Chaló Malbrun
chingarár,
Birandón, birandón, birandéra!
Chaló Malbrun chingarár;
No sé bus truterá!
No sé bus truterá!
La romi que le caméla,
Birandón, birandón, birandéra!
La romi que le camela
Muy curepeñada está,
Muy curepeñada está.
S’ardéla á la
felichá,
Birandón, birandón, birandéra!
S’ardéla á la felichá
Y baribu dur dicá,
Y baribu dur dicá.
Dicá abillar su burno,
Birandón, birandón, birandéra!
Dicá abillar su burno,
En ropa callardá,
En ropa callardá.
“Burno, lacho quirbó;
Birandón, birandón, birandéra!
Burno, lacho quiribó,
Que
nuevas has diñar?
Que nuevas has diñar?”
“Las nuevas que io térelo,
Birandón, birandón, birandéra!
Las nuevas que io terélo
Te haran orobar,
Te haran orobar.
“Meró Malbrun mi eráy,
Birandón, birandón, birandéra!
Meró Malbrun mi eráy
Meró en la chingá,
Meró en la chingá.
“Sinaba á su entierro,
Birandón, birandón, birandéra!
Sinaba á su entierro
La plastani sará,
La plastani sará.
“Seis guapos jundunáres,
Birandón, birandón, birandéra!
Seis guapos jundunáres
Le lleváron cabañar,
Le lleváron cabañar.
“Delante de la jestári,
Birandón, birandón, birandéra!
Delante de la jestári
Chaló el sacristá,
Chaló el sacristá.
“El sacristá delante,
Birandón, birandón, birandéra!
El sacristá delante,
Y el errajai palá,
Y el errajai palá.
“Al majaro ortaláme,
Birandón, birandón, birandéra!
Al majaro ortaláme
Le lleváron cabañar,
Le lleváron cabañar.
“Y oté le
cabañáron
Birandón, birandón, birandéra!
Y oté le cabañáron
No dur de la burdá,
No dur de la burdá.
“Y opré de la jestári
Birandón, birandón, birandéra!
Guillabéla un chilindróte;
Sobá en paz, sobá!
Sobá en paz, sobá!”
MALBROUK
Malbrouk is gone to
the wars,
Birrandón, birrandón, birrandéra!
Malbrouk is gone to the wars;
He’ll never return no more!
He’ll never return no more!
His lady-love and darling,
Birrandon, birrandón, birrandéra
His lady-love and darling
His absence doth deplore,
His absence doth deplore.
To the turret’s top she mounted,
Birrandón, birrandón, birrandéra!
To the turret’s top she mounted
And look’d till her eyes were sore,
And look’d till her eyes were sore.
She saw his squire a-coming,
Birrandón, birrandón, birrandéra!
She saw his squire a-coming;
And a mourning suit he wore,
And a mourning suit he wore.
“O squire, my trusty fellow;
Birrandón, birrandón, birrandéra!
O squire, my trusty fellow,
What
news of my soldier poor?
What news of my soldier poor?”
“The news which I bring thee, lady,
Birrandón, birrandón, birrandéra!
The news which I bring thee, lady,
Will cause thy tears to shower,
Will cause thy tears to shower.
“Malbrouk my master’s fallen,
Birrandón, birrandón, birrandéra!
Malbrouk my master’s fallen,
He fell on the fields of gore,
He fell on the fields of gore.
“His funeral attended,
Birrandón, birrandón, birrandéra!
His funeral attended
The whole reg’mental corps,
The whole reg’mental corps.
“Six neat and proper soldiers,
Birrandón, birrandón, birrandéra!
Six neat and proper soldiers
To the grave my master bore,
To the grave my master bore.
“The parson follow’d the coffin,
Birrandón, birrandón, birrandéra!
The parson follow’d the coffin,
And the sexton walk’d before,
And the sexton walk’d before.
“They buried him in the churchyard,
Birrandón, birrandón, birrandéra!
They buried him in the churchyard,
Not far from the church’s door,
Not far from the church’s door.
“And there above his coffin,
Birrandón, birrandón, birrandéra!
There sings a little swallow:
Sleep there, thy toils are o’er,
Sleep there, thy toils are o’er.”
THE ENGLISH GYPSIES
TUGNEY BESHOR
The Romany Chals
Should jin so bute
As the Puro Beng
To scape of gueros
And wafo gorgies
The wafodupen.
They lels our gryor,
They lels our wardoes,
And wusts us then
Drey starripenes
To mer of pishens
And buklipen.
Cauna volélan
Muley pappins
Pawdle the len
Men artavàvam
Of gorgio foky
The wafodupen.
Ley teero sollohanloinus
opreylis!
SORROWFUL YEARS
The wit and the skill
Of the Father of ill,
Who’s clever indeed,
If they would hope
With their foes to cope
The Romany need.
Our horses they take,
Our waggons they break,
And us they fling
Into horrid cells,
Where hunger dwells
And vermin sting.
When the dead swallow
The fly shall follow
Across the river,
O we’ll forget
The wrongs we’ve met,
But till then O never:
Brother, of that be certain.
THEIR HISTORY
The English Gypsies call themselves Romany Chals and Romany Chies, that is, Sons and Daughters of Rome. When speaking to each other, they say “Pal” and “Pen”; that is, brother and sister. All people not of their own blood they call “Gorgios,” or Gentiles. Gypsies first made their appearance in England about the year 1480. They probably came from France, where tribes of the race had long been wandering about under the names of Bohemians and Egyptians. In England they pursued the same kind of merripen [174] which they and their ancestors had pursued on the Continent. They roamed about in bands, consisting of thirty, sixty, or ninety families, with light, creaking carts, drawn by horses and donkeys, encamping at night in the spots they deemed convenient. The women told fortunes at the castle of the baron and the cottage of the yeoman; filched gold and silver coins from the counters of money-changers; caused the death of hogs in farmyards, by means of a stuff called drab or drao, which affects the brain, but does not corrupt the blood; and subsequently begged, and generally obtained, the carcases. The men plied tinkering and brasiery, now and then stole horses, and occasionally ventured upon highway robbery. The writer has here placed the Chies before the Chals, because, as he has frequently had occasion to observe, the Gypsy women are by far more remarkable beings than the men. It is the Chi and not the Chal who has caused the name of Gypsy to be a sound awaking wonder, awe, and curiosity in every part of the civilised world. Not that there have never been remarkable men of the Gypsy race both abroad and at home. Duke Michael, as he was called, the leader of the great Gypsy horde which suddenly made its appearance in Germany at the beginning of the fifteenth century, was no doubt a remarkable man; the Gitano Condre, whom Martin del Rio met at Toledo a hundred years afterwards, who seemed to speak all languages, and to be perfectly acquainted with the politics of all the Courts of Europe, must certainly have been a remarkable man; so, no doubt, here at home was Boswell; so undoubtedly was Cooper, called by the gentlemen of the Fives Court—poor fellows! they are all gone now—the “wonderful little Gypsy”;—but upon the whole the poetry, the sorcery, the devilry, if you please to call it so, are vastly on the side of the women. How blank and inanimate is the countenance of the Gypsy man, even when trying to pass off a foundered donkey as a flying dromedary, in comparison with that of the female Romany, peering over the wall of a par-yard at a jolly hog!
Sar shin Sinfye?
Koshto divvus, Romany Chi!
So shan tute kairing acoi?Sinfye, Sinfye! how do you do?
Daughter of Rome, good day to you!
What are you thinking here to do?
After a time the evil practices of the Gypsies began to be noised about, and terrible laws were enacted against people “using the manner of Egyptians”—Chies were scourged by dozens, Chals hung by scores. Throughout the reign of Elizabeth there was a terrible persecution of the Gypsy race; far less, however, on account of the crimes which they actually committed, than from a suspicion which was entertained that they harboured amidst their companies priests and emissaries of Rome, who had come to England for the purpose of sowing sedition and inducing the people to embrace again the old discarded superstition. This suspicion, however, was entirely without foundation. The Gypsies call each other brother and sister, and are not in the habit of admitting to their fellowship people of a different blood and with whom they have no sympathy. There was, however, a description of wandering people at that time, even as there is at present, with whom the priests, who are described as going about, sometimes disguised as serving-men, sometimes as broken soldiers, sometimes as shipwrecked mariners, would experience no difficulty in associating, and with whom, in all probability, they occasionally did associate—the people called in Acts of Parliament sturdy beggars and vagrants, in the old cant language Abraham men, and in the modern Pikers. These people have frequently been confounded with the Gypsies, but are in reality a distinct race, though they resemble the latter in some points. They roam about like the Gypsies, and, like them, have a kind of secret language. But the Gypsies are a people of Oriental origin, whilst the Abrahamites are the scurf of the English body corporate. The language of the Gypsies is a real language, more like the Sanscrit than any other language in the world; whereas the speech of the Abrahamites is a horrid jargon, composed for the most part of low English words used in an allegorical sense—a jargon in which a stick is called a crack; a hostess, a rum necklace; a bar-maid, a dolly-mort; brandy, rum booze; a constable, a horny. But enough of these Pikers, these Abrahamites. Sufficient to observe that if the disguised priests associated with wandering companies it must have been with these people, who admit anybody to their society, and not with the highly exclusive race the Gypsies.
For nearly a century and a half after the death of Elizabeth the Gypsies seem to have been left tolerably to themselves, for the laws are almost silent respecting them. Chies, no doubt, were occasionally scourged for cauring, that is filching gold and silver coins, and Chals hung for grychoring, that is horse-stealing; but those are little incidents not much regarded in Gypsy merripen. They probably lived a life during the above period tolerably satisfactory to themselves—they are not an ambitious people, and there is no word for glory in their language—but next to nothing is known respecting them. A people called Gypsies are mentioned, and to a certain extent treated of, in two remarkable works—one a production of the seventeenth, the other of the eighteenth century—the first entitled the ‘English Rogue, or the Adventures of Merriton Latroon,’ the other the ‘Life of Bamfield Moore Carew’; but those works, though clever and entertaining, and written in the raciest English, are to those who seek for information respecting Gypsies entirely valueless, the writers having evidently mistaken for Gypsies the Pikers or Abrahamites, as the vocabularies appended to the histories, and which are professedly vocabularies of the Gypsy language, are nothing of the kind, but collections of words and phrases belonging to the Abrahamite or Piker jargon. At the commencement of the last century, and for a considerable time afterwards, there was a loud cry raised against the Gypsy women for stealing children. This cry, however, was quite as devoid of reason as the suspicion entertained of old against the Gypsy communities of harbouring disguised priests. Gypsy women, as the writer had occasion to remark many a long year ago, have plenty of children of their own, and have no wish to encumber themselves with those of other people. A yet more extraordinary charge was, likewise, brought against them—that of running away with wenches. Now, the idea of Gypsy women running away with wenches! Where were they to stow them in the event of running away with them? and what were they to do with them in the event of being able to stow them? Nevertheless, two Gypsy women were burnt in the hand in the most cruel and frightful manner, somewhat about the middle of the last century, and two Gypsy men, their relations, sentenced to be hanged, for running away with a certain horrible wench of the name of Elizabeth Canning, who, to get rid of a disgraceful burden, had left her service and gone into concealment for a month, and on her return, in order to account for her absence, said that she had been run away with by Gypsies. The men, however, did not undergo their sentence; for, ere the day appointed for their execution arrived, suspicions beginning to be entertained with respect to the truth of the wench’s story, they were reprieved, and, after a little time, the atrocious creature, who had charged people with doing what they neither did nor dreamt of doing, was tried for perjury, convicted, and sentenced to transportation. Yet so great is English infatuation that this Canning, this Elizabeth, had a host of friends, who stood by her, and swore by her to the last, and almost freighted the ship which carried her away with goods, the sale of which enabled her to purchase her freedom of the planter to whom she was consigned, to establish herself in business, and to live in comfort, and almost in luxury, in the New World during the remainder of her life.
But though Gypsies have occasionally experienced injustice; though Patricos and Sherengroes were hanged by dozens in Elizabeth’s time on suspicion of harbouring disguised priests; though Gypsy women in the time of the Second George, accused of running away with wenches, were scorched and branded, there can be no doubt that they live in almost continual violation of the laws intended for the protection of society; and it may be added, that in this illegal way of life the women have invariably played a more important part than the men. Of them, amongst other things, it may be said that they are the most accomplished swindlers in the world, their principal victims being people of their own sex, on whose credulity and superstition they practise. Mary Caumlo, or Lovel, was convicted a few years ago at Cardiff of having swindled a surgeon’s wife of eighty pounds, under pretence of propitiating certain planets by showing them the money. Not a penny of the booty was ever recovered by the deluded victim; and the Caumli, on leaving the dock, after receiving sentence of a year’s imprisonment, turned round and winked to some brother or sister in court, as much as to say: “Mande has gared the luvvu; mande is kek atugni for the besh’s starripen”—“I have hid the money, and care nothing for the year’s imprisonment.” Young Rawnie P. of N., the daughter of old Rawnie P., suddenly disappeared with the whole capital of an aged and bedridden gentlewoman, amounting to nearly three hundred pounds, whom she had assured that if she were intrusted with it for a short time she should be able to gather certain herbs, from which she could make decoctions, which would restore to the afflicted gentlewoman all her youthful vigour. Mrs. Townsley of the Border was some time ago in trouble at Wick, only twenty-five miles distant from Johnny Groat’s House, on a charge of fraudulently obtaining from a fisherman’s wife one shilling, two half-crowns, and a five-pound note by promising to untie certain witch-locks, which she had induced her to believe were entwined in the meshes of the fisherman’s net, and would, if suffered to remain, prevent him from catching a single herring in the Firth. These events occurred within the last few years, and are sufficiently notorious. They form a triad out of dozens of a similar kind, in some of which there are features so odd, so strangely droll, that indignation against the offence is dispelled by an irresistible desire to laugh.
But Gypsyism is declining, and its days are numbered. There is a force abroad which is doomed to destroy it, a force which never sleepeth either by day or night, and which will not allow the Roman people rest for the soles of their feet. That force is the Rural Police, which, had it been established at the commencement instead of towards the middle of the present century, would have put down Gypsyism long ago. But, recent as its establishment has been, observe what it has produced. Walk from London to Carlisle, but neither by the road’s side, nor on heath or common, will you see a single Gypsy tent. True Gypsyism consists in wandering about, in preying upon the Gentiles, but not living amongst them. But such a life is impossible in these days; the Rural Force will not permit it. “It is a hard thing, brother,” said old Agamemnon Caumlo to the writer, several years ago; “it is a hard thing, after one has pitched one’s little tent, lighted one’s little fire, and hung one’s kettle by the kettle-iron over it to boil, to have an inspector or constable come up, and say, ‘What are you doing here? Take yourself off, you Gypsy dog!’” A hard thing, indeed, old Agamemnon; but there is no help for it. You must e’en live amongst the Gorgios. And for years past the Gypsies have lived amongst the Gorgios, and what has been the result? They do not seem to have improved the Gentiles, and have certainly not been improved by them. By living amongst the Gentiles they have, to a certain extent, lost the only two virtues they possessed. Whilst they lived apart on heaths and commons, and in shadowy lanes, the Gypsy women were paragons of chastity, and the men, if not exactly patterns of sobriety, were, upon the whole, very sober fellows. Such terms, however, are by no means applicable to them at the present day. Sects and castes, even of thieves and murderers, can exist as long as they have certain virtues, which give them a kind of respect in their own eyes; but, losing those virtues, they soon become extinct. When the salt loses its savour, what becomes of it? The Gypsy salt has not altogether lost its savour, but that essential quality is every day becoming fainter, so that there is every reason to suppose that within a few years the English Gypsy caste will have disappeared, merged in the dregs of the English population.
GYPSY NAMES
There are many curious things connected with the Gypsies, but perhaps nothing more so than what pertains to their names. They have a double nomenclature, each tribe or family having a public and a private name, one by which they are known to the Gentiles, and another to themselves alone. Their public names are quite English; their private ones attempts, some of them highly singular and uncouth, to render those names by Gypsy equivalents. Gypsy names may be divided into two classes, names connected with trades, and surnames or family names. First of all, something about trade names.
There are only two names of trades which have been adopted by English Gypsies as proper names, Cooper and Smith: these names are expressed in the English Gypsy dialect by Vardo-mescro and Petulengro. The first of these renderings is by no means a satisfactory one, as Vardo-mescro means a cartwright, or rather a carter. To speak the truth, it would be next to impossible to render the word ‘cooper’ into English Gypsy, or indeed into Gypsy of any kind; a cooper, according to the common acceptation of the word, is one who makes pails, tubs, and barrels, but there are no words in Gypsy for such vessels. The Transylvanian Gypsies call a cooper a bedra-kero or pail-maker, but bedra is not Gypsy, but Hungarian, and the English Gypsies might with equal propriety call a cooper a pail-engro. On the whole the English Gypsies did their best when they rendered ‘cooper’ into their language by the word for ‘cartwright.’
Petulengro, the other trade name, is borne by the Gypsies who are known to the public by the English appellation of Smith. It is not very easy to say what is the exact meaning of Petulengro: it must signify, however, either horseshoe-fellow or tinker: petali or petala signifies in Gypsy a horseshoe, and is probably derived from the Modern Greek πέταλον; engro is an affix, and is either derived from or connected with the Sanscrit kara, to make, so that with great feasibility Petulengro may be translated horseshoe-maker. But bedel in Hebrew means ‘tin,’ and as there is little more difference between petul and bedel than between petul and petalon, Petulengro may be translated with almost equal feasibility by tinker or tin-worker, more especially as tinkering is a principal pursuit of Gypsies, and to jal petulengring signifies to go a-tinkering in English Gypsy. Taken, however, in either sense, whether as horseshoe-maker or tin-worker (and, as has been already observed, it must mean one or the other), Petulengro may be considered as a tolerably fair rendering of the English Smith.
So much for the names of the Gypsies which the writer has ventured to call the trade names; now for those of the other class. These are English surnames, and for the most part of a highly aristocratic character, and it seems at first surprising that people so poor and despised as Gypsies should be found bearing names so time-honoured and imposing. There is, however, a tolerable explanation of the matter in the supposition that on their first arrival in England the different tribes sought the protection of certain grand powerful families, and were permitted by them to locate themselves on their heaths and amid their woodlands, and that they eventually adopted the names of their patrons. Here follow the English names of some of the principal tribes, with the Romany translations or equivalents:—
Boswell.—The proper meaning of this word is the town of Bui. The initial Bo or Bui is an old Northern name, signifying a colonist or settler, one who tills and builds. It was the name of a great many celebrated Northern kempions, who won land and a home by hard blows. The last syllable, well, is the French ville: Boswell, Boston, and Busby all signify one and the same thing—the town of Bui—the well being French, the ton Saxon, and the by Danish; they are half-brothers of Bovil and Belville, both signifying fair town, and which ought to be written Beauville and Belville. The Gypsies, who know and care nothing about etymologies, confounding bos with buss, a vulgar English verb not to be found in dictionaries, which signifies to kiss, rendered the name Boswell by Chumomisto, that is, Kisswell, or one who kisses well—choom in their language signifying to kiss, and misto well—likewise by choomomescro, a kisser. Vulgar as the word buss may sound at present, it is by no means of vulgar origin, being connected with the Latin basio and the Persian bousè.
Grey.—This is the name of a family celebrated in English history. The Gypsies who adopted it, rendered it into their language by Gry, a word very much resembling it in sound, though not in sense, for gry, which is allied to the Sanscrit ghora, signifies a horse. They had no better choice, however, for in Romany there is no word for grey, any more than there is for green or blue. In several languages there is a difficulty in expressing the colour which in English is called grey. In Celtic, for instance, there is no definite word for it; glas, it is true, is used to express it, but glas is as frequently used to express green as it is to express grey.
Hearne, Herne.—This is the name of a family which bears the heron for its crest, the name being either derived from the crest, or the crest from the name. There are two Gypsy renderings of the word—Rossar-mescro or Ratzie-mescro, and Balorengre. Rossar-mescro signifies duck-fellow, the duck being substituted for the heron, for which there is no word in Romany. The meaning of Balor-engre is hairy people; the translator or translators seeming to have confounded Hearne with ‘haaren,’ old English for hairs. The latter rendering has never been much in use.
Lee.—The Gypsy name of this tribe is Purrum, sometimes pronounced Purrun. The meaning of Purrurn is an onion, and it may be asked what connection can there be between Lee and onion? None whatever: but there is some resemblance in sound between Lee and leek, and it is probable that the Gypsies thought so, and on that account rendered the name by Purrum, which, if not exactly a leek, at any rate signifies something which is cousin-german to a leek. It must be borne in mind that in some parts of England the name Lee is spelt Legh and Leigh, which would hardly be the case if at one time it had not terminated in something like a guttural, so that when the Gypsies rendered the name, perhaps nearly four hundred years ago, it sounded very much like ‘leek,’ and perhaps was Leek, a name derived from the family crest. At first the writer was of opinion that the name was Purrun, a modification of pooro, which in the Gypsy language signifies old, but speedily came to the conclusion that it must be Purrum, a leek or onion; for what possible reason could the Gypsies have for rendering Lee by a word which signifies old or ancient? whereas by rendering it by Purrum, they gave themselves a Gypsy name, which, if it did not signify Lee, must to their untutored minds have seemed a very good substitute for Lee. The Gypsy word pooro, old, belongs to Hindostan, and is connected with the Sanscrit pura, which signifies the same. Purrum is a modification of the Wallachian pur, a word derived from the Latin porrum, an onion, and picked up by the Gypsies in Roumania or Wallachia, the natives of which region speak a highly curious mixture of Latin and Sclavonian.
Lovel.—This is the name or title of an old and powerful English family. The meaning of it is Leo’s town, Lowe’s town, or Louis’ town. The Gypsies, who adopted it, seem to have imagined that it had something to do with love, for they translated it by Camlo or Caumlo, that which is lovely or amiable, and also by Camomescro, a lover, an amorous person, sometimes used for ‘friend.’ Camlo is connected with the Sanscrit Cama, which signifies love, and is the appellation of the Hindoo god of love. A name of the same root as the one borne by that divinity was not altogether inapplicable to the Gypsy tribe who adopted it: Cama, if all tales be true, was black, black though comely, a Beltenebros, and the Lovel tribe is decidedly the most comely and at the same time the darkest of all the Anglo-Egyptian families. The faces of many of them, male and female, are perfect specimens of black beauty. They are generally called by the race the Kaulo Camloes, the Black Comelies. And here, though at the risk of being thought digressive, the writer cannot forbear saying that the darkest and at one time the comeliest of all the Caumlies, a celebrated fortune-teller, and an old friend of his, lately expired in a certain old town, after attaining an age which was something wonderful. She had twenty-one brothers and sisters, and was the eldest of the family, on which account she was called “Rawnie P., pooroest of bis ta dui,” Lady P.—she had married out of the family—eldest of twenty-two.