"That's what _I_ say. Every man his own juva (every man his own girl), an' every painter his own _morals_."

If it was difficult in the beginning for me to accustom the Gipsy mind to reply clearly and consistently to questions as to his language, the trouble was tenfold increased when he began to see his way, as he thought, to my object, and to take a real interest in aiding me. For instance, I once asked--

"Puro! do you know such a word as _punji_? It's the Hindu for capital."

(Calmly.) "Yes, rya; that's a wery good word for capital."

"But is it Rommany?"

(Decidedly.) "It'll go first-rateus into Rommany."

"But can you make it out? Prove it!"

(Fiercely.) "Of course I can make it out. _Kushto_. Suppose a man sells 'punge-cake, would'nt that be his capital? _Punje_ must be capital."

But this was nothing to what I endured after a vague fancy of the meaning of seeking a derivation of words had dimly dawned on his mind, and he vigorously attempted to aid me. Possessed with the crude idea that it was a success whenever two words could be forced into a resemblance of any kind, he constantly endeavoured to Anglicise Gipsy words--often, alas! an only too easy process, and could never understand why it was I then rejected them. By the former method I ran the risk of obtaining false Hindustani Gipsy words, though I very much doubt whether I was ever caught by it in a single instance; so strict were the tests which I adopted, the commonest being that of submitting the words to other Gipsies, or questioning him on them some days afterwards. By the latter "aid" I risked the loss of Rommany words altogether, and undoubtedly did lose a great many. Thus with the word _bilber_ (to entice or allure), he would say, in ill.u.s.tration, that the girls _bilbered_ the gentleman into the house to rob him, and then cast me into doubt by suggesting that the word must be all right, "'cause it looked all the same as _pilferin_'."

One day I asked him if the Hindustani word khapana (p.r.o.nounced almost hopana) (to make away with) sounded naturally to his ears.

"Yes, rya; that must be _happer_, _habber_, or _huvver_. To hopper covvas away from the tan (_i.e_., to _hopper_ things from the place), is when you rikker 'em awayus (carry them away, steal them), and gaverit (hide _it_) tally your chuckko (under your coat). An' I can pen you a waver covva (I can tell you another thing) that's _hopper_--them's the gla.s.ses that you look through--_hoppera_-gla.s.ses."

And here in bounding triumph he gave the little wooden bear a drink of ale, as if it had uttered this chunk of solid wisdom, and then treated himself to a good long pull. But the glance of triumph which shot from his black-basilisk eyes, and the joyous smile which followed these feats of philology, were absolutely irresistible. All that remained for me to do was to yield in silence.

One day we spoke of _huckeny pokee_, or _huckeny ponkee_, as it is sometimes called. It means in Rommany "sleight of hand," and also the adroit subst.i.tution of a bundle of lead or stones for another containing money or valuables, as practised by Gipsy women. The Gipsy woman goes to a house, and after telling the simple-minded and credulous housewife that there is a treasure buried in the cellar, persuades her that as "silver draws silver," she must deposit all her money or jewels in a bag near the place where the treasure lies. This is done, and the Rommany _dye_ adroitly making up a parcel resembling the one laid down, steals the latter, leaving the former.

Mr Barrow calls this _hokkeny baro_, the great swindle. I may remark, by the way, that among jugglers and "show-people" sleight of hand is called _hanky panky_. "Hocus-pocus" is attributed by several writers to the Gipsies, a derivation which gains much force from the fact, which I have never before seen pointed out, that _hoggu bazee_, which sounds very much like it, means in Hindustani legerdemain. English Gipsies have an extraordinary fancy for adding the termination _us_ in a most irregular manner to words both Rommany and English. Thus _kettene_ (together) is often changed to _kettenus_, and _side_ to _sidus_. In like manner, _hoggu_ (_hocku_ or _honku_) _bazee_ could not fail to become _hocus bozus_, and the next change, for the sake of rhyme, would be to hocus-po- cus.

I told my ancient rambler of an extraordinary case of "huckeny pokee"

which had recently occurred in the United States, somewhere in the west, the details of which had been narrated to me by a lady who lived at the time in the place where the event occurred.

"A Gipsy woman," I said, "came to a farmhouse and played huckeny pokee on a farmer's wife, and got away all the poor woman's money."

"Did she indeed, rya?" replied my good old friend, with a smile of joy flashing from his eyes, the unearthly Rommany light just glinting from their gloom.

"Yes," I said impressively, as a mother might tell an affecting story to a child. "All the money that that poor woman had, that wicked Gipsy woman took away, and utterly ruined her."

This was the culminating point; he burst into an irrepressible laugh; he couldn't help it--the thing had been done too well.

"But you haven't heard all yet," I added. "There's more covvas to well."

"Oh, I suppose the Rummany chi prastered avree (ran away), and got off with the swag?"

"No, she didn't."

"Then they caught her, and sent her to starabun" (prison).

"No," I replied.

"And what did they do?"

"THEY BURNT HER ALIVE!"

His jaw fell; a glossy film came over his panther-eyes. For a long time he had spoken to me, had this good and virtuous man, of going to America.

Suddenly he broke out with this vehement answer--

"I won't go to that country--_s'up mi duvel_! I'll never go to America."

It is told of a certain mother, that on showing her darling boy a picture in the Bible representing Daniel in the lions' den, she said, "And there is good Daniel, and there are those naughty lions, who are going to eat him all up." Whereupon the dear boy cried out, "O mother, look at that poor little lion in the corner--he won't get any."

It is from this point of view that such affairs are naturally regarded by the Rommany.

There is a strange goblinesque charm in Gipsydom--something of nature, and green leaves, and silent nights--but it is ever strangely commingled with the forbidden; and as among the Greeks of old with Mercury amid the singing of leafy brooks, there is a tinkling of, at least, petty larceny.

Witness the following, which came forth one day from a Gipsy, in my presence, as an entirely voluntary utterance. He meant it for something like poetry--it certainly was suggested by nothing, and as fast as he spoke I wrote it down:--

"It's kushto in tattoben for the Rommany chals. Then they can jal langs the drum, and hatch their tan acai and odoi pre the tem. We'll lel moro habben acai, and jal andurer by-an'-byus, an' then jal by ratti, so's the Gorgios won't d.i.c.k us. I jins a kushti puv for the graias; we'll hatch 'pre in the sala, before they latcher we've been odoi, an' jal an the drum an' lel moro habben."

"It is pleasant for the Gipsies in the summer-time. Then they can go along the road, and pitch their tent here and there in the land. We'll take our food here, and go further on by-and-by, and then go by night, so that the Gorgios won't see us. I know a fine field for the horses; we'll stop there in the morning, before they find we have been there, and go on the road and eat our food."

"I suppose that you often have had trouble with the _gavengroes_ (police) when you wished to pitch your tent?"

Now it was characteristic of this Gipsy, as of many others, that when interested by a remark or a question, he would reply by bursting into some picture of travel, drawn from memory. So he answered by saying--

"They hunnelo'd the choro puro mush by pennin' him he mustn't hatch odoi.

'What's tute?' he pens to the prastramengro; 'I'll del you thrin bar to lel your chuckko offus an' koor mandy. You're a ratfully jucko an' a huckaben.'"

_English_--They angered the poor old man by telling him he must not stop there. "What are you?" he said to the policeman, "I'll give you three pounds to take your coat off and fight me. You're a b.l.o.o.d.y dog and a lie" (liar).

"I suppose you have often taken your coat off?"

"Once I lelled it avree an' never chivved it apre ajaw."

(_I.e_., "Once I took it off and never put it on again.")

"How was that?"

"Yeckorus when I was a tano mush, thirty besh kenna--rummed about pange besh, but with kek chavis--I jalled to the prasters of the graias at Brighton. There was the paia.s.s of wussin' the pasheros apre for wongur, an' I got to the pya.s.s, an' first cheirus I lelled a boro bittus--twelve or thirteen bar. Then I nashered my wongur, an' penned I wouldn't pya.s.s koomi, an' I'd latch what I had in my poachy. Adoi I jalled from the gudli 'dree the toss-ring for a pashora, when I d.i.c.ked a waver mush, an'

he putched mandy, 'What bak?' and I penned pauli, 'Kek bak; but I've got a bittus left.' So I wussered with lester an' nashered saw my covvas--my chukko, my gad, an' saw, barrin' my rokamyas. Then I jalled kerri with kek but my rokamyas an--I borried a chukko off my pen's chavo.

"And when my juva d.i.c.kt'omandy pash-nango, she pens, 'Dovo's tute's heesis?' an' I pookered her I'd been a-koorin'. But she penned, 'Why, you haven't got your hovalos an; you didn't koor tute's hovalos avree?'

'No,' I rakkered; 'I taddered em offus. (The mush played me with a dui- sherro poshero.)

"But dree the sala, when the mush welled to lel avree the jucko (for I'd nashered dovo ajaw), I felt wafrodearer than when I'd nashered saw the waver covvas. An' my poor juva ruvved ajaw, for she had no chavo. I had in those divvuses as kushti coppas an' heesus as any young Gipsy in Anglaterra--good chukkos, an' gads, an' pongdishlers.

"An' that mush kurried many a geero a'ter mandy, but he never lelled no bak. He'd ch.o.r.e from his own dadas; but he mullered wafro adree East Kent."

"Once when I was a young man, thirty years ago (now)--married about five years, but with no children--I went to the races at Brighton. There was tossing halfpence for money, and I took part in the game, and at first (first time) I took a good bit--twelve or thirteen pounds. Then I lost my money, and said I would play no more, and would keep what I had in my pocket. Then I went from the noise in the toss-ring for half an hour, when I saw another man, and he asked me, 'What luck?' and I replied, 'No luck; but I've a little left yet.' So I tossed with him and lost all my things--my coat, my shirt, and all, except my breeches. Then I went home with nothing but my breeches on--I borrowed a coat of my sister's boy.

"And when my wife saw me half-naked, she _says_, 'Where are your clothes?' and I told her I had been fighting. But she said, 'Why, you have not your stockings on; you didn't fight your stockings off!' 'No,'

I said; 'I drew them off.' (The man played me with a two-headed halfpenny.)