Part 18

The success of the first gipsies in their “rounds” led the second lot to take up the “profession,” and to-day we have two full-blown tribes of English gipsies in full swing, tramping the country in vans, carts, surrounded in many instances with dogs, dirt, wretchedness, and misery. Sometimes they will be fraternizing with kisses, and other times they will be quarrelling and fighting with each other to the extent of almost “eating each other’s heads off.” In these two families there will be close upon one hundred and fifty men, women, and children, and not more than three or four out of the whole able to read and write a sentence. It is truly heartrending to contemplate the amount of evil that has been done in the country by these two families of artificially-trained gipsies. Thank God, some of them are beginning to see the error of their ways.

I bade the Hinckley gipsies good-bye, and having dined off a slice of bread-and-butter fetched out of the corner of my bag, at Nuneaton station, I made my way homeward. As I was mounting the last hill on this bright, lovely Christian Sabbath day the church bells were pealing forth—

“Come to church and pray On this blessed day.”

Mr. George Burden, the Leicester poet, author of “The Months,” had heard something of the cry of the gipsy children when he was prompted to send me the following touching little poem:—

“THE GIPSY CHILDREN.

“From the remotest ages, From many a lovely lane, The cry of gipsy children To heaven hath risen in vain.

“CHORUS. Then rescue gipsy children, Who roam our country lanes. Break off their moral thraldom, That keeps each life in chains.

“Through many a bitter hardship Their little lives have passed; Round them the robes of kindness As yet have ne’er been cast.

“From city, town, and village They wander wild and free, Too long despised, forsaken, Amid their revelry.

“No influence pure and heavenly Protects them night and day; Nor wise and blest instruction To help them on their way.

“From vice and shame and ruin, That taint their early youth, Ye English hearts deliver— Shield them with love and truth.

“One hastens to their rescue With earnest heart and will; God bless the noble mission Of George Smith of Coalville!”

Rambles among the Gipsies, Posh Gipsies, and Gorgios at Long Buckby.

DURING the Sunday night after my visit to Hinckley I more than once thought that I was about to enter the great unknown and unseen world of _Tátto paáni_ (spirits) from whence no _choórodo_ (tramp) returns.

After partaking of a light breakfast of the kind _Midúvelesko_ (Christ) and _mongaméngro_ (beggars) eat, with my _Romeni_ (wife), _Racklé_ (sons), and _Raklia_ (girls) at our plain-fare _misáli_ (table), I began with some of “_our boys and girls_” to wend my way through _poous_ (fields) and by-lanes and over rippling streams to Long Buckby. I had not got far down one of the lanes before I came upon a scissors-grinder (_posh_) gipsy, who, together with his _joovel_ (woman) and their six _nongo-peeró chiklo chavis_ (barefooted dirty children), were _beshing_ (sitting) upon _chiklo drom rig_ (muddy roadside) _rokering_ (talking), _chingaren_ (quarrelling), _sovenholben_ (swearing), and eating their _shooker manro_ (dry bread) for breakfast and _paáni_ (water) out of the rippling stream for _múterimongri_ (tea). Their _yogoméskro_ (fireplace) was upon the _chik_ (ground); their _kair_ (house) was a barrow covered with rags. Although belonging to _Anghitérra_ (England), and priding themselves on being _Gaújokones_ (English), not one of the eight men, women, and children could tell a letter. _Shóshi_ (rabbits) were not to be seen, and _kanegrós_ (hares) were out of sight, where they _Taned_ (camped). Rooks were “caw”-cawing overhead; _baúro-chériklo_ (pheasants) and _ridjil_ (partridges) had flown. After a chat with them I distributed a few pictures and little things to the _chabis_ (children), and then bade them good (_saúla_) morning.

A further trembling stroll by the hedges, ditches, daisies, and buttercups brought me to the edge of the canal, where I sat down to watch the darting, jumping, and frisking of the _mátcho_ (fish) as they shot to and fro before me. Every now and again a perch would pop up out of the clear water, as if anxious to have a peep and a game, and then it would, with a whisk of its tail, shoot off like an arrow. The lark was singing overhead. While meditating, musing, and observing upon the surroundings and unregistered and uninspected canal boats and cabins packed to suffocation with uneducated poor canal children, in face of an Act passed—for which I worked _hard_ and _long_ from 1872 and onward to to-day, to prevent this sad state of things—I began to aphorize, and entered into my pocket-book the following aphorisms:—

Some little-brained, over-sensitive, dwarfish mortals, who spend their time in running after little annoyances, may be compared to a policeman running with his staff after a fly which has been tickling the end of his nose on a summer’s sunny afternoon.

A clever man who has found his way into the gutter through his own misconduct may be compared to a piece of granite, with a rugged squarishness about him that would have enabled him to find his upward way into the world and good society; instead of which his ruggedness has been rubbed and kicked off, and to-day he is as a boulder upon the pavement, and undergoing the process of being kicked from pillar to post, with no reward for him but the gutter.

A man who builds up his fortune out of ill-gotten gains, and the grinding sweat of the poor, is feathering his nest in a dead carcase that will stink long in his nostrils, notwithstanding fine feathers, plausible excuses, and sanctimonious looks.

When present unhappiness is the outgrowth of honest conviction and hard-working strivings, a crop of immortal pleasures will be seen where least expected.

Immortal, golden fame is the everlasting perfume of eternal flowers, grown out of immortal deeds, sown upon immortal soil by unselfish hands, and watered by tears of sorrow shed in trial’s darkest hours.

When ignoramuses and fools mistake the artificial light of science for that of the sun, it may be taken for granted that they are in a fair way for having their fingers burnt in the candle.

A shallow headed trickster, with a hungry belly and an empty pocket, clothed in trickery, wringing the watery drops of sympathy and benevolence from his nature to paint virtuous smiles upon his face to deceive his friends while he lightens their pockets of gold, for which he has never worked, has earned the title of the devil’s grave-digger, with _perfidus fraudulentus_ engraved upon the buttons of his coat.

Round boulder-stones are awkward things with which to build up new churches, so are the round members of the community, without principle, fidelity, and piety, awkward members of society to found new Christian churches.

A London smoke prevents healthy vegetation, as do London morals and influences prevent healthy spiritual life and vigour.

A loan office is a social whirlpool that has shipwrecked thousands of honest families, and as the little ones have gone down they have cried for help, but there has been none to deliver.

The man to gauge your pocket correctly is a lawyer, for he can tell what filthy lucre you have in it with his eyes shut.

A lawyer’s office is coated with birdlime, strong enough to fetch the clothes off your back and keep you riveted to the spot; and then the lawyer, with a laugh upon his face like Solomon’s leeches, cries out for more.

As rusty old nails put into pickle produce poison for the body, so do rusty, deceitful old sinners put into social and religious societies produce moral poison.

In the darkest heart, riven with anguish and despair, there lies embedded in the human breast a spiritual vein that only requires one touch of the match of heavenly sympathy to cause it to shed seraphic lustre upon hellish actions, at once transforming them into Divine.

A dandy is fashion’s painted sparrow, whose wings will be sure to be clipped, and who will find a final resting-place in the gutter.

A gin-shop is the devil’s headquarters, with the landlord as his recruiting serjeant, and rags as the standard colours of his army.

In all societies the devil has his “gad-flies,” whose only mission in the world seems to be to sting and annoy.

Slanderers and backbiters are the cats of hell, with eyes of fire, poison-steeped claws, and tails of blood, running wild, and woe be to those who come in their way.

As the light proceeding from the natural sun produces the seven cardinal colours, viz., red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, and violet, and with a proper mixture of these colours a spotless white is produced; so in like manner with the light proceeding form the Son of God, the seven cardinal graces are the outcome of His glory, viz., love, joy, patience, faith, meekness, temperance, and charity, which, when blended together in human natures, produce a perfect Christian, reflecting His glory and image.

Imagination is the ethereal unseen car that carries the twin angelic sisters, love and sympathy, through space and matter to visit the darkest and brightest spots of creation as a mission of affection, consolation, reproof, help, and encouragement to every fallen son of Adam.

A mother’s prayers are a life-belt that has saved thousands of young men and women from being lost amid the dark storms and wrecks of life, until they have been lifted into the life-boat and carried safe to shore beneath the silver rays of Biblical truth, which the lighthouse of heaven has been shedding o’er the troubled waters dashing against the rocks of land and rugged earth.

As the rose, pine-apple, and other deliciously scented fruits and flowers send forth the best fragrance when clouds are the darkest and lowest, atmosphere the heaviest, and rainstorms flying threateningly about, so in like manner do the most child-like, Christ-like, modest, and heavenly Christians send forth heavenly graces tinted with seraphic splendour when the storms of persecution are flying savagely about, afflictions weigh heavily, and Providence hidden from view.

As the beautiful white snow that flappers and flickers about us in winter appears shapeless and ragged to the naked eye, but when seen through a microscope presents prismatic forms and crystalline beauty beyond imagination, so in like manner the blessings, bounties, and mercies of God do to the eye of sinful nature and a bad heart; but when they are seen by the eye of sincerity, child-like simplicity, and faith, then the beauty and wonderful variety of God’s goodness to us are manifested as they descend with heavenly stillness in our rooms and round our paths.

Children seeking innocent, pure, and moral precepts among wicked street boys and girls, are running barelegged and barefooted after butterflies in a field of nettles and thistles.

A bed of affliction is the “gridiron” upon which God often puts His children when either their keel or propeller—faith and love—gets out of order. Sometimes when they have been very wayward, and have suffered severely, nothing less than being run into “dry dock”—afflictions and earthly losses—will meet their case.

As pearls and other precious gems can be brought out of the sea only by diving—no magnetic hand of an idle man is powerful enough to cause them to swim—so can a Christian fetch up the much more precious hidden mysteries of heaven by retiring from the world and engaging in closet prayer, and diving into God’s wonderful system of Divine love. The gems out of the sea adorn the body, while the pearls of heaven beautify the mind, enliven the soul, put a lustre upon the actions, and illumine the countenance with heavenly radiancy.

As the eyes and nose convey the delicious scents and beauty of creation to the natural man, so in like manner do faith and prayer convey to the soul the fragrance, delight, and beauty of heaven.

A man who seeks to be a philanthropist for worldly fame, with a heart full of pride, selfishness, vanity, levity, lust, babbling, hate, and deceit, has a compass upon his ship out of order. And he may also be compared to a vessel with eight “fo’c’sles” and no “poop,” with helm to steer, trusting to his flimsy sails of false hopes flappering in the breeze to guide him to heaven, but sure to run him aground to hell.

The heavenly prayer of earth tinged with grief and sorrow will become the golden picture of heaven illuminated with joy and tinted with God’s radiant smile.

The face of a good man is the best heliograph in the world. The heliograph used in war-time, as a signal, shines best with the brightest sun, while the heliograph produced upon a man’s face by love shines best in the darkest hour. Dismal cellars, squalid hearths, wretched garrets and prisons, are good places in which to reflect a radiant splendour that will last for ever.

To get a faint idea of God’s goodness and infinite splendour we have only to imagine all the leaves and petals of vegetation, differing in shape and size, teeming with silvery dewdrops of an infinitude of delicate tints, which, as they drop among the flowers of earth, instantly turn into pearls and diamonds of the first water; and while you are picking them up, a doubling and multiplying process is everlastingly going on to fill their places. So God gives, and so are the recipients of His mercies, ever blessed with an infinite number of mercies daily and hourly as we pass along.

* * * * *

After another slow walk I felt drowsy, and sat down upon a mossy bank under a shady tree to rest my bones and wearied limbs. The whistling of the sweet songsters and the bleating of the sheep and lowing of the oxen, together with the lovely summer’s enchantments, sent me into a doze with my elbows upon my knees. I had not been long in this position before the meadow appeared as one vast gipsy encampment, composed of tents, vans, dogs, wretchedness, misery, devilry, ignorance, dirt, filth, and squalor. The gipsy men, women, and children were playing, singing, preying, banging, shouting, fighting, thieving, lying, swearing, poaching, cheating, and fortune-telling to their hearts’ content. Among this vast concourse of English gipsy heathens, there were not a few “spoony” Gorgios, and “_posh_ gipsies.” At one side of the meadow there was a gipsy tent covered with rags and old sheeting. There were several little lost gipsy children playing about it on the grass. Near them stood two gipsy women talking to two silly young ladies, and telling their fortunes. The young ladies, of course, were both in love with fair gentlemen, but the fair gentlemen would prove deceitful and dark gentlemen would take their places; and they would marry well, after crossing the water, and become rich, and have a number of children, who would become dukes and lords, and would live and die rolling in gold and splendour, with horses, carriages, and servants to wait upon them “hand and foot.” One of the young ladies, with glittering wealth hanging about her, would have much trouble and many disappointments before she realized her wishes, but all would be removed and made right as time went on. One of the old fortune-telling wicked hags, who could not read a letter, took out a small pocket Bible, and pretended to read a few verses. The old gipsies made a few signs, repeated some gabble, and looked into the hands of the young ladies, and told them to come again, as they had something of great importance to tell them the next time, which would add much to their happiness, beauty, and pleasure; but before the secrets could be successful they must bring the best and most valuable ring they had in the house for her to make crosses with, so that she might rule her planet properly and dispose of the fair man, who was haunting one of them to make her his wife, but would bring her to ruin. To the other young lady an old gipsy woman said, in a kind of snake’s whisper, “You, my dear young lady, have living with you in your family a fair woman and dark man; they don’t mean you any good. You must have nothing to do with them; be sure and hear what I say. Now mind, you must not listen to what they say, or it will be your ruin, and all my words of counsel will turn to curses.” “But,” said the young lady, “there is no fair woman or dark man in our house, except my father and mother.” “Well,” said the old gipsy, “hear what I have to say. Your father and mother are no friends of yours. Now mark that; goodbye, my sweet girl. The Lord bless you, my dear girl. I shall see you again soon; good-bye. Be sure and bring the best ring in the house. Good-bye, and may the dear Lord bless you. If you can bring two rings it will be all the better for your happiness and fortune. The young gentleman who will be your husband will never be cross. He will always be smiling. He will be beautiful, and he will let you go where you like and do what you like. Bring two rings for your own sake. Good-bye, my darling child. I wish I stood in the way for a fortune and happiness as surely as you do; but all depends upon you bringing me the rings. Good-bye, my sweet child. If you can bring me a spade-ace guinea, or a Queen Victoria sovereign of the present year, it will be all the better. I can influence the planets so that you can have your dear charming little husband, horses, carriages, and footmen to wait upon you earlier. The planets will do anything just now. Good-bye, my sweet darling child. You are so much like your dear aunt; she was one of the prettiest and best ladies I ever knew, and it would be a thousand pities for you not to have a good husband. Bring the two rings, and the guinea or sovereign, and it shall be all right. Good-bye.” “But,” said the young lady, “I have not got any diamond rings and sovereigns. They are my father’s and mother’s.” “Never mind. Hear what I say; you must bring them if you want to be happy. I’ll influence the planets to send your father and mother,” said the old hag, closing her fist, and with fire in her eyes, and a devil’s anger in heart, and frowns upon her face, “more in their places of greater value to them. The planets will not be ruled, my dear young lady, except by the rings that your father and mother have worn; and the sovereign would be all the better if taken out of either your father’s or mother’s pocket. The gold and rings of your mother have the most influence with the planets.”

After the young ladies had gone, the woman winked at me with a twinkle, and said, with her arm raised, “Don’t you spoil my game, and I will bless you. If all goes on right we shall have lots of money the whole of the winter. If you do spoil my game, I—I—I will curse you to death; to death will I curse you, and shall call you a vile wretch for ever; to death you shall be sent.”

While this was going on, a little bird was singing in the trees overhead, which caused the old gipsy woman to look up at it and me, and in a softened voice said, “What does it say?” I said, “If you could but read it rightly, it says, ‘Be not deceived, God is not mocked; for whatsoever a man soweth, that shall he also reap.’” This seemed to startle the old gipsy, and she vanished into the crowd.

Among the crowd of gipsies I noticed several gipsy men clustered together. In the centre of the group there was a dead sheep. Sticker said to Nobbler, “How did you come by it?” “Never mind,” said Nobbler. “I’ve got it and that’s enough, but I may as well tell you a little. I went round the villages a few miles away selling some pegs and skewers, and just outside one of the villages there was a large lot of sheep in one of the fields in prime condition, belonging to a farmer who, they say, is a sleepy sort of a chap, and will never put any of the bobbies upon your track. I conceived a liking for one of the sheep. I knew Goggle Fletcher would be passing by the end of the field in which the sheep were with his cart; and so I hung about in the public-house in the village till it was dark. I entered the field through a gap, and drove them into a dry corner. I kept upon the tufts of grass as much as I could, so that I could not be traced. I was not long before I made short work with one of them. After this I dragged him to the ditch by the side of the road by which Goggles was to pass. I lay in the ditch for a long time. It seemed as if he never would come. At last about eleven o’clock he came. I could tell the sound of his trap. On coming up to me I bawled out in a soft voice, ‘Goggles, Goggles, step down. I’ve got something for you. It will be a treat for Sunday’s dinner.’ ‘Is that you, Nobbler? What! You’ve been up to it again, have you? You will have the “long wools,” if they are to be got, without either love or money.’” Goggles jumped down and helped Nobbler to lift the sheep into the cart, and off they bowled, arriving in the meadow about one o’clock in the morning. Gipsies always take their plunder far away. The skin was buried, and they set to work dividing the carcase among their kith and kin.

[Picture: A scissor-grinding gipsy. “Scissors to grind”]

Another gang had been out on a poaching expedition with their lurcher dogs, and brought to their tents and vans some hares, rabbits, and pheasants; these were also divided. Among this vast gipsy encampment, numbering some hundred men, women, and children, I saw an aged couple of gipsies with some of their grandchildren round them. The old woman had learned to read the Bible a little, and she was telling the children to be good and love God. She was the only one who could read among the gipsies, except a few riffraff Gorgios, who were studying gipsying with a view to leading an idle vagabond’s life, free from parental restraint and elevating social influences.

In the camp I noticed a _posh_ gipsy “scissor-grinder” from one of our alleys, and his gipsy wife; every few minutes he bawled out, “Scissors to grind!” “Scissors to grind!” While he was grinding away at his knives and scissors, his wife was stitching umbrellas and “minding her baby.”