The following is in their own Gipsy language to each other, and exhibits a true type of the feeling of revenge they foster to one another for wrongs done and injuries received, and may be considered a fair specimen of the disposition of thousands of Gipsies in our midst:—“Just see, mates, what a blackguard he is. He has been telling wicked lies about us, the cursed dog. I will murder him when I get hold of him. That creature, his wife, is just as bad. She is worse than he. Let us thrash them both and drive them out of our society, and not let them come near us, such cut-throats and informers as they are. They are nothing but murderers. They are informers. We shall all come to grief through their misdoings.” Not
much poetry and romance in language and characters of this description.
“These Indians ne’er forget
Nor evermore forgive an injury.”
The following is a wail of their own, taken from Smart and Crofton, and will show that the Gipsies themselves do not think tent life is so delightful, happy, and free as has been pictured in the imaginative brain of novel writers, whose knowledge has been gained by visiting the Gipsies as they have basked on the grassy banks on a hot summer day, surrounded by the warbling songsters and rippling brooks of water, as clear as crystal, at their feet, sending forth dribbling sounds of enchantment to fall upon musical ears, touching the cords of poetic affection and lyric sympathy:—“Now, mates, be quick. Put your tent up. Much rain will come down, and snow, too—we shall all die to-night of cold; and bring something to make a good fire, too. Put the tent down well, much wind will come this night. My children will die of cold. Put all the rods in the ground properly to make it stand well. The poor children cry for food. My God! what shall I do to give them food to eat? I have nothing to give them. They will die without food.”
My object in this part will be to deal with the Gipsy question in a hard, matter of fact way, both as regards their present condition and the only remedy by which they are to be improved. No one believes in the power of the Gospel more than I do as to its being able to rescue the very dregs of society from misery and wretchedness; but in the case of the Gipsies and canal-boatmen they cannot be got together so as to be brought under its influence. Their darkness, ignorance, and flitting habits, prevent them either reading about Jesus or being brought within the magic spell of the Gospel. When once the Gipsy children have learned to read and write I shall then have more faith in the power of God’s truth reaching the hearts of the Gipsies and producing better results.
The following letter has been handed to me by the uncle, to show what a little, dark-eyed Gipsy girl of twelve years of age can do. Notwithstanding all its faults it is a credit to the little beauty, especially if it is taken into consideration that she has had no father to teach her, and she has chiefly been her own schoolmaster and mistress. She is the only one who can read and write in a large family. Her books have been sign-boards, guide-posts, and mile-stones, and her light the red glare of a coke fire. I give the letter to show two things; first, that there is a strong desire among the poor Gipsy children for education; second, that there is that mental calibre about the Gipsy children of the present generation that only requires fostering, handling, educating, and caring for as other children are to produce in the next generation a class of people of whom no country need be ashamed. They will be equal to stand shoulder to shoulder with other labouring classes.
(Copy of envelope.)
“JOB CLATAN
“Char bottomar
“at ash be hols in
“Darbyshere.”
(Copy of letter.)
“febury 18 1880.