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Reader A writ. “You’re readered soobri.” (You
are put in the “Police Gazette,” friend.) Our informant could give only a single
specimen of the Shelta literature. It was as
follows: “My name is Barney Mucafee,
With my borers and jumpers
down to my thee (thigh).
An’ it’s forty
miles I’ve come to kerrb yer pee.” This vocabulary is, as he declared,
an extremely imperfect specimen of the language.
He did not claim to speak it well. In its purity
it is not mingled with Romany or thieves’ slang.
Perhaps some student of English dialects may yet
succeed in recovering it all. The pronunciation
of many of the words is singular, and very different
from English or Romany. Just as the last word was written
down, there came up a woman, a female tramp of the
most hardened kind. It seldom happens that gentlemen
sit down in familiar friendly converse with vagabonds.
When they do they are almost always religious people,
anxious to talk with the poor for the good of their
souls. The talk generally ends with a charitable
gift. Such was the view (as the vagabond afterwards
told us) which she took of our party. I also
infer that she thought we must be very verdant and
an easy prey. Almost without preliminary greeting
she told us that she was in great straits, suffering
terribly, and appealed to the man for confirmation,
adding that if we would kindly lend her a sovereign
it should be faithfully repaid in the morning. The professor burst out laughing.
But the fern-collector gazed at her in wrath and
amazement. “I say, old woman,” he
cried; “do you know who you’re rakkerin
[speaking] to? This here gentleman is one of
the deepest Romany ryes [gypsy gentlemen] a-going.
And that there one could gladdher you out
of your eye-teeth.” She gave one look of dismay, I
shall never forget that look, and ran away.
The witch had chanced upon Arbaces. I think
that the tramp had been in his time a man in better
position. He was possibly a lawyer’s clerk
who had fallen into evil ways. He spoke English
correctly when not addressing the beggar woman.
There was in Aberystwith at the same time another
fern-seller, an elderly man, as wretched and as ragged
a creature as I ever met. Yet he also spoke
English purely, and could give in Latin the names
of all the plants which he sold. I have always
supposed that the tinkers’ language spoken of
by Shakespeare was Romany; but I now incline to think
it may have been Shelta. Time passed, and “the levis
grène” had fallen thrice from the trees,
and I had crossed the sea and was in my native city
of Philadelphia. It was a great change after
eleven years of Europe, during ten of which I had
“homed,” as gypsies say, in England.
The houses and the roads were old-new to me; there
was something familiar-foreign in the voices and ways
of those who had been my earliest friends; the very
air as it blew hummed tunes which had lost tones in
them that made me marvel. Yet even here I soon
found traces of something which is the same all the
world over, which goes ever on “as of ever,”
and that was the wanderer of the road. Near
the city are three distinct gypsyries, where in summer-time
the wagon and the tent may be found; and ever and anon,
in my walks about town, I found interesting varieties
of vagabonds from every part of Europe. Italians
of the most Bohemian type, who once had been like
angels, and truly only in this, that their
visits of old were few and far between, now
swarmed as fruit dealers and boot-blacks in every lane;
Germans were of course at home; Czechs, or Slavs, supposed
to be Germans, gave unlimited facilities for Slavonian
practice; while tinkers, almost unknown in 1860, had
in 1880 become marvelously common, and strange to
say were nearly all Austrians of different kinds.
And yet not quite all, and it was lucky for me they
were not. For one morning, as I went into the
large garden which lies around the house wherein I
wone, I heard by the honeysuckle and grape-vine a
familiar sound, suggestive of the road
and Romanys and London, and all that is most traveler-esque.
It was the tap, tap, tap of a hammer and the clang
of tin, and I knew by the smoke that so gracefully
curled at the end of the garden a tinker was near.
And I advanced to him, and as he glanced up and greeted,
I read in his Irish face long rambles on the roads. “Good-morning!” “Good-mornin’, sorr!” “You’re an old traveler?” “I am, sorr.” “Can you rakker Romanes?” “I can, sorr!” “Pen yer nav.” (Tell your name.) “Owen –, sorr.” A brief conversation ensued, during
which we ascertained that we had many friends in common
in the puro tem or Ould Country. All at
once a thought struck me, and I exclaimed, “Do you know any other languages?” “Yes, sorr: Ould Irish an’ Welsh,
an’ a little Gaelic.” “That’s all?” “Yes, sorr, all av thim.” “All but one?” “An’ what’s that wan, sorr?” “Can you thari shelta, subli?” No tinker was ever yet astonished
at anything. If he could be he would not be
a tinker. If the coals in his stove were to turn
to lumps of gold in a twinkle, he would proceed with
leisurely action to rake them out and prepare them
for sale, and never indicate by a word or a wink that
anything remarkable had occurred. But Owen the
tinker looked steadily at me for an instant, as if
to see what manner of man I might be, and then said, “Shelta, is it?
An’ I can talk it. An’ there’s
not six min livin’ as can talk it as I do.” “Do you know, I think it’s very remarkable
that you can talk Shelta.” “An’ begorra, I think
it’s very remarkable, sorr, that ye should know
there is such a language.” “Will you give me a lesson?” “Troth I will.” I went into the house and brought
out a note-book. One of the servants brought
me a chair. Owen went on soldering a tin dish,
and I proceeded to take down from him the following
list of words in Shelta:
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Thddy Fire (theinne. Irish). Strawn Tin. Blyhunka Horse. Leicheen Girl. Soobli Male, man. Binny soobli Boy. Binny Small. Chimmel Stick. Ghratha, grata Hat. Griffin, or gruffin Coat. Rspes Trousers. Gullemnocks Shoes. Grascot Waistcoat. Skoich, or skoi Button. Numpa Sovereign, one pound. Gorhead, or godhed Money. Merrih Nose (?). Nyock Head. Graigh Hair. Kain, or kyni Ears (Romany, kan). Mlthog Inner shirt. Mdthel Black. Cunnels Potatoes. Faih, or fey Meat (foil. Gaelic). Muogh Pig (muck. Irish). Miesli, misli To go (origin of mizzle?) Mailyas, or moillhas Fingers (meirleach, stealers Gaelic). Shaidyog Policeman. Rspun To steal. Shoich Water, blood, liquid. Alemnoch Milk. Rglan, or rglan Hammer. Goppa Furnace, smith (gobha, a smith. Gaelic). Terry A heating-iron. Khoi Pincers. Chimmes (compare chimmel) Wood or stick. Mailyas Arms. Koras Legs (cos, leg. Gaelic). Skoihōpa Whisky. Bulla (ull as in gull) A letter. Thari Word, language. Mush Umbrella (slang). Lyesken cherps Telling fortunes. Loshools Flowers (lus, erb or flower? Gaelic). Dainoch To lose. Chaldroch Knife (caldock, sharply pointed. Gaelic). Bog To get. Masheen Cat. Cāmbra Dog. Laprogh Goose, duck. Kaldthog Hen. Rumogh Egg. Kina House (ken, old gypsy and modern cant). Rawg Wagon. Gullemnoch Shoes. Anālt To sweep, to broom. Anālken To wash. Derri Bread. Rghoglin (goghleen) To laugh. Krdyin To stop, stay, sit, lodge, remain. Oura Town. Lashool Nice (lachool. Irish). Monni, or moryeni Good (min, pleasant. Gaelic). Moryenni yook Good man. Gyami Bad (cam. Gaelic). Probably the origin of the
common canting term gammy, bad. Ishkimmisk Drunk (misgeach. Gaelic) Roglan A four-wheeled vehicle. Lorch A two-wheeled vehicle. Smuggle Anvil. Granya Nail. Riaglon Iron. Gūshūk Vessel of any kind. Tdhi, thdi Coal; fuel of any kind. Grawder Solder. Tanyok Halfpenny. (Query tāni, little, Romany, and nyok, a head.) Chlorhin To hear. Sūnain To see. Salkaneoch To taste, take. Mailyen To feel (cumail, to hold. Gaelic). Crowder String. Soby (?) Mislain Raining (mizzle?). Goo-ope, gūop Cold. Skoichen Rain. Thomyok Magistrate. Shadyog Police. Bladhunk Prison. Bogh To get. Salt Arrested, taken. Straihmed A year. Gotherna, guttema [A very rare old word.] Policeman. Dyūkās, or Jukas Gorgio, Gentile; one not of the class. Misli Coming, to come, to send. To my-deal To me. Lychyen People. Grannis Know. Skolaia To write. Skolaiyami A good scholar. Nyok Head. Lurk Eye. Menoch Nose. Glorhoch Ear. Koris Feet. Tashi shingomai To read the newspaper. Gorheid Money. Tomgarheid (i.e. big money) Gold. Skawfer, skawper Silver. Tomnumpa Bank-note. Terri Coal. Ghoi Put. Nyadas Table. Kradyin Being, lying. Tarryin Rope. Korheh Box. Miseli Quick. Kradhyī Slow. Th-mddusk Door. Khaihed Chair (khahir. Irish). Bord Table. Grainyog Window. Rūmog Egg. Aidh Butter. Okonneh A priest. Thus explained in a very Irish manner: Okonneh,
or Koony, is a sacred man, and kunī in
Romany means secret. An sacret and sacred, sure, are all the
same. Shlima Smoke, pipe. Munches Tobacco. Khadyogs Stones. Yiesk Fish (iasg. Gaelic). Cāb Cabbage. Cherpin Book. This appears to be vulgar. Llyower was on
second thought declared to be the right word. (Leabhar,
Gaelic.) Misli dainoch To write a letter; to write; that is, send or go. Misli to my bewr Write to my woman. Gritche Dinner. Gruppa Supper. Goihed To leave, lay down. Lūrks Eyes. Ainoch Thing. Clisp To fall, let fall. Clishpen To break by letting fall. Guth, gūt Black. Gothni, gachlin Child. Stymon Rat. Krpoch Cat. Grannien With child. Loshūb Sweet. Shum To own. Lyogh To lose. Crīmūm Sheep. Khadyog Stone. Nglou Nail. Gial Yellow, red. Talosk Weather. Laprogh Bird. Madel Tail. Carob To cut. Lūbran, luber To hit. Thom Violently. Mish it thom Hit it hard. Subli, or soobli Man (siublach, a vagrant. Gaelic). There you are, readers! Make
good cheer of it, as Panurge said of what was beyond
him. For what this language really is passeth
me and mine. Of Celtic origin it surely is, for
Owen gave me every syllable so garnished with gutturals
that I, being even less of one of the Celtes
than a Chinaman, have not succeeded in writing a single
word according to his pronunciation of it. Thus
even Minklers sounds more like minkias, or
pikias, as he gave it. To the foregoing I add the numerals and a few phrases:
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Hain, or heen One. Do Two. Tri Three. Chair, or khair Four. Cood Five. Sh, or shay Six. Schaacht, or schach Seven. Ocht Eight. Ayen, or nai Nine. Dyai, djai, or dai Ten. Hinniadh Eleven. Do yedh Twelve. Trin yedh Thirteen. Khair yedh, etc. Fourteen, etc. Tat
th chesin ogomsa That belongs to me. Grannis to my deal It belongs to me. Dioch maa krady in in this nadas I am staying here. Tash milesh He is staying there. Boghin the brass Cooking the food. My deal is mislin I am going. The nidias of the kina dont granny what were a tharyin The people of the house dont know what were saying. This was said within hearing of and
in reference to a bevy of servants, of every hue save
white, who were in full view in the kitchen, and who
were manifestly deeply interested and delighted in
our interview, as well as in the constant use of my
note-book, and our conference in an unknown tongue,
since Owen and I spoke frequently in Romany.
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That bhoghd out yer mailya You let that fall from your hand. I also obtained a verse of a ballad,
which I may not literally render into pure English: “Cosson kailyah corrum
me morro sari,
Me gul ogalyach mir;
Rahet manent trasha moroch
Me tu sosti
mo diele.” “Coming from Galway,
tired and weary,
I met a woman;
I’ll go bail by this
time to-morrow,
You’ll have had enough
of me.” Me tu sosti, “Thou shalt
be (of) me,” is Romany, which is freely used
in Shelta. The question which I cannot solve
is, On which of the Celtic languages is this jargon
based? My informant declares that it is quite
independent of Old Irish, Welsh, or Gaelic.
In pronunciation it appears to be almost identical
with the latter; but while there are Gaelic words in
it, it is certain that much examination and inquiry
have failed to show that it is contained in that language.
That it is “the talk of the ould Picts thim
that built the stone houses like beehives” is,
I confess, too conjectural for a philologist.
I have no doubt that when the Picts were suppressed
thousands of them must have become wandering outlaws,
like the Romany, and that their language in time became
a secret tongue of vagabonds on the roads. This
is the history of many such lingoes; but unfortunately
Owen’s opinion, even if it be legendary, will
not prove that the Painted People spoke the Shelta
tongue. I must call attention, however, to one
or two curious points. I have spoken of Shelta
as a jargon; but it is, in fact, a language, for it
can be spoken grammatically and without using English
or Romany. And again, there is a corrupt method
of pronouncing it, according to English, while correctly
enunciated it is purely Celtic in sound. More
than this I have naught to say. Shelta is perhaps the last Old British
dialect as yet existing which has thus far remained
undiscovered. There is no hint of it in John
Camden Hotten’s Slang Dictionary, nor has it
been recognized by the Dialect Society. Mr.
Simson, had he known the “Tinklers” better,
would have found that not Romany, but Shelta, was
the really secret language which they employed, although
Romany is also more or less familiar to them all.
To me there is in it something very weird and strange.
I cannot well say why; it seems as if it might be
spoken by witches and talking toads, and uttered by
the Druid stones, which are fabled to come down by
moonlight to the water-side to drink, and who will,
if surprised during their walk, answer any questions.
Anent which I would fain ask my Spiritualist friends
one which I have long yearned to put. Since you,
my dear ghost-raisers, can call spirits from the vasty
deep of the outside-most beyond, will you not having
many millions from which to call raise up
one of the Pictish race, and, having brought it in
from the Ewigkeit, take down a vocabulary of
the language? Let it be a lady par preference, the
fair being by far the more fluent in words. Moreover,
it is probable that as the Picts were a painted race,
woman among them must have been very much to the fore,
and that Madame Rachels occupied a high position with
rouge, enamels, and other appliances to make them
young and beautiful forever. According to Southey,
the British blue-stocking is descended from these
woad-stained ancestresses, which assertion dimly hints
at their having been literary. In which case,
voila nôtre affaire! for then the business would
be promptly done. Wizards of the secret spells,
I adjure ye, raise me a Pictess for the sake of philology and
the picturesque!
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