תמונות בעמוד

The fences are broken, the cords are snapped, that tethered man's heart to home;
He ranges free as the wind or the wave, and changes his shore like the foam.
He drives his furrows through fallow seas, he reaps what the breakers sow,
And the flash of his iron flail is seen mid the barns of the barren snow.

He has lassoed the lightning and led it home, he has yoked it unto his need,
And made it answer the rein, and trudge as straight as the steer or steed.
He has bridled the torrents and made them tame, he has bitted the champing tide ;
It toils as his drudge and turns the wheels that spin for his use and pride.
He handles the planets and weighs their dust, he mounts on the comet's car,
And he lifts the veil of the sun and stares in the eyes of the uttermost star.

'Tis not the same world you knew, Granny; its fetters have fallen off ;
The lowliest now may rise and rule where the proud used to sit and scoff.
No need to boast of a scutcheoned stock, claim rights from an ancient wrong ;
All are born with a silver spoon in their mouths whose gums are sound and strong.
And I mean to be rich and great, Granny; I mean it with heart and soul :
At my feet is the ball — I will roll it on, till it spins through the golden goal.

Out on the thought that my copious life should trickle in trivial days,
Myself but a lonelier sort of beast, watching the cattle graze,
Scanning the year's monotonous change, or gaping at wind and rain,
And hanging with meek, solicitous eyes on the whims of a creaking vane;
Wretched if ewes drop single lambs, blest so is oil-cake cheap,
And growing old in a tedious round of worry, surfeit, and sleep!

You dear old Granny, how sweet your smile, and how soft your silvery hair!
But all has moved on while you sat still in your cap and easy-chair.
The torch of knowledge is lit for all, it flashes from hand to hand;
The alien tongues of the earth converse, and whisper from strand to strand.
The very churches are changed and boast new hymns, new rites, new truth;
Men worship a wiser and greater God than the half-known God of your youth.

What ! marry Connie and set up house, and dwell where my fathers dwelt,
Giving the homely feasts they gave, and kneeling where they knelt ?
She is pretty, and good, and void I am sure of vanity, greed, or guile;
But she has not traveled nor seen the world, and is lacking in air and style.
Women now are as wise and strong as men, and vie with men in renown;
The wife that will help to build my fame was not bred near a country town.

What a notion ! to figure at parish boards, and wrangle o'er cess and rate,
I, who mean to sit for the county yet, and vote on an empire's fate;
To take the chair at the farmers' feasts, and tickle their bumpkin ears,
Who must shake a senate before I die, and waken a people's cheers!
In the olden days was no choice, so sons to the roof of their fathers clave:
But now! 'twere to perish before one's time, and to sleep in a living grave.

I see that you do not understand. How should you ? Your memory clings
To the simple music of silenced days and the skirts of vanishing things.
Your fancy wanders round ruined haunts, and dwells upon oft-told tales;
Your eyes discern not the widening dawn, nor your ears catch the rising gales.
But live on, Granny, till I come back, and then perhaps you will own
The dear old Past is an empty nest, and the Present the brood that is flown.


AND so, my dear, you're come back at last? I always fancied you would.
Well, you see the old home of your childhood's days is standing where it stood.
The roses still clamber from porch to roof, the elder is white at the gate,
And over the long, smooth gravel-path the peacock still struts in state.
On the gabled lodge, as of old, in the sun, the pigeons sit and coo,
And our hearts, my dear, are no whit more changed, but have kept still warm for you.

You'll find little altered, unless it be me, and that since my last attack;
But so that you only give me time, I can walk to the church and back.
You bade me not die till you returned, and so you see I lived on:
I'm glad that I did, now you've really come, but it's almost time I was gone.
I suppose that there isn't room for us all, and the old should depart the first.
That's but as it should be. What is sad, is to bury the dead you've nursed.

Won't you take something at once, my dear? Not even a glass of whey?
The dappled Alderney calved last week, and the baking is fresh to-day.
Have you lost your appetite too in town, or is it you've grown over-nice?
If you'd rather have biscuits and cowslip wine, they'll bring them up in a trice.
But what am I saying? Your coming down has set me all in a maze :
I forgot that you traveled down by train ; I was thinking of coaching days.

There, sit you down, and give me your hand, and tell me about it all,
From the day that you left us, keen to go, to the pride that had a fall.
And all went well at the first? So it does, when we're young and puffed with hope ;
But the foot of the hill is quicker reached the easier seems the slope.
And men thronged round you, and women too? Yes, that I can understand.
When there's gold in the palm, the greedy world is eager to grasp the hand.

I heard them tell of your smart town house, but I always shook my head.
One doesn't grow rich in a year and a day, in the time of my youth 'twas said.
Men do not reap in the spring, my dear, nor are granaries filled in May,
Save it be with the harvest of former years, stored up for a rainy day.
The seasons will keep their own true time, you can hurry nor furrow nor sod:
It's honest labor and steadfast thrift that alone are blest by God.

You say you were honest. I trust you were, nor do I judge you, my dear :
I have old-fashioned ways, and it's quite enough to keep one's own conscience clear.
But still the commandment, “Thou shalt not steal,” though a simple and ancient rule,
Was not made for complex cunning to balk, nor for any new age to befool;
And if my growing rich unto others brought but penury, chill, and grief,
I should feel, though I never had filched with my hands, I was only a craftier thief.

That isn't the way they look at it there? All worshiped the rising sun ?
Most of all the fine lady, in pride of purse you fancied your heart had won.
I don't want to hear of her beauty or birth : I reckon her foul and low;
Far better a steadfast cottage wench than grand loves that come and go.
To cleave to their husbands through weal, through woe, is all women have to do:
In growing as clever as men they seem to have matched them in fickleness too.

But there's one in whose heart has your image still dwelt through many an absent day, As the scent of a flower will haunt a closed room, though the flower be taken away.

Connie's not quite so young as she was, no doubt, but faithfulness never grows old;
And were beauty the only fuel of love, the warmest hearth soon would grow cold.
Once you thought that she had not traveled, and knew neither the world nor life:
Not to roam, but to deem her own hearth the whole world, that's what a man wants in a wife.

I'm sure you'd be happy with Connie, at least if your own heart's in the right place.
She will bring you nor power, nor station, nor wealth, but she never will bring you disgrace.
They say that the moon, though she moves round the sun, never turns to him morning or night
But one face of her sphere, and it must be because she's so true a satellite ;
And Connie, if into your orbit once drawn by the sacrament sanctioned above,
Would revolve round you constantly, only to show the one-sided aspect of love.

You will never grow rich by the land, I own; but, if Connie and you should wed,
It will feed your children and household too, as it you and your fathers fed.
The seasons have been unkindly of late ; there's a wonderful cut of hay,
But the showers have washed all the goodness out, till it's scarcely worth carting away.
There's a fairish promise of barley-straw, but the ears look rusty and slim:
I suppose God intends to remind us thus that something depends on him.

God neither progresses nor changes, dear, as I once heard you rashly say:
Men's schools and philosophies come and go, but his word doth not pass away.
We worship him here as we did of old, with simple and reverent rite:
In the morning we pray him to bless our work, to forgive our transgressions at night.
To keep his commandments, to fear his name, and what should be done, to do--
That's the beginning of wisdom still ; I suspect 'tis the end of it too.

You must see the new-fangled machines at work, that harrow, and thresh, and reap;
They're wonderful quick, there's no mistake, and they say in the end they're cheap.
But they make such a clatter, and seem to bring the rule of the town to the fields :
There's something more precious in country life than the balance of wealth it yields.
But that seems going ; I'm sure I hope that I shall be gone before :
Better poor sweet silence of rural toil than the factory's opulent roar.

They're a mighty saving of labor, though; so at least I hear them tell,
Making fewer hands and fewer mouths, but fewer hearts as well :
They sweep up so close that there's nothing left for widows and bairns to glean;
If machines are growing like men, man seems to be growing a half machine.
There's no friendliness left; the only tie is the wage upon Saturday nights : .
Right used to mean duty; you'll find that now there's no duty, but only rights.

Still stick to your duty, my dear, and then things can not go much amiss.
What made folks happy in bygone times will make them happy in this.
There's little that's called amusement here ; but why should the old joys pall ?
Has the blackbird ceased to sing loud in spring ? Has the cuckoo forgotten to call ?
Are bleating voices no longer heard when the cherry-blossoms swarm?
And have home and children and fireside lost one gleam of their ancient charm ?

Come, let us go round: to the farmyard first, with its litter of fresh-strewn straw,
Past the ash-tree dell, round whose branching tops the young rooks wheel and caw;
Through the ten-acre mead that was mown the first, and looks well for aftermath,
Then round by the beans—I shall tire by then and home up the garden-path,
Where the peonies hang their blushing heads, where the larkspur laughs from its stalk-
With my stick and your arm I can manage. But see! There, Connie comes up the walk.

ALFRED AUSTIN (Cornhill Magazine).


TT is, I believe, seldom observed that the world of the race, and by their boundless wanderings.

I is so far from having quitted the romantic or Go where we may, we find the Jew—has any sentimental for the purely scientific that, even in other wandered so far? science itself, whatever is best set forth, owes Y es, one. For wherever Jew has gone, there, half its charm to something delicately and dis- too, is the gypsy. The Jew may be more antantly reflected from the forbidden land of fancy. cient, but even the authentic origin of the RomThe greatest reasoners and writers on the driest many is lost in ancient Aryan record, and, strictly topics are still “ genial,” because no man ever yet speaking, his is a prehistoric caste. Among the had true genius who did not feel the inspiration hundred and fifty wandering tribes of India and of poetry, or mystery, or at least of the unusual. Persia, some of them Turanian, some Aryan, and We are not rid of the marvelous or curious, and, others mixed, it is of course impossible to identify if we have not yet a science of curiosities, it is the exact origin of the European gypsy. One apparently because it lies for the present distrib- thing we know, that from the tenth to the twelfth uted about among the other sciences, just as in century, and probably much later on, India threw small museums illuminated manuscripts are to out from her northern half a vast multitude of be found in happy family union with stuffed birds very troublesome indwellers. What with Buddor minerals, and with watches and snuff-boxes, hist, Brahman, and Mohammedan wars—invaders once the property of their late majesties the outlawing invaded—the number of out-castes beGeorges. Until such a science is formed, the came alarmingly great. To these the Jats, who, new one of ethnology may appropriately serve according to Captain Burton, constituted the main for it, since it of all presents most attraction to stock of our gypsies, contributed perhaps half him who is politely called the general reader, but their entire nation. Excommunication among who should in truth be called the man who reads the Indian professors of transcendental benev. the most for mere amusement. For Ethnology olence meant social death and inconceivable deals with such delightful material as primeval cruelty. Now there are many historical indicakumbo-cephalic skulls, and appears to her vota- tions that these outcasts, before leaving India, ries arrayed, not in silk attire, but in strange became gypsies, which was the most natural fragments of leather from ancient Irish graves, thing in a country where such classes had alor in cloth from Lacustrine villages. She glitters ready existed in very great numbers from early with the quaint jewelry of the first Italian race, times. And from one of the lowest castes, which whose ghosts, if they wail over the “find,” “speak still exists in India, and is known as the Dom,* in a language man knows no more.” She charms the emigrants to the West probably derived their us with etchings or scratchings of mammoths on name and several characteristics. The Dom mammoth-bone, and invites us to explore mys- burns the dead, handles corpses, skins beasts, terious caves, to picnic among megalithic monu- and performs other functions, all of which were ments, and speculate on pictured Scottish stones. appropriated by, and became peculiar to, gypsies In short, she engages man to investigate his an- in several countries in Europe, notably in Dencestry, a pursuit which presents charms even to mark and Holland, for several centuries after the illiterate, and asks us to find out facts con- their arrival there. The Dom of the present cerning works of art which have interested every- day also sells baskets, and wanders with a tent; body in every age.

he is altogether gypsy. It is remarkable that he, Ad interim, before the science of curiosities living in a hot climate, drinks ardent spirits to is segregated from that of ethnology, I may ob- excess, being by no means a “temperate Hindoo," serve that one of the marvels in the latter is that, and that even in extreme old age his hair seldom among all the subdivisions of the human race, turns white, which is a noted peculiarity among there are only two which have been, apparently our own gypsies of pure blood. I know and from their beginning, set apart, marked and cos- have lately seen a gypsy woman, nearly a hunmopolite, ever living among others and yet reserved unto themselves. These are the Jew and * From the observations of Frederic Drew (" The the gypsy. From time whereof history hath Northern Barrier of India,” London, 1877) there can be naught to the contrary, the Jew was, as he him- little doubt that the Dom, or Dům, belong to the preself holds in simple faith the first man Red Aryan race or races of India. “They are described in Earth, Adam, was a Jew, and the old claim to

the Vedas as Sopukh, or Dog-Eaters " (" Types of In

dia "). I have somewhere met with the statement that be the chosen people has been apparently con- the Dom was pre-Aryan, but allowed to rank as Hindoo firmed by the extraordinary genius and influence on account of services rendered to the early conquerors.

dred years old, whose curling hair is black, or As regards the great admixture of Persian hardly perceptibly changed. It is extremely prob- with Hindi in good Rommany, it is quite unmisable that the Dom, mentioned as a caste even in takable, though I can recall no writer who has the Vedas, gave the name to the Rom. The attached sufficient importance to a fact which Dom calls his wife a Domni, and being a Dom identifies gypsies with what is almost preëminentis “Domnipana.” In English gypsy, the same ly the land of gypsies. I once had the pleasure words are expressed by Rom, romni, and romni- of taking a Nile journey in company with Prince pen. D, be it observed, very often changes to r S- , a Persian, and in most cases, when I in its transfer from Hindoo to Rommany. Thus asked my friend what this or that gypsy word doi, "a wooden spoon,” becomes in gypsy roi meant, he gave me its correct meaning, after a

-a term known to every tinker in London. But, little thought, and then added, in his imperfect while this was probably the origin of the word English : “What for you want to know such Rom, there were subsequent reasons for its con- word ? — that old word — that no more used. tinuance. Among the Cophts, who were more Only common people-old peasant-woman-use abundant in Egypt when the first gypsies went that word-gentleman no want to know him." there, the word for man is romi, and after leav- But I did want to know “him " very much. I ing Greece and the Levant, or Rum, it would be can remember that one night when our bon prince natural for the wanderers to be called Rumi. had thus held forth, we had dancing girls, or AlBut the Dom was in all probability the parent meh, on board, and one was very young and stock of the gypsy race, though the latter re- pretty. I was told that she was gypsy, but she ceived vast accessions from many other sources. spoke no Rommany. Yet her panther eyes, I call attention to this, since it has always been and serpent smile, and beauté du diable were held, and sensibly enough, that the mere fact of not Egyptian, but of the Indian, kalo-ratt-—the the gypsies speaking Hindi-Persian, or the oldest dark blood, which, once known, is known for type of Urdu, including many Sanskrit terms, ever. I forgot her, however, for a long timedoes not prove an Indian or Aryan origin, any until the other night in Moscow, when she was more than the English spoken by American ne- recalled by dancing and smiles, of which I will groes proves a Saxon descent. But if the Rom speak anon. can be identified with the Dom—and the circum- I was sitting one day by the Thames, in a stantial evidence, it must be admitted, is very gypsy hut, when its master, Joshua Cooper, now strong—but little remains to seek, since, accord- dead, pointing to a swan, asked me for its name ing to the Vedas, the Doms are Hindoo.* in gypsy. I replied, “ Boro pappin.

Among the tribes whose union formed the “No, rya. Boro pappin is 'a big goose.' European gypsy was, in all probability, that of Sakkú is the real gypsy word. It is very old, and the Nats, consisting of singing and dancing very few Rommany know it." girls, and male musicians and acrobats. Of A few days after, when my Persian friend was these, we are told that not less than ten thou- dining with me at the Langham Hotel, I asked sand lute-players and minstrels, under the name him if he knew what Sákkú meant ? By way of of Luri, were once sent to Persia as a present to reply, he, not being able to recall the English a king, whose land was then without music or word, waved his arms in wonderful pantomime, song. This word Luri is still preserved. The indicating some enormous winged creature, and saddle-makers and leather-workers of Persia are then, looking into the distance, and pointing as if called Tsingani; they are, in their way, low caste, to some far-vanishing object, as boys do when and a kind of gypsy, and it is supposed that from they declaim Bryant's address to a waterfowl, rethem are possibly derived the names Zingan, plied : Zigeuner, Zingaro, etc., by which gypsies are “Sákkú-one ver' big bird, like one swenknown in so many lands. From Mr. Arnold's but he not swen. He like the man who carry late work on “ Persia,” the reader may learn that too much water up stairs * his head in Constanthe Eeli, who constitute the majority of the in- tinople. That bird all same that man. He sakhabitants of the southern portion of that coun- kia all same wheel that you see get water up try, are Aryan nomads, and apparently gypsies. stairs in Egypt." There are also in India the Banjari, or wander- This was explanatory but far from satisfacing merchants, and many other tribes, all spoken tory. The prince, however, was mindful of me, of as gypsies by those who know them.

and the next day I received from the Persian em

- bassy the word elegantly written in Persian, with * Since writing this passage, I have met with a Mo- the translation, a pelican." Then it was all hammedan Hindoo who had lived with Indian gypsies. He confirmed in many ways his assertion that the realkypsies of India call themselves and their language * Up stairs in this gentleman's dialect signified up or * Rom."

upon, like top-side in Pidgin-English.

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