I’ve got kek gry and can’t lel no wongur to kin kek.  My kamli chavi, if you could bitch me a few bars it would be cammoben.  I rikkers my covvas apre mi dumo kenna.  I dicked my kako, waver divvus adree a lot o Rommany chals, saw a piin’.  There was the juvas a koorin adoi and the mushis a koorin an’ there was a boro chingaree, some with kali yakkas an’ some with sherros chinned so the ratt jalled alay ’pre the drum.  There was dui or trin bar to pessur in the sala for the graias an’ mylas that got in pandamam (pandapenn).

Your pal’s got a kushti gry that can jal alangus the drum kushto.  L—–­ too’s got a baro kushto gry.  He jawed to the wellgooro, to the boro gav, with a poggobavescro gry an’ a nokengro.  You could a mored dovo gry an’ kek penn’d a lav tute.  I del it some ballovas to hatch his bavol and I bikened it for 9 bar, to a rye that you jins kushto.  Lotti was at the wellgooro dukkerin the ranis.  She lelled some kushti habben, an’ her jellico was saw porder, when she dicked her mush and shelled.  “Havacai!  I’ve got some fine habben!” She penned to a rakli, “Pet your wonger adree turo wast an I’ll dukker tute.”  An’ she lelled a pash bar from the rani.  She penned her:  “You kaums a rye a longo duros.  He’s a kaulo and there’s a waver rye, a pauno, that kaums you too, an’ you’ll soon lel a chinamangree.  Tute’ll rummorben before dui besh, an’ be the dye of trin chavis.’

There was a gry jallin with a wardo langus the drum, an’ I dicked a raklo, an’ putsched (pootched) him.  “How much wongur?” an’ he pookered man’y “Desh bar;” I penned:  “Is dovo, noko gry?” “Avali.”  Well, a Rommany chul del him desh bar for the gry an’ bikined it for twelve bar to a boro rye.  It was a fino kaulo gry with a boro herree, but had a naflo piro; it was the nearo piro an’ was a dellemescro.  He del it some hopium drab to hatch adoi, and tooled his solivengro upo the purgis.

At the paiass with the koshters a rye welled and Wantelo shelled avree:  “Trin kosters for a horra, eighteen for a shekori!” An’ the rye lelled a koshter an’ we had pange collos for trin dozenos.  The rye kaired paiass kushto and lelled pange cocoanuts, and lelled us to his wardo, and dell’d mandy trin currus of tatty panni, so that I was most matto.  He was a kushti rye and his rani was as good as the rye.

There was a waver mush a playin, an’ mandy penned:  “Pen the kosh paulier, hatch ’em odoi, don’t well adoorer or he’ll lel saw the covvos!  Chiv ’em pauli!” A chi rakkered the ryes an’ got fifteen cullos from yeck.  And no moro the divvus from your kaum pal,

M.

TRANSLATION.

THE WATER VILLAGE, Dec. 16, 1871.

MY DEAR DAUGHTER,—­Good luck! my love to your husband and your father, and best luck!  We’ve had bad fortune, my sister has been sick this here week, we’re doing very badly and could not get any money.  Your two brothers are doing well, running about the country selling things.  Your old uncle came to his sister and stayed three days, and went away like an old dog and never gave me a penny.