Now in India, Vishnu and Indra are the gods of the rain.

The learned, who insist that as there ought to be, so there must be, but a single source of derivation for every word, ignoring the fact that a dozen causes may aid in its formation, will at once declare that, as Bishnoo or Vishnoo is derived from the old Gipsy Brishni or Brschindo, and this from the Hindu Barish, and the Sanscrit Varish or Prish, there can be “no rational ground” for connecting the English Gipsy word with the Hindu god.  But who can tell what secret undercurrents of dim tradition and vague association may have come down to the present day from the olden time.  That rain should be often called God’s blood, and water bearing the name of Vishnu be termed God, and that this should be regarded as a specially curious bit of Gipsy lore, is at any rate remarkable enough.

As for the Gipsies in question ever having heard of Vishnu and other gods (as a friend suggests to me), save in this dim tradition, I can only say, that I doubt whether either of them ever heard even of the apostles; and I satisfied myself that the one who brought the secret had never heard of Joseph, was pitiably ignorant of Potiphar’s wife, and only knew of “Mozhus” or Moses, that he “once heerd he was on the bulrushes.”

Mahadeva, or Mahadev, exists apparently in the mouth of every English Gipsy in the phrase “Maduveleste!” or, God bless you.  This word Maduvel is often changed to Mi—­duvel, and is generally supposed to mean “My God;” but I was once assured, that the old and correct form was Ma, meaning great, and that it only meant great in connection with Duvel.

A curious illustration of a lost word returning by chance to its original source was given one day, when I asked a Gipsy if he knew such a word as Buddha?  He promptly replied, “Yes; that a booderi or boodha mush was an old man;” and pointing to a Chinese image of Buddha, said:  “That is a Boohda.”  He meant nothing more than that it represented an aged person, but the coincidence was at least remarkable.  Budha in Hindustani really signifies an old man.

The same Gipsy, observing on the chimney-piece a quaint image of a Chinese griffin—­a hideous little goblin with wings—­informed me that the Gipsy name for it was a Seemor or Seemorus, and further declared that the same word meant a dolphin.  “But a dolphin has no wings,” I remarked.  “Oh, hasn’t it?” rejoined the Gipsy; “its fins are its wings, if it hadn’t wings it could not be a Seemor.”  I think I recognise in this Seemor, the Simurgh or Griffin of Persian fable. {112} I could learn nothing more than this, that the Gipsy had always regarded a dolphin as resembling a large-headed winged monster, which he called a Seemor.

NAG is a snake in Hindustani.  The English Gipsies still retain this primaeval word, but apply it only to the blind-worm.  It is, however, remarkable that the Nag, or blind-worm, is, in the opinion of the Rommany, the most mysterious of creatures.  I have been told that “when a nag mullers it’s hardus as a kosh, and you can pogger it like a swagler’s toov,” “When a blind-worm dies it is as hard as a stick, and you can break it like a pipe-stem.”  They also believe that the Nag is gifted, so far as his will goes, with incredible malignity, and say of him—­