the exchequer from the profits of his first two books.

Borrow returned to Yarmouth on 25th February. The Romany Rye was now rapidly nearing completion; but there was no encouragement to publish a new book. He worked at The Romany Rye, not because he saw profit in it, not because he was anxious to give another book to an uneager public; but because of the sting in its tail, because of the thunderbolt Appendix in which he paid off old scores against the critics and his personal enemies. The Romany Rye was to him a work of hate; it was a bomb disguised as a book, which he intended to throw into the camp of his foes. He was tired of literature, by which he meant that he was tired of producing his best for a public that neither wanted nor understood it. He forgot that the works of a great writer are sometimes printed in his own that they may be read in another generation.

CHAPTER XXVI: MARCH 1854-MAY 1856

During the months that followed Borrow's return to Great Yarmouth, the question of the coming summer holiday was discussed. From the first Borrow himself had been for Wales. He was eager to pursue his Celtic researches further north. "I should not wonder if he went into Wales before he returns," Mrs Robert Taylor had written to her friend during Borrow's stay in Cornwall. His wife and Henrietta had "a hankering after what is fashionable," and suggested Harrogate or Leamington. To which Borrow replied that there was nothing he "so much hated as fashionable life." He, however, gave way, the two women followed suit, as he had intended they should, and Wales was decided upon. For Borrow the literature of Wales had always exercised a great attraction. Her bards were as no other bards. Ab Gwilym was to him the superior of Chaucer, and Huw Morris "the greatest songster of the seventeenth century." It was, he confessed, a desire to put to practical use his knowledge of the Welsh tongue, "such as it was," that first gave him the idea of going to Wales.

The party left Great Yarmouth on 27th July 1854, spending one night at Peterborough and three at Chester. They reached Llangollen, which was to be their head-quarters, on 1st August. On 9th August Mrs George Borrow wrote to the old lady at Oulton, "We all much enjoy this wonderful and beautiful country. We are in a lovely quiet spot. Dear George goes out exploring the mountains, and when he finds remarkable views takes us of an evening to see them."

Borrow wanted to see Wales and get to know the people, and, above all, to speak with them in their own language, and on 27th August he started upon a walking tour to Bangor, where he was to meet his wife and Henrietta, who were to proceed thither by rail. It was during this excursion that he encountered the delightful Papist-Orange fiddler, whose fortunes and fingers fluctuated between "Croppies Get Up" and "Croppies Lie Down."

From Bangor Borrow explored the surrounding places of interest. He ascended Snowdon arm-in-arm with Henrietta, singing "at the stretch of my voice a celebrated Welsh stanza," the boy-guide following wonderingly behind. In spite of the fatigues of the climb, "the gallant girl" reached the summit and heard her stepfather declaim two stanzas of poetry in Welsh, to the grinning astonishment of a small group of English tourists and the great interest of a Welshman, who asked Borrow if he were a Breton.

There is no question that Borrow was genuinely attached to Henrietta. "I generally call her daughter," he writes, "and with good reason, seeing that she has always shown herself a daughter to me--that she has all kinds of good qualities, and several accomplishments, knowing something of conchology, more of botany, drawing capitally in the Dutch style," {415a} not to speak of her ability to play on the Spanish guitar. She was "the dear girl," or "the gallant girl," between whom and her stepfather existed a true spirit of comradeship. In 1844 she wrote to him, "And then that FUNNY look {415b} would come into your eyes and you would call me 'poor old Hen.'" He seemed incapable of laughing, and one intimate friend states that she "never saw him even smiling, but there was a twinkle in his eyes which told you that he was enjoying himself just the same." {416a}

About this time Mrs George Borrow wrote to old Mrs Borrow at Oulton Hall, saying that all was well with her son.

"He is very regular in his morning and evening devotions, so that we all have abundant cause for thankfulness . . . As regards your dear son and his peace and comfort, you have reason to praise and bless God on his account . . . He is fully occupied. He keeps a DAILY Journal of all that goes on, so that he can make a most amusing book in a month, whenever he wishes to do so."

The first sentence is very puzzling, and would seem to suggest that Borrow's moods were somehow or other associated with outbursts against religion. "Be sure you BURN this, or do not leave it about," the old lady is admonished.

On the day following the ascent of Snowdon, Mrs Borrow and Henrietta returned to Llangollen by train, leaving Borrow free to pursue his wanderings. He eventually arrived at Llangollen on 6th September, by way of Carnarvon, Festiniog and Bala. After remaining another twenty days at Llangollen, he despatched his wife and stepdaughter home by rail. He then bought a small leather satchel, with a strap to sling it over his shoulder, packed in it a white linen shirt, a pair of worsted stockings, a razor and a prayer-book. Having had his boots resoled and his umbrella repaired, he left Llangollen for South Wales, upon an excursion which was to occupy three weeks. During the course of this expedition he was taken for many things, from a pork- jobber to Father Toban himself, as whom he pronounced "the best Latin blessing I could remember" over two or three dozen Irish reapers to their entire satisfaction. Eventually he arrived at Chepstow, having learned a great deal about wild Wales.

One of the excursions that Borrow made from Bangor was to Llanfair in search of Gronwy, the birthplace of Gronwy Owen. He found in the long, low house an old woman and five children, descendants of the poet, who stared at him wonderingly. To each he gave a trifle. Asking whether they could read, he was told that the eldest could read anything, whether Welsh or English. In Wild Wales he gives an account of the interview.

"'Can you write?' said I to the child [the eldest], a little stubby girl of about eight, with a broad flat red face and grey eyes, dressed in a chintz gown, a little bonnet on her head, and looking the image of notableness.

"The little maiden, who had never taken her eyes off of me for a moment during the whole time I had been in the room, at first made no answer; being, however, bid by her grandmother to speak, she at length answered in a soft voice, 'Medraf, I can.'

"'Then write your name in this book,' said I, taking out a pocket- book and a pencil, 'and write likewise that you are related to Gronwy Owen--and be sure you write in Welsh.'

"The little maiden very demurely took the book and pencil, and placing the former on the table wrote as follows:-

"'Ellen Jones yn perthyn o bell i gronow owen.' {417a}

"That is, 'Ellen Jones belonging, from afar off to Gronwy Owen.'" {417b}

Ellen Jones is now Ellen Thomas, and she well remembers Borrow coming along the lane, where she was playing with some other children, and asking for the house of Gronwy Owen. Later, when she entered the house, she found him talking to her grandmother, who was a little deaf as described in Wild Wales. Mrs Thomas' recollection of Borrow is that he had the appearance of possessing great strength. He had "bright eyes and shabby dress, more like a merchant than a gentleman, or like a man come to buy cattle [others made the same mistake]. But, dear me! he did speak FUNNY Welsh," she remarked to a student of Borrow who sought her out, he could not pronounce the 'll' [pronouncing the word "pell" as if it rhymed with tell, whereas it should be pronounced something like "pelth"], and his voice was very high; but perhaps that was because my grandmother was deaf." He had plenty of words, but bad pronunciation. William Thomas {418a} laughed many a time at him coming talking his funny Welsh to him, and said he was glad he knew a few words of Spanish to answer him with. Borrow was, apparently, unconscious of any imperfection in his pronunciation of the "ll". He has written: "'Had you much difficulty in acquiring the sound of the "ll"?' I think I hear the reader inquire. None whatever: the double l of the Welsh is by no means the terrible guttural which English people generally suppose it to be." {418b}

Mrs Thomas is now sixty-seven years of age (she was eleven and not eight at the time of Borrow's visit) and still preserves carefully wrapped up the book from which she read to the white-haired stranger. The episode was not thought much of at the time, except by the child, whom it much excited. {418c}

It was in all probability during this, his first tour in Wales, that Borrow was lost on Cader Idris, and spent the whole of one night in wandering over the mountain vainly seeking a path. The next morning he arrived at the inn utterly exhausted. It was quite in keeping with Borrow's nature to suppress from his book all mention of this unpleasant adventure. {419a}

The Welsh holiday was unquestionably a success. Borrow's mind had been diverted from critics and his lost popularity. He had forgotten that in official quarters he had been overlooked. He was in the land of Ab Gwilym and Gronwy Owen. "There never was such a place for poets," he wrote; "you meet a poet, or the birthplace of a poet, everywhere." {419b} He was delighted with the simplicity of the people, and in no way offended by their persistent suspicion of all things Saxon. At least they knew their own poets; and he could not help comparing the Welsh labouring man who knew Huw Morris, with his Suffolk brother who had never heard of Beowulf or Chaucer. He discoursed with many people about their bards, surprising them by his intimate knowledge of the poets and the poetry of Wales. He found enthusiasm "never scoffed at by the noble simple-minded genuine Welsh, whatever treatment it may receive from the coarse-hearted, sensual, selfish Saxon." {419c} Sometimes he was reminded "of the substantial yoemen of Cornwall, particularly . . . of my friends at Penquite." {419d} Wherever he went he experienced nothing but kindness and hospitality, and it delighted him to be taken for a Cumro, as was frequently the case.

What Borrow writes about his Welsh is rather contradictory.