recognise in Mr Watts-Dunton the young man whom he had seen bathing on the beach at Great Yarmouth, pleased to be near his hero, but too much afraid to venture to address him. Writing of this meeting at Coombe End, Mr Watts-Dunton says: "There is however no doubt that Borrow would have run away from me had I been associated in his mind with the literary calling. But at that time I had written nothing at all save poems, and a prose story or two of a romantic kind." Borrow hated the literary man, he was at war with the whole genus.

Mr Watts-Dunton confesses that he made great efforts to enlist Borrow's interest. He touched on Bamfylde Moore Carew, beer, bruisers, philology, "gentility nonsense," the "trumpery great"; but without success. Borrow was obviously suspicious of him. Then with inspiration he happened to mention what proved to be a magic name.

"I tried other subjects in the same direction," Mr Watts-Dunton continues, "but with small success, till in a lucky moment I bethought myself of Ambrose Gwinett, . . . the man who, after having been hanged and gibbeted for murdering a traveller with whom he had shared a double-bedded room at a seaside inn, revived in the night, escaped from the gibbet-irons, went to sea as a common sailor, and afterwards met on a British man-of-war the very man he had been hanged for murdering. The truth was that Gwinett's supposed victim, having been attacked on the night in question by a violent bleeding of the nose, had risen and left the house for a few minutes' walk in the sea-breeze, when the press-gang captured him and bore him off to sea, where he had been in service ever since. The story is true, and the pamphlet, Borrow afterwards told me (I know not on what authority), was written by Goldsmith from Gwinett's dictation for a platter of cow-heel.

"To the bewilderment of Dr Hake, I introduced the subject of Ambrose Gwinett in the same manner as I might have introduced the story of 'Achilles' wrath,' and appealed to Dr Hake (who, of course, had never heard of the book or the man) as to whether a certain incident in the pamphlet had gained or lost by the dramatist who, at one of the minor theatres, had many years ago dramatized the story. Borrow was caught at last. 'What?' said he, 'you know that pamphlet about Ambrose Gwinett?' 'Know it?' said I, in a hurt tone, as though he had asked me if I knew 'Macbeth'; 'of course I know Ambrose Gwinett, Mr Borrow, don't you?' 'And you know the play?' said he. 'Of course I do, Mr Borrow,' I said, in a tone that was now a little angry at such an insinuation of crass ignorance. 'Why,' said he, 'it's years and years since it was acted; I never was much of a theatre man, but I did go to see THAT.' 'Well I should rather think you DID, Mr Borrow,' said I. 'But,' said he, staring hard at me, 'you--you were not born!' 'And I was not born,' said I, 'when the "Agamemnon" was produced, and yet one reads the "Agamemnon," Mr Borrow. I have read the drama of "Ambrose Gwinett." I have it bound in morocco, with some more of Douglas Jerrold's early transpontine plays, and some AEschylean dramas by Mr Fitzball. I will lend it to you, Mr Borrow, if you like.' He was completely conquered, 'Hake!' he cried, in a loud voice, regardless of my presence, 'Hake! your friend knows everything.' Then he murmured to himself. 'Wonderful man! Knows Ambrose Gwinett!'

"It is such delightful reminiscences as these that will cause me to have as long as I live a very warm place in my heart for the memory of George Borrow." {451a}

After this, intercourse proved easy. At Borrow's suggestion they walked to the Bald-Faced Stag, in Kingston Vale, to inspect Jerry Abershaw's sword. This famous old hostelry was a favourite haunt of Borrow's, where he would often rest during his walk and drink "a cup of ale" (which he would call "swipes," and make a wry face as he swallowed) and talk of the daring deeds of Jerry the highwayman.

Many people have testified to the pleasure of being in the company of the whimsical, eccentric, humbug-hating Borrow.

"He was a choice companion on a walk," writes Mr A. Egmont Hake, "whether across country or in the slums of Houndsditch. His enthusiasm for nature was peculiar; he could draw more poetry from a wide-spreading marsh with its straggling rushes than from the most beautiful scenery, and would stand and look at it with rapture." {451b}

Since the tour in Wales in 1854, from which he returned with the four "Note Books," Borrow had been working steadily at Wild Wales. In 1857 the book had been announced as "ready for the press"; but this was obviously an anticipation. The manuscript was submitted to John Murray early in November 1861. On the 20th of that month he wrote the following letter, addressing it, not to Borrow, but to his wife:-

Dear Mrs Borrow,--The MS. of Wild Wales has occupied my thoughts almost ever since Friday last.

I approached this MS. with some diffidence, recollecting the unsatisfactory results, on the whole, of our last publication--Romany Rye. I have read a large part of this new work with care and attention, and although it is beautifully written and in a style of English undefiled, which few writers can surpass, there is yet a want of stirring incident in it which makes me fearful as to the result of its publication.

In my hands at least I cannot think it would succeed even as well as Romany Rye--and I am fearful of not doing justice to it. I do not like to undertake a work with the chance of reproach that it may have failed through my want of power to promote its circulation, and I do wish, for Borrow's own sake, that in this instance he would try some other publisher and perhaps some other form of publication.

In my hands I am convinced the work will not answer the author's expectations, and I am not prepared to take on me this amount of responsibility.

I will give the best advice I can if called upon, and shall be only too glad if I can be useful to Mr Borrow. I regret to have to write in this sense, but believe me always, Dear Mrs Borrow,

Your faithful friend, JOHN MURRAY.

The reply to this letter has not been preserved. It would appear that some "stirring incidents" were added, among others most probably the account of Borrow blessing the Irish reapers, who mistook him for Father Toban. This anecdote was one of John Murray's favourite passages. It is evident that some concession was made to induce Murray to change his mind. In any case Wild Wales appeared towards the close of 1862 in an edition of 1000 copies. The publisher's misgivings were not justified, as the first edition produced a profit, up to 30th June 1863, of 531 pounds, 14s., which was equally divided between author and publisher. The second, and cheap, edition of 3000 copies lasted for thirteen years, and the deficiency on this absorbed the greater part of the publisher's profit.

In a way it is the most remarkable of Borrow's books; for it shows that he was making a serious effort to regain his public. It is an older, wiser and chastened Borrow that appears in its pages, striding through the land of the bards at six miles an hour, his satchel slung over his shoulder, his green umbrella grasped in his right hand, shouting the songs of Wales, about which he knew more than any man he met. There are no gypsies (except towards the end of the book a reference to his meeting with Captain Bosvile), no bruisers, the pope is scarcely mentioned, and "gentility-nonsense" is veiled almost to the point of elimination. It seems scarcely conceivable that the hand that had written the appendix to The Romany Rye could have so restrained itself as to write Wild Wales. Borrow had evidently read and carefully digested Whitwell Elwin's friendly strictures upon The Romany Rye. Instead of the pope, the gypsies and the bruisers of England, there were the vicarage cat, the bards and the thousand and one trivial incidents of the wayside. There were occasional gleams of the old fighting spirit, notably when he characterises sherry, {453a} as "a silly, sickly compound, the use of which will transform a nation, however bold and warlike by nature, into a race of sketchers, scribblers, and punsters,--in fact, into what Englishmen are at the present day." He has created the atmosphere of Wales as he did that of the gypsy encampment. He shows the jealous way in which the Welsh cling to their language, and their suspicion of the Saesneg, or Saxon. Above all, he shows how national are the Welsh poets, belonging not to the cultured few; but to the labouring man as much as to the landed proprietor. Borrow earned the respect of the people, not only because he knew their language; but on account of his profound knowledge of their literature, their history, and their traditions. No one could escape him, he accosted every soul he met, and evinced a desire for information as to place-names that instantly arrested their attention.

The most curious thing about Wild Wales is the omission of all mention of the Welsh Gypsies, who, with those of Hungary, share the distinction of being the aristocrats of their race. Several explanations have been suggested to account for the curious circumstance. Had Borrow's knowledge of Welsh Romany been scanty, he could very soon have improved it. The presence of his wife and stepdaughter was no hindrance; for, as a matter of fact, they were very little with him, even when they and Borrow were staying at Llangollen; but during the long tours they were many miles away. In all probability the Welsh Gypsies were sacrificed to British prejudice, much as were pugilism and the baiting of the pope.

In spite of its simple charm and convincing atmosphere, Wild Wales did not please the critics. Those who noticed it (and there were many who did not) either questioned its genuineness, or found it crowded with triviality and self-glorification. It was full of the superfluous, the superfluous repeated, and above all it was too long (some 250,000 words). The Spectator notice was an exception; it did credit to the critical faculty of the man who wrote it. He declined "to boggle and wrangle over minor defects in what is intrinsically good," and praised Wild Wales as "the first really clever book . . . in which an honest attempt is made to do justice to Welsh literature."

Borrow had much time upon his hands in London, which he occupied largely in walking. He visited the Metropolitan Gypsyries at Wandsworth, "the Potteries," and "the Mounts," as described in Romano Lavo-Lil. Sometimes he would be present at some sporting event, such as the race between the Indian Deerfoot and Jackson, styled the American Deer--tame sport in comparison with the "mills" of his boyhood. He did very little writing, and from 1862, when Wild Wales appeared, until he published The Romano Lavo-Lil in 1874, his literary output consisted of only some translations contributed to Once a Week (January 1862 to December 1863).

In 1865 he was to lose his stepdaughter, who married a William