if it was his intention to
leave behind him the necessary material for the compilation of a
biography of his strange career. This, however, he could never be
persuaded to do. He maintained that "Lavengro," "The Romany Rye," and
"The Bible in Spain," contained all of his life that it was necessary for
posterity to know. It was not the man but his works that should live, he
would say, and his books contained the best part of himself. While in
London, however, at the house which he took in Hereford Square, Brompton,
he consented to sit for his portrait, the artist being Henry Philips.
This picture afterwards passed into the possession of his step-daughter,
Mrs. Henrietta MacOubrey.

Of the painting of this portrait a very good story is told. Borrow was a
very bad sitter, he was ever anxious to get out into the fresh air and
sunlight. Philips was greatly hindered by this restlessness, but one day
he hit upon a plan which conquered the chafing child of Nature and served
his own purpose admirably. He was aware of Borrow's wonderful gift of
tongues and the fascination that philological studies had for him. So he
remarked, "I have always heard, Mr. Borrow, that the Persian is a very
fine language; is it so?" "It is, Philips; it is," replied "Lavengro."
"Perhaps you will not mind reciting me something in the Persian tongue?"
"Dear me, no; certainly not." And then Borrow's face lit up with the
light that Philips longed for, and he commenced declaiming at the top of
his voice, while the painter made the most of his opportunity. When he
found his subject was lapsing into silence, and that the old feeling of
weariness and boredom was again creeping upon him, he would start him off
again by saying, "I have always heard that the Turkish--or the
Armenian--is a very fine language," with a like result, until at length
the portrait was completed.

The monotony of Borrow's life at Oulton was varied by occasional visits
to London and excursions into Wales and to the Isle of Man. In his
travels through Wales he was accompanied by his wife and step-daughter.
How the journey was brought about he explains in the first chapter of
"Wild Wales," a work which, published in 1862, was the outcome of his
ramblings in the Principality. "In the summer of 1854, myself, wife and
daughter, determined upon going into Wales, to pass a few months there.
We are country-people of a corner of East Anglia, and, at the time of
which I am speaking, h