those of us who are sufficiently interested in the
subject with a fine collection of documents. Here is all the material of
biography in its crude state, but presenting vividly enough the live
Borrow to those who have the perception to read it with care and
judgment. Still more grateful may we be to Dr. Knapp for his edition of
Borrow's works, particularly for those wonderful episodes in _Lavengro_
which he has reproduced from the original manuscript, episodes as
dramatic as any other portion of the text, and making Dr. Knapp's edition
of _Lavengro_ the only possible one to possess.

But to return to the main facts of Borrow's career, which every one here
at least is familiar with. You know of his birth at East Dereham, of his
life in Ireland and in Scotland, of his school days at Norwich, of his
departure from Norwich to London on his father's death, of his dire
struggles in the literary whirlpool, and of his wanderings in gipsy land.
You know, thanks to Dr. Knapp, more than you could otherwise have learned
of his life at St. Petersburg, whither he had been sent by the Bible
Society, on the recommendation of Mr. Joseph John Gurney and another
patron. Then he has himself told us in picturesque fashion of his life
in Portugal and Spain. After this we hear of his marriage to Mary
Clarke, his residence from 1840 to 1853 at Oulton, in Suffolk, from 1853
to 1860 at Yarmouth, from 1860 to 1874 in Hereford Square, London, and
finally from 1874 to 1881 at Oulton, where he died. That is the bare
skeleton of Borrow's life, and for half his life, I think, we should be
content with a skeleton. For the other half of it we have the best
autobiography in the English language. An autobiography that ranks with
Goethe's _Truth and Poetry from my Life_ and Rousseau's _Confessions_. In
four books--in _Lavengro_, _Romany Rye_, _The Bible in Spain_, and _Wild
Wales_ we have some delightful glimpses of an interesting personality,
and here we may leave the personal side of Borrow. Beyond this we know
that he was unquestionably a devoted son, a good husband, a kind father.
The literary life has its perils, so far as domesticity is concerned. Sir
Walter Scott in his life of Dryden speaks of:--

Her who had to endure the apparently causeless fluctuation of spirits
incidental to one compelled to dwell for long periods of time in the
fitful realms of the imagination,

and it is certain that those who dwell in the realms of the