o "fought in the old Roman fashion. He bit, he kicked, and screamed
like a wild cat of Benygant; casting foam from his mouth, and fire from
his eyes"--from this man upwards and downwards. Some are highly
finished, and these are not always the best. For example, the portrait
of his father, the stiff, kindly, uncomprehending soldier, strikes me as
a little too much "done to a turn." It is a little too like a man in a
book, and so perfectly consistent, except for that one picturesque
weakness--the battle with Big Ben, whose skin was like a toad. Borrow
probably saw and cared very little for his father, and therefore found it
too easy to idealise and produce a mere type, chiefly out of his head.
His mother is more certainly from life, and he could not detach himself
from her sufficiently to make her clear; yet he makes her his own mother
plainly enough. His brother has something of the same unreality and
perfection as his father. These members of his family belong to one
distinct class of studies which includes among others the publisher, Sir
Richard Phillips. They are of persons not quite of his world whom he
presents to us with admiration, or, on the other hand, with dislike, but
in either case without sympathy. They do not contribute much to the
special character of the autobiography, except in humour. The interviews
with Sir Richard Phillips, in particular, give an example of Borrow's
obviously personal satire, poisonous and yet without rancour. He is a
type. He is the charlatan, holy and massive and not perfectly
self-convincing. When Borrow's money was running low and he asked the
publisher to pay for some contributions to a magazine, now deceased:

"'Sir,' said the publisher, 'what do you want the money for?'

"'Merely to live on,' I replied; 'it is very difficult to live in this
town without money.'

"'How much money did you bring with you to town?' demanded the publisher.

"'Some twenty or thirty pounds,' I replied.

"'And you have spent it already?'

"'No,' said I, 'not entirely; but it is fast disappearing.'

"'Sir,' said the publisher, 'I believe you to be extravagant; yes, sir,
extravagant!'

"'On what grounds do you suppose me to be so?'

"'Sir,' said the publisher, 'you eat meat.'

"'Yes,' said I, 'I eat meat sometimes; what should I eat?'

"'Bread, sir,' said the publisher; 'bread and cheese.'

"'So I do, sir, when I am disposed to indulge; but I cannot often afford
it--it is very e