er; or, The Pleasantries of Cogia Nasr Eddin
Effendi, translated from the Turkish by G. B." (Ipswich, 1884). This
was a string of the sayings and adventures of one Cogia, in this style:
"One day Cogia Nasr Eddin Effendi said: 'O Mussulmen, give thanks to God
Most High that He did not give the camel wings; for had He given them,
they would have perched upon your houses and chimneys, and have caused
them to tumble down upon your heads.'" This may have been the
translation from the Turkish that Fitzgerald read in 1857 and could not
admire. It is a diverting book and illustrates Borrow's taste.

CHAPTER XXXIII--LAST YEARS

From 1860 to 1874 Borrow lived at Brompton, and perhaps because he wrote
few letters these years seem to have been more cheerful, except at the
time of his wife's death. He is seen at "The Star and Garter" in 1861
entertaining Murray and two others at dinner, in a heavy and expensive
style. He is still an uncomfortable, unattractive figure in a drawing-
room, especially with accurate and intelligent ladies, like Miss Frances
Power Cobbe, who would not humour his inaccurate dictatorship. Miss
Cobbe was his neighbour in Hereford Square. She says that if he was not
a Gypsy by blood he ought to have been one; she "never liked him,
thinking him more or less of a hypocrite," but nevertheless invited him
to her house and tried to console him in his bereavement by a gentle tact
which was not tact in Borrow's case:

"Poor old Borrow is in a sad state. I hope he is starting in a day or
two for Scotland. I sent C--- with a note begging him to come and eat
the Welsh mutton you sent me to-day, and he sent back word, 'Yes.' Then,
an hour afterwards, he arrived, and in a most agitated manner said he had
come to say 'he would rather not. He would not trouble anyone with his
sorrows.' I made him sit down, and talked to him as gently as possible,
saying: 'It won't be a trouble, Mr. Borrow, it will be a pleasure to me.'
But it was all of no use. He was so cross, so _rude_, I had the greatest
difficulty in talking to him. I asked him would he look at the photos of
the Siamese, and he said: 'Don't show them to me!' So, in despair, as he
sat silent, I told him I had been at a pleasant dinner-party the night
before, and had met Mr. L---, who told me of certain curious books of
mediaeval history. 'Did he know them?' 'No, and he _dared say_ Mr. L---
did not, either! Who was Mr. L---?' I described that