WHEN Christophero Sly discovered that he was "indeed a lord, and not a tinker," his wonder could hardly have exceeded ours on learning that Mr. Borrow was no gypsy. His intimate acquaintance with the language, ways, means, recondite usages, and extra-mural manners of this mysterious tribe, and his cordial acceptance in their most exclusive of all circles, appeared to leave no room for other inference than that he was, if not a gypsy "by the four sides," at least a scion of the race. All our anticipations have been deceived, as it now appears that George Borrow was the son of an officer in a marching regiment, the descendant of a family long settled in Cornwall, and that his mother was of Huguenot extraction. Thus, it would seem, must the gypsies lose the only names which connected them with literature, those of Borrow and of Bunyan. The former is clearly gone.

Their

claim to the latter was recognised by so good an inquirer as Sir Walter Scott, but in an able article in this magazine,† on the life of Bunyan, a fellow-contributor has shown what, we admit, are good grounds for doubting that this view can be maintained. Still, we profess ourselves unconvinced, not liking, it may be, to deprive the outcasts of the only good name which they ever had. Without resting altogether on the mystery of the question which Bunyan asks his father, "Are we of Jewish race?" and on the assumption it implies that they were of foreign origin, which Scott, connecting with the laconism of the answer, "No, we are not," takes to mean gypsy origin; we would suggest a further and more popular ground for our impression. Bunyan was, as is well known, of a tinker tribe, and practised in that line himself. Now it is an admitted fact, and referred to by Mr. Borrow in his "Gypsies in Spain," that the tinker trade in England is, and has been from early times, from a date long prior to the days of Bunyan, chiefly in the hands

of gypsies. We then, on the whole, recur to the persuasion that the author of the " Pilgrim's Progress" was of a stranger-race, and no less a person than a Rommany chal.

"Lavengro," the title of the book before us,means, in the gypsy tongue, wordmaster, and was a mark of honour given to our author by a chief of that tribe on his distinguished proficiency in their language. The work was long announced as an autobiography, but is now published with the apocryphal assurance that it is an endeavour to describe a dream, partly of study, partly of adventure, in which will be found notices of books, and many descriptions of life and manners, some in a very unusual form." This is a provoking mystification, adopted, we presume, because of some touches of the marvellous, which had been better left out, but which the author did not like to spare. As to "notices of books," we can hardly call to mind one, unless it be "Moll Flanders," which was long a hand-book of the thieves, but is now forgotten. Taking "Lavengro" as its author wishes, it would be the most unsatisfactory of all books, neither dream nor drama, fact or fiction, reality or romance. Making, however, allowance for one or two incredible facts, and a few over-marvellous scenas, the work is obviously a pretty faithful narrative of certain passages in the writer's life, from his first to, as we calculate, his twenty-second year. Names and dates are given in blank, but the former are often easily recognised, and by comparing the latter with admissions made by the author in his other works, and with public events, they are easily made out. Thus, for example, in the "Bible in Spain," he states that, in 1836, he was thirty years of age. This gives the date of his birth; and again, at the close of the last volume of his present work, he refers to the Roman Catholic Relief Bill as being about to pass. Thus, it appears that the present narrative embraces a period commencing with the

year 1806, and closing about 1828 or 1829. We may add, that although the volumes are entitled, "The Scholar," "The Gypsy," "The Priest," they form, in fact, a continuous narrative of fragmentary passages in the life of the author. The separate names appear to have been chosen because he thought that, while the story of his life was continued, these characters formed each the main feature of a volume. "The Scholar" refers to himself, and describes his boyhood, early youth, and strange self-education. "The Gypsy" and The Priest" are each connected with his after adventures. The work is, in many respects, exceedingly unpleasing. Names, and language, which no right-minded person can look at without reverence, are most unsuitably introduced. The author, too, is a sort of moral Jonathan Wild, who never wronged anybody himself, but who has all his life exhibited a decided liking for the dangerous classes. Some of his early associates have been hanged, and he favours us with their funeral orations. There is, besides, too much of ale-house brawls, and of the vocabulary of the tents. Notwithstanding these drawbacks, the work has been and will be eagerly read. There is throughout an under-current of good feeling which gains upon the reader, and the sketches

outlined with the vigour of Retch, or filled in with the master-hand of Fielding or Scott-exhibit a power which, be the subject fact or fiction, at once engages our deepest inte

rest.

George Borrow was born in East Dereham, Norfolk,-where rest the mortal remains of our most loved poet, Cowper, in the July of 1806.

His

father was a Cornish man, of a family of gentlemen, or, as some would call them, gentillâtres, who, without being wealthy, were entitled to a coat of arms, and lived upon their own small property. He was the youngest of seven sons; became a Guardsman, and was afterwards appointed an cfficer to superintend the drilling of a militia regiment. While in the Guards he fought in Hyde Park with Ben Brain, known as " Big Ben," who was at that time the champion of England. We notice the circumstance, because it shows that at least one of our author's tastes was hereditary, and he himself, referring to it, after describing the many excellent qualities of his father,

adds, that, "to crown all, he was a proper man with his hands."

Mr. Borrow always speaks of his parents with affection; and their characters are the most interesting, and, indeed, we think, the only exemplary ones in his books. His mother was of a Norman family, who bore the name of Petrement, and who, on the revocation of the edict of Nantes, came with their Bibles to England and settled in Norfolk. The following is her portrait by her son, and, from amongst the many in his three volumes, we cannot cull a better::

"I have been told that, in her younger days, my mother was strikingly handsome; this I can easily believe: I never knew her in her youth, for though she was very young when she married my father (who was her senior by many years), she had attained the middle age before I was born, no children having been vouchsafed to my parents in the early stages of their union. Yet, even at the present day, now that years, three score and ten, have passed over her head, attended with sorrow and troubles manifold, poorly chequered with scanty joys, can I look on that countenance and doubt that, at one time, beauty decked it with a glorious garment? Hail to thee, my parent! as thou sittest there in thy widow's weeds, in the dusky parlour, in the house overgrown with the lustrous ivy of the sister isle,—the solitary house at the end of the retired court, shaded by lofty poplars. Hail to thee, dame of the oval face, olive complexion, and Grecian forehead; by thy table seated with the mighty volume of the good Bishop Hopkins spread out before thee; there is peace in thy countenance, my mother; it is not worldly peace, however, not the deceitful peace which lulls to bewitching slumbers, and from which let us pray, humbly pray, that every sinner may be roused in time to implore mercy not in vain! Thine is the peace of the righteous, my mother, of those to whom no sin can be imputed, the score of whose misdeeds has been long since washed away by the blood of atonement, which imputeth righteousness to those who trust in it. It was not always thus, my mother; a time was, when the cares, pomps, and vanities of this world agitated thee too much; but that time is gone by, another and a better has succeeded; there is peace now on thy countenance, the true peace; peace around thee, too, in thy solitary dwelling; sounds of peace; the cheerful hum of the kettle, and the purring of the immense angola, which stares up

at thee from its settle, with its almost superhuman eyes.

"No more earthly cares and affection now, my mother! Yes, one. Why dost thou suddenly raise thy dark and still brilliant eye from the volume with a somewhat startled glance? What noise is that in the distant street? Merely the noise of a hoof; a sound common enough it draws nearer, nearer, and now it stops before thy gate. Singular! And, now, there is a pause, a long pause. Ha! thou hearest something-a footstep; a swift but heavy footstep! thou risest, thou tremblest, there is a hand on the pin of the outer door, there is some one in the vestibule, and now the door of thy apartment opens, there is a reflection on the mirror behind thee, a travelling hat, a gray head and sunburnt face. My dearest son!-My darling

mother!

He

Borrow was a slow child. Many years, he says, elapsed before he knew his letters or could connect them. In this instance the boy was not "father of the man," for never was any one so quick at learning languages. Taylor, of Norwich, who, as we shall see, taught him German, says he never had to tell him a thing a second time. He was a lover of lonely places, and it was early seen that he bore a charmed life. Before he was three years old, attracted by the yellow brightness of the object, he grasped a viper in his hand. felt a strange sensation of numbing coldness creeping over his arm, but received no injury. On his mother running towards him, he dropped the reptile, which, after standing for a moment erect, and hissing furiously, made away. This incident resembles one in the life of Bunyan, when he struck an adder on the back, and having stunned it, plucked out the sting with his fingers. Both go far to support Mr. Borrow's theory, that some constitutions are serpent-proof.

Again, when sufficiently advanced to engage in a blackberry expedition, he fixed his longing eyes on what seemed delicious grape-like fruit, hanging in clusters on a hedge. He ate of it voraciously, and was carried home in the arms of a dragoon, in strong convulsions; but the deadly night-shade had no permanent effect on him, and after a few hours he recovered. The moving accidents of regimental life tended, no

VOL. XXXVII.-NO. CCXXII.

doubt, to confirm his roving tastes. His early years were passed either in a canvass tent, or in some comfortless, whitewashed barrack-room, and he never remained long in any one place. Norfolk, however, was his father-land, and East Dereham his early home. While wandering in the woods, and by the reedy meres in the neighbourhood of that town, he made the acquaintance of a viper-hunter, who gathered the reptiles chiefly for their fat, of which he made unguents, which were "good for many sore troubles, especially for the rheumatis." He learned to assist this man in his trade, and, in recompense, received from him a serpent which he had rendered harmless by removing its fangs. We mention this circumstance because it had a remarkable influence on his after life, as it was this which first led to his connexion with the gypsies. He was very fond of the serpent, fed it with milk, and often carried it with him in his walks. One day, wandering in a tangled wood, he came upon an encampment of gypsies, who threatened to kill him for his intrusion, and might possibly have done so but for his bosom-friend, the viper.

pale yellow, save alone that place which bore the mark which I have already described, and this shone now portentously, like fire. He stood in this manner for some time; at last the ladle fell from his hand, and its falling appeared to rouse him from his stupor."-Vol. i. pp. 64, 65.

The children of Pharaoh now change their tone, and partly from a superstitious feeling, partly from the hope of making something of so promising a boy, entreated him to stay and live with them. This he was not prepared to do, but he made them many a visit, became established amongst them as a sort of half-brother, under the name of "Sapengro," or snake-master, and made the friendship of a boy of his own age which, to do the gypsy justice, appears to have been genuine on his part, and was continued in after life. Fifteen years after this incident, Borrow found himself in a crowd before Newgate, and recognised in the notorious criminal on the scaffold, one of this reputable family.

While in quarters with his father in Edinburgh, our author, then some twelve years old, was much in company with a boy a little older than himself, named David Haggart, who was afterwards a noted highwayman, and attained the distinction of being hanged. A little later, while in Ireland, he had, what he no doubt counted as the good fortune to fall in with Jim Grant, the Queen's County robber, whose name may be still remembered by such as care for those histories.

In 1815, our hero accompanied his father's regiment to Ireland. They arrived there 800 strong, and were inarched into the town of Clonmel. The following faithful sample of the "blarney" of the day, a style which still lingers in the remote districts, will much amuse our readers. The speaker is the owner of the house in which the Borrows have fixed themselves :

"You never saw more elegant lodgings than these, captain," said the master of the house, a tall, handsome, and athletic man, who came up whilst our little family were seated at dinner, late in the afternoon of the day of our arrival ; "they beat anything in the town of Clonmel. I do not let them for the sake of interest, and to none but gentlemen in the army, in order that myself and my wife, who is from Londonderry, may have the advantage of pleasant company, genteel company, ay, and Pro

testant company, captain. It did my heart good when I saw your honour ride in at the head of all these fine fellows, real Protestants, I'll engage, not a Papist among them, they are too goodlooking and honest-looking for that. So I no sooner saw your honour at the head of your army, with that handsome young gentleman holding by your stirrup, than I said to my wife, Mrs. Hyne, who is from Londonderry, God bless me,' said I 'what a truly Protestant countenance, what a noble bearing, and what a sweet young gentleman. By the silver hairs of his honour, and sure I never saw hairs more regally silver than your honour's, by his honour's silver hairs, and by my own soul, which is not worthy to be mentioned in the same day with one of them, it would be no more than decent and civil to run out and welcome such a father and son coming in at the head of such a Protestant military.' And then my wife, who is from Londonderry, Mrs. Hyne, looking me in the face like a fairy, as she is, 'You may say that,' says she, 'it would be but decent and civil, honey.' And your honour knows how I ran out of my own door, and welcomed your honour, riding in company with your son, who was walking; how I welcomed you both at the head of your royal regiment, and how I shook your honour by the hand, saying, I am glad to see your honour, and your honour's son, and your honour's royal military Protestant regiment, and now I have you in the house, and right proud I am to have you, one and all; one, two, three, four, Protestants every one; no Papists here, and I have made bold to bring up a bottle of claret, which is now waiting behind the door; and when your honour, and your family, have dined, I will make bold, too, to bring up Mrs. Hyne, from Londonderry, to introduce to your honour's lady, and then we'll drink to the health of King George, God bless him; to the 'glorious and immortal,' to Boyne Water, to your honour's speedy promotion to be Lord Lieutenant, and to the speedy downfall of the Pope, and of St. Anthony of Padua." Vol. i. pp. 126-8.

While our author had the advantage of being at school in Clonmel, he bribed a Tipperary boy to teach him Irish, which acquirement, together with some initiation into the mystery of horsewhispering, were the great results of his stay in this country. The war was now over, and his father, who was placed on half-pay, retired, with his family, to Norwich. George was sent to the freeschool there, over which Dr. Valpy then presided, and where many an

adventurous youth had received his education. Nelson was one; and amongst the contemporaries of Borrow there were some who have since shown much of our naval hero's spirit:-Sir James Brooke, Rajah of Sarawak, the brave and good; and the gallant Stoddart, who was murdered in Bokhara. Another was Thomas King, one of Borrow's early friends, and the son of his father's landlord. Tom King worked with his father, who was a carpenter, until he was sixteen; he then went to Paris, entered as a medical student in one of the hospitals; and by energy, intellect, and application, became internal surgeon of l'Hotel Dieu, and private physician to Prince Talleyrand. During the four years that he was at this school, young Borrow developed his polyglot tastes, and indulged occasionally his liking for the gypsies. French and Italian were added to his acquisition; but his parents could not guess, nor could he tell, the purpose for which he pursued these labours. Much was his father puzzled as to how his clever son should earn his bread, and he, at length, decided on binding him apprentice to a Mr. Simpson, an attorney in the town. Just as our youthful clerk was commencing his noviciate, he made himself master of a dingy Welch quarto, for which, perhaps, no other person in Norfolk would have given the few pence it cost him. The ruling passion was again on fire, law was neglected, and Welch was, for some time, in the ascendant. To make matters worse, Ab Gwilym, his new love, was a bard, and verse-making was added to other stolen pleasures. His translation from an author four centuries old, and in a language but little known, was pursued with tenacious industry, while the profession by which he was to live was unattended to. He, indeed, sat at a desk for eight hours a day, and spoiled the copies he was given to transcribe, but, secluded in that desk, lay his prized Ab Gwilym, and those increasing quires of verse translations, which he fondly persuaded himself were to make his surer fortune. His recreations, at this time, were philology, and fishing. One day while angling near the Earl's Home, in the neighbourhood of Norwich, he was accosted by one whom we easily recognise as the Quaker banker, Mr. Gurney, father of the admirable Mrs. Fry. We transcribe the dialogue:

"Canst thou answer to thy conscience for pulling all those fish out of the water, and leaving them to gasp in the sun?' said a voice, clear and sonorous as a bell.

"I started, and looked round. Close behind me stood the tall figure of a man, dressed in raiment of quaint and singular fashion, but of goodly materials. He was in the prime and vigour of manhood, his features handsome and noble, but full of calmness and benevolence; at least, I thought so, although they were somewhat shaded by a hat of finest beaver, with broad, drooping

Why

"Thou shouldst study it. dost thou not undertake the study?' "I have no books.'

"I will lend thee books, if thou wish to undertake the study. I live yonder, at the Hall, as, perhaps, thou knowest. I have a library there, in which are many curious books, both in Greek and Hebrew, which I will show to thee, whenever thou mayest find it convenient to come and see me. Farewell! I am glad to find that thou hast pursuits more satisfactory than thy cruel fishing.' Vol. i. pp. 201-3.

The apprentice fished no more; but