he did not accept the invitation to the Hall. After, however, long years had passed, and when, as he adds, he "had seen and suffered much," he visited the man of peace, and was shown his learned books about Tohar and Mishna, Toldoth Jesu, and Abarbenel.

"I am fond of these studies,' said he, 'which, perhaps, is not to be wondered at, seeing that our people have been compared to the Jews. In one respect, I confess, we are similar to them; we are fond of getting money. I do not like this last author, this Abarnenel, the worse for having been a moneychanger. I am a banker, myself, as thou knowest.'

"And would there were many like him amidst the money-changers of princes ! The hall of many an earl lacks the bounty; the palace of many a prelate, the piety and the learning which adorn the quiet Quaker's home!"Vol. i. pp. 204-5.

No one who, like young Borrow, was fond of languages and of books, could live long in Norwich without making the acquaintance of William Taylor, who was at that time the lion of the town. We have, accordingly, his portrait, un-named, like all the others in " Lavengro," but given with more of actuality and life than in his own ponderous memoirs. Taylor became the mentor, friend, and frequent host of Borrow, and in no one of the three capacities was he a safe example. His two delights were German and smoking; and his two defects, or, rather, his two more salient failings, infidelity and drinking. Borrow, happily for himself, never could love tobacco, and Taylor doubted that it was possible to become a good German without it.

"The Germans,' said the unsober sage, are the most philosophic people in the world, and the greatest smokers: now, I trace their philosophy to their smoking.'

"I have heard say their philosophy is all smoke; is that your opinion?' "Why, no; but,""&c.

Taylor, as is well known, was the first who devoted himself to the introduction of German literature into our

language. Translations and essays, with this object, formed the main subjects of his contributions to the Monthly Review, for a period of about

thirty years. It is, then, no wonder that he indoctrinated his young friend into the knowledge and love of German. We hope he did him no other harm; but his misty metaphysics, and his sceptical method of viewing every subject, were, we apprehend, no advantage to him, and no source of comfort in after life. "All is a lie-all a deceitful phantom," he remarks, in a tone which sounds like one of bitter experience, 'are old cries; they come naturally from the mouths of those who, casting aside that choicest shield against madness-simplicity-would fain be wise as God, and can only know that they are naked."

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Our student was now eighteen, and had, in addition to some acquaintance with the Latin and Greek, acquired a knowledge of the Irish, Welch, French, Italian, German, Danish, Hebrew, Arabic, and Armenian languages. To these were subsequently added the Spanish and Russian. How many more he mastered we know not, but the revelations of his middle life, which are yet to come, will probably increase the catalogue. About this period his father died, and it became imperative on him to support himself. He could hope for nothing from the profession at which he had been such an idle apprentice; and he accordingly made up his mind to leave his mother on her own slender, but sufficient, means in Norwich, and go to London. It is to the credit of Taylor, that he made a genuine effort to serve him. He applied to Southey to procure for him an appointment in the Foreign Office; but an application from one who, however much regarded, was known to be an infidel, and intemperate, could hardly be influential; and it accordingly proved unavailing. Taylor then gave him a warm introduction to Sir Richard Phillips, who was at that time one of the most eminent publishers in London, and the proprietor of a periodical, the Monthly Magazine, to which the Norwich sage had been for many years the most important contributor. Armed with this, and freighted with his translations from the Welch and Danish, he arrived in the great metropolis; and with the beating heart of one who knew that his bread depended upon his reception, approached the house of the awful bookseller. Phillips was a singular character; and the portrait of him in the c second volume is one which, as Sir

Joshua has said, a stranger would, from its individuality, know to be a likeness. He was one of those who wish to be regarded as an original thinker; and like the unfortunate juror in Joe Miller, who always met the eleven most obstinate men in the world, he soon found himself differing from all around him. He was a sceptic in religion, a republican in politics, a Pythagorean in diet; and he published, or rather printed, for nobody, we suppose, either bought or read it, a work of his own, to show that the theories and discoveries of Sir Isaac Newton were all founded in mistake. He was, however, a keen, and, we may add, an unscrupulous man of business. This personage received our young author with some show of kindness; but when he talked of publishing, looked dark and stern. "The Ancient Songs of Denmark," with notes philological, critical, and historical, and to which poor Borrow looked for profit and for fame, were thus disposed of;-" Sir, I assure you that your time and labour have been entirely flung away; nobody would read your ballads, if you were to give them to the world to-morrow." The translations from Ab Gwilym, the Welch bard, the sheet-anchor of his hopes, were treated with a "Pass on; what else?" The publisher quite understood that the stranger possessed some literary talents, which he desired to draw out, and at the same time engage them on his own terms. He proposed an evangelical novel, but this young Borrow declined. He then intimated that he could afford as much as ten pounds for a well-written tale, in the style of the "Dairyman's Daugh

ter."

"I expect, you, sir," said he, "to compile six volumes of Newgate lives and trials, each volume to contain, by no manner of means, less than one thousand pages. The remuneration which you will receive when the work is completed will be fifty pounds, which is likewise intended to cover any expenses you may incur in procuring books, papers, and manuscripts necessary for the compilation."

The agreement was accepted; and Borrow was besides enlisted as an attaché to a new Review, which, however, never reached a second number. In addition to these labours, another, with more of the badge of Egyptian bondage, was enjoined him; that was, to translate into German a work on philosophy, by the sceptical, republican, Pythagorean publisher himself. To this was added the pleasant condition, that if the speculation was profitable, he was to have

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some remuneration." How long these occupations engaged him we are not enabled to say. They, at all events, left him, after days and nights of toil, as poor as when he began. The denouément of his connexion with Phillips was brought about by the work on philosophy. This was the hardest of all his tasks. Borrow could easily render English into German; but how to make intelligible in any language what was inconceivable in his own, was, as he found, a serious difficulty. He took what appears to have been the only practicable course, that of dashingly translating on, on chance. When the first chapter was submitted to some Germans, and pronounced by them to be unintelligible, the wrath of the city knight waxed so sublime, that no one who was not, like Mr. Borrow, six feet three, and a good pugilist, could abide

*

his presence. Our young author was now as poor, as friendless, but not near so strong, as when he first went up to town. No parts of these volumes have interested us so much as those which describe his struggles in London, the determination with which he toiled for bread, and the integrity which made him instantly reject what, to a person of such peculiar tastes, must have been very pressing temptations; these were offers of immediate provision, in strange modes of life, and on easy though somewhat questionable terms. These traits are incidentally, and certainly unostentatiously given. There can hardly, we think, be a doubt of their truth; but even if fictitious, they deserve our praise. One evening, soon after his rupture with Phillips, as he was retuning to his lonely lodging and spare meal of bread and water, he observed, fixed to a window at a respectable bookseller's, a paper, on which was written, "A Novel or Tale is much wanted." At that time he had but eighteen pence in the world; and he doubted whether he could maintain himself on this while he tried to write the tale.

"It was true, there was my lodging to pay for; but up to the present time

I owed nothing, and, perhaps, by the time that the people in the house asked me for money, I should have written a tale, or a novel, which would bring me in money; I had paper, pens, and ink, and, let me not forget them, I had candles in my closet, all paid for, to light me during my night-work. Enough; I would go doggedly to work upon my tale or novel."-Vol. ii p. 246.

The next observation which he had occasion to make was, that it is much easier to resolve upon a thing, than to achieve, or even to commence it. After much meditation, and many failures, his views assumed enough of form to enable him to work them out into a narrative, which he entitled, "The Life and Adventures of Joseph Sell, the Great Traveller." It is often stated, that Johnson wrote "Rassellas" in a single night, for the purpose of gaining money enough to cover the expenses of his mother's funeral. No one who knows anything of even the mechanical part of the labour of writing, will think this possible. Borrow's brochure was, probably, not even so long, and it took him five whole days of incessant and feverish toil. Having left the manuscript with the bookseller for perusal, he was directed to call next day, when

LINES TO SIX FOOT THREE.

"A lad who twenty tongues can talk,
And sixty miles a-day can walk,
Drink at a draught a pint of rum,
And then be neither sick nor dumb;
Can tune a song, and make a verse,
And deeds of northern kings rehearse;
Who never will forsake his friend,
While he his bony fist can bend ;
And, though averse to brawl and strife,
Will fight a Dutchman with a knife;-
O, that is just the lad for me,-
And such is honest Six Foot Three.

"A braver being ne'er had birth,

Since God first kneaded man from earth.
O, I have cause to know him well,
As Ferroe's blacken'd rocks can tell.
Who was it did at Suderöe
The deed no other dar'd to do?
Who was it when the Boff had burst,
And whelm'd me in its womb accurst-
Who was it dash'd amid the wave,
With frantic zeal my life to save?
Who was it flung the rope to me?
O, who but honest Six Foot Three!

"Who was it taught my willing tongue
The songs that Braga fram'd and sung?
Who was it op'd to me the store
Of dark unearthly Runic lore,
And taught me to beguile my time

With Denmark's aged and witching rhyme,

To rest in thought in Elvir shades,
And hear the song of fairy maids,

Or climb the top of Dovrefeld,
Where magic knights their muster held?
Who was it did all this for me?
O, who but honest Six Foot Three!

"Wherever fate shall bid me roam,

Far, far from social joy and home,
'Mid burning Afric's desert sands,
Or wild Kamschatka's frozen lands;
Bit by the poison-loaded breeze,
Or blasts which clog with ice the seas;
In lowly cot or lordly hall,

In beggars' rags or robes of pall;
'Mong robber bands or honest men,

In crowded town or forest den,

I never will unmindful be

Of what I owe to Six Foot Three.

"That form which moves with giant grace—
That wild, though not unhandsome face;
That voice which sometimes in its tone
Is softer than the wood-dove's moan;
At others, louder than the storm
Which beats the side of old Cairn Gorm;
That hand, as white as falling snow,
Which yet can fell the stoutest foe:
And, last of all, that noble heart,

Which ne'er from honour's path would start,
Shall never be forgot by me-

So farewell honest Six Foot Three."

he was physiognomist enough to see that the impression was in his favour. Five pounds, however, was the sum offered; Borrow, with desperate firmness, asked five-and-twenty, and the negotiation terminated with his receiv ing twenty. This was, probably, but a fraction of its value, yet the bookseller, whoever he was, seems entitled to the praise of having perceived the talent which the tale, no doubt, possessed.

Ill in health, and worn with toil, young Borrow yearned for the country, and, with bundle in hand, walked out of London. He had no fixed object, so placing himself and his fortunes on the top of the first mail-coach, which overtook him, he was let down in the neighbourhood of Salisbury plain. There an incident occurred which, as it led him into an altogether novel course, we think it right to notice. He came to a road-side inn, with a huge oak before it, "under the shade of which stood a little pony and a cart":

"I entered a well-sanded kitchen, and seated myself on a bench, on one side of a long white table; the other side, which was nearest to the wall, was occupied by a party, or rather family, consisting of a grimy-looking man, somewhat under the middle size, dressed in faded velveteens,and wearing a leather apron; a rather pretty-looking woman, but sun-burnt, and meanly dressed, and two ragged children, a boy and girl about four or five years old. The man sat with his eyes fixed upon the table, supporting his chin with both his hands; the woman, who was next him, sat quite still, save that occasionally she turned a glance upon her husband with eyes that appeared to have been lately crying. The children had none of the vivacity so general at their age. A more

disconsolate family I had never seen; a mug, which when filled, might contain half-a-pint, stood empty before them; a very disconsolate party indeed."

He orders these poor people to be supplied with ale, which leads to their better acquaintance :

"Tinker. It's a fine thing to be a scholar?'

that no one can be higher in scholarship than a schoolmaster; do you call his a pleasant life? I don't; we should call him a school-slave, rather than a schoolmaster. Only conceive him, in blessed weather like this, in his close school, teaching children to write in copy-books, Evil communication corrupts good manners,' or You cannot touch pitch without defilement,' or to spell out of 'Abecedariums,' or to read out of Jack Smith,' or Sandford and Merton.' Only conceive him, I say, drudging in such guise from morning till night, without any rational employment but to beat the children. Would you compare such a dog's life as that with your own, the happiest under heaven, true Eden-life, as the Germans would say, pitching your tent under the pleasant hedge-rows, listening to the song of the feathered tribes, collecting all the leaky kettles in the neighbourhood, soldering and joining, earning your honest bread by the wholesome sweat of your brow, making ten holes; hey, what's this? what's the man crying for?'

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Suddenly the tinker had covered his face with his hands, and began to sob and moan like a man in the deepest distress; the breast of his wife was heaved with emotion; even the children were agitated, the youngest began to roar.

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Myself. What's the matter with you? What are you all crying about?' Tinker.- (uncovering his face)— 'Lord, why to hear you talk; isn't that enough to make anybody cry-even the poor babes? Yes, you said right, 'tis life in the garden of Eden-the tinker's; I see so now, that I am about to give it up.'

Myself. Give it up! You must not think of such a thing.'

"Tinker.- No, I can't bear to think of it; and yet I must. What is to be done? How hard to be frightened to death; to be driven off the roads.'

Myself. Who has driven you off the roads?'

"Tinker.

"Myself.

"Tinker.

Who! the Flaming Tinman.'
Who is he?'

The biggest rogue in England, and the cruellest, or he would not have served me as he has done. I'll tell you all about it,'" &c.

This introduces the tinker's tale,which is full of character and interest, but too long to be given here. It appears that no "beat" will support two tinkers, and that the Flaming Tinman-a "Hercules," and a first-rate pugilistcompelled our poor friend to fight him for the "beat," and, on beating him, made him take an oath on his wife's Bible that he would never again prac

tise in these parts. Hence the sympathy evinced in our author's eulogy on the trade; hence the flowing tears. The issue of the conference is, that Borrow, partly from a desire to improve himself in the mending of kettles, partly from a liking for a life not greatly at variance with some of his antecedents, and very much, we are sure, from a wish to assist this troubled family, purchases their pony, cart, and stock in trade, and, providing himself with a waggoner's frock, takes to the roads himself. He subsequently meets with the dreadful tinman, who, recognising the cart, at once assails him; but, after a hard-fought contest, is obliged to yield, and leaves our hero master of the beat. Whoever has seen our author's athletic form, or heard of his skill in pugilism, will regard this as a very credible achievement; and it is highly probable that a longing for the encounter had its influence in inducing him to adopt his new pursuit.

The adventures connected with this al fresco life form the subjects of the third volume, which closes about the year 1828-9, leaving Lavengro still a tinker, and in the twenty-second or twenty-third year of his age. The decade which followed between that period and the tour in Spain, was passed in distant travel, hinted at in other works, but never yet described. In that brief interval he paced the snowclad steppes of Russia and the burning deserts of Morocco, lived in Tartar tents, wandered by the banks of the Danube, and over the hills, and through the woods of Hungary; where else, we know not. Let him but give us the incidents of his experience in these journeys, without mixture of the marvellous, or alloy of fiction, and we may well promise one who can make so much of the nothings in these volumes, a celebrity as extensive as that which his "Zincali" and his book on Spain won for him before.

WHAT Can any body find to say that is either new or interesting about one on whoin so many volumes have been already exhausted? To which may be added-and respecting whom so little is accurately known. The last observation goes a good way towards answering the first. We may fail in making discoveries, although they are still to be made, but if we can rectify even a few mistakes, which may pass as authentic because undisturbed, we do more good than by adding to an enormous mass of fanciful notes and obscure explanations. There have been above 150 collected editions of Shakspeare in various languages. Five are at this moment in course of publication in London alone, and all we believe are profitable to the speculators. From this it would appear there is a mania for reading and studying Shakspeare, however little may be the desire of seeing his plays acted.

*

A well-known

writer, who has been thought by some a good Shaksperean critic, expresses himself as follows:

"The representing the very finest of Shakspeare's plays on the stage, even by the best actors, is, we apprehend, an abuse of the genius of the poet. It is only the pantomime part of tragedy which is sure to tell, and tell completely, on the stage; those parts of the play on which the reader dwells the longest and with the highest relish in the perusal, are hurried through in the performance, while the most trifling and exceptionable are obtruded on his notice, and occupy as much time as the most imporHence it is that the reader of the plays of Shakspeare is almost always disappointed in seeing them acted; and, for our own parts, we should never go to see them acted if we could help it. Shakspeare has embodied his characters so very distinctly that he stands in no need of the actor's assistance to make them more distinct."*

tant.