from real life in quarters which few
     could penetrate, and although they are often extremely
     eccentric, they are never grotesque, and never strike the mind
     with a sense of merely invented unreality.  Here and there
     occur illuminating outbursts of reflection in philosophic
     accent which reveal in startling style the working of Borrow’s
     mind.  The linguistic lore is phenomenal, as in all his books. 
     But though the wild, passionate scenes make the whole
     narrative an indescribable phantasmagoria, the diction is
     always free from turgidity, and from involved periods.  Borrow
     died at Oulton, Suffolk, on July 26, 1881.  A mighty athlete,
     an inveterate wanderer, a philological enthusiast, and a man
     of large-hearted simplicity mingled with violent prejudices,
     he was one of the most original and engaging personalities of
     nineteenth century English literature.

I.—­The Scholar, the Gipsy, the Priest

On an evening of July, in the year 18--, at East D------, a beautiful
little town in East Anglia, I first saw the light.  My father, a
Cornishman, after serving many years in the Line, at last entered as
captain in a militia regiment.  My mother, a strikingly handsome woman,
was of the Huguenot race.  I was not the only child of my parents, for I
had a brother three years older than myself.  He was a beautiful boy with
much greater mental ability than I possessed, and he, with the greatest
affection, indulged me in every possible way.  Alas, his was an early and
a foreign grave!

I have been a wanderer the greater part of my life, being the son of a soldier, who, unable to afford the support of two homes, was accompanied by his family wherever he went.  A lover of books and of retired corners, I was as a child in the habit of fleeing from society.  The first book that fascinated me was one of Defoe’s.  But those early days were stirring times, for England was then engaged in the struggle with Napoleon.

I remember strange sights, such as the scenes at Norman Cross, a station or prison where some six thousand French prisoners were immured.  And vividly impressed on my memory is my intercourse with an extraordinary old man, a snake-catcher, who thrilled me with the recitals of his experiences.  He declared that the vipers had a king, a terrible creature, which he had encountered, and from which he had managed to escape.  After telling me that strange story of the king of the vipers, he gave me a viper which he had tamed, and had rendered harmless by extracting its fangs.  I fed it with milk, and frequently carried it abroad with me in my walks.

One day on my rambles I entered a green lane I had never seen before.  Seeing an odd-looking low tent or booth, I advanced towards it.  Beside it were two light carts, and near by two or three lean ponies cropped the grass.  Suddenly the two inmates, a man and a woman, both wild and forbidding figures, rushed out, alarmed at my presence, and commenced abusing me as an intruder.  They threatened to fling me into the pond over the hedge.