large number of ancient folios written in many languages.  “Amidst the dust and cobwebs of the Corporation Library” he studied earnestly and, with a fine disregard for a librarian’s feelings, annotated some of the volumes, his marginalia existing to this day.  One of his favourite works was the Danica Literatura Antiquissima of Olaus Wormius, 1636, which inspired him with the idea of adopting the name Olaus, his subsequent contributions to The New Magazine being signed George Olaus Borrow.

Whilst Borrow was striving to learn languages and avoid the law, [31b] the question of his brother’s career was seriously occupying the mind of their father.  Borrow loved and admired his brother.  There is sincerity in all he writes concerning John, and there is something of nobility about the way in which he tells of his father’s preference for him.  “Who,” he asks, “cannot excuse the honest pride of the old man—the stout old man?” [31c]

The Peace had closed to John Borrow the army as a profession, and he had devoted himself assiduously to his art.  Under Crome the elder he had made considerable progress, and had exhibited a number of pictures at the yearly exhibitions of the Norwich Society of Artists.  He continued to study with Crome until the artist’s death (22nd April 1821), when a new master had to be sought.  With his father’s blessing and £150 he proceeded to London, where he remained for more than a year studying with B. R. Haydon. [32a]  Later he went to Paris to copy Old Masters.

About this time Borrow had an opportunity of seeing many of “the bruisers of England.”  In his veins flowed the blood of the man who had met Big Ben Bryan and survived the encounter undefeated.  “Let no one sneer at the bruisers of England,” Borrow wrote—“What were the gladiators of Rome, or the bull-fighters of Spain, in its palmiest days, compared to England’s bruisers?” [32b] he asks.  On 17th July 1820 Edward Painter of Norwich was to meet Thomas Oliver of London for a purse of a hundred guineas.  On the Saturday previous (the 15th) the Norwich hotels began to fill with bruisers and their patrons, and men went their ways anxiously polite to the stranger, lest he turn out to be some champion whom it were dangerous to affront.  Thomas Cribb, the champion of England, had come to see the fight, “Teucer Belcher, savage Shelton, . . . the terrible Randall, . . . Bulldog Hudson, . . . fearless Scroggins, . . . Black Richmond, . . . Tom of Bedford,” and a host of lesser lights of the “Fancy.”

On the Monday, upwards of 20,000 men swept out of the old city towards North Walsham, less than twenty miles distant, among them George Borrow, striding along among the varied stream of men and vehicles (some 2000 in number) to see the great fight, which was to end in the victory of the local man and a terrible storm, as if heaven were thundering its anger against a brutal spectacle.  The sportsmen were left to find their way to shelter, Borrow and Mr Petulengro, whom he had encountered just after the fight, with them, talking of dukkeripens (fortunes).

Some time during the year 1820, a Jew named Levy (the Mousha of Lavengro), Borrow’s instructor in Hebrew, introduced him to William Taylor, [33a] one of the most extraordinary men that Norwich ever produced.  In the long-limbed young lawyer’s clerk, whose hair was rapidly becoming grey, Taylor showed great interest, and, as an act of friendship, undertook to teach him German.  He was gratified by the young man’s astonishing progress, and much interested in his remarkable personality.  As a result Borrow became a frequent visitor at 21 King Street, Norwich, where Taylor lived and many strange men assembled.

It is doubtful if William Taylor ever found another pupil so apt, or a disciple so enthusiastic among all the “harum-scarum young men” [33b] that he was so fond of taking up and introducing “into the best society the place afforded.” [33c]  He was much impressed by Borrow’s extraordinary memory and power of concentration.  Speaking one day of the different degrees of intelligence in men he said:—“I cannot give you a better example to explain my meaning than my two pupils (there was another named Cooke, who was said to be ‘a genius in his way’); what I tell Borrow once he ever remembers; whilst to the fellow Cooke I have to repeat the same thing twenty times, often without effect; and it is not from want of memory either, but he will never be a linguist.” [33d]

To a correspondent Taylor wrote:—

“A Norwich young man is construing with me Schiller’s Wilhelm Tell, with the view of translating it for the press.  His name is George Henry Borrow, and he has learnt German with extraordinary rapidity; indeed, he has the gift of tongues, and, though not yet eighteen, understands twelve languages—English, Welsh, Erse, Latin, Greek, Hebrew, German, Danish, French, Italian, Spanish, and Portuguese; he would like to get into the Office for Foreign Affairs, but does not know how.” [34a]

This was in 1821; two years later Borrow is said to have “translated with fidelity and elegance from twenty different languages.” [34b]  In spite of his later achievements in learning languages, it seems scarcely credible that he acquired eight separate languages in two years, although it must be remembered that with him the learning of a language was to be able to read it after a rather laborious fashion.  Taylor, however, uses the words “facility and elegance.”

In the autobiographical notes that Borrow supplied to Mr John Longe in 1862 there appears the following passage:—

“At the expiration of his clerkship he knew little of the law, but he was well versed in languages, being not only a good Greek and Latin scholar, but acquainted with French, Italian, Spanish, all the Celtic and Gothic dialects, and likewise with the peculiar language of the English Romany Chals