Wormius, gave him the hint for calling
himself Olaus Borrow for a time--a signature that we find in some of
Borrow's published translations. Borrow at this time had aspirations of
a literary kind, and Thomas Campbell accepted a translation of
Schiller's _Diver_, which was signed 'O. B.' There were also
translations from the German, Dutch, Swedish, and Danish, in the
_Monthly Magazine_. Clearly Borrow was becoming a formidable linguist,
if not a very exact master of words. Still he remained a vagabond, and
loved to wander over Mousehold Heath, to the gypsy encampment, and to
make friends with the Romany folk; he loved also to haunt the horse
fairs for which Norwich was so celebrated; and he was not averse from
the companionship of wilder spirits who loved pugilism, if we may trust
_Lavengro_, and if we may assume, as we justly may, that he many times
cast youthful, sympathetic eyes on John Thurtell in these years, the
to-be murderer of Weare, then actually living with his father in a house
on the Ipswich Road, Thurtell, the father, being in no mean position in
the city--an alderman, and a sheriff in 1815. Yes, there was plenty to
do and to see in Norwich, and Borrow's memories of it were nearly always
kindly:

A fine old city, truly, is that, view it from whatever side you
will; but it shows best from the east, where ground, bold and
elevated, overlooks the fair and fertile valley in which it
stands. Gazing from those heights, the eye beholds a scene
which cannot fail to awaken, even in the least sensitive bosom,
feelings of pleasure and admiration. At the foot of the heights
flows a narrow and deep river, with an antique bridge
communicating with a long and narrow suburb, flanked on either
side by rich meadows of the brightest green, beyond which
spreads the city; the fine old city, perhaps the most curious
specimen at present extant of the genuine old English town.
Yes, there it spreads from north to south, with its venerable
houses, its numerous gardens, its thrice twelve churches, its
mighty mound, which, if tradition speaks true, was raised by
human hands to serve as the grave-heap of an old heathen king,
who sits deep within it, with his sword in his hand, and his
gold and silver treasures about him. There is a grey old castle
upon the top of that mighty mound; and yonder, rising three
hundred feet above the soil, from