exion, almost approaching to the florid, and never a
wrinkle, even at sixty, except at the corners of his dark and
rather prominent eyes. He had a shock of silvery white hair. He
always wore a very badly brushed silk hat, a black frock coat
and trousers, the coat all buttoned down before; low shoes and
white socks, with a couple of inches of white showing between
the shoes and the trousers. He was a tireless walker, with
extraordinary powers of endurance, and was also very handy with
his fists, as in those days a gentleman required to be, more
than he does now.

Mr. John Pilgrim lived at Brunswick House, on the Newmarket Road,
Norwich, and here Borrow frequently visited him. Mr. Baldrey recalls one
particular visit:

[Illustration: A LETTER FROM BORROW TO HIS WIFE WRITTEN FROM ROME IN HIS
CONTINENTAL JOURNEY OF 1844]

I have a curious recollection of his dining one night at
Brunswick House. John Pilgrim, who was a careful, abstemious
man, never took more than two glasses of port at dinner.
'John,' said Borrow, 'this is a good port. I prefer Burgundy if
you can get it good; but, lord, you cannot get it now.' It so
happened that Mr. Pilgrim had some fine old Clos-Vougeot in the
cellar. 'I think,' said he, 'I can give you a good drop of
Burgundy.' A bottle was sent for, and Borrow finished it, alone
and unaided. 'Well,' he remarked, 'I think this is a good
Burgundy. But I'm not quite certain. I should like to try a
little more.' Another bottle was called up, and the guest
finished it to the last drop. I am still,' he said, 'not quite
sure about it, but I shall know in the morning.' The next
morning Mr. Pilgrim and I were leaving for the office, when
Borrow came up the garden path waving his arms like a
windmill. 'Oh, John,' he said, 'that _was_ Burgundy! When I
woke up this morning it was coursing through my veins like
fire.' And yet Borrow was not a man to drink to excess. I
cannot imagine him being the worse for liquor. He had wonderful
health and digestion. Neither a gourmand nor a gourmet, he
could take down anything, and be none the worse for it. I don't
think you could have made him drunk if you tried.

And here is a glimpse of Borrow after his wife's death, for which we are
grateful to Mr. Baldrey:

After the funeral of Mrs. Borrow he came to Norwich a