a MacOubrey put every difficulty in the way of Dr. Knapp,
and I hold many letters from her strongly denouncing his _Life_.

[254] The stories against Henrietta MacOubrey have received endorsement
from that pleasant writer Mr. W. A. Dutt, who has long lived near
Lowestoft. It is conveyed in such a communication as the following from
a correspondent: 'After Borrow's death Mr. Reeve, Curator of Norwich
Castle Museum, visited the Oulton house with the Rev. J. Gunn (died 28th
May 1890), having some idea of buying Borrow's books for the Colman
collection. Mrs. MacOubrey wanted L1000 for them, but Mr. Reeve did not
think them worth more than L200. They were, however, bought by Webber of
Ipswich, who soon afterwards entered into the employment of Jarrold of
Norwich. Mr. Reeve described the scene as one of rank dilapidation and
decay--evidences of extreme untidiness and neglect everywhere.'

[255] Mr. Herbert Jenkins has drawn a quite wrong conclusion--although
natural under the circumstances--from a letter he had seen in which
Borrow asked his wife for money. Mrs. Borrow kept the banking account.
Moreover, it is not generally known that Borrow completed the possession
of his wife's estate, including Oulton Hall farm and some cottage
property, with the money that came to him from _The Bible in Spain_.

[256] 'George Borrow Reminiscences' in _The Eastern Daily Press_, July
31, 1913.

[257] Mr. Baldrey also gives us reminiscences of Borrow's prowess as a
swimmer:

'It was one of the signs of his perfect health and vigour that he was a
fine swimmer. On one occasion George Jay and John Pilgrim were out for a
sail in Jay's old yacht, the _Widgeon_. Becalmed, they were drifting
somewhere down by Reedham, when suddenly Borrow said, "George, how deep
is it here?" "About twenty-two feet, sir," said George Jay. The partners
always called him "sir." "George," said Borrow, "I am going to the
bottom." Straightway he stripped, dived, and presently came up with a
handful of mud and weeds. "There, George," he said, "I've been to the
bottom," Some time in 1872 or 1873, for Borrow was then sixty-nine, my
mother and I were walking on the beach at Lowestoft, when just round the
Ness Light we met Borrow coming: towards us from the Corton side. He got
hold of my shoulder, and, pointing to the big black buoy beyond the
Ness, he said, "There! Do you see that? I have just been out there. I
have not been back many minutes." At the age of nearly seven