Early in 1824, and just before George Borrow's articles with the solicitors expired, Captain Borrow died. He left all that he had to his widow, with something for the maintenance and education of the younger son during his minority. Borrow had already planned to go to London, to write, to abuse religion and to get himself prosecuted. A month later, the day after the expiration of his articles, before he had quite reached his majority, he went up to London. He was "cast upon the world" in no very hopeful condition. He had lately been laid up again--was it by the "fear" or something else?--by a complaint which destroyed his strength, impaired his understanding and threatened his life, as he wrote to a friend: he was taking mercury for a cure. But he had his translations from Ab Gwilym and his romantic ballads, and he believed in them. He took them to Sir Richard Phillips, who did not believe in them, and had moreover given up publishing. According to his own account, which is very well known (Lavengro, chapter XXX.), Sir Richard suggested that he should write something in the style of the "Dairyman's Daughter" instead. Men of this generation, fortunate at least in this ignorance, probably think of the "Dairyman's Daughter" as a fictitious title, like the "Oxford Review" (which stood for "The Universal Review") and the "Newgate Lives" (which should have been "Celebrated Trials," etc.). But such a book really was published in 1811. It was an "authentic narrative" by a clergyman of the Church of England named Legh Richmond, who thought it "delightful to trace and discover the operations of Divine love among the poorer classes of mankind." The book was about the conversion and holy life and early death of a pale, delicate, consumptive dairyman's daughter in the Isle of Wight. It became famous, was translated into many languages, and was reprinted by some misguided or malevolent man not long ago. I will give a specimen of the book which the writer of "Six-foot- three" was asked to imitate: "Travellers, as they pass through the country, usually stop to inquire whose are the splendid mansions which they discover among the woods and plains around them. The families, titles, fortune, or character of the respective owners, engage much attention. . . . In the meantime, the lowly cottage of the poor husbandman is passed by as scarcely deserving of notice. Yet, perchance, such a cottage may often contain a treasure of infinitely more value than the sumptuous palace of the rich man; even "the pearl of great price." If this be set in the heart of the poor cottager, it proves a jewel of unspeakable value, and will shine among the brightest ornaments of the Redeemer's crown, in that day when he maketh up his "jewels." {picture: Sir Richard Phillips. (From the painting by James Saxon in The National Portrait Gallery.) Photo: Emery Walker: page82.jpg}