minutes’ walk in the sea-breeze, when the press-gang captured him and bore him off to sea, where he had been in service ever since. The story is true, and the pamphlet, Borrow afterwards told me (I know not on what authority), was written by Goldsmith from Gwinett’s dictation for a platter of cowheel. To the bewilderment of Dr. Hake, I introduced the subject of Ambrose Gwinett in the same manner as I might have introduced the story of “Achilles’ wrath,” and appealed to Dr. Hake (who, of course, had never heard of the book or the man) as to whether a certain incident in the pamphlet had gained or lost by the dramatist who, at one of the minor theatres, had many years ago dramatized the story. Borrow was caught at last. “What?” said he, “you know that pamphlet about Ambrose Gwinett?” “Know it?” said I, in a hurt tone, as though he had asked me if I knew ‘Macbeth’; “of course I know Ambrose Gwinett, Mr. Borrow, don’t you?” “And you know the play?” said he. “Of course I do, Mr. Borrow?” I said, in a tone that was now a little angry at such an insinuation of crass ignorance. “Why,” said he, “it’s years and years since it was acted; I never was much of a theatre man, but I did go to see _that_.” “Well, I should rather think you _did_, Mr. Borrow,” said I. “But,” said he, staring hard at me, “_you_—you were not born!” “And I was not born,” said I, “when the ‘Agamemnon’ was produced, and yet one reads the ‘Agamemnon,’ Mr. Borrow. I have read the drama of ‘Ambrose Gwinett.’ I have it bound in morocco with some more of Douglas Jerrold’s early transpontine plays, and some Æschylean dramas by Mr. Fitzball. I will lend it to you, Mr. Borrow, if you like.” He was completely conquered. “Hake!” he cried, in a loud voice, regardless of my presence. “Hake! your friend knows everything.” Then he murmured to himself, “Wonderful man! Knows Ambrose Gwinett!” It is such delightful reminiscences as these that will cause me to have as long as I live a very warm place in my heart for the memory of George Borrow.