Borrow's death, July 26th, 1881, was very sudden. Left alone in the house, he was found dead when Dr. and Mrs. MacOubrey returned from a drive to Lowestoft. "It seems fitting," says Mr. Jenkins, "that he should die alone"; but he justly adds, "whatever the facts, it was strange to leave so old and so infirm a man quite unattended." Dr. Knapp affirms that Borrow "had earnestly requested them not to go away, because he felt that he was in a dying state." The corpse of the worn-out veteran was detained in Oulton from July 26th to August 4th--"by reason of the absence of a physician's certificate," says Dr. Knapp. Borrow was buried in Brompton Cemetery beside his wife. At the time of his death Borrow was practically forgotten, and even first-rate handbooks omitted his name from their obituaries. The case is altered now, and the Borrow Celebration, of which this souvenir will be one memento, bears eloquent testimony to the fact. Those who enter the Valley of Vision with George Borrow, those who come into touch with the glamour and witchery of him, will ever find a new light in life, and travel in new avenues of happiness. The present Celebration will bring fresh fame to Norwich, and no doubt will give an immense impulse to Borrovian sentiment in his beloved city. We are never likely to have another Borrow! A FLOWER FROM BORROW'S GRAVE. A simple flower with heart of gold, What should'st thou know of mortal sorrow? Though thou hadst grown in London mould, Above the grave of mighty Borrow. So firm the hold, thy creeping root, So true thy purchase on the stone, Thou there defiest the city soot, The careless step, the heat of noon. An emblem fair of Lavengro, Thou art in all thy brave upbringing; Obscure, he wandered to and fro, Wrote joy on earth by faith upspringing. Like thee he loved the windy heath; He did not fear though storms might rave, He dreaded not the earth beneath, He chose his own, a London grave. [Picture: George Borrow's grave, Brompton Cemetery. From Mr. A. Farrants]