A passing tribute to the looks of an extraordinarily beautiful girl is quite compatible with a comparative insensibility to feminine beauty and feminine graces. That Borrow was devoid of animal passion I do not believe—nor indeed do his books convey that impression; that he had no feeling for beauty either would be scarcely compatible with the Celtic element in his nature. I think it less a case—as Dr. Jessop seems to think—of want of passion as of a tyrannous egotism that excluded any element likely to prove troublesome. He would not admit a disturbing factor—such as the presence of the self-reliant Isopel—into his life. No doubt he liked Isopel well enough in his fashion. Otherwise certainly he would not have made up his mind to marry her. But his own feelings, his own tastes, his own fancies, came first. He would marry her—oh yes!—there was plenty of time later on. For the present he could study her character, amuse himself with her idiosyncrasies, and as a return for her devotion and faithful affection teach her Armenian. Extremely touching! But the episode of Isopel Berners is only one illustration, albeit a very significant one, of Borrow’s calculating selfishness. No man could prove a more interesting companion than he; but one cannot help feeling that he was a sorry kind of friend. It may seem strange at first sight, finding this wanderer of the road in the pay of the Bible Society, and a zealous servant in the cause of militant Protestantism. But the violent “anti-Popery” side of Borrow is only another instance of his love of independence. The brooding egotism that chafed at the least control was not likely to show any sympathy with sacerdotalism. There was no trace of philosophy in Borrow’s frankly expressed views on religious subjects. They were honest and straightforward enough, with all the vigorous unreflective narrowness of ultra-Protestantism. It says much for the amazing charm of Borrow’s writing that _The Bible in Spain_ is very much better than a glorified tract. It must have come as a surprise to many a grave, pious reader of the Bible Society’s publications. And the Bible Society made the Vagabond from the literary point of view. Borrow’s book—_The Zincali_—or an account of the gypsies of Spain, published in 1841, had brought his name before the public. But _The Bible in Spain_ (1843) made him famous—doubtless to the relief of “glorious John Murray,” the publisher, who was doubtful about the book’s reception. It is a fascinating book, and if lacking the unique flavour of the romantic autobiographies, _Lavengro_ and _The Romany Rye_, has none the less many of the characteristics that give all his writings their distinctive attraction. II Can we analyse the charm that Borrow’s books and Borrow’s personality exercise over us, despite the presence of unpleasing traits which repel?