CHAPTER XXXVI HENRIETTA CLARKE

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Clement King Shorter

Borrow never had a child, but happy for him was the part played by his stepdaughter Henrietta in his life. She was twenty-three years old when her mother married him, and it is clear to me that she was from the beginning of their friendship and even to the end of his life devoted to her stepfather. Readers of Wild Wales will recall not only the tribute that Borrow pays to her, which we have already quoted, in which he refers to her 'good qualities and many accomplishments,' but the other pleasant references in that book. 'Henrietta,' he says in one passage, 'played on the guitar[252] and sang a Spanish song, to the great delight of John Jones.' When climbing Snowdon he is keen in his praises of the endurance of 'the gallant girl.' As against all this, there is an undercurrent of depreciation of his stepdaughter among Borrow's biographers. The picture of Borrow's home in later life at Oulton is presented by them with sordid details. The Oulton tradition which still survives among the few inhabitants who lived near the Broad at Borrow's death in 1881, and still reside there, is of an ill-kept home, supremely untidy, and it is as a final indictment of his daughter's callousness that we have the following gruesome picture by Dr. Knapp:

On the 26th of July 1881 Mr. Borrow was found dead in his house at Oulton. The circumstances were these. His stepdaughter and her husband drove to Lowestoft in the morning on some business of their own, leaving Mr. Borrow without a living soul in the house with him. He had earnestly requested them not to go away because he felt that he was in a dying state; but the response intimated that he had often expressed the same feeling before, and his fears had proved groundless. During the interval of these few hours of abandonment nothing can palliate or excuse, George Borrow died as he had lived—alone! His age was seventy-eight years and twenty-one days.

Dr. Knapp no doubt believed all this;[253] it is endorsed by the village gossip of the past thirty years, and the mythical tragedy is even heightened by a further story of a farm tumbril which carried poor Borrow's body to the railway station when it was being conveyed to London to be buried beside his wife in Brompton Cemetery.

The tumbril story—whether correct or otherwise—is a matter of indifference to me. The legend of the neglect of Borrow in his last moments is however of importance, and the charge can easily be disproved.[254] I have before me Mrs. MacOubrey's diary for 1881.

I have many such diaries for a long period of years, but this for 1881 is of particular moment. Here, under the date July 26th, we find the brief note, George Borrow died at three o'clock this morning. It is scarcely possible that Borrow's stepdaughter and her husband could have left him alone at three o'clock in the morning in order to drive into Lowestoft, less than two miles distant. At this time, be it remembered, Dr. MacOubrey was eighty-one years of age. Now, as to the general untidiness of Borrow's home at the time of his death—the point is a distasteful one, but it had better be faced. Henrietta was twenty-three years of age when her mother married Borrow. She was sixty-four at the time of his death, and her husband, as I have said, was eighty-one years of age at that time, being three years older than Borrow. Here we have three very elderly people keeping house together and little accustomed overmuch to the assistance of domestic servants. The situation at once becomes clear. Mrs. Borrow had a genius for housekeeping and for management. She watched over her husband, kept his accounts, held the family purse,[255] managed all his affairs. She 'managed' her daughter also, delighting in that daughter's accomplishments of drawing and botany, to which may be added a zeal for the writing of stories which does not seem, judging from the many manuscripts in her handwriting that I have burnt, to have received much editorial encouragement. In short, Henrietta was not domesticated. But just as I have proved in preceding chapters that Borrow was happy in his married life, so I would urge that as far as a somewhat disappointed career would permit to the sadly bereaved author he was happy in his family circle to the end. It was at his initiative that, when he had returned to Oulton after the death of his wife, his daughter and her husband came to live with him. He declared that to live alone was no longer tolerable, and they gave up their own home in London to join him at Oulton.

A new glimpse of Borrow on his domestic side has been offered to the public even as this book is passing through the press. Mr. S. H. Baldrey, a Norwich solicitor, has given his reminiscences of the author of Lavengro to the leading newspaper of that city.[256] Mr. Baldrey is the stepson of the late John Pilgrim of the firm of Jay and Pilgrim, who were Borrow's solicitors at Norwich in the later years of his life. One at least of Mr. Baldrey's many reminiscences has in it an element of romance; that in which he recalls Mrs. Borrow and her daughter:

Mrs. Borrow always struck me as a dear old creature. When Borrow married her she was a widow with one daughter, Henrietta Clarke. The old lady used to dress in black silk. She had little silver-grey corkscrew curls down the side of her face; and she wore a lace cap with a mauve ribbon on top, quite in the Early Victorian style. I remember that on one occasion when she and Miss Clarke had come to Brunswick House they were talking with my mother in the temporary absence of George Borrow, who, so far as I can recall, had gone into another room to discuss business with John Pilgrim.

'Ah!' she said, 'George is a good man, but he is a strange creature. Do you know he will say to me after breakfast, "Mary, I am going for a walk," and then I do not see anything more of him for three months. And all the time he will be walking miles and miles. Once he went right into Scotland, and never once slept in a house. He took not even a handbag with him or a clean shirt, but lived just like any old tramp.'

Mr. Baldrey is clearly in error here, or shall we say that Mrs. Borrow humorously exaggerated? We have seen that Borrow's annual holiday was a matter of careful arrangement, and his knapsack or satchel is frequently referred to in his descriptions of his various tours. But the matter is of little importance, and Mr. Baldrey's pictures of Borrow are excellent, including that of his personal appearance:

As I recall him, he was a fine, powerfully built man of about six feet high. He had a clean-shaven face with a fresh complexion, almost approaching to the florid, and never a wrinkle, even at sixty, except at the corners of his dark and rather prominent eyes. He had a shock of silvery white hair. He always wore a very badly brushed silk hat, a black frock coat and trousers, the coat all buttoned down before; low shoes and white socks, with a couple of inches of white showing between the shoes and the trousers. He was a tireless walker, with extraordinary powers of endurance, and was also very handy with his fists, as in those days a gentleman required to be, more than he does now.

Mr. John Pilgrim lived at Brunswick House, on the Newmarket Road, Norwich, and here Borrow frequently visited him. Mr. Baldrey recalls one particular visit:

A LETTER FROM BORROW TO HIS WIFE WRITTEN FROM ROME IN HIS CONTINENTAL JOURNEY OF 1844 A LETTER FROM BORROW TO HIS WIFE WRITTEN FROM ROME IN HIS CONTINENTAL JOURNEY OF 1844

I have a curious recollection of his dining one night at Brunswick House. John Pilgrim, who was a careful, abstemious man, never took more than two glasses of port at dinner. 'John,' said Borrow, 'this is a good port. I prefer Burgundy if you can get it good; but, lord, you cannot get it now.' It so happened that Mr. Pilgrim had some fine old Clos-Vougeot in the cellar. 'I think,' said he, 'I can give you a good drop of Burgundy.' A bottle was sent for, and Borrow finished it, alone and unaided. 'Well,' he remarked, 'I think this is a good Burgundy. But I'm not quite certain. I should like to try a little more.' Another bottle was called up, and the guest finished it to the last drop. I am still,' he said, 'not quite sure about it, but I shall know in the morning.' The next morning Mr. Pilgrim and I were leaving for the office, when Borrow came up the garden path waving his arms like a windmill. 'Oh, John,' he said, 'that was Burgundy! When I woke up this morning it was coursing through my veins like fire.' And yet Borrow was not a man to drink to excess. I cannot imagine him being the worse for liquor. He had wonderful health and digestion. Neither a gourmand nor a gourmet, he could take down anything, and be none the worse for it. I don't think you could have made him drunk if you tried.

And here is a glimpse of Borrow after his wife's death, for which we are grateful to Mr. Baldrey:

After the funeral of Mrs. Borrow he came to Norwich and took me over to Oulton with him. He was silent all the way. When we got to the little white wicket gate before the approach to the house he took off his hat and began to beat his breast like an Oriental. He cried aloud all the way up the path. He calmed himself, however, by the time that Mr. Crabbe had opened the door and asked us in. Crabbe brought in some wine, and we all sat down to table. I sat opposite to Mrs. Crabbe; her husband was on my left hand. Borrow sat at one end of the table, and the chair at the opposite end was left vacant. We were talking in a casual way when Borrow, pointing to the empty chair, said with profound emotion, 'There! It was there that I first saw her.' It was a curious coincidence that though there were four of us we should have left that particular seat unoccupied at a little table of about four feet square.[257]

But this is a lengthy digression from the story of Henrietta Clarke, who married William MacOubrey, an Irishman—and an Orangeman—from Belfast in 1865. The pair lived first in Belfast and afterwards at 80 Charlotte Street, Fitzroy Square. Before his marriage he had practised at 134 Sloane Street, London. MacOubrey, although there has been some doubt cast upon the statement, was a Doctor of Medicine of Trinity College, Dublin, and a Barrister-at-Law. Within his limitations he was an accomplished man, and before me lie not only documentary evidence of his M.D. and his legal status, but several printed pamphlets that bear his name.[258] What is of more importance, the letters from and to his wife that have through my hands and have been consigned to the flames prove that husband and wife lived on most affectionate terms.

It is natural that Borrow's correspondence with his stepdaughter should have been of a somewhat private character, and I therefore publish only a selection from his letters to her, believing however that they modify an existing tradition very considerably:

To Mrs. MacOubrey

Dear Henrietta,—Have you heard from the gentleman whom you said you would write to about the farm?[259] Mr. C. came over the other day and I mentioned the matter to him, but he told me that he was on the eve of going to London on law business and should be absent for some time. His son is in Cambridge. I am afraid that it will be no easy matter to find a desirable tenant and that none are likely to apply but a set of needy speculators; indeed, there is a general dearth of money. How is Dr. M.? God bless you!

George Borrow.

To Mrs. MacOubrey

Dear Henrietta,—I have received some of the rent and send a cheque for eight pounds. Have the kindness to acknowledge the receipt of same by return of post. As soon as you arrive in London, let me know, and I will send a cheque for ten pounds, which I believe will pay your interest up to Midsummer. If there is anything incorrect pray inform me. God bless you. Kind regards to Miss Harvey.

George Borrow.

To Mrs. MacOubrey

Dear Henrietta,—As soon as Smith has paid his Michaelmas rent I will settle your interest up to Midsummer. Twenty-one pounds was, I think, then due to you, as you received five pounds on the account of the present year. If, however, you are in want of money let me know forthwith, and I will send you a small cheque. The document which I mentioned has been witnessed by Mrs. Church and her daughter. It is in one of the little tin boxes on the lower shelf of the closet nearest to the window in my bedroom. I was over at Mattishall some weeks ago. Things there look very unsatisfactory. H. and his mother now owe me £20 or more. The other man a year's rent for a cottage and garden, and two years' rent for the gardens of two cottages unoccupied. I am just returned from Norwich where I have been to speak to F. I have been again pestered by Pilgrim's successor about the insurance of the property. He pretends to have insured again. A more impudent thing was probably never heard of. He is no agent of mine, and I will have no communication with him. I have insured myself in the Union Office, and have lately received my second policy. I have now paid upwards of twelve pounds for policies. F. says that he told him months ago that the demand he made would not be allowed, that I insured myself and was my own agent, and that as he shall see him in a few days he will tell him so again. Oh what a source of trouble that wretched fellow Pilgrim has been both to you and me.

I wish very much to come up to London. But I cannot leave the country under present circumstances. There is not a person in these parts in whom I can place the slightest confidence. I most inform you that at our interview F. said not a word about the matter in Chancery. God bless you. Kind remembrances to Dr. M.

George Borrow.

To Mrs. MacOubrey

Dear Henrietta,—I wish to know how you are. I shall shortly send a cheque for thirteen pounds, which I believe will settle the interest account up to Michaelmas. If you see anything inaccurate pray inform me. I am at present tolerably well, but of late have been very much troubled with respect to my people. Since I saw you I have been three times over to Mattishall, but with very little profit. The last time I was there I got the key of the house from that fellow Hill, and let the place to another person who I am now told is not much better. One comfort is that he cannot be worse. But now there is a difficulty. Hill refuses to yield up the land, and has put padlocks on the gates. These I suppose can be removed as he is not in possession of the key of the house. On this point, however, I wish to be certain. As for the house, he and his mother, who is in a kind of partnership with him, have abandoned it for two years, the consequence being that the windows are dashed out, and the place little better than a ruin. During the four years he has occupied the land he has been cropping it, and the crops have invariably been sold before being reaped, and as soon as reaped carried off. During the last two years there has not been a single live thing kept on the premises, not so much as a hen. He now says that there are some things in the house belonging to him. Anything, however, which he has left is of course mine, though I don't believe that what he has left is worth sixpence. I have told the incoming tenant to deliver up nothing, and not permit him to enter the house on any account. He owes me ten or twelve pounds, arrears of rent, and at least fifteen for dilapidations. I think the fellow ought to be threatened with an action, but I know not whom to employ. I don't wish to apply to F. Perhaps Dr. M.'s London friend might be spoken to. I believe Hill's address is Alfred Hill, Mattishall, Norfolk, but the place which he occupied of me is at Mattishall Burgh. I shall be glad to hear from you as soon as is convenient. I have anything but reason to be satisfied with the conduct of S. He is cropping the ground most unmercifully, and is sending sacks of game off the premises every week. Surely he must be mad, as he knows I can turn him out next Michaelmas. God bless you. Kind regards to Dr. M. Take care of this.

George Borrow.

To Mrs. MacOubrey

Dear Henrietta,—I was glad to hear that you had obtained your dividend. I was afraid that you would never get it. I shall be happy to see you and Dr. M. about the end of the month. Michaelmas is near at hand, when your half-year's interest becomes due. God bless you. Kind remembrances to Dr. M.

George Borrow.

Oulton, Lowestoft, November 29th, 1874.

Dear Henrietta,—I send a cheque for £15, which will settle the interest account up to Michaelmas last. On receipt of this have the kindness to send me a line. I have been to Norwich, and now know all about your affair. I saw Mr. Durrant, who, it seems, is the real head of the firm to which I go. He received me in the kindest manner, and said he was very glad to see me. I inquired about J.P.'s affairs. He appeared at first not desirous to speak about them, but presently became very communicative. I inquired who had put the matter into Chancery, and he told me he himself, which I was very glad to hear. I asked whether the mortgagees would get their money, and he replied that he had no doubt they eventually would, as far as principal was concerned. I spoke about interest, but on that point he gave me slight hopes. He said that the matter, if not hurried, would turn out tolerably satisfactory, but if it were, very little would be obtained. It appears that the unhappy creature who is gone had been dabbling in post obit bonds, at present almost valueless, but likely to become available. He was in great want of money shortly before he died. Now, dear, pray keep up your spirits; I hope and trust we shall meet about Christmas. Kind regards to Dr. M.

George Borrow.

Keep this. Send a line by return of post.

To Mrs. MacOubrey

Dear Henrietta,—I thought I would write to you as it seems a long time since I heard from you. I have been on my expedition and have come back safe. I had a horrible time of it on the sea—small dirty boat crowded with people and rough weather. Poor Mr. Brightwell is I am sorry to say dead—died in January. I saw Mr. J. and P. and had a good deal of conversation with them which I will talk to you about when I see you. Mr. P. sent an officer over to M. I went to Oulton, and as soon as I got there I found one of the farm cottages nearly in ruins; the gable had fallen down—more expense! but I said that some willow trees must be cut down to cover it. The place upon the whole looks very beautiful. C. full of complaints, though I believe he has a fine time of it. He and T. are at daggers drawn. I am sorry to tell you that poor Mr. Leathes is dying—called, but could not see him, but he sent down a kind message to me. The family, however, were rejoiced to see me and wanted me to stay. The scoundrel of a shoemaker did not send the shoes. I thought he would not. The shirt-collars were much too small. I, however, managed to put on the shirts and am glad of them. At Norwich I saw Lucy, who appears to be in good spirits. Many people have suffered dreadfully there from the failure of the Bank—her brother, amongst others, has been let in. I shall have much to tell you when I see you. I am glad that the Prussians are getting on so famously. The Pope it seems has written a letter to the King of Prussia and is asking favours of him. A low old fellow!!! Remember me kindly to Miss H., and may God bless you! Bring this back.

George Borrow.

To Mrs. MacOubrey

March 6, 1873.

Dear Henrietta,—I was so grieved to hear that you were unwell. Pray take care of yourself, and do not go out in this dreadful weather. Send and get, on my account, six bottles of good port wine. Good port may be had at the cellar at the corner of Charles Street, opposite the Hospital near Hereford Square—I think the name of the man is Kitchenham. Were I in London I would bring it myself. Do send for it. May God Almighty bless you!

George Borrow.

To Mrs. MacOubrey

Norwich, July 12, 1873.

Dear Henrietta,—I shall be glad to see you and Dr. M. as soon as you can make it convenient to come. As for my coming up to London it is quite out of the question. I am suffering greatly, and here I am in this solitude without medicine or advice. I want very much to pay you up your interest. I can do so without the slightest inconvenience. I have money. It is well I have, as it seems to be almost my only friend. God bless you. Kind regards to Dr. M.

George Borrow.

Here I find a letter from Mrs. MacOubrey to her stepfather:

To George Borrow, Esq.

Southgate House, Bury St. Edmunds, Novbr. 25th, 1873.

My beloved Friend,—I sincerely trust that you are well, and received my letter which I sent about ten days ago. Miss Harvey is pretty well and very kind, and it really is a great pleasure to be here during the dark foggy month of November, the most disagreeable in London. I saw Miss Beevor the other day; she is confined to the house with rheumatism and a strain; she was so pleased to see me, and talked about the Images of Mildenhall. They now set up for the great county gentry; give very grand entertainments, dinners, etc., and go also to grand dinners, so their time is fully taken up going and receiving; they never scarce honour the little paltry town of Bury St. Edmunds. Bloomfield, the old butler, is gone to service again; he could not bear himself without horses, so he is gone to the Wigsons, near Bury, where he will have plenty of hunters to look after; he wished to live with Miss Harvey.

Poor Miss Borton died about a week ago; she did not live long to enjoy the huge fortune her brother left. Bury seems very much changing its inhabitants, but there are still some nice people. I shall always like it while dear Miss Harvey lives; she is so very kind to me. It is extremely cold, but we keep tremendous fires, which combats it.

I do sincerely trust, dear, that you are well. I should like to have a line just to say how you are. I return to London the 6th of Decbr., not later, but you see Miss Harvey likes to keep me as long as she can, and I am very happy with her, but at that time I shall be sure to be at home. If you were going up to London I would leave sooner. If you want any medicine or anything, only let me know and you shall have it.

Accept my most affec. love, and believe me ever, your attached daughter,

Henrietta MacOubrey.

P.S.—Miss Harvey desires her kind regards. May God bless you.

To Mrs. MacOubrey, 50 Charlotte Street, Fitzroy Square, London

Oulton, Lowestoft, April 1, 1874.

Dear Henrietta,—I have received your letter of the 30th March. Since I last wrote I have not been well. I have had a great pain in the left jaw which almost prevented me from eating. I am, however, better now. I shall be glad to see you and Dr. M. as soon as you can conveniently come. Send me a line to say when I may expect you. I have no engagements. Before you come call at No. 36 to inquire whether anything has been sent there. Leverton had better be employed to make a couple of boxes or cases for the books in the sacks. The sacks can be put on the top in the inside. There is an old coat in one of the sacks in the pocket of which are papers. Let it be put in with its contents just as it is. I wish to have the long white chest and the two deal boxes also brought down. Buy me a thick under-waistcoat like that I am now wearing, and a lighter one for the summer. Worsted socks are of no use—they scarcely last a day. Cotton ones are poor things, but they are better than worsted. Kind regards to Dr. M. God bless you!

Return me this when you come.

George Borrow.

To Mrs. MacOubrey, 50 Charlotte Street, Fitzroy Square, London

Oulton, Nov. 14, 1876.

Dear Henrietta,—You may buy me a large silk handkerchief, like the one you brought before. I shall be glad to see you and Dr. M. I am very unwell.

George Borrow.

To Mrs. MacOubrey

Dear Henrietta,—I shall be glad to see you and Dr. M. as soon as you can make it convenient. In a day or two the house will be in good repair and very comfortable. I want you to go to the bank and have the cheque placed to my account. Lady Day is nigh at hand, and it must be seen after. Buy for me a pair of those hollow ground razors and tell Dr. M. to bring a little laudanum. Come if you can on the first of March. It is dear Mama's birthday. God bless you! Kind regards to Dr. M.

George Borrow.

To Mrs. MacOubrey, 50 Charlotte Street, Fitzroy Square, London

Mrs. Church's, Lady's Lane, Norwich, Feb. 28, 1877.

Dear Henrietta,—I received your letter this morning with the document. The other came to hand at Oulton before I left. I showed Mr. F. the first document on Wednesday, and he expressed then a doubt with regard to the necessity of an affidavit from me, but he said it would perhaps be necessary for him to see the security. I saw him again this morning and he repeated the same thing. To-night he is going to write up to his agent on the subject, and on Monday I am to know what is requisite to be done—therefore pray keep in readiness. On Tuesday, perhaps, I shall return to Oulton, but I don't know. I shall write again on Monday. God bless you.

George Borrow.

Borrow died, as we have seen, in 1881, and was buried by the side of his wife in Brompton Cemetery. By his will, dated 1st December 1880, he bequeathed all his property to his stepdaughter, making his friend, Elizabeth Harvey, her co-executrix. The will, a copy of which is before me, has no public interest, but it may be noted that Miss Harvey refused to act, as the following letter to Mrs. MacOubrey testifies[260]:

To Mrs. MacOubrey

Bury St. Edmunds, August 13th.

My dearest Henrietta,—I was just preparing to write to you when yours arrived together with Mrs. Reeve's despatch. You know how earnestly I desire your welfare—but because I do so I earnestly advise you immediately to exercise the right you have of appointing another trustee in my place. I am sure it will be best for you. You ought to have a trustee at least not older than yourself, and one who has health and strength for discharging the office. I know what are the duties of a trustee. There's always a considerable responsibility involved in the discharge of the duties of a trustee—and it may easily occur that great responsibility may be thrown on them, and it may become an anxious business fit only for those who have youth and health and strength of mind, and are likely to live.

My dear friend, you do not like to realise the old age of your dear friends, but you must consider that I am quite past the age for such an office, and my invalid state often prevents my attending to my own small affairs. I have no relation or confidential friend who can act for me. My executors were Miss Venn and John Venn. Miss Venn departed last February to a better land. John is in such health with heart disease that he cannot move far from his home—he writes as one ready and desiring to depart. I do not expect to see him again. So you see, my dearest friend, I am not able to undertake this trusteeship, and I think the sooner you consult Mrs. Reeve as to the appointment of another trustee—the better it will be—and the more permanent. Had I known it was Mr. Borrow's intention to put down my name I should have prevented it, and he would have seen that an aged and invalid lady was not the person to carry out his wishes—for I am quite unable.

I pray that a fit person may be induced to undertake the business, and that it may please God so to order all for your good. It is indeed the greatest mercy that your dear husband is well enough to afford you such help and such comfort. Pray hire a proper servant who will obey orders.—In haste, ever yrs. affectionately,

E. Harvey.

Another letter that has some bearing upon Borrow's last days is worth printing here:

To Mrs. MacOubrey

Yarmouth, August 19, 1881.

My dear Mrs. MacOubrey,—I was very sorry indeed to hear of Mr. Borrow's death. I thought he looked older the last time I saw him, but with his vigorous constitution I have not thought the end so near. You and Mr. MacOubrey have the comfort of knowing that you have attended affectionately to his declining years, which would otherwise have been very lonely. I have been abroad for a short time, and this has prevented me from replying to your kind letter before. Pray receive the assurance of my sympathy, and with my kind remembrances to Mr. MacOubrey, believe me, yours very truly,

R. H. Inglis Palgrave.

Three years later Dr. MacOubrey died in his eighty-fourth year, and was interred at Oulton. Mrs. MacOubrey lived for a time at Oulton and then removed to Yarmouth. A letter that she wrote to a friend soon after the death of her husband is perhaps some index to her character:

Oulton Cottage, Oulton, Nr. Lowestoft, Sept. 3rd, 1884.

My dear Sir,—I beg to thank you for your kind thought of me. On Sunday night the 24th Augst., it pleased God to take from me my excellent and beloved husband—his age was nearly 84. He sunk simply from age and weakness. I was his nurse by night and by day, administering constant nourishment, but he became weaker and weaker, till at last 'The silver cord was loosed.' My dear father died about this time three years since, which makes the blow more stunning. I feel very lonely now in my secluded residence on the banks of the Broad—the music of the wild birds adds not to my pleasure now. Trusting that yourself and Mrs. S—— may long be spared.—Believe me to remain, yours very truly,

Henrietta MacOubrey.

The cottage at Oulton was soon afterwards pulled down, but the summer-house where Borrow wrote a portion of his Bible in Spain and his other works remained for some years. That ultimately an entirely new structure took its place may be seen by comparing the roof in Mrs. MacOubrey's drawing with the illustration of the structure as it is to-day. Mrs. MacOubrey died in 1903 at Yarmouth, and the following inscription may be found on her tomb in Oulton Churchyard:

Sacred to the memory of Henrietta Mary, widow of William MacOubrey, only daughter of Lieut. Henry Clarke, R.N., and Mary Skepper, his wife, and stepdaughter of George Henry Borrow, Esq., the celebrated author of The Bible in Spain, The Gypsies of Spain, Lavengro, The Romany Rye, Wild Wales, and other works and translations. Henrietta Mary MacOubrey was born at Oulton Hall in this Parish, May 17th, 1818, and died 23rd December 1903. 'And He shall give His angels charge over thee, to keep thee in all thy ways.'—Psalm xci. 11.

The following extract from her will is of interest as indicating the trend of a singularly kindly nature. The intimate friends of Mrs. MacOubrey's later years, whose opinion is of more value than that of village gossips, speak of her in terms of sincere affection:

I give the following charitable legacies, namely, to the London Bible Society, in remembrance of the great interest my dear father, George Henry Borrow, took in the success of its great work for the benefit of mankind, the sum of one hundred pounds. To the Foreign Missionary Society the sum of one hundred pounds. To the London Religious Tract Society the sum of one hundred pounds. To the London Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, the sum of one hundred pounds.

[252] Henrietta's guitar is now in my possession and is a very handsome instrument.

[253] Henrietta 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 £1000 for them, but Mr. Reeve did not think them worth more than £200. 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 seventy he had been round the Ness Buoy and home again—a wonderful performance if, in addition to his age, you remember the dangerous set of the currents thereabouts.'

There is also a story, which comes to me from another quarter, of Borrow skating upon the ice of Oulton Broad a few months before his death, and remarking that he had not skated since he was in Russia. The following passage from Mr. Baldrey's narrative is interesting as showing that Borrow did not in later life quite lose sight of his birthplace:

'Apparently I interested him in some way, for twice while I was at school at East Dereham he came over specially to take me out for the afternoon. He had ascertained from my mother which were the school half-holidays, and purposely chose those days so that I might be free. We would start off at half-past twelve and return at bedtime. Where we went I could not tell you for certain, but I know that once we went through Scarning and once through Mattishall. What we talked about of course I cannot recall, for I was then a boy between 13 and 15 years of age, and I had no sort of inkling that my companion was even then a celebrity and destined to be a still greater one in the future. But I do remember that sometimes I could not get a word out of him for an hour or more, and that then suddenly he would break out with all sorts of questions. "I wonder if you can see what I can," he once remarked. "Do you see that the gypsies have been here?" "No," I replied. "And you are not likely to," said he. And then he would tell me no more. He was rather prone to arouse one's curiosity and refuse to pursue the subject. I do not mean that he was morose. Far from it. He was always very kind to me. After I had left school and returned to Norwich he frequently called for me and took me out with him. Once or twice I went with him to Lowestoft.'

[258] One of them is entitled The Present Crisis: The True Cause of Our Indian Troubles, by William MacOubrey of the Middle Temple. There are also countless pamphlets in manuscript. MacOubrey was an enthusiastic and indeed truculent upholder of the Act of Union.

[259] The farm referred to was Oulton Hall farm, often referred to as Oulton Hall.

[260] Another letter from Miss Harvey, dated 1st August, is one of sympathy, and there are passages in it that may well be taken to heart when it is considered that Miss Harvey was the most intimate friend of Borrow and his stepdaughter:

'Bury, August 1st, 1881.

'Dearest Friend,—Though I cannot be with you in your trouble I am continually thinking of you, and praying that all needful help and comfort may be sent to you as you need and how you need it. I have no means of hearing any particulars, and am most anxious to know how you do, and how you have got through the last painful week. Whenever you feel able write me a few words, I await them with much anxiety. When you are able to realise the reality of his eternal gain—you will feel that all is well. A great spirit, a great and noble spirit, has passed from the earth, his earthly tabernacle is taken down to be raised again—glorious and immortal, a fitting abode for a spirit of the just made perfect. How wonderful are those words, "made perfect." We are even now part of that grand assembly where they dwell. "We are come to the general assembly and church of the first born which are written in heaven. To God the judge of all, to Jesus the Mediator, to an innumerable company of angels, etc., to the spirits of the just made perfect." Let us realise our communion with them even now, and soon to meet them on the Resurrection Morn—when they who sleep in Jesus will God bring with Him ... and so we shall be ever with the Lord.

Ever with the Lord,
 Amen, so let it be,
 Life from the dead is in that word,
 'Tis immortality.

Blessed are the dead which die in the Lord, their works do follow them. Your beloved father's work in Spain will follow him. His efforts to spread the word of God in that benighted land, ever has and ever will bring forth blessed fruits. Dearest Henrietta, be comforted, you have been a most devoted daughter to him, and latterly his greatest earthly comfort; your dear husband also; and together you have tended him to the last. He now rests in peace. All the sufferings of mind and body are over for ever. You will have much earthly business on your hands. I pray that you may be directed in all things by true wisdom. The time is short, we must set our houses in order, that we may not be unnecessarily burdened with earthly cares. Having food and raiment, let us be therewith content.

'Let us be without carefulness, and so quietly and piously spend the remnant of our days—ever growing in the knowledge of Christ, and finding in Him all our comfort and all our joy, and when our own time of departure shall arrive may we be ready and able to say, "I have a desire to depart and be with Christ, which is far better." The path of the just is as the shining light which shineth more and more unto the perfect day. May our path be so lighted up—until the day break and the shadows flee away. Dearest friend, do write soon. I am so anxious to hear how Dr. MacOubrey is.—Your most affect. friend,

E. Harvey.

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           

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