what, next to the love of God, has hitherto been deemed most sacred, the love of the mother land!  Cast from thee thy false patriots, who, under the pretext of redressing the wrongs of the poor and weak, seek to promote internal discord, so that thou mayest become only terrible to thyself!  And remove from thee the false prophets who have seen vanity and divined lies; who have daubed thy wall with untempered mortar, that it may fall; who have strengthened the hands of the wicked, and made the hearts of the righteous sad.  O, do this, and fear not the result, for either shall thy end be a majestic and an enviable one, or God shall perpetuate thy reign upon the waters, thou old Queen!

George Borrow,—­and this is the last of his virtues with which I shall weary you,—­had a true English heart.  He could make friends with anybody and be at home anywhere, but though he had a mighty thirst he had never, in the words of the elder Pitt, ’drunk of the potion described in poetic fictions which makes men forget their country.’

I have the permission of the Rev. A. W. Upcher to reprint the following letter addressed by him some time ago to the Athenaeum .—­

One summer day during the Crimean War we had a call from George Borrow, who had not enjoyed a visit to Anna Gurney so much as he had expected.  In a walking tour round Norfolk he had given her a short notice of his intended call, and she was ready to receive him.  When, according to his account, he had been but a very short time in her presence, she wheeled her chair round and reached her hand to one of her bookshelves and took down an Arabic grammar, and put it into his hand, asking for explanation of some difficult point, which he tried to decipher; but meanwhile she talked to him continuously; when, said he, ’I could not study the Arabic grammar and listen to her at the same time, so I threw down the book and ran out of the room.’  He seems not to have stopped running till he reached Old Tucker’s Inn at Cromer, where he renewed his strength, or calmed his temper, with five excellent sausages, and then came on to Sheringham.  He told us there were three personages in the world whom he always had a desire to see; two of these had slipped through his fingers, so he was determined to see the third.  ‘Pray, Mr. Borrow, who were they?’ He held up three fingers of his left hand and pointed them off with the forefinger of the right:  the first, Daniel O’Connell; the second, Lamplighter (the sire of Phosphorus, Lord Berners’s winner of the Derby); the third, Anna Gurney.  The first two were dead and he had not seen them; now he had come to see Anna Gurney, and this was the end of his visit.  I took him up to the Hall, he talking of many persons and occasionally doubling his fist, and giving a sort of warning like that of his Isopel Berners (in Lavengro) to give the Flaming Tinman ’Long Melford’ with his right hand.  As soon as we reached the Hall a battle- piece by Wouvermans