died at Oulton, Suffolk, on July 26, 1881. A mighty athlete,
an inveterate wanderer, a philological enthusiast, and a man
of large-hearted simplicity mingled with violent prejudices,
he was one of the most original and engaging personalities of
nineteenth century English literature.


_I.--The Scholar, the Gipsy, the Priest_


On an evening of July, in the year 18--, at East D------, a beautiful
little town in East Anglia, I first saw the light. My father, a
Cornishman, after serving many years in the Line, at last entered as
captain in a militia regiment. My mother, a strikingly handsome woman,
was of the Huguenot race. I was not the only child of my parents, for I
had a brother three years older than myself. He was a beautiful boy with
much greater mental ability than I possessed, and he, with the greatest
affection, indulged me in every possible way. Alas, his was an early and
a foreign grave!

I have been a wanderer the greater part of my life, being the son of a
soldier, who, unable to afford the support of two homes, was accompanied
by his family wherever he went. A lover of books and of retired corners,
I was as a child in the habit of fleeing from society. The first book
that fascinated me was one of Defoe's. But those early days were
stirring times, for England was then engaged in the struggle with
Napoleon.

I remember strange sights, such as the scenes at Norman Cross, a station
or prison where some six thousand French prisoners were immured. And