His house hangs over a lonely lake covered with wild fowl, and is girt with dark firs through which the wind sighs sadly.
When the _Handbook for Travellers in Spain_ was published in 1845 it was agreed that Borrow should write the review for _The Quarterly_. Instead of writing a review Borrow, possessed by that tactlessness which so frequently overcame him, wrote an article on 'Spain and the Spaniards,' very largely of abuse, an absolutely useless production from the point of view of Ford the author, and of Lockhart, his editor friend. Borrow never forgave Lockhart for returning this manuscript, but that it had no effect on Ford's friendship is shown by the following letter, dated 1846 (p. 258), written long after the unfortunate episode, and another in Dr. Knapp's _Life_, dated 1851:
MY DEAR MADAM,--I trouble you with a line to say that I have received a letter from Don Jorge, from Constantinople. He evidently is now anxious to be quietly back again on the banks of your peaceful lake; he speaks favourably of his health, which has been braced up by change of air, scenery, and occupations, so I hope he will get through next winter without any bronchitis, and go on with his own biography.
He asks me when _Handbook_ will be done? Please to tell him that it is done and printing, but that it runs double the length which was contemplated: however, it will be a _queer_ book, and tell him that we reserve it until his return to _review_ it. I am now on the point of quitting this pretty place and making for my home at Hevitre, where we trust to arrive next Thursday.
Present my best compliments to your mother, and believe me, your faithful and obedient servant,
When you write to Don Jorge thank him for his letter.
To George Borrow, Esq., Oulton Hall, Lowestoft.
123 PARLIAMENT STREET, GROSVENOR SQUARE, _Feb. 17, 1845._
DEAR BORROW,--_El hombre propose pero Dios es que dispose._ I had hope to have run down and seen you and yours in your quiet Patmos; but the Sangrados will it otherwise. I have never been quite free from a tickling pain since the bronchitis of last year, and it has recently assumed the form of extreme relaxation and irritation in the uvula, which is that pendulous appendage which hangs over the orifice of the throat. Mine has become so seriously elongated that, after submitting for four days last week to its being burnt with caustic every morning in the hopes that it might thus crimp and contract itself, I have been obliged to have it amputated. This has left a great soreness, which militates against talking and deglutition, and would render our charming chats after the Madeira over la cheminea del _cueldo_ inadvisable. I therefore defer the visit: my Sangrado recommends me, when the summer advances, to fly away into change of air, change of scene; in short, must seek an _hejira_ as you made. How strange the coincidence! but those who have wandered much about require periodical migration, as the encaged quail twice a year beats its breast against the wires.