Still, the Appendix is a pity.
Next to Borrow's vagabondage, which, though I tremble to say it, has a decidedly literary flavour, and his delightful _camaraderie_ or willingness to hob-a-nob with everybody, I rank his eloquence.

Great is plot, though Borrow has but little, and that little mechanical; delightful is incident, and Borrow is full of incident--e.g.

the poisoning scene in Chapter LXXI., where will you match it, unless it be the very differently-treated scene of the robbers' cave in _The Heart of Midlothian_?
and glorious, too, is motion, and Borrow never stagnates, never gathers moss or mould.

But great also is eloquence.

'If a book be eloquent,' says Mr.Stevenson, that most distinguished writer, 'its words run thenceforward in our ears like the noise of breakers.' Eloquence is a little unfashionable just now.