Some one had ventured to call the _Bible in Spain_ a grotesque book, but the utterance had been drowned in the chorus of acclamation.

Now Borrow complained that he had had the honour of being rancorously abused by every unmanly scoundrel, every sycophantic lacquey, and every political and religious renegade in the kingdom.

His fury was that of an angry bull tormented by a swarm of gnats.

His worst passions were aroused; his most violent prejudices confirmed.

His literary zeal, never extremely alert, was sensibly diminished.
This last result at least was a calamity.