It  was  in  1864  that  FitzGerald  made  the  acquaint-
ance of  Joseph  Fletcher,  his  beloved  "  Posh,"  whom  he
described  as  "  a  man  of  the  finest  Saxon  type,  with  a
complexion  vif,  male  et  flamboyant,  blue  eyes,  a  nose
less  than  Roman,  more  than  Greek,  and  strictly  auburn
hair  that  any  woman  might  sigh  to  possess,"  and
further,  "  a  man  of  simplicity  of  soul,  justice  of  thought,
tenderness  of  nature,  a  gentleman  of  nature's  grandest
type."  In  a  very  short  time  his  admiration  of  the
sayings  and  doings  of  this  burly  fisherman  had  increased
so  unreasonably  that  nothing  would  convince  him  that
his  idol  was  not  the  "  greatest  man  he  had  ever  met "  ;
yet  that  idol  had  feet  of  clay,  and  Fletcher,  who  was
not  infrequently  made  to  appear  ridiculous  by  his
admirer's  jealous  attentions,  would  be  the  first  to  admit


LOWESTOFT  159

that  no  one  could  have  been  more  strangely  blind  to
his  failings. FitzGerald's  letters  will  always  delight
readers  for  whom  his  personality  has  an  appeal,  and  as
time  goes  on,  and  the  biographies  of  FitzGerald  become
more  widely  read,  the  subtle  charm  of  those  letters  will
undoubtedly  captivate  a  wider  circle  of  leisurely  readers  ;
but  if  any  of  them  are  ever  acknowledged  to  be  weari-
some, it  will  be  those  in  which  he  sets  down  the
commonplace  utterances  of  "  Posh,"  and  finds  innumer-
able excuses  for  his  shortcomings. The  friendship
between  the  two  very  dififerent  men  must  necessarily
have  been  one-sided,  and  the  space  devoted  to  it  by
several  writers  who  have  dealt  with  FitzGerald's  life  in
Lowestoft  is  largely  wasted,  except  in  that  it  contains
matter  which  goes  a  long  way  towards  proving  his  own
assertion  that  "  we  FitzGeralds  are  all  mad."  Of  both
FitzGerald  and  Borrow  it  may  be  said  that  their  objec-
tions to  ordinary  conventionalities  were  so  great  that
to  escape  having  to  conform  to  those  conventionalities
they  often  sought  the  companionship  of  rough  and
simple  souls,  and,  perhaps  unconsciously,  excused  the
indulgence  of  their  own  weaknesses  and  foibles  by
exaggerating  the  good  qualities  and  homely  wisdom  of
their  humble  friends. But  although  both  FitzGerald
and  Borrow  were  so  similarly  disposed  to  enjoy  the
luxury  of  a  "simple  life,"  they  never  became  friends
nor  sought  each  other's  company. 