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Title:Thackeray

Author:AnthonyTrollope

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Language:English

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Theletter"o"withamacronisrendered[=o]inthistext.Itonlyappearsintheword"Public[=o]la".

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EnglishMenofLetters

EDITEDBYJOHNMORLEY

THACKERAY

THACKERAYBY

ANTHONYTROLLOPE

London:MACMILLANANDCO.

1879.

TheRightofTranslationandReproductionisReserved.

CHARLESDICKENSANDEVANS,CRYSTALPALACEPRESS.

CONTENTS.

CHAPTERI.PAGEBIOGRAPHICAL1CHAPTERII.FRASER'SMAGAZINEANDPUNCH62CHAPTERIII.VANITYFAIR90CHAPTERIV.PENDENNISANDTHENEWCOMES108CHAPTERV.ESMONDANDTHEVIRGINIANS122CHAPTERVI.THACKERAY'SBURLESQUES139CHAPTERVII.THACKERAY'SLECTURES154CHAPTERVIII.THACKERAY'SBALLADS168CHAPTERIX.THACKERAY'SSTYLEANDMANNEROFWORK184

THACKERAY

CHAPTERI.

BIOGRAPHICAL.

In theforegoingvolumesof thisseriesofEnglishMenofLetters,and inotherworksofasimilarnaturewhichhaveappearedlatelyastotheAncientClassicsandForeignClassics,biographyhasnaturallybeen,ifnottheleading,atanyrateaconsiderableelement.Thedesire is common toall readers toknownotonlywhatagreatwriterhaswritten,butalsoofwhatnaturehasbeen themanwhohasproducedsuchgreatwork.Astoalltheauthorstakeninhandbefore,therehasbeenextantsomewrittenrecordoftheman'slife.Biographicaldetailshavebeen more or less known to the world, so that, whether of a Cicero, or of aGoethe,orofourownJohnson,therehasbeenastorytotell.OfThackeraynolifehasbeenwritten;andthoughtheywhoknewhim,—andpossiblymanywhodidnot,—areconversantwithanecdotesoftheman,whowasonesowellknowninsocietyastohavecreatedmanyanecdotes,yettherehasbeennomemoirofhislifesufficienttosupplythewantsofevensosmallaworkasthispurportstobe.Forthisthereasonmaysimplybetold.Thackeray,notlongbeforehisdeath,hadhadhistasteoffendedbysomefulsomebiography.Paragraphs,ofwhichtheeulogyseemedtohavebeentheproduceratherofpersonallovethanofinquiryorjudgment,disgustedhim,andhebeggedofhisgirlsthatwhenheshouldhavegonethereshouldnothingofthesortbedonewithhisname.

Wecanimaginehowhismindhadworked,howhehaddeclaredtohimselfthat,asbythoselovinghandsintowhichhisletters,hisnotes,hislittledetails,—hisliterary remains, as such documents used to be called,—might naturally fall,truthofhisfoiblesandofhisshortcomingscouldnotbetold,soshouldnothispraises be written, or that flattering portrait be limned which biographers arewont to produce. Acting upon these instructions, his daughters,—while therewere two living, and since that theone surviving,—have carriedout theorderwhichhasappearedtothemtobesacred.Suchbeingthecase,itcertainlyisnotmy purpose now to write what may be called a life of Thackeray. In thispreliminarychapter Iwillgive such incidentsandanecdotesofhis lifeaswilltellthereaderperhapsallabouthimthatareaderisentitledtoask.Iwilltellhowhebecameanauthor,andwillsayhowfirstheworkedandstruggled,andthenhow he worked and prospered, and became a household word in English

literature;—how, in thisway,hepassed through that courseofmingled failureand success which, though the literary aspirant may suffer, is probably betterbothforthewriterandforthewritingsthanuncloudedearlyglory.Thesufferingno doubt is acute, and a touch ofmelancholy, perhaps of indignation,may begiventowordswhichhavebeenwrittenwhilethehearthasbeentoofullofitsownwrongs;butthisisbetterthanthecontinuednoteoftriumphwhichisstillheard in the final voices of the spoilt child of literature, even when they arelosing theirmusic.Then Iwill tellhowThackeraydied, early indeed,but stillhaving done a good life's work. Something of his manner, something of hisappearanceIcansay,somethingperhapsofhisconditionofmind;becauseforsomefewyearshewasknowntome.Butofthecontinualintercourseofhimselfwiththeworld,andofhimselfwithhisownworks,Icantell little,becausenorecordofhislifehasbeenmadepublic.

William Makepeace Thackeray was born at Calcutta, on July 18, 1811. Hisfather was Richmond Thackeray, son of W. M. Thackeray of Hadley, nearBarnet,inMiddlesex.Arelationofhis,ofthesamename,aRev.Mr.Thackeray,IknewwellasrectorofHadley,manyyearsafterwards.HimIbelievetohavebeen a second cousin of our Thackeray, but I think they had nevermet eachother.Another cousinwas Provost ofKings at Cambridge, fifty years ago, asCambridgemenwillremember.ClergymenofthefamilyhavebeennumerousinEnglandduringthecentury,andtherewasone,aRev.EliasThackeray,whomIalsoknewinmyyouth,adignitary,ifIrememberright,inthedioceseofMeath.The Thackerays seem to have affected the Church; but such was not at anyperiodofhislifethebiasofournovelist'smind.

His father and grandfather were Indian civil servants. His mother was AnneBecher,whose fatherwas also in theCompany's service.Shemarried early inIndia,andwasonlynineteenwhenhersonwasborn.Shewas leftawidowin1816, with only one child, and wasmarried a few years afterwards toMajorHenryCarmichaelSmyth,withwhomThackeraylivedontermsofaffectionateintercoursetillthemajordied.AllwhoknewWilliamMakepeacerememberhismotherwell,ahandsome,spare,gray-hairedlady,whomThackeraytreatedwithacourtlydeferenceaswellasconstantaffection.Therewas,however,somethingofdiscrepancybetweenthemastomattersofreligion.Mrs.CarmichaelSmythwasdisposedto thesomewhataustereobservanceof theevangelicalsectionofthe Church. Such, certainly, never became the case with her son. There wasdisagreementonthesubject,andprobablyunhappinessatintervals,butnever,Ithink, quarrelling. Thackeray's house was his mother's home whenever she

pleasedit,andthehomealsoofhisstepfather.

HewasbroughtachildfromIndia,andwassentearlytotheCharterHouse.OfhislifeanddoingstherehisfriendandschoolfellowGeorgeVenableswritestomeasfollows;

"My recollection of him, though fresh enough, does not furnish muchmaterial for biography. He came to school young,—a pretty, gentle, andrather timid boy. I think his experience there was not generally pleasant.ThoughhehadafterwardsascholarlikeknowledgeofLatin,hedidnotattaindistinction in theschool;andIshould think that thecharacterof thehead-master,Dr.Russell,whichwasvigorous,unsympathetic, andstern, thoughnot severe, was uncongenial to his own. With the boys who knew him,Thackeraywaspopular;buthehadnoskillingames,and,Ithink,notasteforthem....Hewasalreadyknownbyhisfacultyofmakingverses,chieflyparodies.IonlyrememberonelineofoneparodyonapoemofL.E.L.'s,about'Violets,darkblueviolets;'Thackeray'sversionwas'Cabbages,brightgreen cabbages,' andwe thought it verywitty. He took part in a scheme,whichcametonothing,foraschoolmagazine,andhewroteversesforit,ofwhichIonlyrememberthattheyweregoodoftheirkind.WhenIknewhimbetter,inlateryears,I thoughtIcouldrecognisethesensitivenaturewhichhehadasaboy....Hischangeofretrospectivefeelingabouthisschooldayswasverycharacteristic.InhisearlierbookshealwaysspokeoftheCharterHouse as Slaughter House and Smithfield. As he became famous andprosperous his memory softened, and Slaughter House was changed intoGreyFriarswhereColonelNewcomeendedhislife."

In February, 1829, when he was not as yet eighteen, Thackeray went up toTrinity College, Cambridge, and was, I think, removed in 1830. It may bepresumed, therefore, that his studies there were not very serviceable to him.Thereare few, ifany, records leftofhisdoingsat theuniversity,—unless itbethefactthathedidtherecommencetheliteraryworkofhislife.Thelineaboutthecabbages,andtheschemeoftheschoolmagazine,canhardlybesaidtohaveamountedeventoacommencement.In1829alittleperiodicalwasbroughtoutat Cambridge, calledThe Snob, with an assurance on the title that it was notconductedbymembersof theuniversity. It ispresumed thatThackeray tookahandineditingthis.Hecertainlywrote,andpublishedinthelittlepaper,someburlesquelinesonthesubjectwhichwasgivenfortheChancellor'sprizepoemoftheyear.ThiswasTimbuctoo,andTennysonwasthevictorontheoccasion.There is some good fun in the four first and four last lines of Thackeray's

production.

InAfrica,—aquarteroftheworld,—Men'sskinsareblack;theirhairiscrispedandcurled;Andsomewherethere,unknowntopublicviewAmightycitylies,calledTimbuctoo.

*****

Iseehertribesthehillofglorymount,Andselltheirsugarsontheirownaccount;Whileroundherthronetheprostratenationscome,Sueforherrice,andbarterforherrum.

IcannotfindinTheSnob internalevidenceofmuchliterarymeritbeyondthis.Butthenhowmanygreatwritershavetherebeenfromwhoseearlylucubrationsnofutureliteraryexcellencecouldbeprognosticated?

Thereissomethingatanyrateinthenameofthepublicationwhichtellsofworkthat did come. Thackeray's mind was at all times peculiarly exercised with asenseofsnobbishness.Hisappreciationofthevicegrewabnormally,sothatatlasthehadamorbidhorrorofasnob—amorbidfearlestthisortheothermanshould turn snobonhishands. It isprobable that the ideawas taken from theearlySnobatCambridge,eitherfromhisownparticipationintheworkorfromhisremembranceofit.TheSnoblived,Ithink,butnineweeks,andwasfollowedat an interval, in 1830, by The Gownsman, which lived to the seventeenthnumber, and at the opening of which Thackeray no doubt had a hand. Itprofessed to be a continuation of The Snob. It contains a dedication to allproctors,whichIshouldnotbesorrytoattributetohim."ToallProctors,past,present,andfuture—

Whosetasteitisourprivilegetofollow,Whosevirtueitisourdutytoimitate,Whosepresenceitisourinteresttoavoid."

Thereis,however,nothingbeyondfancytoinducemetobelievethatThackeraywastheauthorofthededication,andIdonotknowthatthereisanyevidencetoshowthathewasconnectedwithTheSnobbeyondthewritingofTimbuctoo.

In1830he leftCambridge,andwent toWeimareither in thatyearor in1831.

BetweenWeimarandParishespentsomeportionofhisearlieryears,whilehisfamily,—hismother, that is, and his stepfather,—were living inDevonshire. Itwas then thepurportofhis life tobecomeanartist,andhestudieddrawingatParis,affectingespeciallyBonnington,theyoungEnglishartistwhohadhimselfpaintedatParisandwhohaddiedin1828.Heneverlearnedtodraw,—perhapsnevercouldhavelearned.Thathewasidle,anddidnotdohisbest,wemaytakefor granted.Hewas always idle, andonly on someoccasions,when the spiritmovedhimthoroughly,didhedohisbesteveninafterlife.Butwithdrawing,—orratherwithout it,—hedidwonderfullywellevenwhenhedidhisworst.Hedid illustrate his own books, and everyone knows how incorrect were hisdelineations.Butas illustrations theywereexcellent.HowoftenhaveIwishedthatcharactersofmyowncreatingmightbesketchedasfaultily,ifwiththesameappreciationoftheintendedpurpose.Letanyonelookatthe"plates,"astheyarecalled in Vanity Fair, and compare each with the scenes and the charactersintendedtobedisplayed,andthereseewhethertheartist,—ifwemaycallhimso,—hasnotmanaged to convey in thepicture the exact feelingwhichhehasdescribed in the text. I have a little sketch of his, in which a cannon-ball issupposedtohavejustcarriedofftheheadofanaide-de-camp,—messengerIhadperhapsbettersay,lestImightaffrontmilitaryfeelings,—whoiskneelingonthefield of battle and delivering a despatch to Marlborough on horseback. Thegracefuleasewithwhichthedukereceivesthemessagethoughthemessenger'shead be gone, and the soldier-like precision with which the headless herofinisheshislasteffortofmilitaryobedience,maynothavebeenportrayedwithwell-drawnfigures,butnofinishedillustrationevertolditsstorybetter.Dickenshas informed us that he first met Thackeray in 1835, on which occasion theyoungartistaspirant, lookingnodoubtafterprofitableemployment, "proposedto become the illustrator ofmy earliest book." It is singular that such shouldhavebeenthefirstinterviewbetweenthetwogreatnovelists.Wemaypresumethattheofferwasrejected.

In1832,Thackeraycameofage,andinheritedhisfortune,—astowhichvariousstorieshavebeentold.Itseemstohaveamountedtoaboutfivehundredayear,andtohavepassedthroughhishandsinayearortwo,interestandprincipal.Ithasbeentoldofhimthatitwasalltakenawayfromhimatcards,butsuchwasnotthetruth.SomewentinanIndianbankinwhichheinvestedit.Aportionwaslostatcards.Butwithsomeofit,—thelargerpartasIthink,—heendeavoured,inconcertwithhisstepfather,tofloatanewspaper,whichfailed.Thereseemtohave been two newspapers in which he was so concerned, The NationalStandard and The Constitutional. On the latter he was engaged with his

stepfather, and in carrying that on he lost the last of hismoney.TheNationalStandardhadbeenrunningforsomeweekswhenThackerayjoinedit,andlosthismoney in it. It ran only for littlemore than twelvemonths, and then, themoneyhavinggone, theperiodical came toanend. Iknowno road to fortunemore tempting to a youngman, or one thatwithmore certainty leads to ruin.Thackeray,whoinawaymoreorlesscorrect,oftenrefersinhiswritings,ifnottotheincidents,atanyratetotheremembrancesofhisownlife,tellsusmuchofthestoryofthisnewspaperinLoveltheWidower."Theyarewelcome,"saysthebachelor,"tomakemerryatmychargesinrespectofacertainbargainwhichImade on coming to London, and in which, had I been Moses Primrosepurchasing green spectacles, I could scarcely have been more taken in. MyJenkinsonwasanoldcollegeacquaintance,whomIwasidiotenoughtoimaginea respectableman. The fellow had a very smooth tongue and sleek sanctifiedexterior.Hewas rather apopularpreacher, andused to cry agooddeal in thepulpit.Heandaqueerwinemerchantandbilldiscounter,Sherrickbyname,hadsomehow got possession of that neat little literary paper,TheMuseum, whichperhapsyouremember,andthiseligibleliterarypropertymyfriendHoneyman,with his wheedling tongue, induced me to purchase." Here is the history ofThackeray'smoney,toldbyhimselfplainlyenough,butwithnointentiononhispartofnarratinganincidentinhisownlifetothepublic.Butthedrolleryofthecircumstances,hisownmingledfollyandyoungambition,struckhimasbeingworthnarration,andthemoreforciblyasherememberedalltheinsandoutsofhisown reflectionsat the time,—howhehadmeant toenchant theworld, andmakehis fortune.Therewas literary capital in it ofwhich he couldmakeuseaftersomanyyears.Thenhetellsusofthisambition,andofthefollyofit;andat thesame timeputs forward theexcuses tobemadefor it. "IdaresayIgavemyselfairsaseditorof thatconfoundedMuseum, andproposed toeducate thepublic taste, todiffusemoralityandsoundliteraturethroughout thenation,andtopocketaliberalsalaryinreturnformyservices.IdaresayIprintedmyownsonnets,myowntragedy,myownverses....IdaresayIwrotesatiricalarticles....IdaresayImadeagabyofmyselftotheworld.Pray,mygoodfriend,hastthouneverdonelikewise?Ifthouhastneverbeenafool,besurethouwiltneverbeawise man." Thackeray was quite aware of his early weaknesses, and in thematurityoflifeknewwellthathehadnotbeenprecociouslywise.Hedelightedso to tellhis friends,andhedelightedalso to tell thepublic,notmeaning thatany but an inner circle should know that hewas speaking of himself.But thestorynowisplaintoallwhocanread.[1]

Itwasthusthathelosthismoney;andthen,nothavingprosperedverywellwith

hisdrawinglessonsinParisorelsewhere,hewasfaintotakeupliteratureasaprofession. It isabusinesswhichhas itsallurements. It requiresnocapital,nospecial education, no training, and may be taken up at any time without amoment'sdelay.Ifamancancommandatable,achair,pen,paper,andink,hecan commence his trade as literaryman. It is thus that aspirants generally docommenceit.Amanmayormaynothaveanotheremploymenttobackhim,ormeans of his own; or,—aswas the case with Thackeray, when, after his firstmisadventure,hehadtolookabouthimforthemeansofliving,—hemayhavenothingbuthisintellectandhisfriends.Buttheideacomestothemanthatashehas thepenand ink,and timeonhishand,whyshouldhenotwriteandmakemoney?

Itisanideathatcomestoverymanymenandwomen,oldaswellasyoung,—tomanythousandswhoatlastarecrushedbyit,ofwhomtheworldknowsnothing.Amancanmaketheattemptthoughhehasnotacoatfittogooutintothestreetwith; or a woman, though she be almost in rags. There is no apprenticeshipwanted. Indeed there isno roomfor suchapprenticeship. It isanartwhichnooneteaches;thereisnoprofessorwho,inadozenlessons,evenpretendstoshowtheaspiranthow towriteabookoranarticle. Ifyouwouldbeawatchmaker,youmustlearn;oralawyer,acook,orevenahousemaid.Beforeyoucancleanahorse youmust go into the stable, and begin at the beginning. Even the cab-driving tiromust sit forawhileon thebox,and learn somethingof the streets,beforehecanplyforafare.But theliterarybeginnerrushesatonceat thetoprung of his ladder;—as though a youth, having made up his mind to be aclergyman,shoulddemand,withoutpreliminarysteps,tobeappointedBishopofLondon.Thatheshouldbeabletoreadandwriteispresumed,andthatonly.Somuchmaybepresumedofeveryone,andnothingmoreiswanted.

Intruthnothingmoreiswanted,—exceptthoseinnerlightsastowhich,somanymen live and die without having learned whether they possess them or not.Practice, industry, study of literature, cultivation of taste, and the rest,will ofcourse lend their aid, will probably be necessary before high excellence isattained. But the instances are not to seek,—are at the fingers of us all,—inwhich thefirstuninstructedefforthassucceeded.Aboy,almost,orperhapsanoldwoman,hassatdownandthebookhascome,andtheworldhasreadit,andthebooksellershavebeencivilandhavewrittentheircheques.Whenalltrades,all professions, all seats at offices, all employments at which a crust can beearned,aresocrowdedthatayoungmanknowsnotwheretolookforthemeansoflivelihood,istherenotanattractioninthiswhichtotheself-confidentmustbe

almost invincible? The booksellers are courteous andwrite their cheques, butthatisnothalfthewhole?Monstraridigito!Thatisobtained.Thehappyaspirantiswrittenofinnewspapers,or,perhaps,betterstill,hewritesofothers.Whenthebarrister of forty-five has hardly got a name beyond Chancery Lane, thisgloriousyoungscribe,withthefirstdownonhislips,hasprintedhisnovelandbeentalkedabout.

Thetemptationisirresistible,andthousandsfallintoit.Howisamantoknowthatheisnottheluckyoneorthegiftedone?Thereisthetableandtherethepenandink.Amongtheunfortunatehewhofailsaltogetherandfromthefirststartisnot themostunfortunate.Ashortperiodof life iswasted, anda sharppang isendured.Thenthedisappointedoneisrelegatedtotheconditionoflifewhichhewouldotherwisehavefilledalittleearlier.Hehasbeenwounded,butnotkilled,orevenmaimed.Buthewhohasalittlesuccess,whosucceedsinearningafewhalcyon,but,ah!sodangerousguineas,isdrawnintoatradefromwhichhewillhardlyescapetillhebedrivenfromit,ifhecomeoutalive,bysheerhunger.Hehangsontilltheguineasbecomecrownsandshillings,—tillsomesadrecordofhislife,madewhenheappliesforcharity,declaresthathehasworkedhardforthelastyearortwoandhasearnedlessthanapolicemaninthestreetsoraporterat a railway. It is to that that he is brought by applying himself to a businesswhichrequiresonlyatableandchair,withpen,ink,andpaper!Itistothatwhichhe is brought by venturing to believe that he has been gifted with powers ofimagination,creation,andexpression.

Theyoungmanwhomakestheattemptknowsthathemustrunthechance.Heiswellawarethatninemustfailwhereonewillmakehisrunninggood.Somuchasthatdoesreachhisears,andrecommendsitselftohiscommonsense.Butwhyshoulditnotbeheaswellasanother?Thereisalwayssomeluckyonewinningtheprize.Andthisprizewhenithasbeenwonissowellworththewinning!Hecanendurestarvation,—sohetellshimself,—aswellasanother.Hewilltry.Butyetheknowsthathehasbutonechanceoutofteninhisfavour,anditisonlyinhishappiermomentsthatheflattershimselfthatthatremainstohim.Thentherefalls upon him,—in the midst of that labour which for its success especiallyrequires that aman's heart shall be light, and that he be always at his best,—doubtanddespair.Iftherebenochance,ofwhatuseishislabour?

Wereitnotbetterdoneasothersuse,TosportwithAmaryllisintheshade,

andamusehimselfafterthatfashion?Thustheveryindustrywhichalonecould

givehimachanceisdiscarded.Itissothattheyoungmanfeelswho,withsomeslight belief in himself and with many doubts, sits down to commence theliterarylabourbywhichhehopestolive.

Soitwas,nodoubt,withThackeray.Suchwerehishopesandhisfears;—witharesolutionofwhichwecanwellunderstandthatitshouldhavewanedattimes,ofearninghisbread, ifhedidnotmakehis fortune, in theworldof literature.OnehasnottolookfarforevidenceoftheconditionIhavedescribed,—thatitwas so, Amaryllis and all. How or when he made his very first attempt inLondon, I havenot learned; but hehadnot probably spent hismoneywithoutforming"press"acquaintances,andhadthusfoundanapertureforthethinendofthewedge.HewroteforTheConstitutional,ofwhichhewaspartproprietor,beginninghisworkforthatpaperasacorrespondentfromParis.ForawhilehewasconnectedwithTheTimesnewspaper,thoughhisworktheredidnotIthinkamounttomuch.HisfirstregularemploymentwasonFraser'sMagazine,whenMr. Fraser's shopwas inRegent Street,whenOliverYorkewas the presumededitor,andamongcontributors,Carlylewasoneofthemostnotable.Iimaginethat thebattleof lifewasdifficult enoughwithhimevenafterhehadbecomeoneoftheleadingpropsofthatmagazine.Allthathewrotewasnottaken,andallthatwastakenwasnotapproved.In1837-38,theHistoryofSamuelTitmarshand the Great Hoggarty Diamond appeared in the magazine. The GreatHoggartyDiamond isnowknowntoallreadersofThackeray'sworks.It isnotmypurposetospeakspeciallyofithere,excepttoassertthatithasbeenthoughttobeagreatsuccess.Whenitwasbeingbroughtout,theauthortoldafriendofhis,—andofmine,—thatitwasnotmuchthoughtofatFraser's,andthathehadbeencalledupon toshorten it.That isan incidentdisagreeable in itsnature toany literary gentleman, and likely to be specially so when he knows that hisprovisionofbread,certainlyofimprovedbreadandbutter,isatstake.Themanwho thus darkens his literary brow with the frown of disapproval, has at hisdisposal all the loaves and all the fishes that are going. If the writer besuccessful,therewillcomeatimewhenhewillbeabovesuchfrowns;but,whenthatopinionwentforth,Thackerayhadnotyetmadehisfootinggood,and thenotice to him respecting it must have been very bitter. It was in writing thisHoggartyDiamond thatThackeray first invented thenameofMichaelAngeloTitmarsh. Samuel Titmarsh was the writer, whereas Michael Angelo was anintendingillustrator.Thackeray'snosehadbeenbrokeninaschoolfight,whilehewasquitea littleboy,byanother littleboy,at theCharterHouse;and therewasprobablysomeassociationintendedtobejocosewiththenameofthegreatartist,whosenosewasbrokenbyhis fellow-studentTorrigiano,andwho,as it

happened,diedexactlythreecenturiesbeforeThackeray.

Icanunderstandallthedisquietudeofhisheartwhenthatwarning,astothetoogreatlengthofhisstory,wasgiventohim.Hewasnotamancapableoffeelingatanytimequiteassuredinhisposition,andwhenthatoccurredhewasveryfarfromassurance.I thinkthatatnotimedidhedoubt thesufficiencyofhisownmentalqualificationfortheworkhehadtakeninhand;buthedoubtedallelse.Hedoubtedtheappreciationoftheworld;hedoubtedhisfitnessforturninghisintellect to valuable account; he doubted his physical capacity,—dreading hisownlackofindustry;hedoubtedhisluck;hedoubtedthecontinualabsenceofsomeofthosemisfortunesonwhichtheworksofliterarymenareshipwrecked.Thoughhewasawareofhisownpower,healways, tothelast,wasafraidthathis owndeficiencies shouldbe too strong against him. Itwashis nature to beidle,—toputoffhiswork,—andthentobeangrywithhimselfforputtingitoff.Gingerwashotinthemouthwithhim,andalltheallurementsoftheworldwerestronguponhim.TofindonMondaymorninganexcusewhyheshouldnotonMondaydoMonday'sworkwas,atthetime,aninexpressiblerelieftohim,buthadbecomedeepregret,—almostaremorse,—beforetheMondaywasover.Tosuch a one itwas not given to believe in himselfwith that sturdy rock-boundfoundation which we see to have belonged to some men from the earlieststruggles of their career.To him, then,must have come an inexpressible pangwhenhewastoldthathisstorymustbecurtailed.

Whoelsewouldhave told sucha storyofhimself to the first acquaintancehechancedtomeet?OfThackerayitmightbepredictedthathecertainlywoulddoso.Nolittlewoundofthekindevercametohimbutwhathediscloseditatonce."Theyhaveonlyboughtsomanyofmynewbook.""Haveyouseentheabuseofmylastnumber?""WhatamItoturnmyhandto?Theyaregettingtiredofmynovels.""Theydon'treadit,"hesaidtomeofEsmond. "Soyoudon'tmean topublishmywork?"hesaidoncetoapublisherinanopencompany.Othermenkeeptheir little troubles to themselves. Ihaveheardevenofauthorswhohavedeclared how all the publishers were running after their books; I have heardsomediscoursefreelyoftheirfourthandfiftheditions;Ihaveknownanauthorto boast of his thousands sold in this country, and his tens of thousands inAmerica;butIneverheardanyoneelsedeclarethatnoonewouldreadhischef-d'œuvre,andthattheworldwasbecomingtiredofhim.Itwashewhosaid,whenhewasfifty,thatamanpastfiftyshouldneverwriteanovel.

Andyet, as I have said, hewas froman early age fully conscious of his ownability.Thathewassoistobeseeninthehandlingofmanyofhisearlyworks,

—inBarryLyndon,forinstance,andtheMemoirsofMr.C.JamesYellowplush.Thesoundistoocertainfordoubtofthatkind.Buthehadnotthen,nordidheeverachievethatassuranceofpublicfavourwhichmakesamanconfidentthathis workwill be successful. During the years of whichwe are now speakingThackeraywas a literaryBohemian in this sense,—that he never regarded hisownstatusascertain.Whileperformingmuchof thebestofhis life'sworkhewasnotsureofhismarket,notcertainofhisreaders,hispublishers,orhisprice;norwashecertainofhimself.

It is impossiblenot to formsomecontrastbetweenhimandDickensas to thisperiod of his life,—a comparison not as to their literary merits, but literaryposition.Dickenswasoneyearhisjuniorinage,andatthistime,viz.1837-38,had reached almost the zenith of his reputation.Pickwick had been published,andOliverTwistandNicholasNicklebywerebeingpublished.Alltheworldwastalkingabouttheyoungauthorwhowasassuminghispositionwithaconfidencein his own powers which was fully justified both by his present and futuresuccess.Itwasmanifestthathecouldmake,notonlyhisownfortune,butthatofhis publishers, and that hewas a literary hero bound to beworshipped by allliterarygradesofmen,downtothe"devils"oftheprinting-office.Atthattime,Thackeray, the older man, was still doubting, still hesitating, still struggling.Everyone then had accepted the name of Charles Dickens. That of WilliamThackeraywashardlyknownbeyondthecircleofthosewhoarecarefultomakethemselvesacquaintedwithsuchmatters.Itwasthenthecustom,moregenerallythan it is at present, to maintain anonymous writing in magazines. Now, ifanything of special merit be brought out, the name of the author, if notpublished, isknown. Itwasmuch less soat theperiod inquestion; andas theworld of readers began to be acquainted with Jeames Yellowplush, CatherineHayes,andotherheroesandheroines,thenamesoftheauthorhadtobeinquiredfor.Iremembermyself,whenIwasalreadywellacquaintedwiththeimmortalJeames,askingwhowasthewriter.TheworksofCharlesDickenswereatthattimeaswellknowntobehis,andaswidelyreadinEngland,asthosealmostofShakespeare.

Itwillbe saidof course that this came from theearlierpopularityofDickens.Thatisofcourse;butwhyshouldithavebeenso?Theyhadbeguntomaketheireffortmuchatthesametime;andiftherewasanyadvantageinpointofpositionas theycommenced, itwaswithThackeray. Itmightbesaid that thegeniusofthe one was brighter than that of the other, or, at any rate, that it was moreprecocious. But after-judgment has, I think, not declared either of the

suggestionstobetrue.Iwillmakenocomparisonbetweentwosuchrivals,whoweresodistinctlydifferentfromeach,andeachofwhom,withinsoveryshortaperiod,hascometostandonapedestalsohigh,—thetwoexaltedtosoequalavocation. And if Dickens showed the best of his power early in life, so didThackeray the best of his intellect. In no display of mental force did he riseaboveBarryLyndon. Ihardlyknowhow the tellerofanarrativeshallhope tomount in simply intellectual faculty above the effort theremade. Inwhat thenwasthedifference?WhywasDickensalreadyagreatmanwhenThackeraywasstillaliteraryBohemian?

Theansweristobefoundnotintheextentorinthenatureofthegeniusofeitherman,but in theconditionofmind,—whichindeedmaybereadplainlyin theirworksbythosewhohaveeyestosee.Theonewassteadfast,industrious,fullofpurpose, never doubting of himself, always putting his best foot foremost andstandingfirmlyon itwhenhegot it there;withno inward trepidation,withnomoments inwhich hewas half inclined to think that this racewas not for hiswinning, thisgoalnot tobe reachedbyhisstruggles.Thesympathyof friendswasgoodtohim,buthecouldhavedonewithoutit.Thegoodopinionwhichhehadofhimselfwasnevershakenbyadversecriticism;andthecriticismontheotherside,bywhichitwasexalted,camefromtheenumerationofthenumberofcopiessold.Hewasafirmreliantman,verylittlepronetochange,who,whenhehaddiscoveredthenatureofhisowntalent,knewhowtodotheverybestwithit.

ItmayalmostbesaidthatThackeraywastheveryoppositeofthis.Unsteadfast,idle,changeableofpurpose,awareofhisownintellectbutnottrustingit,nomaneverfailedmoregenerallythanhetoputhisbestfootforemost.Fullashisworksareofpathos,fullofhumour,fullofloveandcharity,tending,astheyalwaysdo,totruthandhonourandmanlyworthandwomanlymodesty,excelling,astheyseemtometodo,mostotherwrittenpreceptsthatIknow,theyalwaysseemtolacksomethingthatmighthavebeenthere.Thereisatouchofvaguenesswhichindicatesthathispenwasnotfirmwhilehewasusingit.Heseemstometohavebeendreamingeverof somehigh flight, and then tohave toldhimself,withahalf-broken heart, that it was beyond his power to soar up into those brightregions.Icanfancyas thesheetswent fromhimeverydayhe toldhimself, inregardtoeverysheet,thatitwasafailure.Dickenswasquitesureofhissheets.

"Ihavegottomakeitshorter!"Thenhewouldputhishandsinhispockets,andstretchhimself, and straighten the linesof his face, overwhich a smilewouldcome,asthoughthisintimationfromhiseditorwerethebestjokeintheworld;

andhewouldwalkaway,withhisheartbleeding,andeverynerveinanagony.Therearenoneofuswhowanttohavemuchofhisworkshortenednow.

In1837Thackeraymarried Isabella,daughterofColonelMatthewShawe,andfromthisuniontherecamethreedaughters,Anne,Jane,andHarriet.Thenameof theeldest,nowMrs.RichmondRitchie,whohas followedsoclosely inherfather'ssteps,isahouseholdwordtotheworldofnovelreaders;theseconddiedasachild;theyoungerlivedtomarryLeslieStephen,whoistoowellknownforme to say more than that he wrote, the other day, the little volume on Dr.Johnsoninthisseries;butshe,too,hasnowfollowedherfather.OfThackeray'smarried lifewhat needbe said shall be contained in a very fewwords. Itwasgrievouslyunhappy;butthemiseryofitcamefromGod,andwasinnowisedueto human fault. She became ill, and her mind failed her. There was a periodduringwhichhewouldnot believe that her illnesswasmore than illness, andthenheclungtoherandwaitedonherwithanassiduityofaffectionwhichonlymadehistaskthemorepainfultohim.Atlastitbecameevidentthatsheshouldliveinthecompanionshipofsomeonewithwhomherlifemightbealtogetherquiet, and she has since been domiciledwith a ladywithwhom she has beenhappy.Thusshewas,afterbutafewyearsofmarriedlife,takenawayfromhim,andhebecameasitwereawidowertilltheendofhisdays.

At this period, and indeed for someyears after hismarriage, his chief literarydependencewasonFraser'sMagazine.Hewrote also at this time in theNewMonthlyMagazine.In1840hebroughtouthisParisSketchBook,astowhichhetells us by a notice printedwith the first edition, that half of the sketches hadalreadybeenpublished invariousperiodicals.Hereheused thenameMichaelAngelo Titmarsh, as he did also with the Journey from Cornhill to Cairo.DickenshadcalledhimselfBoz,andclungtothenamewithpersistencyaslongas the public would permit it. Thackeray's affection for assumed names wasmoreintermittent,thoughIdoubtwhetherheusedhisownnamealtogethertillitappearedonthetitle-pageofVanityFair.AboutthistimebeganhisconnectionwithPunch,inwhichmuchofhisbestworkappeared.Lookingbackatouroldfriend as heused to comeout fromweek toweek at this time,we canhardlyboastthatweusedtorecognisehowgoodtheliterarypabulumwasthatwasthengiven for our consumption.We have to admit that the ordinary reader, as theordinarypicture-seer,requirestobeguidedbyaname.WearemovedtoabsoluteadmirationbyaRaphaeloraHobbema,buthardlytillwehavelearnedthenameofthepainter,or,atanyrate, themannerofhispainting.IamnotsurethatallloversofpoetrywouldrecogniseaLycidascomingfromsomehithertounknown

Milton. Gradually the good picture or the fine poem makes its way into theminds of a slowly discerning public. Punch, no doubt, became very popular,owing, perhaps, more to Leech, its artist, than to any other single person.Gradually the world of readers began to know that there was a speciality ofhumour to be found in its pages,—fun and sense, satire and good humour,compressed together in small literary morsels as the nature of its columnsrequired.Gradually thenameofThackerayasoneof thebandofbrethrenwasbuzzed about, andgraduallybecameknownas that of the chief of the literarybrothers.ButduringtheyearsinwhichhedidmuchforPunch,sayfrom1843to1853,hewasstillstrugglingtomakegoodhisfootinginliterature.Theyknewhimwell in thePunch office, and no doubt the amount and regularity of thecheques fromMessrs. Bradbury and Evans, the then and still owners of thathappyperiodical,madehimaware thathehad foundforhimselfasatisfactorycareer.In"agooddayforhimself,thejournal,andtheworld,ThackerayfoundPunch."ThiswassaidbyhisoldfriendShirleyBrooks,whohimselflivedtobeeditorofthepaperanddiedinharness,andwassaidmosttruly.Punchwasmorecongenial to him, and no doubt more generous, than Fraser. There was stillsomethingoftheliteraryBohemianabouthim,butnotasithadbeenbefore.Hewasstillunfixed,lookingoutforsomehighercareer,notaltogethersatisfiedtobe no more than one of an anonymous band of brothers, even though thebrothers were the brothers of Punch. We can only imagine what were histhoughts as to himself and that otherman, whowas then known as the greatnovelistoftheday,—ofarivalrywithwhomhewascertainlyconscious.Punchwasverymuchtohim,butwasnotquiteenough.ThatmusthavebeenverycleartohimselfashemeditatedthebeginningofVanityFair.

Ofthecontributionstotheperiodical,thebestknownnowareTheSnobPapersandTheBalladsofPolicemanX.Buttheywereverynumerous.OfThackerayasa poet, ormaker of verses, Iwill say a fewwords in a chapterwhichwill bedevotedtohisownso-calledballads.Hereitseemsonlynecessarytoremarkthatthere was not apparently any time in his career at which he began to thinkseriouslyofappearingbeforethepublicasapoet.Suchwastheintentionearlyin their career with many of our best known prose writers, withMilton, andGoldsmith, and Samuel Johnson, with Scott, Macaulay, and more lately withMatthewArnold;writers of verse andprosewhoultimatelyprevailed some inonedirection,andothers in theother.MiltonandGoldsmithhavebeenknownbest aspoets, JohnsonandMacaulayaswritersofprose.Butwithallof themtherehasbeenadistincteffortineachart.Thackerayseemstohavetumbledintoversificationbyaccident;writingitasamateursdo,alittlenowandagainforhis

owndelectation, and to catch the taste of partial friends.The reader feels thatThackeraywould not have begun to print his verses unless the opportunity ofdoing sohadbeenbrought inhiswaybyhisdoings inprose.Andyethehadbegun to write verses when he was very young;—at Cambridge, as we haveseen, when he contributed more to the fame of Timbuctoo than I think evenTennysonhasdone,—andinhisearlyyearsatParis.Hereagain,thoughhemusthavefeltthestrengthofhisownmingledhumourandpathos,healwaysstruckwithanuncertainnotetillhehadgatheredstrengthandconfidencebypopularity.Goodas theygenerallywere,hisverseswereaccidents,writtennotasawriterwrites who claims to be a poet, but as though they might have been therelaxationofadoctororabarrister.

Andsotheywere.WhenThackerayfirstsettledhimselfinLondon,tomakehislivingamong themagazinesandnewspapers, Idonot imagine thathecountedmuchonhispoeticpowers.Hedescribesitallinhisowndialoguebetweenthepenandthealbum.

"Sincehe,"saysthepen,speakingofitsmaster,Thackeray:

Sincehemyfaithfulservicedidengage,TofollowhimthroughhisqueerpilgrimageI'vedrawnandwrittenmanyalineandpage.

CaricaturesIscribbledhave,andrhymes,Anddinner-cards,andpicturepantomimes,Andmanylittlechildren'sbooksattimes.

I'vewritthefoolishfancyofhisbrain;Theaimlessjestthat,striking,hathcausedpain;Theidlewordthathe'dwishbackagain.

I'vehelpedhimtopenmanyalineforbread.

Itwasthushethoughtofhiswork.Therehadbeencaricatures,andrhymes,andmany little children's books; and then the lines written for his bread, which,except that theywerewritten forPunch,were hardly undertakenwith amoreserious purpose. In all of it there was ample seriousness, had he known ithimself.What a tale of the restlessness, of the ambition, of the glory, of themisfortunes of a great country is given in the ballads of Peter the Frenchdrummer! Of that brain so full of fancy the pen had lightly written all thefancies.Hedidnotknowitwhenhewasdoingso,butwiththatword,fancy,hehasdescribedexactlythegiftwithwhichhisbrainwasspeciallyendowed.Ifawriter be accurate, or sonorous, or witty, or simply pathetic, hemay, I think,gauge his own powers. He may do so after experience with something ofcertainty. But fancy is a gift which the owner of it cannot measure, and thepowerofwhich,whenheisusingit,hecannothimselfunderstand.Thereisthesamelambentflameflickeringovereverythinghedid,eventhedinner-cardsandthe picture pantomimes. He did not in the least knowwhat he put into thosethings.Soitwaswithhisverses.Itwasonlybydegrees,whenhewastoldofitby others, that he found that they too were of infinite value to him in hisprofession.

TheIrishSketchBookcameoutin1843,inwhichheused,butonlyhalfused,thenameofMichaelAngeloTitmarsh.HededicatesittoCharlesLever,andinsigning the dedication gave his own name. "Laying aside," he says, "for amomentthetravellingtitleofMr.Titmarsh,letmeacknowledgethesefavoursinmy own name, and subscribe myself, &c. &c., W. M. Thackeray." So hegradually fell into the declaration of his own identity. In 1844 he made his

journey toTurkeyandEgypt,—FromCornhill toGrandCairo, ashecalled it,stillusingtheoldnomdeplume,butagainsigningthededicationwithhisownname.Itwasnowmadetothecaptainofthevesselinwhichheencounteredthatfamouswhitesquall,indescribingwhichhehasshownthewonderfulpowerhehadoverwords.

In1846wascommenced,innumbers,thenovelwhichfirstmadehisnamewellknowntotheworld.ThiswasVanityFair,aworktowhichitisevidentthathedevoted all his mind. Up to this time his writings had consisted of shortcontributions, chiefly of sketches, each intended to stand by itself in theperiodicaltowhichitwassent.BarryLyndonhadhithertobeenthelongest;butthatandCatherineHayes,andtheHoggartyDiamond,thoughstoriescontinuedthroughvariousnumbers,hadnotasyetreachedthedignity,—oratanyratethelength,—of a three-volume novel. But of late novels had grown to be muchlonger than thoseof theoldwell-knownmeasure.Dickenshadstretchedhis tonearly double the length, and had published them in twenty numbers. Theattempthadcaughtthepublictasteandhadbeenpre-eminentlysuccessful.Thenatureof the taleasoriginatedbyhimwasaltogetherunlike that towhich thereadersofmodernnovelshadbeenused.Noplot,withanarrangedcatastropheordénoûment,wasnecessary.Someuntyingofthevariousknotsofthenarrativenodoubtwereexpedient,butthesewereofthesimplestkind,donewiththeviewofgivinganendtothatwhichmightotherwisebeendless.TheadventuresofaPickwickoraNickleby requiredvery littleofaplot,and thismodeof tellingastory,whichmightbecontinuedonthroughanynumberofpages,aslongasthecharacters were interesting, met with approval. Thackeray, who had neverdepended much on his plot in the shorter tales which he had hitherto told,determined to adopt the same form in his first great work, but with thesechanges;—That as the central character with Dickens had always been madebeautifulwithunnaturalvirtue,—forwhowaseversounselfishasPickwick,somanly and modest asNicholas, or so good a boy asOliver?—so should hiscentreofinterestbeineveryrespectabnormallybad.

AstoThackeray'sreasonforthis,—orratherastothatconditionofmindwhichbroughtaboutthisresult,—Iwillsaysomethinginafinalchapter,inwhichIwillendeavourtodescribethenatureandeffectofhisworkgenerally.Hereitwillbenecessaryonlytodeclarethat,suchwasthechoicehenowmadeofasubjectinhis first attempt to rise out of aworld of small literary contributions, into themoreassuredpositionoftheauthorofaworkofimportance.Weareawarethatthemonthlynursesofperiodicalliteraturedidnotatfirstsmileontheeffort.The

proprietorsofmagazinesdidnotseetheirwaytoundertakeVanityFair,andthepublishersaresaidtohavegenerallylookedshyuponit.Atlastitwasbroughtout in numbers,—twenty-four numbers instead of twenty, as with those byDickens,—under theguardianhandsofMessrs.BradburyandEvans.Thiswascompleted in1848, and then itwas that, at the ageof thirty-seven,Thackerayfirstachievedforhimselfanameandreputationthroughthecountry.BeforethishehadbeenknownatFraser's andat thePunch office.Hewasknownat theGarrick Club, and had become individually popular among literary men inLondon.Hehadmademanyfastfriends,andhadbeen,asitwere,foundoutbypersons of distinction. But Jones, and Smith, and Robinson, in Liverpool,Manchester,andBirmingham,didnotknowhimastheyknewDickens,Carlyle,Tennyson,andMacaulay,—notastheyknewLandseer,orStansfeld,orTurner;notastheyknewMacready,CharlesKean,orMissFaucit.Inthatyear,1848,hisnamebecamecommoninthememoirsofthetime.Onthe5thofJuneIfindhimdiningwithMacready, tomeetSir J.Wilson,Panizzi,Landseer, andothers.AfewdaysafterwardsMacreadydinedwithhim."DinedwithThackeray,mettheGordons, Kenyons, Procters, Reeve, Villiers, Evans, Stansfeld, and saw Mrs.SartorisandS.C.Dance,White,H.Goldsmid, in theevening."Again;"Dinedwith Forster, having called and taken up Brookfield, met Rintoul, Kenyon,Procter,Kinglake,AlfredTennyson,Thackeray."Macreadywasveryaccurateinjotting down the names of those he entertained,who entertained him, orwereentertainedwithhim.VanityFairwascomingout,andThackerayhadbecomeone of the personages in literary society. In the January number of 1848 theEdinburghReview hadanarticleonThackeray'sworksgenerallyas theywerethen known. It purports to combine the Irish Sketch Book, the Journey fromCornhilltoGrandCairo,andVanityFairasfarasithadthengone;butitdoesintruthdealchieflywiththeliterarymeritsofthelatter.Iwillquoteapassagefromthearticle,asprovinginregardtoThackeray'sworkanopinionwhichwaswellfounded,andastellingthestoryofhislifeasfarasitwasthenknown;

"Full many a valuable truth," says the reviewer, "has been sent undulatingthroughtheairbymenwhohavelivedanddiedunknown.Atthismomenttherising generation are suppliedwith the best of theirmental aliment bywriterswhosenamesareadead letter to themass;andamongthemostremarkableofthese isMichaelAngeloTitmarsh,aliasWilliamMakepeaceThackeray,authorof the Irish Sketch Book, of A Journey from Cornhill to Grand Cairo, ofJeames'sDiary,ofTheSnobPapersinPunch,ofVanityFair,etc.etc.

"Mr.Thackeray is now about thirty-seven years of age, of a good family, and

originallyintendedforthebar.Hekeptsevenoreight termsatCambridge,butlefttheuniversitywithouttakingadegree,withtheviewofbecominganartist;and we well remember, ten or twelve years ago, finding him day after dayengaged in copying pictures in theLouvre, in order to qualify himself for hisintended profession. It may be doubted, however, whether any degree ofassiduitywouldhaveenabledhim toexcel in themoney-makingbranches, forhistalentwasaltogetheroftheHogarthkind,andwasprincipallyremarkableinthepen-and-inksketchesofcharacterandsituation,whichhedashedofffortheamusement of his friends. At the end of two or three years of desultoryapplicationhegaveupthenotionofbecomingapainter,andtooktoliterature.Hesetupandeditedwithmarkedabilityaweekly journal,on theplanofTheAthenæum andLiteraryGazette, butwas unable to compete successfullywithsuchlong-establishedrivals.Hethenbecamearegularmanof letters,—that is,hewroteforrespectablemagazinesandnewspapers,untiltheattentionattractedtohiscontributionsinFraser'sMagazineandPunchemboldenedhimtostartonhisownaccount,andriskanindependentpublication."Thenfollowsaeulogisticand,asIthink,acorrectcriticismonthebookasfarasithadgone.Thereareafewremarksperhapsalittlelesseulogisticastosomeofhisminorwritings,TheSnobPapersinparticular;andattheendthereisastatementwithwhichIthinkweshallallnowagree;"AwriterwithsuchapenandpencilasMr.Thackeray'sisanacquisitionofrealandhighvalueinourliterature."

Thereviewerhasdonehisworkinatonefriendlytotheauthor,whomheknew,[2]—asindeeditmaybesaidthat this littlebookwillbewrittenwiththesamefeeling,—butthepublichasalreadyrecognisedthetruthofthereviewgenerally.There can be no doubt that Thackeray, though he had hitherto been but acontributorofanonymouspiecestoperiodicals,—towhatisgenerallyconsideredasmerelytheephemeralliteratureofthemonth,—hadalreadybecomeeffectiveon the tastes andmorals of readers.Affectation of finery; the vulgaritywhichapesgoodbreedingbutneverapproaches it;dishonestgambling,whetherwithdiceorwith railwayshares;and that low taste for literaryexcitementwhich isgratifiedbymysteriousmurdersandOldBaileyexecutionshadalreadyreceivedcondign punishment from Yellowplush, Titmarsh, Fitzboodle, and IkeySolomon. Under all those names Thackeray had plied his trade as a satirist.Thoughthetruths,asthereviewersaid,hadbeenmerelysentundulatingthroughtheair,theyhadalreadybecomeeffective.

Thackeray had now become a personage,—one of the recognised stars of theliterary heaven of the day. It was an honour to know him; and wemay well

believethatthegiversofdinnerswereproudtohavehimamongtheirguests.Hehadopenedhisoyster,—withhispen,anachievementwhichhecannotbesaidtohaveaccomplisheduntilVanityFairhadcomeout.Ininquiringabouthimfromthosewhosurvivehim,andknewhimwellinthosedays,Ialwayshearthesameaccount."IfIcouldonlytellyoutheimpromptulineswhichfellfromhim!""IfIhad only kept the drawings from his pen,which used to be chucked about asthoughtheywereworthnothing!""IfIcouldonlyrememberthedrolleries!"Hadtheybeenkept,theremightnowbemanyvolumesofthesesketches,astowhichthe reviewer says that their talentwas"altogetherof theHogarthkind."Couldthere be any kind more valuable? Like Hogarth, he could always make hispicturetellhisstory;though,unlikeHogarth,hehadnotlearnedtodraw.Ihavehadsenttomeformyinspectionanalbumofdrawingsandletters,which,inthecourseoftwentyyears,from1829to1849,weredespatchedfromThackeraytohisoldfriendEdwardFitzgerald.Lookingatthewitdisplayedinthedrawings,IfeelinclinedtosaythathadhepersistedhewouldhavebeenasecondHogarth.There isaseriesofballetscenes, inwhich"FloreetZephyr"are the twochiefperformers,which for expression and drollery exceed anything that I knowofthekind.Thesetinthisbookarelithographs,whichwerepublished,butIdonotremember to have seen them elsewhere. There are still among us many whoknewhimwell;—EdwardFitzgeraldandGeorgeVenables,JamesSpeddingandKinglake,Mrs.Procter,—thewidowofBarryCornwall,wholovedhimwell,—andMoncktonMilnes,asheusedtobe,whosetouchinglineswrittenjustafterThackeray'sdeathwillclosethisvolume,FrederickPollockandFrankFladgate,JohnBlackwoodandWilliamRussell,—andtheyalltellthesamestory.Thoughhesorarelytalked,asgoodtalkersdo,andwasaversetositdowntowork,therewere always falling from his mouth and pen those little pearls. Among thefriendswhohadbeenkindestanddearesttohiminthedaysofhisstrugglingsheoncementioned three tome,—MatthewHiggins, or JacobOmniumas hewasmorepopularlycalled;WilliamStirling,whobecameSirWilliamMaxwell;andRussell Sturgis, who is now the senior partner in the great house of Barings.Alas,onlythelastofthesethreeis leftamongus!Thackeraywasamanofnogreat power of conversation. I doubtwhether he ever shone inwhat is calledgeneral society.Hewas not aman to be valuable at a dinner-table as a goodtalker. It was when there were but two or three together that he was happyhimselfandmadeothershappy;andthenitwouldratherbefromsomespecialpiece of drollery that the joy of the moment would come, than from thediscussionofordinarytopics.Aftersomanyyearshisoldfriendsrememberthefag-endsofthedoggerellineswhichusedtodropfromhimwithoutanyeffortonall occasions of jollity. And though he could be very sad,—laden with

melancholy,asIthinkmusthavebeenthecasewithhimalways,—thefeelingoffunwouldquicklycometohim,andthequeerrhymeswouldbepouredoutasplentifully as the sketches were made. Here is a contribution which I findhanging in thememory of an old friend, the serious nature of whose literarylabourswouldcertainlyhavedrivensuchlinesfromhismind,hadtheynotatthetimecaughtfastholdofhim:

IntheromanticlittletownofHighburyMyfatherkeptacirculatin'library;Hefollowedinhisyouththatmanimmortal,whoConqueredtheFrenchmenontheplainsofWaterloo.MammawasaninhabitantofDrogheda,Verygoodshewastodarnandtoembroider.InthefamousislandofJamaica,ForthirtyyearsI'vebeenasugar-baker;AndhereIsit,theMuses''appyvot'ry,Acultivatin'everykindofpo'try,

Theremay,perhaps,havebeenamistakeinaline,butthepoemhasbeenhandeddown with fair correctness over a period of forty years. He was alwaysversifying.Heonceowedmefivepoundsseventeenshillingsandsixpence,hisshare of a dinner bill at Richmond. He sent me a cheque for the amount inrhyme, giving the proper financial document on the second half of a sheet ofnotepaper.Igavethepoemawayasanautograph,andnowforgetthelines.Thiswasalltrifling,thereaderwillsay.Nodoubt.Thackeraywasalwaystrifling,andyetalwaysserious.Inattemptingtounderstandhischaracterit isnecessaryforyoutobearwithinyourownmindtheideathathewasalways,withinhisownbosom, encountering melancholy with buffoonery, and meanness with satire.Theveryspiritofburlesquedweltwithinhim,—aspiritwhichdoesnotseethegrandthelessbecauseofthetravestieswhichitisalwaysengendering.

Inhisyouthful,—allbutboyish,—daysinLondon,hedelightedto"puthimselfup"attheBedford,inCoventGarden.TheninhisearlymarrieddayshelivedinAlbionStreet, and from thencewent toGreatCoramStreet, till his householdthere was broken up by his wife's illness. He afterwards took lodgings in St.James'sChambers,andthenahouseinYoungStreet,Kensington.Herehelivedfrom1847,whenhewasachievinghisgreattriumphwithVanityFair,downto1853,whenheremovedtoahousewhichheboughtinOnslowSquare.InYoungStreettherehadcometolodgeoppositetohimanIrishgentleman,who,onthe

partofhisinjuredcountry,feltveryangrywithThackeray.TheIrishSketchBookhad not been complimentary, nor were the descriptions which Thackeray hadgiven generally of Irishmen; and there was extant an absurd idea that in hisabominableheroineCatherineHayeshehadalludedtoMissCatherineHayestheIrishsinger.Wordwas taken toThackeray that this Irishman intended tocomeacrossthestreetandavengehiscountryonthecalumniator'sperson.Thackerayimmediatelycalleduponthegentleman,anditissaidthatthevisitwaspleasanttobothparties.Therecertainlywasnobloodshed.

Hehadnowsucceeded,—in1848,—inmakingforhimselfastandingasamanofletters,andanincome.WhatwastheextentofhisincomeIhavenomeansofsaying;norisitasubjectonwhich,asIthink,inquiryshouldbemade.Buthewasnotsatisfiedwithhisposition.Hefeltittobeprecarious,andhewasalwaysthinking ofwhat he owed to his two girls. Thatarbitrium popularis auræ onwhich he depended for his daily bread was not regarded by him with theconfidencewhichitdeserved.Hedidnotprobablyknowhowfirmwastheholdhehadobtainedofthepublicear.Atanyratehewasanxious,andendeavouredtosecureforhimselfapermanentincomeinthepublicservice.Hehadbecomebythistimeacquainted,probablyintimate,withtheMarquisofClanricarde,whowas then Postmaster-General. In 1848 there fell a vacancy in the situation ofAssistant-Secretary at the General Post Office, and Lord Clanricarde eitherofferedittohimorpromisedtogiveittohim.ThePostmaster-Generalhadthedisposal of the place,—butwas not altogether free from control in thematter.When he made known his purpose at the Post Office, he was met by anassurancefromtheofficernextunderhimthatthethingcouldnotbedone.TheserviceswerewantedofamanwhohadhadexperienceinthePostOffice;and,moreover, it was necessary that the feelings of other gentlemen should beconsulted.Menwhohavebeenservinginanofficemanyyearsdonotliketoseeevenamanofgeniusputovertheirheads.Infact,theofficewouldhavebeenupinarmsatsuchaninjustice.LordClanricarde,whoinamatterofpatronagewasnot scrupulous, was still a good-natured man and amenable. He attempted tobefriendhis friend tillhe found that itwas impossible,and then,with thebestgraceintheworld,acceptedtheofficialnomineethatwasofferedtohim.

Itmay be said that had Thackeray succeeded in that attempt hewould surelyhaveruinedhimself.Nomancanbefitforthemanagementandperformanceofspecialworkwhohaslearnednothingofitbeforehisthirty-seventhyear;andnomancouldhavebeenlesssothanThackeray.Therearemenwho,thoughtheybenotfit,aredisposedtolearntheirlessonandmakethemselvesasfitaspossible.

Suchcannotbesaidtohavebeenthecasewiththisman.Forthespecialdutieswhichhewouldhavebeencalledupontoperform,consistingtoagreatextentofthemaintenanceofdisciplineoveralargebodyofmen,trainingisrequired,andthe service would have suffered for awhile under any untried elderly tiro.Anothermanmighthaveputhimselfintoharness.Thackerayneverwouldhavedone so. The details of his work after the first month would have beeninexpressibly wearisome to him. To have gone into the city, and to haveremained there every day from eleven till five, would have been all butimpossible to him.Hewould not have done it.And then hewould have beentormented by the feeling that he was taking the pay and not doing the work.Thereisabeliefcurrent,notconfinedtoafew,thatamanmaybeaGovernmentSecretarywithageneroussalary,andhavenothingtodo.Theideaissomethingthat remains to us from the old days of sinecures. If there be now remainingplaces so pleasant, or gentlemen so happy, I do not know them. Thackeray'snotionofhisfuturedutieswasprobablyveryvague.Hewouldhaverepudiatedthenotion thathewas lookingforasinecure,butnodoubtconsidered that thedutieswouldbeeasyand light. It isnot toomuch toassert, thathewhocoulddrophispearlsasIhavesaidabove,throwingthemwidecastwithoutaneffort,wouldhavefoundhisworkasAssistant-SecretaryattheGeneralPostOfficetobealtogether toomuchforhim.Andthen itwasnodoubthis intention to joinliteraturewiththeCivilService.HehadbeentaughttoregardtheCivilServiceas easy, andhad counteduponhimself as able to add it tohis novels, andhisworkwithhisPunchbrethren,andtohiscontributionsgenerallytotheliteratureoftheday.Hemighthavedoneso,couldhehaverisenatfive,andhavesatathisprivatedeskforthreehoursbeforehebeganhisofficialroutineatthepublicone.Acapabilityforgrinding,anaptitudeforcontinuoustaskwork,adispositiontositinone'schairasthoughfixedtoitbycobbler'swax,willenableamanintheprimeoflifetogothroughthetediumofasecondday'sworkeveryday;butofallmenThackeraywas the last to bear thewearisome perseverance of such alife.Somemoreorlesscontinuousattendanceathisofficehemusthavegiven,andwithitwouldhavegonePunchandthenovels,theballads,theburlesques,the essays, the lectures, and the monthly papers full of mingled satire andtenderness,whichhavelefttousthatThackeraywhichwecouldsoillaffordtolose out of the literature of the nineteenth century. And there would haveremainedtotheCivilServicethememoryofadisgracefuljob.

He did not, however, give up the idea of the Civil Service. In a letter to hisAmerican friend, Mr. Reed, dated 8th November, 1854, he says; "Thesecretaryship of our Legation atWashington was vacant the other day, and I

instantlyaskedforit;butintheverykindestletterLordClarendonshowedhowthepetitionwasimpossible.First,theplacewasgivenaway.Next,itwouldnotbefairtoappointoutoftheservice.Butthefirstwasanexcellentreason;—notadoubtofit."Thevalidityofthesecondwasprobablynotsoapparenttohimasitis to onewhohashimselfwaited long for promotion. "So if ever I come,"hecontinues,"asIhopeandtrust todothis timenextyear, itmustbeinmyowncoat, and not theQueen's."Certainly in his own coat, and not in theQueen's,mustThackeraydoanythingbywhichhecouldmendhis fortuneormakehisreputation.ThereneverwasamanlessfitfortheQueen'scoat.

NeverthelessheheldstrongideasthatmuchwasduebytheQueen'sministerstomenofletters,andnodoubthadhisfeelingsofslightedmerit,becausenopartofthe debt due was paid to him. In 1850 he wrote a letter to The MorningChronicle, which has since been republished, in which he alludes to certainopinionswhichhadbeenputforthinTheExaminer."Idon'tsee,"hesays,"whymen of letters should not very cheerfully coincide with Mr. Examiner inacceptingallthehonours,places,andprizeswhichtheycanget.Theamountofsuchaswillbeawardedtothemwillnot,wemaybeprettysure,impoverishthecountrymuch;andifitisthecustomoftheStatetorewardbymoney,ortitlesofhonour,orstarsandgartersofanysort,individualswhodothecountryservice,—and if individuals aregratified athaving 'Sir' or 'My lord' appended to theirnames,orstarsandribbonshookedontotheircoatsandwaistcoats,asmenmostundoubtedlyare,andastheirwives,families,andrelationsare,—therecanbenoreasonwhymenoflettersshouldnothavethechance,aswellasmenoftherobeor the sword; orwhy, if honour andmoney are good for one profession, theyshouldnotbegoodforanother.NomaninothercallingsthinkshimselfdegradedbyreceivingarewardfromhisGovernment;nor,surely,needtheliterarymanbemoresqueamishaboutpensions,andribbons,andtitles,thantheambassador,orgeneral,orjudge.EveryEuropeanstatebutoursrewardsitsmenofletters.TheAmericanGovernmentgivesthemtheirfullshareofitssmallpatronage;andifAmericans,whynotEnglishmen?"

Inthisagreatsubjectisdiscussedwhichwouldbetoolongforthesepages;butIthink that there now exists a feeling that literature can herself, for herself,producearankaseffectiveasanythataQueen'sministercanbestow.Surelyitwouldbe a repaintingof the lily, an adding a flavour to the rose, a gildingofrefinedgoldtocreateto-morrowaLordViscountTennyson,aBaronCarlyle,oraRightHonourableSirRobertBrowning.Andasforpayandpension,thelessthebetterofitforanyprofession,unlesssofarasitmaybepaymentmadefor

workdone.Then thehigher thepayment thebetter, in literatureas inallothertrades. Itmaybedoubted evenwhether a special rankof its ownbegood forliterature, such as thatwhich is achievedby the happypossessors of the fortychairsof theAcademy inFrance.Even though theyhad an angel tomake thechoice,—whichtheyhavenot,—thatangelwoulddomoreharmtotheexcludedthangoodtotheselected.

Pendennis,Esmond,andTheNewcomesfollowedVanityFair,—notveryquicklyindeed, always at an interval of two years,—in 1850, 1852, and 1854. As Ipurposetodevoteaseparateshortchapter,orpartofachapter,toeachofthese,Ineedsaynothinghereof theirspecialmeritsordemerits.Esmondwasbroughtoutasawhole.Theothersappearedinnumbers."Helispedinnumbers,forthenumbers came." It is amode of pronunciation in literature by nomeans veryarticulate,buteasyofproductionandlucrative.Butthougheasyitisseductive,andleadstoidleness.Anauthorbymeansofitcanraisemoneyandreputationonhisbookbeforehehaswrittenit,andwhenthepangofparturitionisoverinregard to one part, he feels himself entitled to a period of ease because theamountrequiredforthenextdivisionwilloccupyhimonlyhalfthemonth.ThistoThackeraywas soalluring that theentiretyof the finalhalfwasnot alwaysgiventothetask.Hisself-reproachesandbemoaningswhensometimesthedayfor reappearing would come terribly nigh, while yet the necessary amount ofcopy was far from being ready, were often very ludicrous and very sad;—ludicrousbecausehenevertoldofhisdistresswithoutaddingtoitsomethingofridiculewhichwasirresistible,andsadbecausethosewholovedhimbestwereaware that physical suffering had already fallen upon him, and that he wasdeterredbyillnessfromtheexerciseofcontinuousenergy.Imyselfdidnotknowhimtillafterthetimenowinquestion.Myacquaintancewithhimwasquitelateinhislife.Buthehastoldmesomethingofit,andIhaveheardfromthosewholivedwithhimhowcontinualwerehissufferings.In1854,hesaysinoneofhisletters toMr.Reed,—theonlyprivatelettersofhiswhichIknowtohavebeenpublished;"Iamto-dayjustoutofbedafteranother,aboutthedozenth,severefitofspasmswhichIhavehadthisyear.Mybookwouldhavebeenwrittenbutforthem."Hisworkwasalwaysgoingon,butthoughnotfullerofmatter,—thatwouldhavebeenalmostimpossible,—wouldhavebeenbetterinmannerhadhebeen delayed neither by suffering nor by that palsying of the energies whichsufferingproduces.

This ought to have been the happiest period of his life, and should have beenveryhappy.Hehadbecomefairlyeasyinhiscircumstances.Hehadsucceeded

inhiswork,andhadmadeforhimselfagreatname.Hewasfondofpopularity,and especially anxious to be loved by a small circle of friends. These goodthingshehad thoroughlyachieved. Immediatelyafter thepublicationofVanityFairhe stoodhighamong the literaryheroesofhiscountry,andhadendearedhimselfespecially toaspecialknotof friends.His faceandfigure,hissix feetfour inheight,withhis flowinghair,alreadynearlygray,andhisbrokennose,his broad forehead and ample chest, encountered everywhere either love orrespect; andhis daughters tohimwere all theworld,—thebairnsofwhomhesays,attheendoftheWhiteSquallballad;

Ithought,asdaywasbreaking,Mylittlegirlswerewaking,Andsmiling,andmakingAprayerathomeforme.

Nothing could have beenmore tender or endearing than his relationswith hischildren.Butstilltherewasaskeletoninhiscupboard,—orrathertwoskeletons.His home had been broken up by his wife's malady, and his own health wasshattered.WhenhewaswritingPendennis, in1849,hehadaseverefever,andthenthosespasmscame,ofwhichfourorfiveyearsafterwardshewrotetoMr.Reed.Hishome,asahomeshouldbe,wasneverrestoredtohim,—orhishealth.Justatthatperiodoflifeatwhichamangenerallymakesahappyexchangeintaking his wife's drawing-room in lieu of the smoking-room of his club, andassumes those domestic ways of living which are becoming and pleasant formaturedyears,thatdrawing-roomandthosedomesticwayswereclosedagainsthim. The children were then no more than babies, as far as society wasconcerned,—thingstokissandplaywith,andmakeahomehappyiftheycouldonly have had theirmotherwith them. I have no doubt therewere thosewhothoughtthatThackeraywasveryjollyunderhisadversity.Jollyhewas.Itwasthemannerofthemantobeso,—ifthatcontinualplayfulnesswhichwasnaturalto him, lying over a melancholy which was as continual, be compatible withjollity. He laughed, and ate, and drank, and threw his pearls about withmiraculousprofusion.ButIfancythathewasfarfromhappy.Irememberonce,whenIwasyoung,receivingadviceastothemannerinwhichIhadbetterspendmyevenings;IwastoldthatIoughttogohome,drinktea,andreadgoodbooks.Itwasexcellentadvice,but I found that the readingofgoodbooks in solitudewasnotanoccupationcongenialtome.Itwasso,Itakeit,withThackeray.Hedidnotlikehislonelydrawing-room,andwentbacktohislifeamongtheclubsbynomeanswithcontentment.

In1853,Thackerayhavingthenhisowntwogirlstoprovidefor,addedathirdtohisfamily,andadoptedAmyCrowe,thedaughterofanoldfriend,andsisterofthewell-known artist now among us. How it came to pass that shewanted ahome,orthatthisspecialhomesuitedher, itwouldbeunnecessaryheretotellevenifIknew.Butthathedidgiveahometothisyounglady,makingherinallrespectsthesameasanotherdaughter,shouldbetoldofhim.Hewasamanwholiked to broaden his back for the support of others, and tomake himself easyunder suchburdens. In1862, shemarriedaThackeraycousin,ayoungofficerwiththeVictoriaCross,EdwardThackeray,andwentouttoIndia,—whereshedied.

In1854,theyearinwhichTheNewcomescameout,ThackerayhadbrokenhisclosealliancewithPunch.InDecemberofthatyearthereappearedfromhispenanarticleinTheQuarterlyonJohnLeech'sPicturesofLifeandCharacter.Itisaramblingdiscourseonpicture-illustrationingeneral,fullofinterest,buthardlygoodasacriticism,—aportionofliteraryworkforwhichhewasnotspeciallyfitted.InithetellsushowRichardDoyle,theartist,hadgivenuphisworkforPunch,nothavingbeenable,asaRomanCatholic,toenduretheskitswhich,atthat time, were appearing in one number after another against what was thencalledPapalaggression.Thereviewer,—Thackerayhimself,—thentellsusofthesecession of himself from the board of brethren. "Another member of Mr.Punch's cabinet, the biographer of Jeames, the author of The Snob Papers,resigned his functions, on account of Mr. Punch's assaults upon the presentEmperoroftheFrenchnation,whoseangerJeamesthoughtitwasunpatriotictoarouse."HowharditmustbeforCabinetstoagree!Thismanorthatissuretohave some pet conviction of his own, and the better theman the stronger theconviction!Then the reviewerwenton in favourof theartistofwhomhewasspecially speaking, making a comparison which must at the time have beenodiousenoughtosomeofthebrethren."TherecanbenoblinkingthefactthatinMr. Punch's Cabinet John Leech is the right-hand man. Fancy a number ofPunchwithoutLeech'spictures!Whatwouldyougive for it?"Thenhebreaksoutintostrongadmirationofthatonefriend,—perhapswithalittledisregardastothefeelingsofotherfriends.[3]ThisCriticalReview,ifitmayproperlybesocalled,—at any rate it is so named as now published,—is to be found in ourauthor'scollectedworks,inthesamevolumewithCatherine.Itisthereprecededbyanother,fromTheWestminsterReview,writtenfourteenyearsearlier,onTheGenius of Cruikshank. This contains a descriptive catalogue of Cruikshank'sworksupto thatperiod,andis interestingfromthepiquantstyle inwhichit iswritten.Ifancythatthesetwoaretheonlyeffortsofthekindwhichhemade,—

andinbothhedealtwiththetwogreatcaricaturistsofhistime,hehimselfbeing,intheimaginativepartofacaricaturist'swork,equalinpowertoeitherofthem.

WenowcometoaphaseofThackeray'slifeinwhichheachievedaremarkablesuccess, attributable rather to his fame as a writer than to any particularexcellence in the art which he then exercised. He took upon himself thefunctions of a lecturer, being moved to do so by a hope that he might thusprovideasumofmoneyforthefuturesustenanceofhischildren.Nodoubthehadbeenadvisedtothiscourse,thoughIdonotknowfromwhomspeciallytheadvicemayhavecome.Dickenshadalreadyconsideredthesubject,buthadnotyet consented to read in public for money on his own account. John Forster,writingoftheyear1846,saysofDickensandthethenonlythought-ofexerciseof a new profession; "I continued to oppose, for reasons to be stated in theirplace,thatwhichhehadsethisheartupontoostronglytoabandon,andwhichIstill can wish he had preferred to surrender with all that seemed to be itsenormousgain."Andagainhesays,speakingofapropositionwhichhadbeenmadetoDickensfromthetownofBradford;"Atfirst thiswasentertained,butwas abandoned, with some reluctance, upon the argument that to becomepubliclyareadermustalter,withoutimproving,hispositionpubliclyasawriter,andthatitwasachangetobejustifiedonlywhenthehighercallingshouldhavefailedoftheoldsuccess."Themeaningofthiswasthatthemoneytobemadewouldbesweet,butthatthedescenttoaprofessionwhichwasconsideredtobelowerthanthatofliteratureitselfwouldcarrywithitsomethingthatwasbitter.ItwasasthoughonewhohadsatonthewoolsackasLordChancellorshouldraisethequestionwhetherforthesakeoftheincomeattachedtoit,hemight,withoutdisgrace,occupyaseatonalowerbench;asthoughanarchitectshouldconsiderwithhimselftheproprietyofmakinghisfortuneasacontractor;ortheheadofacollege lower his dignity, while he increased his finances, by taking pupils.Whensuchdiscussionsarise,moneygenerallycarries theday,—andshoulddoso.Whenconvinced thatmoneymaybe earnedwithoutdisgrace,weought toallowmoneytocarrytheday.Whenwetalkofsordidgainandfilthylucre,wearegenerallyhypocrites.Ifgainsbesordidandlucrefilthy,whereisthepriest,the lawyer, the doctor, or the man of literature, who does not wish for dirtyhands? An income, and the power of putting by something for old age,somethingforthosewhoaretocomeafter,isthewholesomeandacknowledgeddesireofallprofessionalmen.Thackerayhavingchildren,andbeinggiftedwithnopowerofmakinghismoneygoveryfar,wasanxiousenoughonthesubject.Wemay saynow, that hadhe confinedhimself to his pen, hewouldnot havewantedwhilehe lived, butwouldhave left but little behindhim.Thathewas

anxious we have seen, by his attempts to subsidise his literary gains by aGovernmentoffice. Icannotbut think thathadheundertakenpublicduties forwhich hewas ill qualified, and received a salarywhich he could hardly haveearned, he would have done less for his fame than by reading to the public.Whetherhedidthatwellorill,hediditwellenoughforthemoney.Thepeoplewhoheardhim,andwhopaidfortheirseats,weresatisfiedwiththeirbargain,—astheywerealsointhecaseofDickens;andIventuretosaythatinbecomingpublicly a reader, neither did Dickens or Thackeray "alter his position as awriter,"and"thatitwasachangetobejustified,"thoughthesuccessoftheoldcalling had in no degree waned.What Thackeray did enabled him to leave acomfortable income for his children, and one earned honestly, with the fullapprovaloftheworldaroundhim.

Having saturated his mind with the literature of Queen Anne's time,—notprobablyinthefirstinstanceasapreparationforEsmond,butinsuchawayastoinducehimtocreateanEsmond,—hetooktheauthorswhomheknewsowellasthesubjectforhisfirstseriesoflectures.HewroteTheEnglishHumouristsoftheEighteenthCentury in1851,whilehemusthavebeenatworkonEsmond,andfirstdeliveredthecourseatWillis'sRoomsinthatyear.Heafterwardswentwith these throughmanyofourprovincial towns,and thencarried themto theUnitedStates,wherehedeliveredthemtolargeaudiencesinthewinterof1852and1853.SomefewwordsastothemeritsofthecompositionIwillendeavourtosayinanotherplace.Imyselfneverheardhimlecture,andcanthereforegivenoopinionof theperformance.Thatwhich Ihaveheard fromothershasbeenveryvarious.It is, I think,certain thathehadnoneof thosewonderfulgiftsofelocution whichmade it a pleasure to listen to Dickens, whatever he read orwhateverhesaid;norhadhethatpowerofapplicationbyusingwhichhisrivaltaught himself with accuracy the exact effect to be given to everyword. TherenderingofapiecebyDickenswascomposedasanoratorioiscomposed,andwas thenstudiedbyheart asmusic is studied.And thepiecewasallgivenbymemory,withoutany lookingat thenotesorwords.Therewasnothingof thiswith Thackeray. But the thing read was in itself of great interest to educatedpeople. The words were given clearly, with sufficient intonation for easyunderstanding,sothattheywhowerewillingtohearsomethingfromhimfeltonhearing that they had received full value for their money. At any rate, thelecturesweresuccessful.Themoneywasmade,—andwaskept.

HecamefromhisfirsttriptoAmericatohisnewhouseinOnslowSquare,andthenpublishedTheNewcomes.This,too,wasoneofhisgreatworks,astowhich

I shall have to speak hereafter. Then, having enjoyed his success in the firstattempt to lecture, he prepared a second series.He never essayed the kind ofreading which with Dickens became so wonderfully popular. Dickens recitedportionsfromhiswell-knownworks.Thackeraywrotehislecturesexpresslyforthepurpose.Theyhave sincebeenadded tohisother literature,but theywerepreparedas lectures.The second serieswereTheFourGeorges. In a lucrativepointofviewtheywereevenmoresuccessfulthanthefirst, thesumofmoneyrealisedintheUnitedStateshavingbeenconsiderable.InEnglandtheywerelesspopular, even if better attended, the subject chosen having been distasteful tomany.Therearose thequestionwhether toomuchfreedomhadnotbeen takenwithanofficewhich,thoughitbenolongerconsideredtobefoundedondivineright, is still as sacred as can be anything that is human. If there is to remainamongusasovereign, thatsovereign,even thoughdivestedofpoliticalpower,shouldbeendowedwithallthatpersonalrespectcangive.Ifwewishourselvestobehigh,we should treat thatwhich isoverus ashigh.And this shouldnotdependaltogetheronpersonalcharacter, thoughweknow,—aswehavereasontoknow,—howmuchmaybeadded to the firmnessof the feelingbypersonalmerit. The respect of which we speak should, in the strongest degree, be apossession of the immediate occupant, and will naturally become dim,—orperhaps be exaggerated,—in regard to the past, as history or fablemay tell ofthem.NooneneedhesitatetospeakhismindofKingJohn,lethimbeeversostrongasticklerfortheprivilegesofmajesty.Buttherearedegreesofdistance,and the throne ofwhichwewish to preserve the dignity seems to be assailedwhenunmeasuredevilissaidofonewhohassattherewithinourownmemory.Therewouldseemtoeachofustobeapersonalaffrontwereadepartedrelativedelineated with all those faults by which we must own that even our nearrelativeshavebeenmadeimperfect.Itisageneralconvictionastothiswhichsofrequently turns the biography of those recently dead into mere eulogy. Thefictitious charitywhich is enjoined by thedemortuis nil nisi bonum banishestruth.ThefeelingofwhichIspeakalmostleadsmeatthismomenttoputdownmypen.And,ifsomuchbeduetoallsubjects,islessduetoasovereign?

Considerationssuchas thesediminished, I think, thepopularityofThackeray'ssecond series of lectures; or, rather, not their popularity, but the estimation inwhich theywereheld.On thisheadhedefendedhimselfmore thanonceverygallantly,andhadagreatdealtosayonhissideofthequestion."Suppose,forexample, in America,—in Philadelphia or in New York,—that I had spokenaboutGeorgeIV.intermsofpraiseandaffectedreverence,doyoubelievetheywould have hailed his name with cheers, or have heard it with anything of

respect?" And again; "We degrade our own honour and the sovereign's byundulyandunjustlypraisinghim;andthemereslavererandflattererisonewhocomesforward,asitwere,withflashnotes,andpayswithfalsecoinhistributetoCæsar.Idon'tdisguisethatIfeelsomehowonmytrialhereforloyalty,—forhonestEnglishfeeling."ThiswassaidbyThackerayatadinneratEdinburgh,in1857,andshowshowthematterrestedonhismind.Thackeray'sloyaltywasnodoubttrueenough,butwasmixedwithbutlittleofreverence.Hewasonewhoreveredmodestyand innocencerather thanpower,againstwhichhehad in thebottomofhisheartsomethingofrepublicantendency.Hisleaningwasnodoubtofthemoremanlykind.ButinwhathesaidatEdinburghhehardlyhitthenailon the head.No one had suggested that he should have said good things of akingwhichhedidnotbelievetobetrue.Thequestionwaswhetheritmaynotbewell sometimes forus toholdour tongues.AnAmerican literaryman,here inEngland, would not lecture on the morals of Hamilton, on the manners ofGeneralJackson,onthegeneralamenitiesofPresidentJohnson.

In1857ThackeraystoodforOxford,intheliberalinterest,inoppositiontoMr.Cardwell.HehadbeeninducedtodothisbyhisoldfriendCharlesNeate,whohimself twicesat forOxford,anddiednownotmanymonthssince.Hepolled1,017 votes, against 1,070 byMr.Cardwell; andwas thus again saved by hisgood fortune from attempting to fill a situation in which he would not haveshone.Thereare,nodoubt,manytowhomaseatinParliamentcomesalmostasthe birthright of awell-born andwell-to-doEnglish gentleman.They go therewithnomoreideaofshiningthantheydowhentheyareelectedtoafirst-classclub;—hardlywithmoreideaofbeinguseful.Itisthethingtodo,andtheHouseof Commons is the placewhere aman ought to be—for a certain number ofhours.Suchmenneithersucceednorfail,fornothingisexpectedofthem.FromsuchaoneasThackeraysomethingwouldhavebeenexpected,whichwouldnothavebeenforthcoming.Hewastoodesultoryforregularwork,—fullofthought,buttoovagueforpracticalquestions.Hecouldnothaveenduredtositfortwoorthreehours at a timewithhis hat over his eyes, pretending to listen, as is thedutyofagoodlegislator.Hewasamanintolerantoftedium,andinthebestofhis time impatient of slow work. Nor, though his liberal feelings were verystrong,were his political convictions definite or accurate.Hewas amanwhomentally drank inmuch, feeding his fancy hourlywithwhat he saw,what heheard, what he read, and then pouring it all out with an immense power ofamplification. But it would have been impossible for him to study and bringhometohimselfthevariouspointsofacomplicatedbillwithahundredandfiftyclauses.Inbecomingamanofletters,andtakingthatbranchofletterswhichfell

tohim,heobtainedthespecialplacethatwasfittedforhim.Hewasaroundpeginaroundhole.Therewasnootherholewhichhewouldhavefittednearlysowell. But he had his moment of political ambition, like others,—and paid athousandpoundsforhisattempt.

In1857thefirstnumberofTheVirginiansappeared,andthelast,—thetwenty-fourth,—in October, 1859. This novel, as all my readers are aware, is acontinuanceofEsmond,andwillbespokenofinitsproperplace.Hewasthenforty-eightyearsold,verygray,withmuchofageuponhim,whichhadcomefromsuffering,—age shownbydislikeof activityandbyanoldman'swayofthinkingaboutmanythings,—speakingasthoughtheworldwereallbehindhiminsteadofbefore;butstillwithastalwartoutwardbearing,veryerectinhisgait,andacountenancepeculiarlyexpressiveandcapableofmuchdignity.Ispeakofhis personal appearance at this time, because it was then only that I becameacquaintedwithhim. In 1859heundertook the last greatworkof his life, theeditorship ofThe Cornhill Magazine, a periodical set on foot byMr. GeorgeSmith,ofthehouseofSmithandElder,withanamountofenergygreaterthanhasgenerallybeenbestoweduponsuchenterprises.Itwillbewellrememberedstill how much The Cornhill was talked about and thought of before it firstappeared,andhowmuchofthatthinkingandtalkingwasduetothefactthatMr.Thackeray was to edit it.Macmillan's, I think, was the first of the shillingmagazines,havingprecededTheCornhillbyamonth,and itwould illbecomeme, who have been a humble servant to each of them, to give to either anypreference.But itmust be acknowledged that a great dealwas expected fromTheCornhill,andIthinkitwillbeconfessedthatitwasthegeneralopinionthatagreatdealwasgivenbyit.Thackerayhadbecomebigenoughtogiveaspecialéclattoanyliteraryexploittowhichheattachedhimself.SincethedaysofTheConstitutional he had fought hiswayup the ladder andknewhow to takehisstandtherewithanassuranceofsuccess.Whenitbecameknowntotheworldofreaders that a newmagazine was to appear under Thackeray's editorship, theworld of readers was quite sure that there would be a large sale. Of the firstnumber over one hundred and ten thousandwere sold, and of the second andthirdoveronehundredthousand.It is inthenatureofsuchthingsthat thesaleshould falloffwhen thenovelty isover.Peoplebelieve thatanewdelighthascome, a new joy for ever, and then find that the joy is not quite soperfect orenduringastheyhadexpected.Butthecommencementofsuchenterprisesmaybetakenasameasureofwhatwillfollow.Themagazine,eitherbyThackeray'snameorby its intrinsicmerits,—probablybyboth,—achievedagreat success.Myacquaintancewithhimgrewfrommyhavingbeenoneofhisstafffromthe

first.

About twomonths before the opening day I wrote to him suggesting that heshouldacceptfrommeaseriesoffourshortstoriesonwhichIwasengaged.Igotbackalongletterinwhichhesaidnothingaboutmyshortstories,butaskingwhether I could go towork at once and let him have a long novel, so that itmightbeginwiththefirstnumber.AtthesametimeIheardfromthepublisher,whosuggestedsomeinterestinglittledetailsastohonorarium.Thelittledetailswereveryinteresting,butabsolutelynotimewasallowedtome.Itwasrequiredthatthefirstportionofmybookshouldbeintheprinter'shandswithinamonth.Nowitwasmytheory,—andeversincethisoccurrencehasbeenmypractice,—toseetheendofmyownworkbeforethepublicshouldseethecommencement.[4]IfIdidthisthingImustnotonlyabandonmytheory,butinstantlycontriveastory,orbegintowriteitbeforeitwascontrived.ThatwaswhatIdid,urgedbytheinterestingnatureofthedetails.Anovelistcannotalwaysatthespurofthemoment make his plot and create his characters who shall, with an arrangedsequenceofevents,livewithacertaindegreeofeventfuldecorum,throughthatportionoftheirliveswhichistobeportrayed.Ihesitated,butallowedmyselftobealluredtowhatIfelttobewrong,muchdreadingtheevent.Howseldomisitthat theories stand thewear and tear of practice! I will not say that the storywhich camewasgood, but itwas receivedwithgreater favour than any I hadwritten before or havewritten since. I think that almost anythingwould havebeenthenacceptedcomingunderThackeray'seditorship.

Iwasastonishedthatworkshouldberequiredinsuchhaste,knowingthatmuchpreparationhadbeenmade,andthattheserviceofalmostanyEnglishnovelistmighthavebeenobtainedifaskedforinduetime.Itwasmyreadinessthatwasneeded, rather than any other gift! The riddle was read to me after a time.Thackerayhadhimselfintendedtobeginwithoneofhisowngreatnovels,buthadputitofftillitwastoolate.LoveltheWidowerwascommencedatthesametimewithmyownstory,butLovel theWidowerwasnot substantial enough toappearastheprincipaljointatthebanquet.Thoughyourguestswillundoubtedlydineoffthelittledelicaciesyouprovideforthem,theremustbeaheavysaddleofmutton among the viands prepared. Iwas the saddle ofmutton, Thackerayhavingomittedtogethisjointdowntothefireintimeenough.Myfitnesslayinmycapacityforquickroasting.

Itmaybe interesting to give a list of the contributors to the first number.MynovelcalledFramleyParsonagecamefirst.Atthisbanquetthesaddleofmuttonwasservedbeforethedelicacies.ThentherewasapaperbySirJohnBowringon

The Chinese and Outer Barbarians. The commencing number of Lovel theWidowerfollowed.GeorgeLewescamenextwithhisfirstchaptersofStudiesinAnimalLife.Then therewasFatherProut's InaugurationOde,dedicated to theauthorofVanityFair,—whichshouldhave led theway. Ineedhardly say thatFather Prout was the Rev. F.Mahony. Then followedOur Volunteers, by SirJohnBurgoyne;AManofLettersoftheLastGeneration,byThorntonHunt;TheSearch for Sir JohnFranklin, from a private journal of an officer of the Fox,nowSirAllenYoung; andTheFirstMorning of 1860, byMrs.ArcherClive.The number was concluded by the first of those Roundabout Papers byThackerayhimself,whichbecamesodelightfulaportionoftheliteratureofTheCornhillMagazine.

Itwouldbeoutofmypower,andhardlyinteresting,togiveanentirelistofthosewho wrote for TheCornhill under Thackeray's editorial direction. But I maynameafew,toshowhowstrongwasthesupportwhichhereceived.ThosewhocontributedtothefirstnumberIhavenamed.AmongthosewhofollowedwereAlfred Tennyson, Jacob Omnium, Lord Houghton, William Russell, Mrs.Beecher Stowe, Mrs. Browning, Robert Bell, George Augustus Sala, Mrs.Gaskell, James Hinton, Mary Howitt, John Kaye, Charles Lever, FrederickLocker, Laurence Oliphant, John Ruskin, Fitzjames Stephen, T. A. Trollope,Henry Thompson, Herman Merivale, Adelaide Proctor, Matthew Arnold, thepresent Lord Lytton, and Miss Thackeray, now Mrs. Ritchie. Thackeraycontinued the editorship for two years and fourmonths, namely, up to April,1862;but,asallreaderswillremember,hecontinuedtowriteforittillhedied,thedaybeforeChristmasDay,in1863.Hislastcontributionwas,Ithink,apaperwritten for andpublished in theNovembernumber, called, "Strange to sayonClubPaper,"inwhichhevindicatedLordClydefromtheaccusationofhavingtakentheclubstationeryhomewithhim.Itwasnotagreatsubject,fornoonecouldordidbelievethattheField-Marshalhadbeenguiltyofanymeanness;butthe handling of it has made it interesting, and his indignation has made itbeautiful.

Themagazinewasagreatsuccess,butjusticecompelsmetosaythatThackeraywas not a good editor.As hewould have been an indifferent civil servant, anindifferent member of Parliament, so was he perfunctory as an editor. It hassometimesbeenthoughtwelltoselectapopularliterarymanasaneditor;first,becausehisnamewillattract,andthenwithanideathathewhocanwritewellhimselfwillbeacompetentjudgeofthewritingsofothers.Thefirstmaysellamagazine, but will hardlymake it good; and the secondwill not avail much,

unlesstheeditorsosituatedbepatientenoughtoreadwhatissenttohim.Ofamagazine editor it is required that he should be patient, scrupulous, judicious,butaboveallthingshard-hearted.IthinkitmaybedoubtedwhetherThackeraydid bring himself to read the basketfuls of manuscripts with which he wasdeluged, but he probably did, sooner or later, read the touching little privatenotesbywhichtheywereaccompanied,—theheartrendingappeals,inwhichhewas told that if thisor theother littlearticlecouldbeacceptedandpaid for, astarvingfamilymightbesavedfromstarvationforamonth.Hetellsushowhefelton receiving such letters inoneofhisRoundaboutPapers,whichhecalls"Thorns in the cushion." "How am I to know," he says—"though to be sure Ibegintoknownow,—asItakethelettersoffthetray,whichofthoseenvelopescontainsa realbona fide letter, andwhicha thorn?Oneof thebest invitationsthisyearImistookforathornletter,andkeptitwithoutopening."Thenhegivesthe sample of a thorn letter. It is from a governess with a poem, and with aprayerforinsertionandpayment."Wehaveknownbetterdays,sir.Ihaveasickandwidowedmothertomaintain,andlittlebrothersandsisterswholooktome."Hecouldnot stand this, and themoneywouldbe sent,outofhisownpocket,thoughthepoemmightbe—postponed,tillhappilyitshouldbelost.

Fromsuchmaterialagoodeditorcouldnotbemade.Nor,intruth,doIthinkthathedidmuchof the editorialwork. I hadoncemade an arrangement, notwithThackeray,butwith theproprietors, as to some little story.The storywas sentbacktomebyThackeray—rejected.Virginibuspuerisque!Thatwas thegistofhisobjection.Therewasaprojectinagentleman'smind,—astoldinmystory,—to run away with a married woman! Thackeray's letter was very kind, veryregretful,—full of apology for such treatment to such a contributor. But—Virginibus puerisque! I was quite sure that Thackeray had not taken thetrouble to read the story himself. Some moral deputy had read it, anddisapproving,nodoubtproperly,ofthelittleprojecttowhichIhavealluded,hadincited the editor to use his authority. That Thackeray had suffered when hewrote itwaseasy tosee, fearing thathewasgivingpain toonehewould fainhavepleased. Iwrotehima long letter in return, as full of drollery as I knewhow tomake it. In four or five days there came a reply in the same spirit,—boilingoverwithfun.Hehadkeptmyletterbyhim,notdaringtoopenit,—ashesaysthathedidwiththateligibleinvitation.Atlasthehadgivenittooneofhis girls to examine,—to seewhether the thornwouldbe too sharp,whether Ihadturneduponhimwithreproaches.Amansosusceptible,sopronetoworkbyfitsandstarts,sounmethodical,couldnothavebeenagoodeditor.

In 1862 hewent into the new housewhich he had built for himself at PalaceGreen.Irememberwell,whilethiswasstillbeingbuilt,howhisfriendsusedtodiscuss his imprudence in building it. Though he had donewellwith himself,andhadmadeandwasmakingalargeincome,washeentitledtoliveinahousethe rent of which could not be counted at less than from five hundred to sixhundred pounds a year? Before he had been there two years, he solved thequestion by dying,—when the housewas sold for two thousand poundsmorethanithadcost.Hehimself,inspeakingofhisproject,waswonttodeclarethathewas laying out hismoney in the best way he could for the interest of hischildren;—anditturnedoutthathewasright.

In1863hediedinthehousewhichhehadbuilt,andattheperiodofhisdeathwaswritinganewnovelinnumbers,calledDenisDuval. InTheCornhill,TheAdventures of Philip had appeared. This new enterprise was destined forcommencementon1stJanuary,1864,and,thoughthewriterwasgone,itkeptitspromise,asfarasitwent.Threenumbers,andwhatmightprobablyhavebeenintendedforhalfofafourth,appeared.Itmaybeseen,therefore,thathebynomeansheldtomytheory,thattheauthorshouldseetheendofhisworkbeforethe public sees the commencement. But neither did Dickens orMrs. Gaskell,bothofwhomdiedwithstoriesnotcompleted,which,whentheydied,wereinthe course of publication.All the evidence goes against the necessity of suchprecaution.Nevertheless,wereIgivingadvicetoatiroinnovelwriting,Ishouldrecommendit.

With the last chapter ofDenisDuval was published in themagazine a set ofnotes on the book, taken for themost part fromThackeray's own papers, andshowinghowmuchcollateralworkhehadgiventothefabricationofhisnovel.No doubt in preparing other tales, especiallyEsmond, a very large amount ofsuchcollaterallabourwasfoundnecessary.Hewasamanwhodidverymuchofsuchwork,delightingtodealinlittlehistoricalincidents.Theywillbefoundinalmost everything that hedid, and I donot know that hewas ever accusedofgross mistakes. But I doubt whether on that account he should be called alaboriousman.HecouldgodowntoWinchelsea,whenwritingabout the littletown,toseeinwhichwaythestreetslay,andtoprovidehimselfwithwhatwecall local colouring. He could jot down the suggestions, as they came to hismind,ofhis futurestory.Therewasan irregularity insuchworkwhichwas tohistaste.Hisverynoteswouldbedelightfultoread,partakingofthenatureofpearlswhenpreparedonlyforhisownuse.Buthecouldnotbringhimselftositathisdeskanddoanallottedtaskdayafterday.Heaccomplishedwhatmustbe

consideredasquiteasufficient life'swork.Hehadabout twenty-fiveyears forthe purpose, and that which he has left is an ample produce for the time.Neverthelesshewasamanoffitsandstarts,who,nothavingbeeninhisearlyyearsdrilledtomethod,neverachieveditinhiscareer.

HediedonthedaybeforeChristmasDay,ashasbeensaidabove,verysuddenly,inhisbed,earlyinthemorning,inthefifty-thirdyearofhislife.Tothosewhosaw him about in theworld there seemed to be no reasonwhy he should notcontinuehiscareerforthenexttwentyyears.Butthosewhoknewhimweresowell aware of his constant sufferings, that, though they expected no suddencatastrophe, theywerehardly surprisedwhen it came.Hisdeathwasprobablycaused by those spasms of which he had complained ten years before, in hisletter toMr.Reed.On the last day but one of the year, a crowdof sorrowingfriends stood over his grave as he was laid to rest in Kensal Green; and, asquicklyafterwardsasitcouldbeexecuted,abusttohismemorywasputupinWestminsterAbbey.Itisafineworkofart,byMarochetti;but,asalikeness,is,Ithink,lesseffectivethanthatwhichwasmodelled,andthengiventotheGarrickClub, byDurham, and has lately been put intomarble, and now stands in theuppervestibuleoftheclub.Neitherofthem,inmyopinion,givesoaccurateanideaofthemanasastatuetteinbronze,byBoehm,ofwhichtwoorthreecopiesweremade.Oneofthemisinmypossession.Ithasbeenalleged,inreferencetothis,thatthereissomethingofacaricatureinthelengthinessofthefigure,inthetwohandsthrustintothetrouserspockets,andintheprotrusionofthechin.Butthis feelinghasoriginated in thegeneral idea that any face, or any figure, notmade by the artist more beautiful or more graceful than the original is aninjustice. The face must be smoother, the pose of the body must be moredignified, the proportions more perfect, than in the person represented, orsatisfaction isnot felt.Mr.Boehmhascertainlynotflattered,but,asfarasmyeye can judge, hehasgiven the figureof themanexactly asheused to standbeforeus.Ihaveaportraitofhimincrayon,bySamuelLawrence,aslike,buthardlyasnatural.

A little before his death Thackeray told me that he had then succeeded inreplacing thefortunewhichhehad lostasayoungman.Hohad, in fact,donebetter,forheleftanincomeofsevenhundredandfiftypoundsbehindhim.

It has been said of Thackeray that he was a cynic. This has been said sogenerally,thatthechargeagainsthimhasbecomeproverbial.This,statedbarely,leavesoneof two impressionson themind,orperhaps the two together,—thatthiscynicismwasnaturaltohischaracterandcameoutinhislife,orthatitisthe

characteristicofhiswritings.Ofthenatureofhiswritingsgenerally,Iwillspeakin the lastchapterof this littlebook.As tohispersonalcharacterasacynic, Imust find room to quote the following first stanzas of the little poem whichappearedtohismemoryinPunch,fromthepenofShirleyBrooks;

Hewasacynic!ByhislifeallwroughtOfgenerousacts,mildwords,andgentleways;

Hisheartwideopentoallkindlythought,Hishandsoquicktogive,histonguetopraise!

Hewasacynic!YoumightreaditwritInthatbroadbrow,crownedwithitssilverhair;

Inthoseblueeyes,withchildlikecandourlit,Inthatsweetsmilehislipswerewonttowear!

Hewasacynic!BythelovethatclungAbouthimfromhischildren,friends,andkin;

BythesharppainlightpenandgossiptongueWroughtinhim,chafingthesoftheartwithin!

Thespiritandnatureof themanhavebeencaughtherewithabsolute truth.Apublicmanshouldofcoursebe judged fromhispublicwork. Ifhewroteasacynic,—apointwhichIwillnotdiscusshere,—itmaybefairthathewhoistobeknownasawritershouldbesocalled.But,asaman,Iprotestthatitwouldbehardtofindanindividualfartherremovedfromthecharacter.Overandoutsidehis fancy, which was the gift which made him so remarkable,—a certainfeminine softness was the most remarkable trait about him. To give someimmediate pleasure was the great delight of his life,—a sovereign to aschoolboy,gloves to agirl, adinner to aman, a compliment to awoman.Hischaritywasoverflowing.Hisgenerosityexcessive.Iheardonceastoryofwoefromamanwhowasthedearfriendofbothofus.Thegentlemanwantedalargesum of money instantly,—something under two thousand pounds,—had nonaturalfriendswhocouldprovideit,butmustgoutterlytothewallwithoutit.Ponderingoverthissadconditionofthingsjustrevealedtome,ImetThackeraybetween the twomountedheroes at theHorseGuards, and told him the story."DoyoumeantosaythatIamtofindtwothousandpounds?"hesaid,angrily,with some expletives. I explained that I had not even suggested the doing ofanything,—onlythatwemightdiscussthematter.Thentherecameoverhisfacea peculiar smile, and a wink in his eye, and he whispered his suggestion, asthoughhalfashamedofhismeanness."I'llgohalf,"hesaid,"ifanybodywilldotherest."Andhedidgohalf,atadayortwo'snotice,thoughthegentlemanwasnomore thansimplya friend. Iamglad tobeable toadd that themoneywasquickly repaid. I could tell various stories of the same kind, only that I lack

space,andthatthey,ifsimplyaddedonetotheother,wouldlackinterest.

Hewasnocynic,buthewasasatirist,andcouldnowandthenbeasatirist inconversation,hittingveryhardwhenhedidhit.WhenhewasinAmericahemetatdinneraliterarygentlemanofhighcharacter,middle-aged,andmostdignifieddeportment. The gentleman was one whose character and acquirements stoodvery high,—deservedly so,—butwho, in society, had that air ofwrapping histoga around him, which adds, or is supposed to add, many cubits to a man'sheight. But he had a broken nose. At dinner he talked much of the tenderpassion, and did so in a manner which stirred up Thackeray's feeling of theridiculous."Whathastheworldcometo,"saidThackerayoutloudtothetable,"when two broken-nosed old fogies like you andme sit talking about love toeachother!"Thegentlemanwasastounded,andcouldonlysitwrappinghistogainsilentdismayfor therestof theevening.Thackeraythen,asatothersimilartimes,hadnoideaofgivingpain,butwhenhesawafoibleheputhisfootuponit,andtriedtostampitout.

Suchismyideaofthemanwhommanycallacynic,butwhomIregardasoneof the most soft-hearted of human beings, sweet as Charity itself, who wentabout the world dropping pearls, doing good, and never wilfully inflicting awound.

FOOTNOTES:[1]ThereportthathehadlostallhismoneyandwasgoingtolivebypaintinginParis,wasstillprevalentinLondonin1836.Macready,onthe27thAprilofthatyear,saysin hisDiary; "AtGarrickClub,where I dined and saw the papers.MetThackeray,whohasspentallhisfortune,andisnowabouttosettleinParis,Ibelieveasanartist."Butatthistimehewas,intruth,turningtoliteratureasaprofession.

[2]The articlewaswrittenbyAbrahamHayward,who is stillwithus, andwasnodoubt instigatedbyadesire toassistThackeray inhisstruggleupwards, inwhich itsucceeded.

[3] For a week there existed at the Punch office a grudge against Thackeray inreference to this awkwardquestion: "Whatwouldyougive foryourPunchwithoutJohnLeech?"Thenheaskedtheconfraternitytodinner,—moreThackerayano,—andthe confraternity came. Who can doubt but they were very jolly over the littleblunder?ForyearsafterwardsThackeraywasaguestatthewell-knownPunchdinner,thoughhewasnolongeroneofthecontributors.

[4]IhadbegunanIrishstoryandhalffinishedit,whichwouldreachjusttherequiredlength.Wouldthatdo,Iasked.IwascivillytoldthatmyIrishstorywouldnodoubtbecharming,butwasnotquitethethingthatwaswanted.CouldInotbeginanewone,—English,—andifpossibleaboutclergymen?Thedetailsweresointerestingthathadacoupleofarchbishopsbeendemanded,Ishouldhaveproducedthem.

CHAPTERII.

FRASER'SMAGAZINEANDPUNCH.

HowThackeraycommencedhisconnectionwithFraser'sMagazineIamunabletosay.WeknowhowhehadcometoLondonwithaviewtoa literarycareer,andthathehadatonetimemadeanattempttoearnhisbreadasacorrespondentto a newspaper from Paris. It is probable that he became acquaintedwith theredoubtableOliverYorke,otherwiseDr.Maginn,or someofhis staff, throughtheconnectionwhichhehadthusopenedwiththepress.Hewasnotknown,oratanyratehewasunrecognised,byFraserinJanuary,1835,inwhichmonthanamusing catalogue was given of the writers then employed, with portraits ofthem, all seated at a symposium. I can trace no article to his pen beforeNovember, 1837, when the Yellowplush Correspondence was commenced,thoughitishardlyprobablethatheshouldhavecommencedwithaworkofsomuch pretension. There had been published a volume calledMyBook, or theAnatomyofConduct,byJohnSkelton,andaveryabsurdbooknodoubtitwas.Wemaypresumethatitcontainedmaximsonetiquette,andthatitwasintendedtoconveyinprintthoseinvaluablelessonsondeportmentwhich,asDickenshastold us,were subsequently given byMr. Turveydrop, in the academy kept byhimforthatpurpose.ThackeraytookthisashisfoundationfortheFashionableFaxandPoliteAnnygoats,byJeamesYellowplush,withwhichhecommencedthose repeatedattacksagainst snobbismwhichhedelighted tomake throughaconsiderableportionofhisliterarylife.OliverYorkehashimselfaddedfourorfive pages of his own to Thackeray's lucubrations; and with the second, andsome future numbers, there appeared illustrations by Thackeray himself,illustrationsat this timenothavingbeencommonwith themagazine.Fromallthis I gather that the author was already held in estimation by Fraser'sconfraternity.IrememberwellmyowndelightwithYellowplushatthetime,andhow I inquiredwhowas the author. Itwas then that I first heardThackeray'sname.

The Yellowplush Papers were continued through nine numbers. No furtherreference was made to Mr. Skelton and his book beyond that given at thebeginningofthefirstnumber,andthesatireisonlyshownbytheattemptmadebyYellowplush,thefootman,togivehisideasgenerallyonthemannersofnoble

life.The idea seems to be that a gentlemanmay, in heart and in action, be asvulgarasa footman.Nodoubthemay,but thechancesareverymuch thathewon't.But thevirtueof thememoir doesnot consist in the lessons, but in thegeneral drollery of the letters. The "orthogwaphy is inaccuwate," as a certainperson says in the memoirs,—"so inaccuwate" as to take a positive study to"compwehend"it;butthejoke,thoughold,issohandledastobeveryamusing.Thackeraysoonrushesawayfromhiscriticismsonsnobbismtoothermatters.Therearethedetailsofacard-sharpingenterprise,inwhichwecannotbutfeelthatwerecognisesomethingoftheauthor'sownexperiencesinthemisfortunesofMr.Dawkins; there is theEarlofCrab's, and then the first of those attackswhichhewastemptedtomakeontheabsurditiesofhisbrethrenofletters,andtheonlyonewhichnowhastheappearanceofhavingbeenill-natured.HisfirstvictimswereDr.DionysiusLardnerandMr.EdwardBulwerLytton,ashewasthen. We can surrender the doctor to the whip of the satirist; and for"Sawedwadgeorgeearllittnbulwig," as the novelist is made to call himself, wecanwellbelievethathemusthimselfhaveenjoyedtheYellowplushMemoirs ifheeverre-readtheminafterlife.ThespeechinwhichheismadetodissuadethefootmanfromjoiningtheworldoflettersissogoodthatIwillventuretoinsertit:"Bullwigwasviolentlyaffected;atearstoodinhisglisteningi.'Yellowplush,'sayshe,seizingmyhand,'youareright.Quitnotyourpresentoccupation;blackboots,cleanknives,wearplushallyourlife,butdon'tturnliteraryman.Lookatme. Iam the firstnovelist inEurope. Ihave rangedwitheaglewingsover thewide regions of literature, and perched on every eminence in its turn. I havegazedwith eagle eyes on the sun of philosophy, and fathomed themysteriousdepths of the humanmind.All languages are familiar tome, all thoughts areknown to me, all men understood by me. I have gathered wisdom from thehoneyedlipsofPlato,aswewanderedinthegardensoftheAcademies;wisdom,too, from themouthof JobJohnson,aswesmokedourbacky inSevenDials.Suchmust be the studies, and such is themission, in this world of the Poet-Philosopher.But theknowledge isonlyemptiness; the initiation isbutmisery;the initiated a man shunned and banned by his fellows. Oh!' said Bullwig,claspinghishands,and throwinghis fine i'sup to thechandelier, 'thecurseofPwomethus descends upon hiswace.Wath and punishment pursue them fromgenewationtogenewation!Wotogenius,theheaven-scaler,thefire-stealer!Woand thrice-bitter desolation! Earth is the wock on which Zeus, wemorseless,stwetches hiswithingwictim;—men, the vultures that feed and fatten onhim.Ai, ai! it is agony eternal,—gwoaning and solitawy despair! And you,Yellowplush,wouldpenetwatethesemystewies;youwouldwaisetheawfulveil,and stand in the twemendous Pwesence. Beware, as you value your peace,

beware!Withdraw,washNeophyte!Forheaven'ssake!Oforheaven'ssake!'—Herehelookedroundwithagony;—'givemeaglassofbwandy-and-water,forthisclawetisbeginningtodisagweewithme.'"ItwasthusthatThackeraybeganthatveinofsatireonhiscontemporariesofwhichitmaybesaidthattheolderhegrew the more amusing it was, and at the same time less likely to hurt thefeelingsoftheauthorsatirised.

The next tale of any length from Thackeray's pen, in the magazine, was thatcalledCatherine,which is the story taken from the life of awretchedwomancalledCatherineHayes.Itiscertainlynotpleasantreading,andwasnotwrittenwithapleasantpurpose.ItassumestohavecomefromthepenofIkeySolomon,ofHorsemongerLane, and its object is to show howdisgustingwould be therecords of thieves, cheats, and murderers if their doings and language weredescribedaccordingtotheirnatureinsteadofbeinghandledinsuchawayastocreate sympathy, and therefore imitation. Bulwer's Eugene Aram, HarrisonAinsworth'sJackSheppard, andDickens'Nancywere in hismind, and itwasthus that he preached his sermon against the selection of such heroes andheroines by the novelists of the day. "Be it granted," he says, in his epilogue,"Solomonisdull;butdon'tattackhismorality.Hehumblysubmits that, inhispoem, no man shall mistake virtue for vice, no man shall allow a singlesentimentofpityoradmirationtoenterhisbosomforanycharacterinthepoem,it being from beginning to end a scene of unmixed rascality, performed bypersons who never deviate into good feeling." The intention is intelligibleenough,butsuchastoryneithercouldhavebeenwrittennorread,—certainlynotwrittenbyThackeray,norreadbytheordinaryreaderofafirst-classmagazine,—hadhenotbeenenabledtoadornitbyinfinitewit.CaptainBrock, thoughabraveman,iscertainlynotdescribedasaninterestingorgallantsoldier;butheispossessedofgreatresources.CaptainMacshane,too,isathoroughblackguard;but he is onewith a dash of loyalty about him, so that the reader can almostsympathisewithhim,andistemptedtosaythatIkeySolomonhasnotquitekepthispromise.

Catherine appeared in1839and1840. In the latter of thoseyearsTheShabbyGenteelstoryalsocameout.Thenin1841therefollowedTheHistoryofSamuelTitmarsh and the Great Hoggarty Diamond, illustrated by Samuel's cousin,MichaelAngelo.ButthoughsoannouncedinFraser,therewerenoillustrations,and thoseattached to thestory in latereditionsarenot takenfromsketchesbyThackeray.This,as faras Iknow,was the firstuseof thenameTitmarsh,andseemstoindicatesomeintentiononthepartoftheauthorofcreatingahoaxasto

two personages,—one thewriter and the other the illustrator. If it were so hemust soon have dropped the idea. In the last paragraph he has shaken off hiscousinMichael.Themainobjectofthestoryistoexposethevillanyofbubblecompanies, and the danger they run who venture to have dealings with citymatterswhichtheydonotunderstand.Icannotbutthinkthathealteredhismindand changed his purpose while he was writing it, actuated probably by thateditorialmonitionastoitslength.

In1842werecommencedTheConfessionsofGeorgeFitz-Boodle,whichwerecontinued into 1843. I do not think that they attractedmuch attention, or thatthey have become peculiarly popular since. They are supposed to contain thereminiscences of a younger son, who moans over his poverty, complains ofwomankindgenerally, laughsat theworldall round,andintersperseshispageswithoneortwoexcellentballads.Iquoteone,writtenforthesakeofaffordingaparody,withtheparodyalongwithit,becausethetwotogethergivesostronganexampleoftheconditionofThackeray'smindinregardtoliteraryproducts.The"humbug" of everything, the pretence, the falseness of affected sentiment, theremotenessofpoetical pathos from the true conditionof the averagemindsofmen and women, struck him so strongly, that he sometimes allowed himselfalmosttofeel,—oratanyrate,tosay,—thatpoeticalexpression,asbeingabovenature, must be unnatural. He had declared to himself that all humbug wasodious, and shouldbebyhim laugheddown to the extentof his capacity.HisYellowplush,hisCatherineHayes,hisFitz-Boodle,hisBarryLyndon,andBeckySharp, with many others of this kind, were all invented and treated for thispurposeandafterthisfashion.IshallhavetosaymoreonthesamesubjectwhenIcometoTheSnobPapers. In this instancehewroteaveryprettyballad,TheWillowTree,—sogoodthatifleftbyitselfitwouldcreatenoideaofabsurdityorextravagant pathos in themind of the ordinary reader,—simply that hemightrenderhisownworkabsurdbyhisownparody.

THEWILLOW-TREE.

No.I.

Knowyethewillow-tree,Whosegrayleavesquiver,

WhisperinggloomilyToyonpaleriver?

Lady,ateventide

Wandernotnearit!TheysayitsbrancheshideAsadlostspirit!

Oncetothewillow-treeAmaidcamefearful,

Paleseemedhercheektobe,Herblueeyetearful.

Soonasshesawthetree,Herstepsmovedfleeter.

Noonewasthere--ahme!--Noonetomeether!

QuickbeatherhearttohearThefarbells'chime

Tollfromthechapel-towerThetrysting-time.

ButtheredsunwentdownIngoldenflame,

Andthoughshelookedaround,Yetnoonecame!

Presentlycamethenight,Sadlytogreether,--

Mooninhersilverlight,Starsintheirglitter.

ThensankthemoonawayUnderthebillow.

Stillweptthemaidalone--Therebythewillow!

Throughthelongdarkness,Bythestreamrolling,

HourafterhourwentonTollingandtolling.

Longwasthedarkness,Lonelyandstilly.

Shrillcamethenightwind,Piercingandchilly.

Shrillblewthemorningbreeze,Bitingandcold.

BleakpeersthegraydawnOverthewold!

BleakovermoorandstreamLooksthegraydawn,

Graywithdishevelledhair.Stillstandsthewillowthere--Themaidisgone!

Domine,Domine!Singwealitany--

Singforpoormaiden-heartsbrokenandweary;Singwealitany,

Wailweandweepweawildmiserere!

THEWILLOW-TREE.

No.II.

Longbythewillow-treeVainlytheysoughther,

Wildrangthemother'sscreamsO'erthegraywater.

"Whereismylovelyone?Whereismydaughter?

Rousethee,sirconstable--Rousetheeandlook.

Fisherman,bringyournet,Boatman,yourhook.

Beatinthelily-beds,Diveinthebrook."

VainlytheconstableShoutedandcalledher.

VainlythefishermanBeatthegreenalder.

Vainlyhethrewthenet.

Neverithauledher!

MotherbesidethefireSat,hernight-capin;

Fatherineasychair,Gloomilynapping;

Whenatthewindow-sillCamealighttapping.

AndapalecountenanceLookedthroughthecasement.

Loudbeatthemother'sheart,Sickwithamazement,

AndatthevisionwhichCametosurpriseher!

Shriekinginanagony--"Lor'!it'sElizar!"

Yes,'twasElizabeth;--Yes,'twastheirgirl;

Palewashercheek,andherHairoutofcurl.

"Mother!"thelovedone,Blushing,exclaimed,

"LetnotyourinnocentLizzybeblamed.

Yesterday,goingtoAuntJones'stotea,

Mother,dearmother,IForgotthedoor-key!

Andasthenightwascold,Andthewaysteep,

Mrs.JoneskeptmetoBreakfastandsleep."

WhetherherpaandmaFullybelievedher,

Thatweshallneverknow.

Sterntheyreceivedher;AndfortheworkofthatCruel,thoughshort,night,--

SenthertobedwithoutTeaforafortnight.

MORAL.

Heydiddlediddlety,Catandthefiddlety,

MaidensofEnglandtakecautionbyshe!LetloveandsuicideNevertemptyouaside,

Andalwaysremembertotakethedoor-key!

Mr. George Fitz-Boodle gave his name to other narratives beyond his ownConfessions.Aseriesofstorieswascarriedonbyhim inFraser,calledMen'sWives, containing three; Ravenwing,Mr. and Mrs. Frank Berry, and DennisHoggarty'sWife.ThefirstchapterinMr.andMrs.FrankBerrydescribes"TheFightatSlaughterHouse."SlaughterHouse,asMr.Venablesremindedusinthelast chapter, was near Smithfield in London,—the school which afterwardsbecameGreyFriars;andthefightbetweenBiggsandBerryistherecordofonewhichtookplaceinthefleshwhenThackeraywasattheCharterHouse.ButMr.Fitz-Boodle's namewas afterwards attached to a greaterwork than these, to awork sogreat that subsequent editorshave thoughthim tobeunworthyof thehonour.IntheJanuarynumber,1844,ofFraser'sMagazine,arecommencedtheMemoirsofBarryLyndon, and the authorship is attributed toMr.Fitz-Boodle.The titlegiven in themagazinewasTheLuckofBarryLyndon:aRomanceofthelastCentury.ByFitz-Boodle.InthecollectededitionofThackeray'sworkstheMemoirsaregivenas"Writtenbyhimself,"andwere,Ipresume,sobroughtout by Thackeray, after they had appeared in Fraser. WhyMr. George Fitz-BoodleshouldhavebeenrobbedofsogreatanhonourIdonotknow.

Inimagination,language,construction,andgeneralliterarycapacity,ThackerayneverdidanythingmoreremarkablethanBarryLyndon.IhavequotedthewordswhichheputintothemouthofIkeySolomon,declaringthatinthestorywhichhehastheretoldhehascreatednothingbutdisgustforthewickedcharactershehasproduced,andthathehas"usedhishumbleendeavourstocausethepublicalsotohatethem."Here,inBarryLyndon,hehas,probablyunconsciously,acted

indirectoppositiontohisownprinciples:BarryLyndonisasgreatascoundrelasthemindofmaneverconceived.HeisonewhomighthavetakenashismottoSatan'swords;"Evil,bethoumygood."Andyethisstoryissowrittenthatitisalmost impossiblenot to entertain somethingof a friendly feeling forhim.Hetellshisownadventuresasacard-sharper,bully,andliar;asaheartlesswretch,whohadneitherlovenorgratitudeinhiscomposition;whohadnosenseevenofloyalty;whoregardedgamblingasthehighestoccupationtowhichamancoulddevotehimself,andfraudasalwaysjustifiedbysuccess;amanpossessedbyallmeannesses except cowardice. And the reader is so carried away by hisfranknessandenergyasalmosttorejoicewhenhesucceeds,andtogrievewithhimwhenheisbroughttotheground.

Themanisperfectlysatisfiedastothereasonableness,—Imightalmostsay,asto therectitude,—ofhisownconduct throughout.He isoneofadecayedIrishfamily,thatcouldboastofgoodblood.Hisfatherhadobtainedpossessionoftheremnants of the property by turning Protestant, thus ousting the elder brother,wholateronbecomeshisnephew'sconfederateingambling.Theelderbrotheristrue to the old religion, and as the law stood in the last century, the youngerbrother,bychanginghisreligion,wasabletoturnhimout.Barry,whenaboy,learns the slang and the gait of the debauched gentlemen of the day. He isspecially proud of being a gentleman by birth and manners. He had beenkidnapped, andmade to serve as a common soldier, but boasts that hewas atoncefitfortheoccasionwhenenabledtoshowasacourtgentleman."Icametoitatonce,"hesays,"andasifIhadneverdoneanythingelseallmylife.Ihadagentleman towait uponme, aFrench friseur todressmyhairof amorning. Iknewthetasteofchocolateasbyintuitionalmost,andcoulddistinguishbetweentherightSpanishandtheFrenchbeforeIhadbeenaweekinmynewposition.Ihad rings on allmy fingers andwatches in bothmy fobs, canes, trinkets, andsnuffboxes of all sorts. I had the finest natural taste for lace and chinaof anymanIeverknew."

To dress well, to wear a sword with a grace, to carry away his plunder withaffected indifference, and to appear to be equally easywhen he loses his lastducat, tobeagreeable towomen, and to look likeagentleman,—thesearehisaccomplishments.Inoneplaceherisestotheheightofagrandprofessorintheart of gambling, and gives his lessonswith almost a noble air. "Play grandly,honourably.Benotofcoursecastdownatlosing;butaboveall,benoteageratwinning, as mean souls are." And he boasts of his accomplishments with somucheloquenceastomakethereadersurethathebelievesinthem.Heisquite

pathetic over himself, and can describewith heartrendingwords the evils thatbefall himwhen others use against him successfully any of the artswhich hepractiseshimself.

Themarvelofthebookisnotsomuchthattheheroshouldevidentlythinkwellofhimself,asthattheauthorshouldsotellhisstoryastoappeartobealtogetheronthehero'sside.InCatherine,thehorrorsdescribedaremosttrulydisgusting,—so much that the story, though very clever, is not pleasant reading. TheMemoirsofBarryLyndonareverypleasanttoread.Thereisnothingtoshockordisgust. The style of narrative is exactly that which might be used as to theexploits of a man whom the author intended to represent as deserving ofsympathyandpraise,—sothatthereaderisalmostbroughttosympathise.ButIshouldbedoinganinjusticetoThackerayifIweretoleaveanimpressionthathehadtaughtlessonstendingtoevilpractice,suchashesupposedtohavebeenleftbyJackSheppardorEugeneAram.Noonewillbetemptedtoundertakethelife of a chevalier d'industrie by reading the book, or be made to think thatcheatingatcardsiseitheranagreeableoraprofitableprofession.Thefollowingis excellent as a tirade in favour of gambling, coming from Redmond deBalibari,ashecametobecalledduringhisadventuresabroad,butitwillhardlypersuadeanyonetobeagambler;

"Wealwaysplayedonparolewithanybody,—anyperson,thatis,ofhonourandnoble lineage. We never pressed for our winnings, or declined to receivepromissorynotesinlieuofgold.Butwoetothemanwhodidnotpaywhenthenotebecamedue!RedmonddeBalibariwassuretowaituponhimwithhisbill,and I promiseyou therewerevery fewbaddebts.On the contrary, gentlemenwere grateful to us for our forbearance, and our character for honour stoodunimpeached.Inlattertimes,avulgarnationalprejudicehaschosentocastaslurupon the character ofmen of honour engaged in the profession of play; but Ispeak of the good old days of Europe, before the cowardice of the Frencharistocracy (in the shameful revolution, which served them right) broughtdiscredit upon our order. They cry fie now uponmen engaged in play; but Ishould like toknowhowmuchmorehonourable theirmodesof livelihoodarethanours.ThebrokeroftheExchange,whobullsandbears,andbuysandsells,and dabbleswith lying loans, and trades upon state-secrets,—what is he but agamester?Themerchantwhodealsinteasandtallow,isheanybetter?Hisbalesofdirty indigoarehisdice,hiscardscomeupeveryyear insteadofevery tenminutes, and the sea is his green-table. You call the profession of the law anhonourableone,whereamanwilllieforanybidder;—liedownpovertyforthe

sakeofafeefromwealth;liedownrightbecausewrongisinhisbrief.Youcalladoctor an honourable man,—a swindling quack who does not believe in thenostrumswhichheprescribes,andtakesyourguineaforwhisperinginyourearthat it is a finemorning.Andyet, forsooth,agallantman,whositshimdownbeforethebaizeandchallengesallcomers,hismoneyagainsttheirs,hisfortuneagainst theirs, isproscribedbyyourmodernmoralworld!It isaconspiracyofthemiddle-classagainstgentlemen.Itisonlytheshopkeepercantwhichistogodown nowadays. I say that play was an institution of chivalry. It has beenwreckedalongwithotherprivilegesofmenofbirth.WhenSeingaltengagedamanforsix-and-thirtyhourswithoutleavingthetable,doyouthinkheshowedno courage? How have we had the best blood and the brightest eyes too, ofEuropethrobbingroundthetable,asIandmyunclehaveheldthecardsandthebankagainstsometerribleplayer,whowasmatchingsomethousandsoutofhismillionsagainstour all,whichwas thereon thebaize!Whenweengaged thatdaringAlexisKossloffsky,andwonseventhousandlouisonasinglecoup,hadwelostweshouldhavebeenbeggarsthenextday;whenhelost,hewasonlyavillageandafewhundredserfsinpawntheworse.WhenatToeplitztheDukeofCourland brought fourteen lacqueys, each with four bags of florins, andchallengedourbanktoplayagainstthesealedbags,whatdidweask?'Sir,'saidwe, 'wehavebut eighty thousand florins in bank, or twohundred thousand atthreemonths.Ifyourhighness'sbagsdonotcontainmorethaneightythousandwewillmeetyou.'Andwedid;andafterelevenhours'play,inwhichourbankwas at one time reduced to two hundred and three ducats,wewon seventeenthousand florins of him. Is this not something like boldness? Does thisprofessionnotrequireskill,andperseverance,andbravery?Fourcrownedheadslookedon at the game, and an imperial princess,when I turned up the ace ofheartsandmadeParoli,burstintotears.NomanontheEuropeanContinentheldahigherpositionthanRedmondBarrythen;andwhentheDukeofCourlandlosthewaspleasedtosaythatwehadwonnobly.Andsowehad,andspentnoblywhatwewon."This isverygrand,and isputasaneloquentmanwouldput itwhoreallywishedtodefendgambling.

Therascal,ofcourse,comestoamiserableend,butthetoneofthenarrativeiscontinued throughout.He is brought to live at lastwith his oldmother in theFleetprison,onawretchedannuityof fiftypoundsper annum,which shehassavedout of thegeneralwreck, and there hedies of delirium tremens.For anassumedtoneofcontinuedirony,maintainedthroughthelongmemoirofalife,neverbecomingtedious,neverunnatural,astoundingusratherbyitsnaturalness,IknownothingequaltoBarryLyndon.

As one reads, one sometimes is struck by a conviction that this or the otherwriterhas thoroughly liked theworkonwhichhe isengaged.There isagustoabout his passages, a liveliness in the language, a spring in themotion of thewords,aneagernessofdescription,alilt,ifImaysocallit,intheprogressofthenarrative, which makes the reader feel that the author has himself greatlyenjoyedwhathehaswritten.Hehas evidentlygoneonwithhisworkwithoutanysenseofweariness,ordoubt;andthewordshavecomereadilytohim.SoithasbeenwithBarryLyndon."Mymindwasfilledfullwiththoseblackguards,"Thackerayoncesaid toa friend. It iseasyenough tosee that itwasso. In thepassagewhichIhaveabovequoted,hismindwasrunningoverwiththeideathatarascalmightbesofargoneinrascalityastobeinlovewithhisowntrade.

ThiswasthelastofThackeray'slongstoriesinFraser.Ihavegivenbynomeansa complete catalogue of his contributions to themagazine, but I have perhapsmentioned thosewhich are best known. Thereweremany short pieceswhichhave now been collected in his works, such as Little Travels and RoadsideSketches,andtheCarmenLilliense,inwhichthepoetissupposedtobedetainedatLillebywantofmoney.ThereareotherswhichIthinkarenottobefoundinthecollectedworks, suchasaBoxofNovelsbyTitmarsh,andTitmarsh in thePictureGalleries. After the name of Titmarsh had been once assumed it wasgenerallyusedinthepaperswhichhesenttoFraser.

Thackeray's connectionwithPunch began in 1843, and, as far as I can learn,MissTickletoby'sLecturesonEnglishHistorywashis first contribution.They,however, have not been foundworthy of a place in the collected edition.Hisshort pieces during a long period of his life were so numerous that to havebroughtthemall togetherwouldhaveweightedhismoreimportantworkswithtoogreatanamountofextraneousmatter.Thesamelady,MissTickletoby,gaveaseriesof lectures.TherewasTheHistoryof thenextFrenchRevolution,andTheWanderingsofourFatContributor,—thefirstofwhichis,andthelatterisnot, perpetuated in his works. Our old friend Jeames Yellowplush, or De laPluche,—forwecannotforamomentdoubtthatheisthesameJeames,—isveryprolific,andasexcellentinhisorthography,hissense,andsatire,asever.Thesepapers beganwithThe Lucky Speculator. He lives in The Albany; he hires abrougham;and isdevoted toMissEmilyFlimsey, thedaughterofSirGeorge,who had been hismaster,—to the great injury of poorMaryanne, the fellow-servant who had loved him in his kitchen days. Then there follows thatwonderfulballad,JeamesofBackleySquare.UponthishewritesanangrylettertoPunch, dated from his chambers in TheAlbany; "Has a reglar suscriber to

youramusingpaper, Ibeg leaf to state that I shouldneverhavedonesohad Isupposed that it was your 'abbit to igspose themistaries of privit life, and tohingerthedelligitfeelingsofumbleindividyoulslikemyself."Hewritesinhisown defence, both as toMaryanne and to the share-dealing bywhich he hadmadehisfortune;andheendswithdeclaringhisrighttothepositionwhichheholds. "You are corrict in stating that I amof hancientNormin fam'ly.This ismore than Peal can say, towhomb I applied for a barnetcy; but the primmierbeingoflowigstraction,natrallystiklesforhishorder."Andtheletterissigned"FitzjamesDelaPluche."Thenfollowshisdiary,beginningwithadescriptionof theway inwhich he rushed intoPunch's office, declaring hismisfortunes,when losses had comeuponhim. "Iwish to be paid formy contribewtions toyourpaper.Suckmstancesisalteredwithme."WhereuponhegetsachequeuponMessrs.PumpandAldgate,andhashimselfcarriedaway tonewspeculations.Heleaveshisdiarybehindhim,andPunchsurreptitiouslypublishesit.Thereismuch in the diary which comes from Thackeray's very heart. Who does notrememberhisindignationagainstLordBareacres?"Igavetheoldhumbugafewsharesoutofmyownpocket.'There,oldPride,'saysI,'Iliketoseeyoudownonyourkneestoafootman.There,oldPomposity!Takefiftypounds.Iliketoseeyou come cringing and begging for it!'Whenever I see him in a very publicplace, I take my change for my money. I digg him in the ribbs, or clap hispaddedoldshoulders.Icallhim'Bareacres,myoldbrick,'andIseehimwince.It does my 'art good." It does Thackeray's heart good to pour himself out inindignationagainstsomeimaginaryBareacres.Heblowsoffhissteamwithsuchaneagerness thatheforgetsfora time,ornearlyforgets,hiscacography.Thenthere are "Jeames on TimeBargings," "Jeames on theGaugeQuestion," "Mr.Jeamesagain."Ofallourauthor'sheroesJeames isperhaps themostamusing.Thereisnotmuchinthatjokeofbadspelling,andweshouldhavebeeninclinedto saybeforehand, thatMrs.Malaprophaddone it sowell and so sufficiently,thatnorepetitionofitwouldbereceivedwithgreatfavour.Likeotherdishes,itdependsuponthecooking.Jeames,withhis"suckmstances,"highorlow,willbeimmortal.

TherewereTheTravelsinLondon,alongseriesofthem;andthenPunch'sPrizeNovelists, in which Thackeray imitates the language and plots of Bulwer,Disraeli,CharlesLever,G.P.R.James,Mrs.Gore,andCooper, theAmerican.They are all excellent; perhaps Codlingsby is the best. Mendoza, when he isfighting with the bargeman, or drinking with Codlingsby, or receiving LouisPhilippeinhisrooms,seemstohavecomedirectfromthepenofourPremier.Phil Fogerty's jump, and the younger and the elder horsemen, as they come

ridingintothestory,oneinhisarmourandtheotherwithhisfeathers,havetheverysavourandtoneofLeverandJames;butthenthesavourandthetonearenotsopiquant.IknownothinginthewayofimitationtoequalCodlingsby,ifitbenotTheTaleofDruryLane,byW.S.intheRejectedAddresses,ofwhichitissaid thatWalterScottdeclared thathemusthavewritten ithimself.ThescenebetweenDr.Franklin,LouisXVI.,MarieAntoinette,andTatua,thechiefoftheNose-rings,astoldinTheStarsandStripes,isperfectinitsway,butitfailsasbeingacaricatureofCooper.Thecaricaturisthasbeencarriedawaybeyondandabovehismodel,byhisownsenseoffun.

OftheballadswhichappearedinPunchIwillspeakelsewhere,asImustgiveaseparate short chapter to our author's power of versification; but Imust say awordofTheSnobPapers,whichwereatthetimethemostpopularandthebestknownofallThackeray'scontributionstoPunch.Ithinkthatperhapstheyweremore charming,more piquant,more apparently true,when they came out oneafteranother in theperiodical, than theyarenowascollected together. I thinkthatoneatatimewouldbebetterthanmany.AndIthinkthatthefirsthalfinthelong list of snobswouldhavebeenmoremanifestly snobs tous than they arenowwith the second half of the list appended. In fact, there are toomany ofthem, till the reader is driven to tell himself that themeaning of it all is thatAdam'sfamilyisfromfirsttolastafamilyofsnobs."First,"saysThackeray,inpreface,"theworldwasmade;then,asamatterofcourse,snobs;theyexistedforyearsandyears,andwerenomoreknownthanAmerica.Butpresently,—ingenspatebattellus,—thepeoplebecamedarklyawarethattherewassucharace.Notabovefive-and-twentyyearssince,aname,anexpressivemonosyllable,arosetodesignate that case. That name has spread over England like railroadssubsequently;snobsareknownandrecognisedthroughoutanempireonwhichIamgiventounderstandthesunneversets.Punchappearsattherightseasontochronicle their history; and the individual comes forth towrite that history inPunch.

"I have,—and for this gift I congratulate myself with a deep and abidingthankfulness,—aneyeforasnob.Ifthetruthfulisthebeautiful,itisbeautifultostudyeventhesnobbish;—totracksnobsthroughhistoryascertainlittledogsinHampshirehuntouttruffles;tosinkshaftsinsociety,andcomeuponrichveinsof snob-ore. Snobbishness is likeDeath, in a quotation fromHorace,which Ihopeyouneverheard,'beatingwithequalfootatpoormen'sdoors,andkickingatthegatesofemperors.'Itisagreatmistaketojudgeofsnobslightly,andthinktheyexistamongthelowerclassesmerely.Animmensepercentageofsnobs,I

believe, is to be found in every rank of this mortal life. Youmust not judgehastily or vulgarly of snobs; to do so shows that you are yourself a snob. Imyselfhavebeentakenforone."

ThestateofThackeray'smindwhenhecommencedhisdelineationsofsnobberyis here accurately depicted. Written, as these papers were, for Punch, andwritten,astheywere,byThackeray,itwasanecessitythateveryideaputforthshould be given as a joke, and that the satire on society in general should bewrappedup inburlesque absurdity.But not the less eager and seriouswashisintention.Whenhe tellsus,at theendof thefirstchapter,ofacertainColonelSnobley,whomhemetat"BagniggeWells,"ashesays,andwithwhomhewassodisgustedthathedeterminedtodrivethemanoutof thehouse,wearewellawarethathehadmetanoffensivemilitarygentleman,—probablyatTunbridge.Gentlemen thus offensive, even though tamely offensive, were peculiarlyoffensivetohim.Wepresume,bywhatfollows,thatthisgentleman,ignorantly,—for himself most unfortunately,—spoke of Public[=o]la. Thackeray wasdisgusted,—disgusted that such a name should be lugged into ordinaryconversationatall,andthenthatamanshouldtalkaboutanamewithwhichhewas so little acquainted as not to know how to pronounce it. The man wasthereforeasnob,andoughttobeputdown;inallwhichIthinkthatThackeraywasunnecessarilyhardontheman,andgavehimtoomuchimportance.

Soitwaswithhiminhiswhole intercoursewithsnobs,—ashecalls them.Hesaw something thatwas distasteful, and aman instantly became a snob in hisestimation."Butyoucandraw,"amanoncesaidtohim,therehavingbeensomediscussiononthesubjectofThackeray'sartpowers.Themanmeantnodoubttobecivil, butmeant also to imply that for thepurposeneeded thedrawingwasgood enough, a matter on which he was competent to form an opinion.Thackeray instantly put theman down as a snob for flattering him. The littlecourtesies of theworld and the little discourtesies became snobbish to him.Amancouldnotwearhishat,orcarryhisumbrella,ormounthishorse,withoutfalling into some error of snobbism before his hypercritical eyes. St.Michaelwouldhavecarriedhisarmouramiss,andSt.Ceciliahavebeensnobbishasshetwangedherharp.

Ifancythatapolicemanconsidersthateverymaninthestreetwouldbeproperly"runin,"ifonlyall thetruthaboutthemanhadbeenknown.Thetinkerthinksthateverypotisunsound.Thecobblerdoubtsthestabilityofeveryshoe.Soatlast it grew tobe the casewithThackeray.Therewasmorehope that the cityshouldbesavedbecauseofitstenjustmen,thanforsociety,ifsocietywereto

dependontenwhowerenotsnobs.Allthisarosefromthekeennessofhisvisionintothatwhichwasreallymean.Butthatkeennessbecamesoaggravatedbytheintensenessofhissearchthattheslightestspeckofdustbecametohiseyesasafoul stain. Public[=o]la, as we saw, damned one poor man to a wretchedimmortality, and another was called pitilessly over the coals, because he hadmixedagrainofflatterywithabushelof truth.Thackeray tellsus thathewasborn tohuntout snobs,ascertaindogsare trained to find truffles.Butwecanimaginethatadog,veryenergeticatproducingtruffles,andnotfindingthemasplentifulashisheartdesired,mightoccasionallyproducerootswhichwerenotgenuine,—mightbecarriedoninhisenergiestilltohissenseseveryfungus-rootbecameatruffle.Ithinkthattherehasbeensomethingofthiswithourauthor'ssnob-hunting,andthathiszealwasatlastgreaterthanhisdiscrimination.

Thenatureofthetaskwhichcameuponhimmadethisfaultalmostunavoidable.Whenahitismade,saywithapieceatatheatre,orwithasetofillustrations,orwithaseriesofpapersonthisortheothersubject,—whensomethingofthiskindhas suited the taste of themoment, and gratified the public, there is a naturalinclination on the part of thosewho are interested to continue thatwhich hasbeen found to be good. It pays and it pleases, and it seems to suit everybody.Thenitiscontinuedusqueadnauseam.Weseeitineverything.Whenthekingsaidhelikedpartridges,partridgeswereservedtohimeveryday.Theworldwaspleasedwithcertainridiculousportraitsofitsbigmen.Thebigmenweresoonusedup,andthelittlemenhadtobeadded.

We can imagine that even Punch may occasionally be at a loss for subjectswherewithtodelightitsreaders.Infact,TheSnobPaperswere toogood tobebrought toanend,and therefore therewereforty-fiveof them.Adozenwouldhavebeenbetter.Ashehimselfsaysinhislastpaper,"foramortalyearwehavebeen together flattering and abusing the human race." It was exactly that. Ofcourseweknow,—everybodyalwaysknows,—thatabadspecimenofhisordermaybe found in every division of society.Theremaybe a snob king, a snobparson,asnobmemberofparliament,asnobgrocer, tailor,goldsmith,and thelike.Butthatisnotwhathasbeenmeant.Wedidnotwantaspecialsatiristtotellus what we all knew before. Had snobbishness been divided for us into itsvariousattributesandcharacteristics,ratherthanattributedtovariousclasses,theend sought,—the exposure, namely, of the evil,—would have been betterattained.The snobbishness of flattery, of falsehood, of cowardice, lying, time-serving,money-worship,wouldhavebeenperhapsattackedtoabetterpurposethanthatofkings,priests,soldiers,merchants,ormenofletters.Theassaultas

madebyThackerayseemstohavebeenmadeontheprofessiongenerally.

Thepaperonclericalsnobsisintendedtobeessentiallygenerous,andisendedbyanallusiontocertainoldclericalfriendswhichhasasweettoneoftendernessinit."Howshouldhewhoknowsyou,notrespectyouoryourcalling?Maythispenneverwriteapennyworthagainifitevercastsridiculeuponeither."Butinthemeantimehehasthrownhisstoneatthecovetousnessofbishops,becauseofcertainIrishprelateswhodiedrichmanyyearsbeforehewrote.Theinsinuationis that bishops generally take more of the loaves and fishes than they ought,whereas the fact is that bishops' incomes are generally so insufficient for therequirementsdemandedofthem,thatafeelingprevailsthataclergymantobefitforabishopricshouldhaveaprivateincome.Heattacksthesnobbishnessoftheuniversities, showing us how one class of young men consists of fellow-commoners,whowear laceanddrinkwinewith theirmeals,andanotherclassconsistsof sizars,or servitors,whowearbadges, asbeingpoor, andareneverallowed to take their foodwith their fellow-students.Thatarrangements fit forpast times are not fit for these is true enough. Consequently they shouldgradually be changed; and from day to day are changed. But there is nosnobbishness in this. Was the fellow-commoner a snob when he acted inaccordancewiththecustomofhisrankandstanding?orthesizarwhoacceptedaid inachieving thateducationwhichhecouldnothavegotwithout it?or thetutorof thecollege,whocarriedout the rulesentrusted tohim?Thereare twomilitary snobs,Rag andFamish.One is a swindler and the other a debauchedyoungidiot.Nodoubttheyarebothsnobs,andonehasbeen,whiletheotheris,an officer. But there is,—I think, not an unfairness somuch as an absence ofintuition,—inattachingtosoldiersespeciallytwovicestowhichallclassesareopen.Ragwasagamblingsnob,andFamishadrunkensnob,—buttheywerenotspeciallymilitary snobs.There is a chapter devoted to dinner-giving snobs, inwhichIthinkthedoctrinelaiddownwillnotholdwater,andthereforethatthesnobbism imputed is not proved. "Your usual style of meal," says the satirist—"thatisplenteous,comfortable,andinitsperfection,—shouldbethattowhichyou welcome your friends." Then there is something said about the"Brummagemplatepomp,"andwearetoldthatitisrightthatdukesshouldgivegranddinners,but thatwe,—of themiddleclass,—shouldentertainour friendswith the simplicitywhich is customarywith us. In all this there is, I think, amistake.Thedukegivesagranddinnerbecausehethinkshisfriendswilllikeit,sittingdownwhenalonewiththeduchess,wemaysuppose,witharetinueandgrandeur less than that which is arrayed for gala occasions. So is it withMr.Jones,whoisnosnobbecauseheprovidesacostlydinner,—ifhecanaffordit.

He does it because he thinks his friendswill like it. Itmay be that the granddinnerisabore,—andthatthelegofmuttonwithplentyofgravyandpotatoesallhot,wouldbenicer.Igenerallypreferthelegofmuttonmyself.ButIdonotthinkthatsnobberyisinvolvedintheother.Aman,nodoubt,maybeasnobingiving a dinner. I am not a snob because for the occasion I eke outmy owndozensilverforkswithplatedware;butifImakebelievethatmyplatedwareistruesilver,thenIamasnob.

Inthatmatterofassociationwithourbetters,—wewillforthemomentpresumethatgentlemenandladieswithtitlesorgreatwealthareourbetters,—greatanddelicatequestionsariseas towhat issnobbery,andwhat isnot, inspeakingofwhich Thackeray becomes very indignant, and explains the intensity of hisfeelingsasthoroughlybyacharminglittlepictureasbyhiswords.ItisapictureofQueenElizabethassheisabouttotramplewithdisdainonthecoatwhichthatsnobRaleighisthrowingforheruseonthemudbeforeher.ThisisintendedtotypifythelowparasitenatureoftheEnglishmanwhichhasbeendescribedintheprevious page or two. "And of these calmmoralists,"—it matters not for ourpresent purposewho were the moralists in question,—"is there one I wonderwhoseheartwouldnotthrobwithpleasureifhecouldbeseenwalkingarm-in-arm with a couple of dukes down Pall Mall? No; it is impossible, in ourconditionofsociety,nottobesometimesasnob."Andagain:"Howshoulditbeotherwise in a country where lordolatry is part of our creed, and where ourchildren are brought up to respect the 'Peerage' as the Englishman's secondBible." Then follows thewonderfully graphic picture of Queen Elizabeth andRaleigh.

In all thisThackerayhasbeencarried away from the truthbyhishatred for acertainmeannessofwhichtherearenodoubtexamplesenough.AsforRaleigh,I thinkwehavealways sympathisedwith theyoungman, insteadofdespisinghim,becausehefeltontheimpulseofthemomentthatnothingwastoogoodforthewomanandthequeencombined.Theideaofgettingsomethinginreturnforhis coat could hardly have come soquick to himas that impulse in favour ofroyaltyandwomanhood.Ifoneofusto-dayshouldseethequeenpassing,wouldhe not raise his hat, and assume, unconsciously, something of an altereddemeanourbecauseofhisreverenceformajesty?Indoingsohewouldhavenomean desire of getting anything. The throne and its occupant are to himhonourable, and he honours them. There is surely no greater mistake than tosuppose that reverence is snobbishness. I meet a great man in the street, andsomechancehavingbroughtmetohisknowledge,hestopsandsaysawordto

me.AmIasnobbecauseI feelmyself tobegracedbyhisnotice?Surelynot.Andifhisacquaintancegoesfurtherandheasksmetodinner,amInotentitledsofartothinkwellofmyselfbecauseIhavebeenfoundworthyofhissociety?

Theywhohaveraisedthemselvesintheworld,andthey,too,whosepositionhasenabledthemtoreceiveallthatestimationcangive,allthatsocietycanfurnish,all that intercourse with the great can give, are more likely to be pleasantcompanions than they who have been less fortunate. That picture of twocompaniondukesinPallMallistoogorgeousforhumaneyetoendure.Amanwouldbescorchedtocindersbysomuchlight,ashewouldbecrushedbyasackofsovereignseven thoughhemightbeallowedtohave themifhecouldcarrythem away. But there can be no doubt that a peer taken at random as acompanion would be preferable to a clerk from a counting-house,—taken atrandom.Theclerkmightturnoutascholaronyourhands,andthepeernobetterthanapoorspendthrift;—butthechancesaretheotherway.

A tufthunter is a snob, a parasite is a snob, themanwhoallows themanhoodwithin him to be awed by a coronet is a snob. Theman who worships merewealthisasnob.Butsoalsoishewho,infearlestheshouldbecalledasnob,isafraidtoseektheacquaintance,—orifitcometospeakoftheacquaintance,—ofthosewhoseacquaintanceismanifestlydesirable.InallthisIfeelthatThackeraywascarriedbeyondthetruthbyhisintensedesiretoputdownwhatismean.

Itisintruthwellforusalltoknowwhatconstitutessnobbism,andIthinkthatThackeray,hadhenotbeendriventodilutionanddilatation,couldhavetoldus.Ifyouwillkeepyourhandsfrompickingandstealing,andyourtonguefromevilspeaking,lying,andslandering,youwillnotbeasnob.Thelessonseemstobesimple,andperhapsalittletrite,butifyoulookintoit,itwillbefoundtocontainnearlyallthatisnecessary.

Buttheexcellenceofeachindividualpictureasitisdrawnisnotthelessstrikingbecause theremay be found some faultwith the series as awhole.What canexcel the tellingof the storyofCaptainShindy at his club,—which is, Imustown,astrueasitisgraphic.CaptainShindyisarealsnob."'Lookatit,sir;isitcooked?Smellit,sir.Isitmeatfitforagentleman?'heroarsouttothesteward,whostandstremblingbeforehim,andwhoinvaintellshimthat theBishopofBullocksmithy has just had three from the same loin." The telling as regardsCaptainShindyisexcellent,butthesidelongattackupontheepiscopateiscruel."All the waiters in the club are huddled round the captain's mutton-chop. HeroarsoutthemosthorriblecursesatJohnfornotbringingthepickles.Heutters

themostdreadfuloathsbecauseThomashasnotarrivedwiththeHarveysauce.Peter comes tumbling with the water-jug over Jeames, who is bringing the'glitteringcanisterswithbread.'

"Poor Mrs. Shindy and the children are, meanwhile, in dingy lodgingssomewhere,waiteduponbyacharitygirlinpattens."

ThevisittoCastleCarabas,andthehousekeeper'sdescriptionofthewondersofthe family mansion, is as good. "'The Side Entrance and 'All,' says thehousekeeper. 'The halligator hover the mantelpiece was brought home byHadmiral St.Michaels, when a captingwith LordHanson. The harms on thecheersistheharmsoftheCarabasfamily.Thegreat'allisseventyfeetinlenth,fifty-six in breath, and thirty-eight feet 'igh. The carvings of the chimlies,representingthebuthofVenusand'Erculesand'Eyelash,isbyVanChislum,themost famous sculpture of his hage and country. The ceiling, by Calimanco,representsPainting,Harchitecture,andMusic,—thenakedfemalefigurewiththebarrel-organ,—introducing George, first Lord Carabas, to the Temple of theMuses.ThewinderornamentsisbyVanderputty.ThefloorisPatagonianmarble;and the chandelier in the centre was presented to Lionel, secondmarquis, byLewytheSixteenth,whose'eadwascuthoffintheFrenchRevolution.WenowhentertheSouthGallery,"etc.etc.Allofwhichisverygoodfun,withadashoftruthinitalsoastothesnobbery;—onlyinthisitwillbenecessarytobequitesure where the snobbery lies. If my Lord Carabas has a "buth of Venus,"beautiful for all eyes to see, there is no snobbery, only good-nature, in theshowingit;noristheresnobberyingoingtoseeit,ifabeautiful"buthofVenus"hascharmsforyou.Ifyoumerelywanttoseetheinsideofalord'shouse,andthelordispuffedupwiththeprideofshowinghis,thentherewillbetwosnobs.

Ofall thosepapers itmaybesaid thateachhas thatqualityofapearlabout itwhichinthepreviouschapterIendeavouredtoexplain.Ineachsomelittlepointis made in excellent language, so as to charm by its neatness, incision, anddrollery.ButTheSnobPapershadbetterbereadseparately,andnottakeninthelump.

ThackerayceasedtowriteforPunchin1852,eitherentirelyoralmostso.

CHAPTERIII.

VANITYFAIR.

Somethinghasbeensaid,inthebiographicalchapter,ofthewayinwhichVanityFairwasproduced,andoftheperiodintheauthor'slifeinwhichitwaswritten.He had become famous,—to a limited extent,—by the exquisite nature of hiscontributions to periodicals; but he desired to do something larger, somethinggreater, something, perhaps, less ephemeral. For though Barry Lyndon andothershavenotproved tobe ephemeral, itwas thus thathe regarded them. InthisspirithewenttoworkandwroteVanityFair.

Itmaybeaswell tospeakfirstof thefaultswhichwereattributedtoit.Itwassaid that the good people were all fools, and that the clever people were allknaves.When the critics,—the talking critics as well as the writing critics,—began to discuss Vanity Fair, there had already grown up a feeling as toThackeray as an author—that he was one who had taken up the business ofcastigating the vices of the world. Scott had dealt with the heroics, whetherdisplayed in his Flora MacIvors or Meg Merrilieses, in his Ivanhoes orOchiltrees.MissEdgeworthhadbeenmoral;MissAustenconventional;Bulwerhad been poetical and sentimental; Marryat and Lever had been funny andpugnacious,alwayswithadashofgallantry,displayingfunnynavalandfunnymilitarylife;andDickenshadalreadybecomegreatinpaintingthevirtuesofthelowerorders.Butbyallthesesomekindofvirtuehadbeensung,thoughitmightbeonly thevirtueofridingahorseor fightingaduel.EvenEugeneAramandJackSheppard,withwhomThackerayfoundsomuchfault,wereintendedtobefine fellows, though they broke into houses and committed murders. Theprimaryobjectofallthosewriterswastocreateaninterestbyexcitingsympathy.To enhance our sympathy personages were introduced who were very vileindeed,—as Bucklaw, in the guise of a lover, to heighten our feelings forRavenswoodandLucy;asWild,asa thief-taker, tomakeusmoreanxious forthesavingofJack;asRalphNickleby,topileupthepityforhisnieceKate.ButeachofthesenovelistsmighthaveappropriatelybegunwithanArmavirumquecano. The song was to be of something godlike,—even with a Peter Simple.With Thackeray it had been altogether different. Alas, alas! the meanness ofhumanwishes;thepoornessofhumanresults!Thathadbeenhistone.Therecan

benodoubtthattheheroichadappearedcontemptibletohim,asbeinguntrue.Thegirlwhohaddeceivedherpapaandmammaseemedmoreprobabletohimthanshewhoperishedunder thewillow-treefromsheer love,—asgiven in thelastchapter.Whysingsongsthatarefalse?WhytellofLucyAshtonsandKateNicklebys,whenprettygirls,letthembeeversobeautiful,canbesillyandsly?Whypourphilosophyoutof themouthofa fashionableyounggentleman likePelham, seeing thatyounggentlemenof that sort rarely,orwemaysaynever,talk after that fashion? Why make a housebreaker a gallant charming youngfellow,thetruthbeingthathousebreakersasaruleareasobjectionableintheirmanners as theyare in theirmorals?Thackeray'smindhad in truthworked inthisway,andhehadbecomeasatirist.Thathadbeenallverywell forFraserandPunch;butwhenhissatirewascontinuedthroughalongnovel,intwenty-four parts, readers,—whodo in truth like theheroic better than thewicked,—begantodeclarethatthiswriterwasnonovelist,butonlyacynic.

Thencethequestionariseswhatanovelshouldbe,—whichIwillendeavourtodiscussveryshortlyinalaterchapter.ButthisspecialfaultwascertainlyfoundwithVanityFairatthetime.Heroinesshouldnotonlybebeautiful,butshouldbeendowed also with a quasi celestial grace,—grace of dignity, propriety, andreticence.A heroine should hardlywant to bemarried, the arrangement beingalmost toomundane,—and, should she be brought to consent to undergo suchbond,becauseofitsacknowledgedutility,itshouldbeatsomeperiodsodistantashardlytopresentitselftothemindasareality.Eatinganddrinkingshouldbealtogether indifferent to her, and her clothes should be picturesque rather thansmart,andthatfromaccidentratherthandesign.Thackeray'sAmeliadoesnotatall come up to the description here given. She is proud of having a lover,constantlydeclaringtoherselfandtoothersthatheis"thegreatestandthebestofmen,"—whereastheyounggentlemanis,intruth,averylittleman.Sheisnotat all indifferent as to her finery, nor, as we see incidentally, to enjoying hersuppersatVauxhall.Sheisanxioustobemarried,—andassoonaspossible.Aherotooshouldbedignifiedandofanoblepresence;amanwho,thoughhemaybe as poor as Nicholas Nickleby, should nevertheless be beautiful on alloccasions,andneverdeficientinreadiness,address,orself-assertion.VanityFairisspeciallydeclaredbytheauthortobe"anovelwithoutahero,"andthereforewehavehardlyarighttocomplainofdeficiencyofheroicconductinanyofthemale characters. But Captain Dobbin does become the hero, and is deficient.Why was he called Dobbin, except to make him ridiculous? Why is he soshamefully ugly, so shy, so awkward? Why was he the son of a grocer?Thackerayinsodepictinghimwasdeterminedtoruncountertotherecognised

taste of novel readers. And then again there was the feeling of another greatfault. Let there be the virtuous in a novel and let there be the vicious, thedignified and the undignified, the sublime and the ridiculous,—only let thevirtuous,thedignified,andthesublimebeintheascendant.EdithBellenden,andLord Evandale, and Morton himself would be too stilted, were they notenlivened byMause, and Cuddie, and Poundtext. But here, in this novel, theviciousandtheabsurdhavebeenmadetobeofmoreimportancethanthegoodandthenoble.BeckySharpandRawdonCrawleyaretherealheroineandheroofthestory.Itiswiththemthatthereaderiscalledupontointeresthimself.Itisofthemthathewillthinkwhenheisreadingthebook.Itisbythemthathewilljudgethebookwhenhehasreadit.Therewasnodoubtafeelingwiththepublicthat though satire may be very well in its place, it should not be made thebackbone of a work so long and so important as this. A short story such asCatherineorBarryLyndonmightbepronouncedtohavebeencalledforbytheiniquities of an outside world; but this seemed to the readers to have beenaddressed almost to themselves. Now men and women like to be painted asTitianwouldpaintthem,orRaffaelle,—notasRembrandt,orevenRubens.

Whethertheidealortherealisthebestformofanovelmaybequestioned,buttherecanbenodoubt thatas therearenovelistswhocannotdescend from thebrightheavenoftheimaginationtowalkwiththeirfeetupontheearth,sothereareotherstowhomitisnotgiventosoaramongclouds.Thereadermustpleasehimself,andmakehisselectionifhecannotenjoyboth.TherearemanywhoarecarriedintoaheavenofpathosbythewoesofaMasterofRavenswood,whofailaltogether to be touched by the enduring constancy of a Dobbin. There areothers,—and I will not say but they may enjoy the keenest delight whichliterature can give,—who cannot employ their minds on fiction unless it beconveyed in poetry. With Thackeray it was essential that the representationsmadebyhimshouldbe,tohisownthinking,lifelike.ADobbinseemedtohimtobe such a one as might probably be met with in the world, whereas to histhinking a Ravenswood was simply a creature of the imagination. He wouldhave said of such, aswewould say of female faces byRaffaelle, thatwomenwould like to be like them, but are not like them.Menmight like to be likeRavenswood, and women may dream of men so formed and constituted, butsuchmendonotexist.Dobbinsdo,andthereforeThackeraychosetowriteofaDobbin.

So also of the preference given to Becky Sharp and to Rawdon Crawley.Thackeray thought thatmorecanbedonebyexposing thevices thanextolling

thevirtuesofmankind.Nodoubthehadamorethoroughbeliefintheonethanintheother.TheDobbinshedidencounter—seldom;theRawdonCrawleysveryoften.Hesawaroundhimsomuchthatwasmean!Hewashurtsooftenbythelittlevanitiesofpeople!ItwasthusthathewasdriventothatoverthoughtfulnessaboutsnobsofwhichIhavespokeninthelastchapter.Itthusbecamenaturaltohimtoinsistonthethingwhichhehatedwithunceasingassiduity,andonlytobreakoutnowandagain intoaraptureof lovefor the truenobilitywhichwasdeartohim,—ashedidwiththecharacterofCaptainDobbin.

Itmustbeaddedtoallthisthat,beforehehasdonewithhissnoborhisknave,hewillgenerallyweaveinsomelittletraitofhumanitybywhichthesinnershallbe relieved from the absolute darkness of utter iniquity. He deals with noVarneys or Deputy-Shepherds, all villany and all lies, because the snobs andknaveshehadseenhadneverbeenallsnoborallknave.EvenShindyprobablyhadsomefeeling for thepoorwomanhe leftathome.RawdonCrawley lovedhiswickedwifedearly,and thereweremomentsevenwithher inwhichsomeredeemingtraithalfreconcileshertothereader.

SuchwerethefaultswhichwerefoundinVanityFair;butthoughthefaultswerefound freely, the book was read by all. Those who are old enough can wellremember the effect which it had, and the welcome which was given to thedifferentnumbersas theyappeared.Though thestory isvagueandwandering,clearlycommencedwithoutanyideaofanending,yetthereissomethinginthetellingwhichmakeseveryportionofitperfectinitself.Thereareabsurditiesinitwhichwouldnotbeadmittedtoanyonewhohadnotapeculiargiftofmakingevenhisabsurditiesdelightful.Noschoolgirlwhoeverlivedwouldhavethrownbackhergift-book,asRebeccadidthe"dixonary,"outofthecarriagewindowasshewastakenawayfromschool.Butwhodoesnotlovethatscenewithwhichthe novel commences? How could such a girl as Amelia Osborne have gotherselfintosuchsocietyasthatinwhichweseeheratVauxhall?Butweforgiveitallbecauseofthetelling.AndthenthereisthatcrowningabsurdityofSirPittCrawleyandhisestablishment.

InevercouldunderstandhowThackerayinhisfirstseriousattemptcouldhavedaredtosubjecthimselfandSirPittCrawleytothecriticsofthetime.SirPittisa baronet, aman of large property, and in Parliament, towhomBecky SharpgoesasagovernessattheendofadelightfulvisitwithherfriendAmeliaSedley,on leavingMissPinkerton's school.TheSedley carriage takes her toSir Pitt'sdoor. "When the bellwas rung a head appeared between the interstices of thedining-roomshutters,and thedoorwasopenedbyamanindrabbreechesand

gaiters,withadirtyoldcoat,afouloldneckclothlashedroundhisbristlyneck,ashiningbaldhead,aleeringredface,apairoftwinklinggrayeyes,andamouthperpetuallyonthegrin.

"'ThisSirPittCrawley's?'saysJohnfromthebox.

"'E'es,'saysthemanatthedoorwithanod.

"'Handdownthese'eretrunksthere,'saidJohn.

"'Hand'emdownyourself,'saidtheporter."ButJohnontheboxdeclinestodothis,ashecannotleavehishorses.

"Thebald-headedman,takinghishandsoutofhisbreeches'pockets,advancedonthissummons,andthrowingMissSharp'strunkoverhisshoulder,carrieditintothehouse."ThenBeckyisshownintothehouse,andadismantleddining-roomisdescribed,intowhichsheisledbythedirtymanwiththetrunk.

Two kitchen chairs, and a round table, and an attenuated old poker andtongs,were,however,gatheredroundthefireplace,aswasasaucepanoverafeeble, sputtering fire. There was a bit of cheese and bread and a tincandlestickonthetable,andalittleblackporterinapintpot.

"Hadyourdinner,Isuppose?"Thiswassaidbyhimofthebaldhead."Itisnottoowarmforyou?Likeadropofbeer?"

"WhereisSirPittCrawley?"saidMissSharpmajestically.

"He,he!I'mSirPittCrawley.Rek'lectyouowemeapintforbringingdownyourluggage.He,he!askTinkerifIain't."

The lady addressed asMrs. Tinker at this moment made her appearance,with a pipe and a paper of tobacco, forwhich she had been despatched aminutebeforeMissSharp'sarrival;andshehanded thearticlesover toSirPitt,whohadtakenhisseatbythefire.

"Where's the farden?" said he. "I gave you three-halfpence; where's thechange,oldTinker?"

"There,"repliedMrs.Tinker, flingingdownthecoin."It'sonlybaronetsascaresaboutfarthings."

SirPittCrawleyhasalwaysbeentomeastretchofaudacitywhichIhavebeenunabletounderstand.Butithasbeenaccepted;andfromthiscommencementofSirPittCrawleyhavegrownthewonderfulcharactersoftheCrawleyfamily,—old Miss Crawley, the worldly, wicked, pleasure-loving aunt, the Rev. ButeCrawley and hiswife,who are quite asworldly, the sanctimonious elder son,who in truth is not less so, and Rawdon, who ultimately becomes Becky'shusband,—whoisthebadheroofthebook,asDobbinisthegoodhero.Theyareadmirable;but it isquiteclear thatThackerayhadknownnothingofwhatwascomingaboutthemwhenhecausedSirPitttoeathistripewithMrs.TinkerintheLondondining-room.

There is a double story running through the book, the parts of which are butlightlywoven together, ofwhich the former tellsus the life andadventuresofthatsingularyoungwomanBeckySharp,andtheotherthetroublesandultimatesuccessofournobleheroCaptainDobbin.Thoughitbetruethatreadersprefer,orpretendtoprefer,theromantictothecommonintheirnovels,andcomplainofpageswhich are defiledwith thatwhich is low, yet I find that the absurd, the

ludicrous,andeventheevil,leavemoreimpressionbehindthemthanthegrand,the beautiful, or even the good. Dominie Sampson, Dugald Dalgetty, andBothwell are, I think, more remembered than Fergus MacIvor, than Ivanhoehimself,orMr.Butlertheminister.Itcertainlycametopassthat,inspiteofthecritics,BeckySharpbecamethefirstattractioninVanityFair.WhenwespeaknowofVanityFair,itisalwaystoBeckythatourthoughtsrecur.Shehasmadeaposition for herself in the world of fiction, and is one of our establishedpersonages.

I have already said how she left school, throwing the "dixonary" out of thewindow, likedust fromher feet, andwas taken to spenda fewhalcyonweekswithherfriendAmeliaSedley,at theSedleymansioninRussellSquare.ThereshemeetsabrotherSedleyhomefromIndia,—theimmortalJos,—atwhomshebegantosetherhithertountriedcap.HerewebecomeacquaintedbothwiththeSedley and with the Osborne families, with all their domestic affections anddomestic snobbery, and have to confess that the snobbery is stronger than theaffection.Aswedesire to loveAmeliaSedley,wewishthat thepeoplearoundher were less vulgar or less selfish,—especially we wish it in regard to thathandsomeyoungfellow,GeorgeOsborne,whomsheloveswithherwholeheart.ButwithJosSedleyweareinclinedtobecontent,thoughhebefat,purse-proud,awkward,adrunkard,andacoward,becausewedonotwantanythingbetterforBecky. Becky does notwant anything better for herself, because theman hasmoney.Shehasbeenbornapauper.Sheknowsherselftobebutillqualifiedtoset up as a beauty,—though by dint of cleverness she does succeed in thatafterwards.Shehasno advantages in regard to friendsor family as she enterslife.Shemustearnherbreadforherself.Youngassheis,shelovesmoney,andhasagreatideaofthepowerofmoney.Therefore,thoughJosisdistastefulatallpoints, she instantlymakes her attack. She fails, however, at any rate for thepresent.Sheneverbecomeshiswife,butatlastshesucceedsingettingsomeofhismoney.Butbeforethattimecomesshehasmanyasufferingtoendure,andmanyatriumphtoenjoy.

She goes to Sir PittCrawley as governess for his second family, and is takendown to Queen's Crawley in the country. There her cleverness prevails, evenwiththebaronet,ofwhomIhavejustgivenThackeray'sportrait.Shekeepshisaccounts,andwriteshisletters,andhelpshimtosavemoney;shereadswiththeeldersisterbookstheyoughtnottohaveread;sheflattersthesanctimoniousson.Inpointoffact,shebecomesallinallatQueen'sCrawley,sothatSirPitthimselffallsinlovewithher,—forthereisreasontothinkthatSirPittmaysoonbecome

again a widower. But there also came down to the baronet's house, on anoccasion of general entertaining, Captain Rawdon Crawley. Of course Beckysetshercapathim,andofcoursesucceeds.Shealwayssucceeds.Thoughsheisonly the governess, he insists upon dancingwith her, to the neglect of all theyoung ladies of the neighbourhood. They continue to walk together bymoonlight,—or starlight,—thegreat, heavy, stupid, half-tipsydragoon, and theintriguing,covetous,altogetherunprincipledyoungwoman.Andthetwoyoungpeople absolutely come to love one another in their way,—the heavy, stupid,fuddleddragoon,andthefalse,covetous,altogetherunprincipledyoungwoman.

ThefatauntCrawley isamaiden lady,veryrich,andBeckyquitesucceeds ingainingtherichauntbyherwiles.TheauntbecomessofondofBeckydowninthe country, thatwhen she has to return to her own house in town, sick fromover-eating, she cannot be happywithout takingBeckywith her. SoBecky isinstalled in the house in London, having been taken away abruptly from herpupils,tothegreatdismayoftheoldlady'slong-establishedresidentcompanion.Theyall fall in lovewithher;shemakesherselfsocharming,she issoclever;shecaneven,byhelpofalittlecareindressing,becomesopicturesque!Asallthisgoeson,thereaderfeelswhatagreatpersonageisMissRebeccaSharp.

LadyCrawley dies down in the country,while Becky is still stayingwith hissister,whowillnotpartwithher.SirPittatoncerushesuptotown,beforethefuneral, looking for consolation where only he can find it. Becky brings himdownwordfromhissister'sroomthattheoldladyistooilltoseehim.

"Somuch thebetter,"SirPitt answered; "Iwant to seeyou,MissSharp. Iwant you back at Queen's Crawley,miss," the baronet said. His eyes hadsuch a strange look, and were fixed upon her so stedfastly that RebeccaSharpbeganalmosttotremble.Thenshehalfpromises,talksaboutthedearchildren,andangleswiththeoldman."ItellyouIwantyou,"hesays;"I'mgoingbacktothevuneral,willyoucomeback?—yesorno?"

"Idaren't. Idon't think—itwouldn'tbe right—tobealone—withyou, sir,"Beckysaid,seeminglyingreatagitation.

"Isayagain,Iwantyou.Ican'tgetonwithoutyou.Ididn'tseewhatitwastillyouwentaway.Thehouseallgoeswrong.It'snotthesameplace.Allmyaccountshasgotmuddledagain.Youmustcomeback.Docomeback.DearBecky,docome."

"Come,—aswhat,sir?"Rebeccagaspedout.

"Come as Lady Crawley, if you like. There, will that zatisfy you? Comeback andbemywife.You're vit for it.Birth be hanged.You're as good alady as ever I see. You've got more brains in your little vinger than anybaronet's wife in the country. Will you come? Yes or no?" Rebecca isstartled,but theoldmangoeson."I'llmakeyouhappy;zeeifIdon't.Youshalldowhatyoulike,spendwhatyoulike,andhaveitallyourownway.I'llmakeyouasettlement.I'lldoeverythingregular.Lookhere,"andtheoldmanfelldownonhiskneesandleeredatherlikeasatyr.

But Rebecca, though she had been angling, angling for favour and love andpower,hadnotexpectedthis.Foronceinherlifeshelosesherpresenceofmind,and exclaims: "Oh Sir Pitt; oh sir; I—I'mmarried already!" She has marriedRawdonCrawley,SirPitt'syoungerson,MissCrawley'sfavouriteamongthoseofher familywhoare looking forhermoney.But shekeepsher secret for thepresent,andwritesacharminglettertotheCaptain;"Dearest,—Somethingtellsme thatwe shall conquer.You shall leave that odious regiment.Quit gaming,racing,andbeagoodboy,andweshallallliveinParkLane,andmatanteshallleaveusallhermoney."Matante'smoneyhasbeeninhermindallthrough,butyetsheloveshim.

"Suppose the old lady doesn't come to,"Rawdon said to his littlewife astheysat togetherinthesnuglittleBromptonlodgings.Shehadbeentryingthenewpiano all themorning.Thenewgloves fittedher to a nicety.Thenew shawl became her wonderfully. The new rings glittered on her littlehands,andthenewwatchtickedatherwaist.

"I'llmakeyourfortune,"shesaid;andDelilahpattedSamson'scheek.

"Youcandoanything,"he said,kissing the littlehand. "By Joveyoucan!andwe'lldrivedowntotheStarandGarteranddine,byJove!"

Theywereneitherofthemquiteheartlessatthatmoment,nordidRawdoneverbecomequite bad.Then follow the adventures ofBecky as amarriedwoman,throughallofwhichthereisaglimmerofloveforherstupidhusband,whileitistherealpurposeofherhearttogetmoneyhowshemay,—byhercharms,byherwit, by her lies, by her readiness. Shemakes love to everyone,—even to hersanctimonious brother-in-law, who becomes Sir Pitt in his time,—and alwayssucceeds.Butinherlove-makingthereisnothingoflove.Shegetsholdofthatwell-rememberedoldreprobate, theMarquisofSteyne,whopossesses the twovaluablegiftsofbeingverydissolute andvery rich, and fromhimsheobtains

money and jewels to her heart's desire. The abominations of Lord Steyne aredepictedinthestrongestlanguageofwhichVanityFairadmits.Thereader'shairstandsalmostonend inhorrorat thewickednessof the twowretches,—atherdesireformoney,sheermoney;andhisforwickedness,sheerwickedness.Thenher husband finds her out,—poor Rawdon! who with all his faults andthickheadedstupidity,hasbecomeabsolutelyentrancedbythewilesofhislittlewife.He iscarriedoff toasponging-house, inorder thathemaybeoutof theway,and,onescapingunexpectedlyfromthraldom,finds the lord inhiswife'sdrawing-room.Whereupon he thrashes the old lord, nearly killing him; takesawaytheplunderwhichhefindsonhiswife'sperson,andhurriesawaytoseekassistanceastofurtherrevenge;—forheisdeterminedtoshootthemarquis,ortobeshot.HegoestooneCaptainMacmurdo,whoistoactashissecond,andthere he pours out his heart. "You don't know how fond I was of that one,"Rawdonsaid,half-inarticulately."Damme,Ifollowedherlikeafootman!IgaveupeverythingIhadtoher.I'mabeggarbecauseIwouldmarryher.ByJove,sir,I've pawnedmy ownwatch to get her anything she fancied. And she,—she'sbeenmakingapurseforherselfallthetime,andgrudgedmeahundredpoundstogetmeoutofquod!"Hisfriendallegesthatthewifemaybeinnocentafterall."Itmay be so,"Rawdon exclaimed sadly; "but this don't look very innocent!"And he showed the captain the thousand-pound note which he had found inBecky'spocketbook.

Butthemarquiscandobetterthanfight;andRawdon,inspiteofhistruelove,candobetterthanfollowthequarreluptohisownundoing.Themarquis,onthespur of the moment, gets the lady's husband appointed governor of CoventryIsland,withasalaryofthreethousandpoundsayear;andpoorRawdonatlastcondescends toaccept theappointment.Hewillnot seehiswifeagain,buthemakesheranallowanceoutofhisincome.

Inarrangingallthis,ThackerayisenabledtohaveasideblowattheBritishwayofdistributingpatronage,—forthefavourofwhichhewasafterwardshimselfacandidate.HequotesasfollowsfromTheRoyalistnewspaper:"Wehearthatthegovernorship"—of Coventry Island—"has been offered to Colonel RawdonCrawley, C.B., a distinguished Waterloo officer. We need not only men ofacknowledged bravery, but men of administrative talents to superintend theaffairsofourcolonies;andwehavenodoubtthatthegentlemanselectedbytheColonial Office to fill the lamented vacancy which has occurred at CoventryIsland,isadmirablycalculatedforthepost."Thereader,however,isawarethattheofficerinquestioncannotwriteasentenceorspeaktwowordscorrectly.

Ourheroine'sadventuresarecarriedonmuchfurther,buttheycannotbegivenhere indetail.Totheendsheis thesame,—utterlyfalse,selfish,covetous,andsuccessful. To have made such a woman really in love would have been amistake.Herhusbandshelikesbest,—becauseheis,orwas,herown.Butthereisnomansofoul,sowicked,sounattractive,butthatshecanfawnoverhimformoneyandjewels.Therearewomentowhomnothingisnasty,eitherinperson,language,scenes,actions,orprinciple,—andBeckyisoneofthem;andyetsheisherselfattractive.Amostwonderfulsketch,for theperpetrationofwhichallThackeray'spowerofcombinedindignationandhumourwasnecessary!

ThestoryofAmeliaandhertwolovers,GeorgeOsborneandCaptain,orashecame afterwards to be,Major, andColonelDobbin, is less interesting, simplybecause goodness and eulogy are less exciting than wickedness and censure.Amelia isa true,honest-hearted, thoroughlyEnglishyoungwoman,who lovesherlovebecauseheisgrand,—tohereyes,—andlovinghim,loveshimwithallherheart.Readershavesaidthatsheissilly,onlybecausesheisnotheroic.Idonotknowthatsheismoresillythanmanyyoungladieswhomwewhoareoldhavelovedinouryouth,orthanthosewhomoursonsarelovingatthepresenttime.ReaderscomplainofAmeliabecausesheisabsolutelytruetonature.TherearenoRaffaellistictouches,noaddedgraces,nodivineromance.Sheisfeminineall over, and British,—loving, true, thoroughly unselfish, yet with a taste forhavingthingscomfortable,forgiving,quitecapableofjealousy,butpronetobeappeasedatonce,at thefirstkiss;quiteconvinced thather lover,herhusband,herchildrenarethepeopleinalltheworldtowhomthegreatestconsiderationisdue.SuchaoneissuretobethedupeofaBeckySharp,shouldaBeckySharpcomeinherway,—as is thecasewithsomanysweetAmeliaswhomwehaveknown.Butinamatteroflovesheissoundenoughandsensibleenough,—andsheisastrueassteel.IknownotraitinAmeliawhichamanwouldbeashamedtofindinhisowndaughter.

ShemarriesherGeorgeOsborne,who,totellthetruthofhim,isbutapoorkindoffellow,thoughheisabravesoldier.Hethinksmuchofhisownperson,andisselfish.Thackerayputsinatouchortwohereandtherebywhichheismadetobeodious.Hewouldrathergiveapresenttohimselfthantothegirlwholovedhim. Nevertheless, when her father is ruined he marries her, and he fightsbravelyatWaterloo,and iskilled. "Nomore firingwasheardatBrussels.Thepursuitrolledmilesaway.Darknesscamedownonthefieldandthecity,—andAmeliawasprayingforGeorge,whowaslyingonhisface,dead,withabulletthroughhisheart."

ThenfollowsthelongcourtshipofDobbin,thetruehero,—hewhohasbeenthefriendofGeorgesincetheiroldschool-days;whohaslivedwithhimandservedhim,andhasalso lovedAmelia.Buthehas lovedher,—asonemanmay loveanother,—solelywithaviewtotheprofitofhisfriend.HehasknownallalongthatGeorgeandAmeliahavebeenengagedtoeachotherasboyandgirl.Georgewouldhaveneglectedher,butDobbinwouldnot allow it.Georgewouldhavejiltedthegirlwholovedhim,butDobbinwouldnotlethim.Hehadnothingtogetforhimself,butlovingherashedid,itwastheworkofhislifetogetforherallthatshewanted.

GeorgeisshotatWaterloo,andthencomefifteenyearsofwidowhood,—fifteenyearsduringwhichBeckyiscarryingonhermanœuvres,—fifteenyearsduringwhichAmeliacannotbringherselftoacceptthedevotionoftheoldcaptain,whobecomesatlastacolonel.Butattheendsheiswon."Thevesselisinport.Hehasgottheprizehehasbeentryingforallhislife.Thebirdhascomeinatlast.Thereitis,withitsheadonitsshoulder,billingandcooingcleanuptohisheart,withsoftoutstretchedflutteringwings.Thisiswhathehasaskedforeverydayand hour for eighteen years. This is what he has pined after. Here it is,—thesummit,theend,thelastpageofthethirdvolume."

The reader as he closes the book has on his mind a strong conviction, thestrongestpossibleconviction,thatamongmenGeorgeisasweakandDobbinasnobleasanythathehasmetinliterature;andthatamongwomenAmeliaisastrue and Becky as vile as any he has encountered. Of so much he will beconscious.Inadditiontothishewillunconsciouslyhavefoundthateverypagehe has readwill have been of interest to him.There has been no padding, nolongueurs;everybitwillhavehaditsweightwithhim.Andhewillfindtooattheend,ifhewillthinkofit—thoughreaders,Ifear,seldomthinkmuchofthisinregardtobookstheyhaveread—thatthelessontaughtineverypagehasbeengood.Theremaybedetailsofevilpaintedsoastodisgust,—paintedalmosttooplainly,—butnonepaintedsoastoallure.

CHAPTERIV.

PENDENNISANDTHENEWCOMES.

Theabsenceoftheheroicwas,inThackeray,sopalpabletoThackerayhimselfthat in his original preface toPendennis,when he began to be aware that hisreputationwasmade, he tells his publicwhat theymay expect andwhat theymaynot,andmakeshisjokingcomplaintofthereadersofhistimebecausetheywill not endure with patience the true picture of a natural man. "Even thegentlemen of our age," he says,—adding that the story of Pendennis is anattempttodescribeoneofthem,justasheis,—"eventhosewecannotshowastheyarewith thenotorious selfishnessof their timeand their education.Sincethe author of Tom Jones was buried, no writer of fiction among us has beenpermittedtodepicttohisutmostpoweraMAN.Wemustshapehim,andgivehimacertainconventionaltemper."Thenherebukeshisaudiencebecausetheywillnot listen to the truth. "Youwill not hearwhatmoves in the realworld,whatpassesinsociety,intheclubs,colleges,mess-rooms,—whatisthelifeandtalkofyoursons."YouwanttheRaffaellistictouch,orthatofsomepainterofhorrorsequally removed from the truth. I tellyouhowaman reallydoesact,—asdidFieldingwithTomJones,—butitdoesnotsatisfyyou.Youwillnotsympathisewith this youngman ofmine, this Pendennis, because he is neither angel norimp.Ifitbeso,letitbeso.Iwillnotpaintforyouangelsorimps,becauseIdonotseethem.Theyoungmanoftheday,whomIdosee,andofwhomIknowthe inside and the out thoroughly, him I havepainted for you; andhere he is,whetheryoulikethepictureornot.ThisiswhatThackeraymeant,and,havingthisinhismind,heproducedPendennis.

Theobjectofanovelshouldbe to instruct inmoralswhile itamuses.Icannotthinkbutthateverynovelistwhohasthoughtmuchofhisartwillhaverealisedasmuchasthatforhimself.Whetherthismaybestbedonebythetranscendentalorbythecommonplaceisthequestionwhichitmorebehovesthereaderthantheauthortoanswer,becausetheauthormaybefairlysurethathewhocandotheonewillnot,probablycannot,dotheother.Ifaladbeonlyfivefeethighhedoesnot try to enlist in the Guards. Thackeray complains that many ladies have"remonstrated and subscribers left him," because of his realistic tendency.Nevertheless he has gone onwith hiswork, and, inPendennis, has painted a

youngmanasnaturalasTomJones.Hadheexpendedhimselfintheattempt,hecouldnothavedrawnaMasterofRavenswood.

Ithas tobeadmitted thatPendennis isnota finefellow.He isnotasweak,asselfish, as untrustworthy as that George Osborne whom Amelia married inVanityFair;butnevertheless,he isweak,andselfish,anduntrustworthy.Heisnotsuchaoneasafatherwouldwishtoseehisson,oramothertowelcomeasaloverforherdaughter.Butthen,fathersaresooftendoomedtofindtheirsonsnotall that theywish,andmothers tosee theirgirlsfallingin lovewithyoungmenwhoarenotPaladins.Inourindividualliveswearecontentedtoendureanadmixtureof evil,whichwe should resent if imputed tous in thegeneral.Wepresumeourselvestobetruth-speaking,nobleinoursentiments,generousinouractions,modestandunselfish,chivalrousanddevoted.Butweforgiveandpassoverinsilenceafewdelinquenciesamongourselves.Whatboyatschooleverisacoward,—inthegeneral?Whatgentlemanevertellsalie?Whatyoungladyisgreedy?Wetakeitforgranted,asthoughtheywerefixedrulesinlife,thatourboys from our public schools look us in the face and are manly; that ourgentlemen tell the truth as a matter of course; and that our young ladies arerefinedandunselfish.Thackerayisalwaysprotestingthatitisnotso,andthatnogoodistobedonebyblinkingthetruth.Heknowsthatwehaveourlittlehomeexperiences. Let us have the facts out, andmendwhat is bad ifwe can. ThisnovelofPendennisisoneofhisloudestproteststothiseffect.

IwillnotattempttotellthestoryofPendennis,howhismotherlovedhim,howhe first came to be brought up togetherwithLauraBell, howhe thrashed theotherboyswhenhewasaboy,andhowhefell inlovewithMissFotheringay,néeCostigan,andwasdeterminedtomarryherwhilehewasstillahobbledehoy,howhewentuptoBoniface,thatwell-knowncollegeatOxford,andtheredidnogood, spending money which he had not got, and learning to gamble. TheEnglishgentleman,asweknow,never lies;butPendennis isnotquite truthful;whenthecollegetutor,thinkingthathehearstherattlingofdice,makeshiswayinto Pen's room, Pen and his two companions are found with threeHomersbefore them,andPenasks the tutorwithgreatgravity; "Whatwas the presentconditionoftheriverScamander,andwhetheritwasnavigableorno?"Hetellshismother that,duringacertainvacationhemust stayupand read, insteadofcominghome,—but,nevertheless,hegoesuptoLondontoamusehimself.Thereaderissoonmadetounderstandthat,thoughPenmaybeafinegentleman,heisnottrustworthy.Butherepentsandcomeshome,andkisseshismother;only,alas!hewillalwaysbekissingsomebodyelsealso.

ThestoryoftheAmorysandtheClaverings,andthatwonderfulFrenchcookM.AlcideMirobolant, formsoneof thosedelightfuldigressionswhichThackerayscatters throughhis novels rather thanweaves into them.Theygenerally havebutlittletodowiththestoryitself,andarebroughtinonlyasgivingscopeforsomeincidenttotherealheroorheroine.ButinthisdigressionPenisverymuchconcerned indeed, for he is brought to the very verge ofmatrimonywith thatpeculiarlydisagreeableladyMissAmory.Hedoesescapeatlast,butonlywithinafewpagesof theend,whenwearemadeunhappyby the lady'svictoryoverthat pooryoung sinnerFoker,withwhomwehave all come to sympathise, inspite of his vulgarity and fast propensities. She would to the last fain havemarriedPen,inwhomshebelieves,thinkingthathewouldmakeanameforher."Ilmefautdesémotions,"saysBlanche.Whereupontheauthor,asheleavesher,explainsthenatureofthisMissAmory'sfeelings."Forthisyoungladywasnotable to carry out any emotion to the full, but had a sham enthusiasm, a shamhatred,ashamlove,ashamtaste,ashamgrief;eachofwhichflaredandshonevery vehemently for an instant, but subsided and gave place to the next shamemotion."Thackeray,whenhedrewthisportrait,mustcertainlyhavehadsomespecial young lady in his view. But though we are made unhappy for Foker,Foker too escapes at last, and Blanche, with her emotions, marries that verydoubtfulnoblemanComteMontmorencideValentinois.

ButallthisofMissAmoryisbutanepisode.Thepurportofthestoryisthewayinwhichtheheroismadetoenterupontheworld,subjectashehasbeentothesweet teaching of hismother, and subject as he ismade to be to theworldlylessonsofhisoldunclethemajor.Thenheisill,andnearlydies,andhismothercomes up to nurse him. And there is his friendWarrington, of whose familydown in Suffolk we shall have heard something when we have read TheVirginians,—oneIthinkofthefinestcharacters,asitiscertainlyoneofthemosttouching,thatThackerayeverdrew.Warrington,andPen'smother,andLauraareourhero'sbetterangels,—angelssogoodastomakeuswonderthatacreaturesoweakshouldhavehadsuchangelsabouthim; thoughwearedriventoconfessthat their affection and loyalty for him are natural. There is a melancholybeneaththeroughnessofWarrington,andafemininesoftnesscombinedwiththereticent manliness of the man, which have endeared him to readers beyondperhaps any character in the book. Major Pendennis has become immortal.Selfish, worldly, false, padded, caring altogether for thingsmean and poor inthemselves;stillthereaderlikeshim.Itisnotquiteallforhimself.ToPenheisgood,—to Pen who is the head of his family, and to come after him as thePendennisoftheday.ToPenandtoPen'smotherheisbeneficentafterhislights.

Inwhateverheundertakesitissocontrivedthatthereadershallinsomedegreesympathise with him. And so it is with poor old Costigan, the drunken Irishcaptain, Miss Fotheringay's papa. He was not a pleasant person. "We havewitnessed the déshabille ofMajor Pendennis," says our author; "will any onewishtobevalet-de-chambretoourotherhero,Costigan?Itwouldseemthatthecaptain,beforeissuingfromhisbedroom,scentedhimselfwithottoofwhisky."Yetthereisakindlinessabouthimwhichsoftensourhearts,thoughintruthheisverycarefulthatthekindnessshallalwaysbeshowntohimself.

AmongthesepeoplePenmakeshiswaytotheendofthenovel,comingneartoshipwreckonvariousoccasions,andalwaysdeservingtheshipwreckwhichhehasalmostencountered.Thentherewillarisethequestionwhetheritmightnothave been better that he should be altogether shipwrecked, rather than housedcomfortablywithsuchawifeasLaura,andlefttothatenjoymentofhappinessforeverafter,whichisthenormalheavenpreparedforheroesandheroineswhohavedonetheirworkwellthroughthreevolumes.ItisalmosttheonlyinstanceinallThackeray'sworksinwhichthisstateofblissisreached.GeorgeOsborne,whoisthebeautifulloverinVanityFair,iskilledalmostbeforeoureyes,onthefieldofbattle,andwefeelthatNemesishaswithjusticetakenholdofhim.PooroldDobbindoesmarrythewidow,afterfifteenyearsoffurtherservice,whenweknowhimtobeamiddle-agedmanandheramiddle-agedwoman.ThatgloriousParadise of which I have spoken requires a freshness which can hardly beattributed to the second marriage of a widow who has been fifteen yearsmourning for her first husband.CliveNewcome, "the first youngman," ifwemaysocallhim,of thenovelwhichIshallmention justnow, iscarriedsofarbeyondhismatrimonialelysiumthatweareallowedtoseetooplainlyhowfarfromtruemaybethosepromisesofhymenealhappinessforeverafter.Thecaresofmarriedlifehavesettleddownheavilyuponhisyoungheadbeforeweleavehim.Henotonlymarries,butloseshiswife,andisleftamelancholywidowerwith his son. Esmond and Beatrix certainly reach no such elysium as that ofwhich we are speaking. But Pen, who surely deserved a Nemesis, thoughperhapsnotonesoblackasthatdemandedbyGeorgeOsborne'sdelinquencies,istreatedasthoughhehadbeenpassedthroughthefire,andhadcomeout,—ifnot pure gold, still gold good enough for goldsmiths. "And what sort of ahusband will this Pendennis be?" This is the question asked by the authorhimself at the end of the novel; feeling, no doubt, some hesitation as to thejusticeofwhathehadjustdone."AndwhatsortofahusbandwillthisPendennisbe?"manyareaderwillask,doubtingthehappinessofsuchamarriageandthefuture ofLaura.The querists are referred to that lady herself,who, seeing his

faultsandwaywardmoods—seeingandowningthattherearebettermenthanhe—loves him always with the most constant affection. The assertion could bemadewithperfectconfidence,but isnot to thepurpose.ThatLaura'saffectionshould be constant, no one would doubt; but more than that is wanted forhappiness.HowaboutPendennisandhisconstancy?

TheNewcomes,whichIbracketinthischapterwithPendennis,wasnotwrittentill afterEsmond, and appeared between that novel andTheVirginians, whichwas a sequel to Esmond. It is supposed to be edited by Pen, whose ownadventureswehavejustcompleted,andiscommencedbythatcelebratednightpassedbyColonelNewcomeandhisboyCliveattheCaveofHarmony,duringwhich thecolonel isat first sopleasantly receivedandsogeniallyentertained,butfromwhichheisatlastbanished,indignantattheiniquitiesofourdrunkenoldfriendCaptainCostigan,withwhomwehadbecomeintimateinPen'sownmemoirs.TheboyCliveisdescribedasbeingprobablyaboutsixteen.Attheendof the story he has run through the adventures of his early life, and is left amelancholyman,awidower,onewhohassufferedtheextremityofmiseryfromastepmother,andwhoiswrappedupintheonlysonthatislefttohim,—ashadbeen the case with his father at the beginning of the novel. The Newcomes,therefore, like Thackeray's other tales, is rather a slice from the biographicalmemoirsofafamily,thanaromanceornovelinitself.

Itisfullofsatirefromthefirsttothelastpage.Everywordofitseemstohavebeenwrittentoshowhowvileandpooraplacethisworldis;howpronemenaretodeceive,howpronetobedeceived.Thereisasceneinwhich"hisExcellencyRummunLoll,otherwisehisHighnessRummunLoll,"isintroducedtoColonelNewcome,—or rather presented,—for the two men had known each otherbefore. All London was talking of Rummun Loll, taking him for an Indianprince,butthecolonel,whohadservedinIndia,knewbetter.RummunLollwasnomorethanamerchant,whohadmadeaprecariousfortunebydoubtfulmeans.Allthegirls,nevertheless,arerunningafterhisExcellency."He'sknowntohavetwo wives already in India," says Barnes Newcome; "but, by gad, for asettlement, I believe some of the girls here would marry him." We have adelightful illustrationof theLondongirls,with theirbarenecksandshoulders,sittingroundRummunLollandworshippinghimashereposesonhislowsettee.ThereareadozenofthemsoenchantedthatthemenwhowishtogetasightoftheRummun are quite kept at a distance.This is satire on thewomen.A fewpagesonwecomeuponaclergymanwho isnomore real thanRummunLoll.Theclergyman,CharlesHoneyman,hadmarriedthecolonel'ssisterandhadlost

hiswife,andnowthebrothers-in-lawmeet."'Poor,poorEmma!'exclaimedtheecclesiastic,castinghiseyestowardsthechandelierandpassingawhitecambricpocket-handkerchiefgracefullybeforethem.NomaninLondonunderstoodthering business or the pocket-handkerchief business better, or smothered hisemotion more beautifully. 'In the gayest moments, in the giddiest throng offashion, the thoughtsof thepastwill rise; thedepartedwill be amongus still.But this is not the strain wherewith to greet the friend newly arrived on ourshores.How it rejoicesme tobeholdyou inoldEngland.'"And so the satiristgoesonwithMr.Honeyman theclergyman.Mr.Honeyman theclergymanhasbeenalreadymentioned,inthatextractmadeinourfirstchapterfromLoveltheWidower.Itwashewhoassistedanotherfriend,"withhiswheedlingtongue,"ininducingThackeraytopurchasethat"neatlittleliterarypaper,"—calledthenTheMuseum, butwhichwas in truthTheNational Standard. In describingBarnesNewcome, the colonel's relative, Thackeray in the same scene attacks thesharpnessoftheyoungmenofbusinessofthepresentday.Therewere,orwereto be, some transactions with Rummun Loll, and Barnes Newcome, being indoubt, asks the colonel a questionor two as to the certaintyof theRummun'smoney,muchtothecolonel'sdisgust."Theyoungmanofbusinesshaddroppedhis drawlor his languor, andwas speakingquite unaffectedly, good-naturedly,andselfishly.Hadyoutalkedtohimforaweekyouwouldnothavemadehimunderstand the scorn and loathingwithwhich the colonel regarded him.Herewas a young fellow as keen as the oldest curmudgeon,—a lad with scarce abeard to his chin, thatwould pursue his bond as rigidly as Shylock." "BarnesNewcomenevermissedachurch,"hegoeson,"ordressingfordinner.Heneverkeptatradesmanwaitingforhismoney.Heseldomdranktoomuch,andneverwas late for business, or huddled over his toilet, however brief his sleep orseverehisheadache.Inaword,hewasasscrupulouslywhitedasanysepulchrein the whole bills of mortality." Thackeray had lately seen some BarnesNewcomewhenhewrotethat.

Itisallsatire;butthereisgenerallyatouchofpathoseventhroughthesatire.ItissatirewhenMissQuigley,thegovernessinParkStreet,fallsinlovewiththeoldcolonelaftersomedimfashionofherown."Whensheiswalkingwithherlittle charges in thePark, faint signals ofwelcome appear onherwan cheeks.She knows the dear colonel amidst a thousand horsemen." The colonel haddrunkaglassofwinewithherafterhisstatelyfashion,andthefoolisholdmaidthinkstoomuchofit.Thenwearetoldhowsheknitspursesforhim,"asshesitsalone in the schoolroom,—highup in that lonehouse,when the littleonesarelongsinceasleep,—beforeherdismallittletea-tray,andherlittledeskcontaining

hermother'slettersandhermementoesofhome."MissQuigleyisanass;butwearemadetosympathiseentirelywiththeass,becauseofthatmorselofpathosastohermother'sletters.

CliveNewcome,ourhero,whoisasecondPen,butabetterfellow,ishimselfasatireonyoungmen,—onyoungmenwhoare idle andambitious at the sametime.Heisapainter;but,insteadofbeingproudofhisart,ishalfashamedofit,—becausenotbeing industrioushehasnot,whileyetyoung, learned toexcel.He is "doing" a portrait of Mrs. Pendennis, Laura, and thus speaks of hisbusiness. "No. 666,"—he is supposed to be quoting from the catalogue of theRoyal Academy for the year,—"No. 666. Portrait of Joseph Muggins, Esq.,Newcome,GeorgeStreet.No.979.PortraitofMrs.Mugginsonhergraypony,Newcome. No. 579. Portrait of JosephMuggins, Esq.'s dog Toby, Newcome.ThisiswhatIamfitfor.ThesearethevictoriesIhavesetmyselfonachieving.OhMrs.Pendennis!isn'tithumiliating?Whyisn'tthereawar?Whyhaven'tIagenius?Thereisapainterwholiveshardby,andwhobegsmetocomeandlookathiswork.HeisintheMugginslinetoo.Hegetshiscanvaseswithagoodlightuponthem;excludesthecontemplationofotherobjects;standsbesidehispictureinanattitudehimself;andthinksthatheandtheyaremasterpieces.Ohme,whatdrivellingwretchesweare!Fame!—exceptthatofjusttheoneortwo,—what'sthe use of it?" In all of which Thackeray is speaking his own feelings abouthimself as well as the world at large. What's the use of it all? Oh vanitasvanitatum! Oh vanity and vexation of spirit! "So Clive Newcome," he saysafterwards,"layonabedofdownandtossedandtumbledthere.Hewenttofinedinners, and sat silent over them; rode fine horses, and black care jumped upbehind the moody horseman." As I write this I have before me a letter fromThackeraytoafrienddescribinghisownsuccesswhenVanityFairwascomingout,fullofthesamefeeling.Heismakingmoney,buthespendsitsofastthatheneverhasany;andasfortheopinionsexpressedonhisbooks,hecareslittleforwhathehears.Therewasalwayspresent tohima feelingofblackcareseatedbehindthehorseman,—andwouldhavebeenequallysohadtherebeennorealcarepresenttohim.Asardonicmelancholywasthecharacteristicmostcommontohim,—which,however,wasrelievedbyanalwayspresentcapacityforinstantfrolic.Itwastheseattributescombinedwhichmadehimofallsatiriststhemosthumorous,andofallhumoriststhemostsatirical.ItwasthesethatproducedtheOsbornes,theDobbins,thePens,theClives,andtheNewcomes,whom,whenheloved them themost, he could not save himself from describing asmean andunworthy. A somewhat heroic hero of romance,—such a one, let us say, asWaverley, or Lovel in The Antiquary, or Morton in Old Mortality,—was

revoltingtohim,aslackingthosefoibleswhichhumannatureseemedtohimtodemand.

The story ends with two sad tragedies, neither of which would have beendemandedbythestory,hadnotsuchsadnessbeenagreeabletotheauthor'sownidiosyncrasy.Theoneistheruinoftheoldcolonel'sfortunes,hehavingallowedhimself to be enticed into bubble speculations; and the other is the loss of allhappiness, and even comfort, to Clive the hero, by the abominations of hismother-in-law.Thewomanissoiniquitous,andsotremendousinheriniquities,thatsherisestotragedy.WhodoesnotknowMrs.MacktheCampaigner?Whyat the end of his long story should Thackeray have married his hero to solackadaisicalaheroineaspoorlittleRosey,orbroughtonthestagesuchashe-demon as Rosey's mother? But there is the Campaigner in all her vigour, amarvelofstrengthofcomposition,—oneofthemostvividlydrawncharactersinfiction;—butawomansoodiousthatoneisinducedtodoubtwhethersheshouldhavebeendepicted.

Theothertragedyisaltogetherofadifferentkind,andthoughunnecessarytothestory,andcontrarytothatpracticeofstory-tellingwhichseemstodemandthatcalamities to thosepersonageswithwhomweare tosympathiseshouldnotbebroughtinatthecloseofaworkoffiction,issobeautifullytoldthatnoloverofThackeray'sworkwouldbewillingtopartwithit.Theoldcolonel,aswehavesaid,isruinedbyspeculation,andinhisruinisbroughttoacceptthealmsofthebrotherhoodoftheGreyFriars.ThenweareintroducedtotheCharterHouse,atwhich,asmostofusknow,therestillexistsabrotherhoodofthekind.Hedonsthegown,—thisoldcolonel,whohadalwaysbeencomfortableinhismeans,andlatterlyapparentlyrich,—andoccupiesthesingleroom,andeatsthedoledbread,andamonghispoorbrothers sits in the chapelofhisorder.Thedescription isperhapsas fineasanything thatThackerayeverdid.Thegentleman isstill thegentleman, with all the pride of gentry;—but not the less is he the humblebedesman,awarethatheislivinguponcharity,notmadetogrovelbyanysenseof shame, but knowing that, though his normal pride may be left to him, anoutwarddemeanourofhumilityisbefitting.

Andthenhedies."Attheusualeveninghourthechapelbellbegantotoll,andThomasNewcome'shandsoutsidethebedfeeblybeattime,—and,justasthelastbellstruck,apeculiarsweetsmileshoneoverhisface,andhelifteduphisheadalittle, and quickly said, 'Adsum,'—and fell back. It was the word we used atschoolwhennameswerecalled;and, lo,hewhoseheartwasas thatofa littlechildhadansweredtohisname,andstoodinthepresenceofhisMaker!"

CHAPTERV.

ESMONDANDTHEVIRGINIANS.

ThenovelwithwhichwearenowgoingtodealIregardasthegreatestworkthatThackeraydid.ThoughIdonothesitatetocomparehimselfwithhimself,Iwillmakenocomparisonbetweenhimandothers;IthereforeabstainfromassigningtoEsmondanyspecialnicheamongprosefictionsintheEnglishlanguage,butIrank it sohighas to justifyme inplacinghimamong thesmallnumberof thehighestclassofEnglishnovelists.MuchasIthinkofBarryLyndonandVanityFair, I cannot quite say this of them; but, as a chain is not stronger than itsweakestlink,soisapoet,oradramatist,oranovelisttobeplacedinnolowerlevel than that which he has attained by his highest sustained flight. TheexcellencewhichhasbeenreachedhereThackerayachieved,withoutdoubt,bygivingagreateramountofforethoughttotheworkhehadbeforehimthanhadbeenhiswont.Whenwewereyoungweusedtobetold,inourhouseathome,that"elbow-grease"wastheoneessentialnecessarytogettingatoughpieceofworkwell done. If amahogany tablewas to bemade to shine, itwas elbow-grease that the operation needed. Forethought is the elbow-grease which anovelist,—orpoet,ordramatist,—requires.It isnotonlyhisplot thathastobeturnedandre-turnedinhismind,nothisplotchiefly,buthehastomakehimselfsure of his situations, of his characters, of his effects, so that when the timecomesforhittingthenailhemayknowwheretohititonthehead,—sothathemay himself understand the passion, the calmness, the virtues, the vices, therewards and punishments which he means to explain to others,—so that hisproportionsshallbecorrect,andhebesavedfromtheabsurdityofdevotingtwo-thirdsofhisbooktothebeginning,ortwo-thirdstothecompletionofhistask.Itis from want of this special labour, more frequently than from intellectualdeficiency,thatthetellersofstoriesfailsooftentohittheirnailsonthehead.Tothinkofastory ismuchharderwork than towrite it.Theauthorcansitdownwith the pen in his hand for a given time, and produce a certain number ofwords.Thatiscomparativelyeasy,andifhehaveaconscienceinregardtohistask,workwillbedoneregularly.Buttothinkitoverasyoulieinbed,orwalkabout,orsitcosilyoveryourfire, to turn itall inyour thoughts,andmakethethings fit,—that requires elbow-grease of the mind. The arrangement of thewordsisasthoughyouwerewalkingsimplyalongaroad.Thearrangementof

your story is as though youwere carrying a sack of flour while youwalked.FieldinghadcarriedhissackofflourbeforehewroteTomJones,andScotthisbefore he produced Ivanhoe. So had Thackeray done,—a very heavy sack offlour,—increatingEsmond.InVanityFair,inPendennis,andinTheNewcomes,therewasmoreof thatmerewandering inwhichnoheavyburdenwasborne.The richness of the author'smind, thebeautyof his language, his imaginationandperceptionofcharacterareallthere.Forthatwhichwaslovelyhehasshownhislove,andforthehatefulhishatred;but,nevertheless,theyarecomparativelyidlebooks.Hisonlywork,asfarasIcanjudgethem,inwhichthereisnotouchofidleness,isEsmond.BarryLyndonisconsecutive,andhasthewell-sustainedpurposeofexhibitingafinishedrascal;butBarryLyndon isnotquite thesamefrom beginning to end. All his full-fledged novels, except Esmond, containrather stringsof incidents andmemoirsof individuals, thana completed story.ButEsmondisawholefrombeginningtoend,withitstalewelltold,itspurposedeveloped,itsmoralbroughthome,—anditsnailhitwellontheheadanddrivenin.

ItoldThackerayoncethatitwasnotonlyhisbestwork,butsomuchthebest,thattherewasnonesecondtoit."ThatwaswhatIintended,"hesaid,"butIhavefailed.Nobodyreadsit.Afterall,whatdoesitmatter?"hewentonafterawhile."Iftheylikeanything,oneoughttobesatisfied.Afterall,Esmondwasaprig."Then he laughed and changed the subject, not caring to dwell on thoughtspainfultohim.Theelbow-greaseofthinkingwasalwaysdistastefultohim,andhadnodoubtbeensowhenheconceivedandcarriedoutthiswork.

To theordinary labour necessary for such a novel he addedverymuchbyhisresolutiontowriteitinastyledifferent,notonlyfromthatwhichhehadmadehisown,butfromthatalsowhichbelongedtothetime.Hehaddevotedhimselfto the reading of the literature of Queen Anne's reign, and having chosen tothrowhis story into thatperiod,and tocreate in itpersonageswhowere tobepeculiarly concernedwith theperiod, he resolved touse as thevehicle for hisstory the forms of expression then prevalent.No onewho has not tried it canunderstand how great is the difficulty of mastering a phase of one's ownlanguage other than that which habit has made familiar. To write in anotherlanguage, if the language be sufficiently known, is a much less arduousundertaking. The lad who attempts to write his essay in Ciceronian Latinstruggles to achieve a stylewhich is not indeed common to him, but ismorecommon than any other he has become acquainted with in that tongue. ButThackeray in hiswork had always to remember his Swift, his Steele, and his

Addison,andtoforgetatthesametimethemodesofexpressionwhichthedayhadadopted.Whetherheaskedadviceonthesubject,Idonotknow.ButIfeelsurethatifhedidhemusthavebeencounselledagainstit.Letmyreaderthinkwhatadvicehewouldgivetoanywriteronsuchasubject.Probablyheaskednoadvice, and would have taken none. No doubt he found himself, at firstimperceptibly,glidingintoaphraseologywhichhadattractionsforhisear,andthenprobablywassocharmedwiththepeculiarlymasculineformsofsentenceswhich thus became familiar to him, that he thought it would be almost asdifficulttodropthemaltogetherasaltogethertoassumetheuseofthem.Andifhecoulddososuccessfully,howgreatwouldbetheassistancegiventothelocalcolouringwhichisneededforanovelinprose,thesceneofwhichisthrownfarback from thewriter's period!Were I towrite a poem about Cœur de Lion Ishouldnotmarmypoembyusingthesimplelanguageoftheday;butifIwriteaprose story of the time, I cannot altogether avoid some attempt at far-awayquaintnesses in language. To call a purse a "gypsire," and to begin your littlespeecheswith"Marrycomeup,"or tofinishthemwith"Quotha,"arebutpoorattempts.Buteventheyhavehadtheireffect.ScottdidthebesthecouldwithhisCœurdeLion.Whenwe look to itwefind that itwasbut little; though inhishands itpassedformuch."Bymytroth,"said theknight,"thouhastsungwellandheartily,and inhighpraiseof thineorder."Wedoubtwhetherheachievedanysimilarity to the languageof the time;but still, even in the littlewhichheattemptedtherewassomethingofthepicturesque.Buthowmuchmorewouldbedone if in very truth the whole language of a story could be thrown withcorrectnessintotheformofexpressionusedatthetimedepicted?

ItwasthisthatThackeraytriedinhisEsmond,andhehasdoneitalmostwithoutaflaw.Thetimeinquestionisnearenoughtous,andtheliteraturesufficientlyfamiliartoenableustojudge.WhetherfolksworebytheirtrothinthedaysofkingRichardI.wedonotknow,butwhenwereadSwift'sletters,andAddison'spapers,orDefoe'snovelswedocatchtheveritablesoundsofQueenAnne'sage,andcansayforourselveswhetherThackerayhascaughtthemcorrectlyornot.Noreadercandoubtthathehasdoneso.Noristhereadereverstruckwiththeaffectation of an assumed dialect. The words come as though they had beenwrittennaturally,—thoughnotnaturaltothemiddleofthenineteenthcentury.Itwas a tour de force; and successful as such a tour de force so seldom is.ButthoughThackeraywassuccessfulinadoptingthetonehewishedtoassume,henever quite succeeded, as far as my ear can judge, in altogether dropping itagain.

Andyet it has to be remembered that thoughEsmond dealswith the times ofQueenAnne,and"copiesthelanguage"ofthetime,asThackerayhimselfsaysinthededication,thestoryisnotsupposedtohavebeenwrittentillthereignofGeorgeII.EsmondinhisnarrativespeaksofFieldingandHogarth,whodidtheirbestworkunderGeorgeII.TheideaisthatHenryEsmond,thehero,wentouttoVirginia after the events told, and there wrote the memoir in the form of anautobiography. The estate of Castlewood in Virginia had been given to theEsmond family by Charles II., and this Esmond, our hero, finding thatexpatriation would best suit both his domestic happiness and his politicaldifficulties,—as the reader of the book will understand might be the case,—settles himself in the colony, and therewrites the history of his early life.Heretains themanners, andwith themanners the languageofhisyouth.He livesamonghisownpeople, a countrygentlemanwith abroaddomain,mixingbutlittlewith theworldbeyond,and remainsanEnglishgentlemanof the timeofQueen Anne. The story is continued in The Virginians, the name given to arecord of two lads who were grandsons of Harry Esmond, whose names areWarrington.BeforeTheVirginiansappearedwehadalreadybecomeacquaintedwithascionofthatfamily,thefriendofArthurPendennis,ayoungersonofSirMiles Warrington, of Suffolk. Henry Esmond's daughter had in a previousgenerationmarriedayoungersonofthethenbaronet.Thisismentionednowtoshow theway inwhich Thackeray'smindworked afterwards upon the detailsandcharacterswhichhehadoriginatedinEsmond.

Itisnotmypurposetotellthestoryhere,butrathertoexplainthewayinwhichit iswritten, to showhow it differs fromother stories, and thus to explain itseffect.HarryEsmond,who tells thestory, isofcourse thehero.Thereare twoheroineswho equally command our sympathy,—LadyCastlewood thewife ofHarry'skinsman,andherdaughterBeatrix.Thackerayhimselfdeclaredthemantobeaprig,andhewasnotaltogetherwrong.Beatrix,withwhomthroughoutthewholebookheisinlove,knewhimwell."ShallIbefrankwithyou,Harry,"shesays,whensheisengagedtoanothersuitor,"andsaythatifyouhadnotbeendownon your knees and so humble, youmight have fared betterwithme?Awoman ofmy spirit, cousin, is to be won by gallantry, and not by sighs andruefulfaces.Allthetimeyouareworshippingandsinginghymnstome,IknowverywellIamnogoddess."Andagain:"Asforyou,youwantawomantobringyour slippers and cap, and to sit at your feet and cry,O caro, caro!O bravo!whilstyou readyourShakespearesandMiltonsandstuff."Hewasaprig,andthegirlhelovedknewhim,andbeingquiteofanotherwayofthinkingherself,wouldhavenothingtosaytohiminthewayoflove.Butwithoutsomethingof

the aptitudesof a prig the characterwhich the author intended couldnot havebeendrawn.Therewas tobecourage,—militarycourage,—andthatpropensitytofightingwhichthetoneoftheagedemandedinafinishedgentleman.Esmondthereforeisreadyenoughtousehissword.Butatthesametimehehastoliveasbecomesonewhosenameisinsomedegreeunderacloud;forthoughhebenotintruthanillegitimateoffshootofthenoblefamilywhichishis,andthoughheknows that he is not so, still he has to live as thoughhewere.He becomes asoldier,anditwasjustthenthatourarmywasaccustomed"toswearhorriblyinFlanders." But Esmond likes his books, and cannot swear or drink like othersoldiers.Nevertheless he has a sort of liking for fastways in others, knowingthatsucharethewaysofagallantcavalier.Thereisamelancholyoverhislifewhichmakeshimalways,tohimselfandtoothers,mucholderthanhisyears.Heiswellawarethat,beingasheis,itisimpossiblethatBeatrixshouldlovehim.Nowand then there is adashof lightness abouthim, as thoughhehad taughthimself in his philosophy that even sorrow may be borne with a smile,—asthoughtherewassomethinginhimoftheStoic'sdoctrine,whichmadehimfeelthatevendisappointedloveshouldnotbeseentowoundtoodeep.Butstillwhenhesmiles,evenwhenheindulgesinsomelittlepleasantry,thereisthatgarbofmelancholyoverhimwhichalwaysmakesamanaprig.Butheisagentlemanfromthecrownofhisheadtothesoleofhisfoot.Thackerayhadletthewholepowerofhisintellectapplyitselftoaconceptionofthecharacterofagentleman.Thismanisbrave,polished,giftedwiththatold-fashionedcourtesywhichladiesusedtolove,trueassteel,loyalasfaithhimself,withapowerofself-abnegationwhich astonishes the criticising reader when he finds such a virtue carried tosuchanextentwithout seeming tobeunnatural.Todraw thepictureof amanand say that he is giftedwith all the virtues is easy enough,—easy enough todescribehimasperformingallthevirtues.Thedifficultyistoputyourmanonhislegs,andmakehimmoveabout,carryinghisvirtueswithanaturalgait,sothatthereadershallfeelthatheisbecomingacquaintedwithfleshandblood,notwithawoodenfigure.ThevirtuesarealltherewithHenryEsmond,andthefleshandbloodalso,sothatthereaderbelievesinthem.ButstillthereisleftaflavourofthecharacterwhichThackerayhimselftastedwhenhecalledhisheroaprig.

The two heroines, LadyCastlewood andBeatrix, aremother and daughter, ofwhomtheformerisinlovewithEsmond,andthe latter is lovedbyhim.Faulthasbeenfoundwiththestory,becauseoftheunnaturalrivalry,—becauseithasbeen felt that a mother's solicitude for her daughter should admit of no suchjuxtaposition.Butthecriticismhascome,Ithink,fromthosewhohavefailedtounderstand, not from those who have understood, the tale;—not because they

have read it, but because they have not read it, and have only looked at it orheardof it.LadyCastlewood isperhaps tenyearsolder than theboyEsmond,whomshefirstfindsinherhusband'shouse,andtakesasaprotégé;andfromthemomentinwhichshefindsthatheisinlovewithherowndaughter,shedoesherbesttobringaboutamarriagebetweenthem.Herhusbandisalive,andthoughhe is a drunken brute,—after the manner of lords of that time,—she isthoroughly loyal to him. The little touches, of which the woman is herselfaltogetherunconscious,thatgraduallyturnalovefortheboyintoalovefortheman,are toldsodelicately, that it isonlyat last that thereaderperceiveswhathas in truth happened to the woman. She is angry with him, grateful to him,carefuloverhim,graduallyconsciousofallhisworth,andofallthathedoestoherandhers,tillatlastherheartisunabletoresist.Butthensheisawidow;—andBeatrixhasdeclaredthatherambitionwillnotallowhertomarrysohumbleaswain,andEsmondhasbecome,—ashesaysofhimselfwhenhecallshimself"anoldgentleman,"—"theguardianofallthefamily,""fittobethegrandfatherofyouall."

The character of Lady Castlewood has required more delicacy in itsmanipulation than perhaps any other which Thackeray has drawn. There is amixtureinitofself-negationandofjealousy,ofgratefulnessofheartandofthewearythoughtfulnessofage,ofoccasionalsprightlinesswithdeepmelancholy,of injustice with a thorough appreciation of the good around her, of personalweakness,—as shown always in her intercourse with her children, and ofpersonal strength,—as displayed when she vindicates the position of herkinsman Henry to the Duke of Hamilton, who is about to marry Beatrix;—amixturewhich has required amaster's hand to trace. These contradictions areessentiallyfeminine.Perhapsitmustbeconfessedthat intheunreasonablenessof thewoman, theauthorhas intended tobearmoreharshlyon thesex than itdeserves. But a true woman will forgive him, because of the truth of LadyCastlewood's heart. Her husband had been killed in a duel, and there werecircumstanceswhichhadinducedheratthemomenttoquarrelwithHarryandtobeunjusttohim.Hehadbeenill,andhadgoneawaytothewars,andthenshehadlearnedthetruth,andhadbeenwretchedenough.Butwhenhecomesback,andsheseeshim,bychanceatfirst,astheanthemisbeingsunginthecathedralchoir,assheissayingherprayers,herheartflowsoverwithtendernesstohim."I knew you would come back," she said; "and to-day, Harry, in the anthemwhen theysang it,—'When theLord turned thecaptivityofZionwewere likethemthatdream,'—Ithought,yes,likethemthatdream,—themthatdream.Andthenitwenton,'Theythatsowintearsshallreapinjoy,andhethatgoethforth

and weepeth, shall doubtless come home again with rejoicing, bringing hissheaveswithhim.'Ilookedupfromthebookandsawyou.IwasnotsurprisedwhenIsawyou.Iknewyouwouldcome,mydear,andsawthegoldsunshineroundyourhead."Andso itgoeson, running intoexpressionsofheartmeltingtenderness.Andyetsheherselfdoesnotknowthatherownheartisseekinghiswith all awoman's love.She is stillwilling that he shouldpossessBeatrix. "Iwouldcallyoumyson,"shesays,"sooner thanthegreatestprinceinEurope."But shewarns him of the nature of her own girl. "'Tis formy poorBeatrix Itremble,whoseheadstrongwillaffrightsme,whose jealous temper,andwhosevanity no prayers of mine can cure." It is but very gradually that Esmondbecomesawareofthetruth.Indeed,hehasnotbecomealtogetherawareofittillthe tale closes. The reader does not see that transfer of affection from thedaughtertothemotherwhichwouldfailtoreachhissympathy.Inthelastpageofthelastchapteritistoldthatitisso,—thatEsmondmarriesLadyCastlewood,—butitisnottoldtillalltheincidentsofthestoryhavebeencompleted.

But of the three characters I have named, Beatrix is the one that has moststronglyexercisedthewriter'spowers,andwillmostinterestthereader.Asfarasoutwardperson isconcernedshe isvery lovely,—socharming, thateverymanthatcomesnear tohersubmitshimself toherattractionsandcaprices.It isbutrarelythatanovelistcansucceedinimpressinghisreaderwithasenseoffemaleloveliness.Theattempt ismade so frequently,—comes somuchasamatterofcourseineverynovelthatiswritten,andfailssomuchasamatterofcourse,thatthereaderdoesnotfeelthefailure.Therearethingswhichwedonotexpecttohavedoneforusinliteraturebecausetheyaredonesoseldom.Novelistsareaptto describe the rural scenes amongwhich their characters play their parts, butseldomleaveanyimpressionoftheplacesdescribed.Eveninpoetryhowoftendoesthisoccur?Thewordsusedarepretty,wellchosen,perhapsmusicaltotheear,andinthatwaybefitting;butunlessthespothasviolentcharacteristicsofitsown,suchasBurley'scaveorthewaterfallofLodore,nostrikingportraitisleft.Norarewedisappointedasweread,becausewehavenotbeentaughttoexpectittobeotherwise.Soitiswiththoseword-paintedportraitsofwomen,whicharesofrequentlygivenandsoseldomconveyanyimpression.Whohasanideaofthe outside look of SophiaWestern, or Edith Bellenden, or even of Imogen,thoughIachimo,whodescribedher,wassogoodatwords?Aseriesofpictures,—illustrations,—aswe havewithDickens' novels, andwith Thackeray's,mayleaveanimpressionofafigure,—thougheventhennotoftenoffemininebeauty.But in thiswork Thackeray has succeeded in imbuing uswith a sense of theoutsidelovelinessofBeatrixbythemereforceofwords.Wearenotonlytoldit,

butwefeelthatshewassuchaoneasamancannotfailtocovet,evenwhenhisjudgmentgoesagainsthischoice.

Herethejudgmentgoesaltogetheragainstthechoice.Thegirlgrowsupbeforeusfromherearlyyouthtillhertwenty-fifthortwenty-sixthyear,andbecomes,—such as hermother described her,—onewhose headlongwill,whose jealousy,andwhosevanitynothingcouldrestrain.Shehasnoneofthosesoftfoibles,halfallied to virtues, by which weak women fall away into misery or perhapsdistraction.Shedoesnotwant to loveor tobe loved.Shedoesnot care tobefondled. She has no longing for caresses. She wants to be admired,—and tomake use of the admiration she shall achieve for thematerial purposes of herlife.Shewishestoriseintheworld;andherbeautyistheswordwithwhichshemustopenheroyster.Astoherheart,itisathingofwhichshebecomesaware,onlytoassureherselfthatitmustbelaidasideandputoutofthequestion.NowandagainEsmondtouches it.Shejustfeels thatshehasaheart tobe touched.Butsheneverhasadoubtas toherconduct in thatrespect.Shewillnotallowherdreamsofambitiontobedisturbedbysuchfollyaslove.

Inallthattheremightbesomething,ifnotgoodandgreat,neverthelessgrand,ifherambition,thoughworldly,hadinitatouchofnobility.Butthispoorcreatureis made with her bleared blind eyes to fall into the very lowest depths offeminineignobility.Onelovercomesafteranother.HarryEsmondis,ofcourse,theloverwithwhomthereaderinterestshimself.Atlasttherecomesaduke,—fifty years old, indeed, but with semi-royal appanages. As his wife she willbecome a duchess, with many diamonds, and be her Excellency. The man isstern, cold, and jealous; but she does not doubt for a moment. She is to beDuchessofHamilton,andtowersalreadyinprideofplaceabovehermother,andherkinsmanlover,andallherbelongings.Thestoryhere,withitslittleincidentsofbirth,andblood,andignoblepride,andgratifiedambition,withadashoftruefemininenobilityonthepartofthegirl'smother,issuchastoleaveonewiththeimpression that ithashardlybeenbeaten inEnglishprosefiction.Then, in thelastmoment,thedukeiskilledinaduel,andthenewsisbroughttothegirlbyEsmond.She turnsuponhimand rebukeshimharshly.Thenshemovesaway,andfeelsinamomentthatthereisnothingleftforherinthisworld,andthatshecan only throw herself upon devotion for consolation. "I am best in my ownroomandbymyself,"shesaid.Hereyeswerequitedry,nordidEsmondeverseethemotherwise,saveonce,inrespectofthatgrief.Shegavehimacoldhandasshe went out. "Thank you, brother," she said in a low voice, and with asimplicitymoretouchingthantears,"allthatyouhavesaidistrueandkind,and

Iwillgoawayandwillaskpardon."

Buttheconsolationcomingfromdevotiondidnotgofarwithsuchaoneasher.Wecannot reston religionmerelybysaying thatwewilldoso.Veryspeedilytherecomesconsolationinanotherform.QueenAnneisonherdeathbed,andayoungStuartprinceappearsuponthescene,ofwhomsomeloyalheartsdreamthattheycanmakeaking.HeissuchasStuartswere,andonlywalksacrossthenovelist'scanvas toshowhis follyandheartlessness.But there isamoment inwhichBeatrixthinksthatshemayriseintheworldtotheproudplaceofaroyalmistress.Thatisherlastambition!Thatisherpride!Thatistobeherglory!Theblearedeyescanseenoclearerthanthat.Butthemockprincepassesaway,andnothingbutthedisgraceofthewishremains.

Such is the story ofEsmond, leavingwith it, as does all Thackeray'swork, amelancholyconvictionof thevanityofall thingshuman.Vanitasvanitatum,ashewroteonthepagesoftheFrenchlady'salbum,andagaininoneoftheearliernumbersofTheCornhillMagazine.Withmuchthatispicturesque,muchthatisdroll,muchthatisvaluableasbeingacorrectpictureoftheperiodselected,thegistofthebookismelancholythroughout.Itendswiththepromiseofhappinessto come, but that is contained merely in a concluding paragraph. The onewoman,duringthecourseofthestory,becomesawidow,withalivingloveinwhich she has no hope,with children forwhom her fears are almost strongerthanheraffection,whonevercanrallyherself tohappinessforamoment.Theother, with all her beauty and all her brilliance, becomes what we havedescribed,—and marries at last her brother's tutor, who becomes a bishop bymeansofherintrigues.Esmond,thehero,whoiscompoundedofallgoodgifts,afterachildhoodandyouth tinged throughoutwithmelancholy,vanishes fromus,withthepromisethatheistoberewardedbythehandofthemotherofthegirlhehasloved.

Andyet there isnotapage in thebookoverwhicha thoughtful readercannotpausewithdelight.Thenature in it is truenature.Givena story thus sad, andpersonsthussituated,anditisthusthatthedetailswouldfolloweachother,andthus that thepeoplewouldconduct themselves. Itwas the toneofThackeray'smindtoturnawayfromtheprospectofthingsjoyful,andtosee,—orbelievethathesaw,—inallhumanaffairs, theseedofsomethingbase,ofsomethingwhichwouldbeantagonistictotruecontentment.Allhissnobs,andallhisfools,andallhisknaves,comefromthesameconviction. Is itnot thedoctrineonwhichour religion is founded,—though the sadness of it there is alleviated by thedoubtfulpromiseofaheaven?

ThoughthriceathousandyearsarepassedSinceDavid'sson,thesadandsplendid,

ThewearykingecclesiastUponhisawfultabletspennedit.

SoitwasthatThackeraypreachedhissermon.Butmelancholythoughitbe,thelesson taught inEsmond is salutary from beginning to end. The sermon trulypreachedisthatglorycanonlycomefromthatwhichistrulyglorious,andthattheresultsofmeannessendalwaysinthemean.NogirlwillbetaughttowishtoshinelikeBeatrix,norwillanyyouthbemadetothinkthattogaintheloveofsuchaoneitcanbeworthhiswhiletoexpendhisenergyorhisheart.

Esmond was published in 1852. It was not till 1858, some time after he hadreturned from his lecturing tours, that he published the sequel called TheVirginians. It was first brought out in twenty-four monthly numbers, and ranthroughtheyears1858and1859,Messrs.BradburyandEvanshavingbeenthepublishers. It takes up by no means the story of Esmond, and hardly thecharacters. The twin lads, who are called the Virginians, and whose name isWarrington,aregrandsonsofEsmondandhiswifeLadyCastlewood.Theironedaughter, born at the estate in Virginia, had married a Warrington, and theVirginians are the issue of thatmarriage. In the story, one is sent toEngland,theretomakehisway;andtheotherisforawhilesupposedtohavebeenkilledbytheIndians.Howhewasnotkilled,butafterawhilecomesagainforwardintheworldoffiction,willbefoundinthestory,whichitisnotourpurposetosetforthhere.ThemostinterestingpartofthenarrativeisthatwhichtellsusofthelaterfortunesofMadameBeatrix,—theBaronessBernstein,—theladywhohadinheryouthbeenBeatrixEsmond,whohadthencondescendedtobecomeMrs.Tasker,thetutor'swife,whencesherosetobethe"lady"ofabishop,and,afterthebishophadbeenputtorestunderaloadofmarble,hadbecomethebaroness,—aricholdwoman,courtedbyallherrelativesbecauseofherwealth.

InTheVirginians,asaworkofart,isdiscovered,morestronglythanhadshownitself yet in any of his works, that propensity to wandering which came toThackeraybecauseofhis idleness. It is, I think, tobe found ineverybookheeverwrote,—exceptEsmond;but isheremoreconspicuous than ithadbeeninhis earlier years. Though he can settle himself down to his pen and ink,—notalwayseventothatwithoutastruggle,buttothatwithsufficientburstofenergytoproducea largeaverageamountofwork,—hecannotsettlehimselfdowntothetaskofcontrivingastory.Therehavebeenthose,—andtheyhavenotbeen

bad judges of literature,—who have told me that they have best liked thesevague narratives.Themind of theman has been clearly exhibited in them. Inthem he has spoken out his thoughts, and given the world to know hisconvictions, as well as could have been done in the carrying out any well-conductedplot.Andthoughthenarrativesbevague,thecharactersarealive.InTheVirginians, the twoyoungmenand theirmother,and theother ladieswithwhomtheyhavetodeal,andespeciallytheiraunt,theBaronessBernstein,areallalive. For desultory reading, for that picking up of a volume now and againwhichrequirespermissiontoforgettheplotofanovel, thisnovelisadmirablyadapted.Thereisnotapageofitvacantordull.Buthewhotakesituptoreadasawhole,will find that it is thework of a desultorywriter, towhom it is notinfrequentlydifficulttoremembertheincidentsofhisownnarrative."Howgooditis,evenasitis!—butifhewouldhavedonehisbestforus,whatmighthenothave done!" This, I think, iswhatwe feelwhenwe readThe Virginians. Theauthor'smindhas inonewaybeenactiveenough,—andpowerful,as italwaysis;buthehasbeenunabletofixittoanintendedpurpose,andhasgoneonfromdaytodayfurtheringthedifficultyhehasintendedtomaster,tillthebook,underthe stress of circumstances,—demands for copy and the like,—has beencompletedbeforethedifficultyhasevenintruthbeenencountered.

CHAPTERVI.

THACKERAY'SBURLESQUES.

AssomuchofThackeray'swritingpartakesofthenatureofburlesque,itwouldhavebeenunnecessary todevote a separate chapter to the subject,were it notthat there are amonghis tales twoor three so exceedingly goodof their kind,comingsoentirelyuptoourideaofwhataproseburlesqueshouldbe,thatwereItoomittomentionthemIshouldpassoveradistinctiveportionofourauthor'swork.

The volume calledBurlesques, published in 1869, begins with theNovels byEminentHands,andJeames'sDiary,towhichIhavealreadyalluded.ItcontainsalsoTheTremendousAdventuresofMajorGahagan,ALegendoftheRhine,andRebeccaandRowena.ItisofthesethatIwillnowspeak.TheHistoryoftheNextFrenchRevolution andCox'sDiary,withwhich the volume is concluded, are,according tomy thinking, hardly equal to the others; nor are they so properlycalledburlesques.

NorwillIsaymuchofMajorGahagan,thoughhisadventuresareverygoodfun.Heisawarrior,—thatis,ofcourse,—andheisoneinwhosewonderfulnarrativeall that distant India can produce in the way of boasting, is superadded toIreland'sbestefforts in thesame line.BaronMunchausenwasnothing tohim;andtothebareandsimplemiraclesofthebaronisjoinedthathumourwithoutwhichThackeraynever tells any story.This is broad enough, nodoubt, but isstill humour;—as when the major tells us that he always kept in his ownapartmentasmallstoreofgunpowder;"alwayskeepingitundermybed,withacandleburningforfearofaccidents."Orwhenhedescribeshiscourage;"Iwasrunning,—runningasthebravestagbeforethehounds,—running,asIhavedonea great number of times inmy life,when therewas no help for it but a run."Thenhetellsusofhisdigestion."OnceinSpainIatethelegofahorse,andwassoeagertoswallowthismorsel, thatIboltedtheshoeaswellasthehoof,andneverfelttheslightestinconveniencefromeither."Hestormsacitadel,andhasonlyasnuffboxgivenhimforhisreward."Nevermind,"saysMajorGahagan;"when theywantme to storma fort again, I shall knowbetter."BywhichweperceivethatthemajorrememberedhisHorace,andhadinhismindthesoldier

whohadlosthispurse.Butthemajor'sadventures,excellentastheyare,lackthecontinuedinterestwhichisattachedtothetwofollowingstories.

OfwhatnatureisTheLegendof theRhine,welearnfromthecommencement."Itwas in the good old days of chivalry,when everymountain that bathes itsshadowintheRhinehaditscastle;notinhabitedasnowbyafewratsandowls,norcoveredwithmossandwallflowersandfungusesandcreepingivy.No,no;wheretheivynowclusterstheregrewstrongportcullisandbarsofsteel;wherethe wallflowers now quiver in the ramparts there were silken bannersembroidered with wonderful heraldry; men-at-arms marched where now youshallonlyseeabankofmossorahideousblackchampignon;andinplaceoftheratsandowlets,Iwarrantmetherewereladiesandknightstorevelinthegreathalls, and to feast and dance, and tomake love there." So thatwe knowwellbeforehandofwhatkindwillthisstorybe.Itwillbepureromance,—burlesqued."Hoseneschal,fillmeacupofhotliquor;putsugarinit,goodfellow;yea,andalittlehotwater,—butverylittle,formysoulissadasIthinkofthosedaysandknightsofold."

Aknightisridingaloneonhiswar-horse,withallhisarmourwithhim,—andhisluggage. His rank is shown by the name on his portmanteau, and his formeraddressandpresentdestinationbyacardwhichwasattached.Ithadrun,"CountLudwig de Hombourg, Jerusalem, but the name of the Holy City had beendashed outwith the pen, and that ofGodesberg substituted." "BySt.HugoofKatzenellenbogen," said the good knight shivering, "'tis colder here than atDamascus.ShallIbeatGodesbergintimefordinner?"HehascometoseehisfriendCountKarl,MargraveofGodesberg.

But atGodesberg everything is in distress and sorrow.There is a new inmatethere,oneSirGottfried,sincewhosearrivaltheknightofthecastlehasbecomeawretchedman, having been taught to believe all evils of his wife, and of hischildOtto,andacertainstranger,oneHildebrandt.Gottfried,weseewithhalfaneye,hasdone itall. It is invain thatLudwigdeHombourg tellshisoldfriendKarlthatthisGottfriedisathoroughlybadfellow,thathehadbeenfoundtobeacardsharper in the Holy Land, and had been drummed out of his regiment."'Twasbutsomesillyquarreloverthewine-cup,"saysKarl."HugodeBrodenelwould have no black bottle on the board." We think we can remember thequarrel of "Brodenel" and the black bottle, though somany things have takenplacesincethat.

There is a festival in the castle, andHildebrandt comeswith the other guests.

ThenLudwig's attention is called by poorKarl, the father, to a certain familylikeness.Canitbethatheisnotthefatherofhisownchild?HeisplayingcardswithhisfriendLudwigwhenthat traitorGottfriedcomesandwhispers tohim,andmakes an appointment. "I will be there too," thought Count Ludwig, thegoodKnightofHombourg.

Onthenextmorning,beforethestrangerknighthadshakenoffhisslumbers,allhadbeen foundout andeverythingdone.The ladyhasbeen sent to a conventandherson toamonastery.Theknightof thecastlehasnocomfortbut inhisfriendGottfried,adistantcousinwhoistoinheriteverything.AllthisistoldtoSir Ludwig,—who immediately takes steps to repair the mischief. "A cup ofcoffeestraight,"sayshe to theservitors."Bid thecookpackmeasausageandbreadinpaper,andthegroomsaddleStreithengst.Wehavefartoride."Sothisredresserofwrongsstartsoff,leavingtheMargraveinhisgrief.

ThenthereisagreatfightbetweenSirLudwigandSirGottfried,admirablytoldin the manner of the later chroniclers,—a hermit sitting by and describingeverythingalmostaswellasRebeccadidonthetower.SirLudwigbeingintheright,ofcoursegainstheday.But theescapeof thefallenknight'shorseis thecream of this chapter. "Away, ay, away!—away amid the green vineyards andgoldencornfields;awayupthesteepmountains,wherehefrightenedtheeaglesin their eyries; away down the clattering ravines,where the flashing cataractstumble; away through the dark pine-forests, where the hungry wolves arehowling;awayover thedrearywolds,where thewildwindwalksalone;awaythrough the splashing quagmires, where the will-o'-the wisp slunk frightenedamongthereeds;awaythroughlightanddarkness,stormandsunshine;awaybytower and town, highroad and hamlet.... Brave horse! gallant steed! snortingchild of Araby! On went the horse, over mountains, rivers, turnpikes,applewomen; and never stopped until he reached a livery-stable in Cologne,wherehismasterwasaccustomedtoputhimup!"

The conquered knight, Sir Gottfried, of course reveals the truth. ThisHildebrandt is no more than the lady's brother,—as it happened a brother indisguise,—andhencethelikeness.Wickedknightswhentheydiealwaysdivulgetheirwickedsecrets,andthisknightGottfrieddoessonow.SirLudwigcarriesthenewshometotheafflictedhusbandandfather;whoofcourseinstantlysendsoffmessengersforhiswifeandson.Thewifewon'tcome.Allshewants is tohave her dresses and jewels sent to her. Of so cruel a husband she has hadenough.As for the son, he has jumpedout of a boat on theRhine, as hewasbeingcarriedtohismonastery,andwasdrowned!

Buthewasnotdrowned,buthadonlydived."Thegallantboyswamonbeneaththewater, never lifting his head for a singlemoment betweenGodesberg andCologne;thedistancebeingtwenty-fiveorthirtymiles."

Thenhebecomesanarcher,dressedingreenfromheadtofoot.Howitwasisalltoldinthestory;andhegoestoshootforaprizeattheCastleofAdolftheDukeofCleeves.Onhiswayheshootsaravenmarvellously,—almostasmarvellouslyasdidRobinHoodthetwiginIvanhoe.Thenoneofhiscompanionsismarried,or nearly married, to the mysterious "Lady of Windeck,"—would have beenmarriedbutforOtto,andthatthebishopanddean,whoweredraggedupfromtheir long-agograves toperform theghostly ceremony,werepreventedby theill-timedmirthofacertainoldcanonofthechurchnamedSchidnischmidt.Thereaderhastoreadthenameoutlongbeforeherecognisesanoldfriend.ButthisoftheLadyofWindeckisanepisode.

Howattheshooting-match,whichofcourseensued,Ottoshotforandwontheheart of a fair lady, the duke's daughter, need not be told here, nor how hequarrelledwiththeRowskiofDonnerblitz,—thehideousandsulky,butrichandpowerful,noblemanwhohadcometotakethehand,whetherhecouldwintheheartornot,ofthedaughteroftheduke.Itisallarrangedaccordingtotheproperandromanticorder.Otto,thoughheenlistsintheduke'sarcher-guardassimplesoldier, contrives to fight with the Rowski de Donnerblitz, Margrave ofEulenschrenkenstein, and of course kills him. "'Yield, yield, Sir Rowski!'shoutedheinacalmvoice.Ablowdealtmadlyathisheadwasthereply.Itwasthe last blow that the count of Eulenschrenkenstein ever struck in battle. Thecursewasonhislipsasthecrashingsteeldescendedintohisbrainandsplititintwo.Herolledlikeadogfromhishorse,hisenemy'skneewasinamomentonhischest,andthedaggerofmercyathisthroat,astheknightoncemorecalleduponhimtoyield."Theknightwasofcoursethearcherwhohadcomeforwardasanunknownchampion,andhadtouchedtheRowski'sshieldwiththepointofhis lance. For this story, as well as the rest, is a burlesque on our dear oldfavouriteIvanhoe.

Thateverythinggoesrightatlast,thatthewifecomesbackfromhermonastery,andjoinsherjealoushusband,andthattheduke'sdaughterhasalways,intruth,knownthatthepoorarcherwasanobleknight,—thesethingsareallmattersofcourse.

ButthebestofthethreeburlesquesisRebeccaandRowena,orARomanceuponRomance,whichIneednottellmyreadersisacontinuationofIvanhoe.Ofthis

burlesque it is the peculiar characteristic that, while it has been written toridiculethepersonsandtheincidentsofthatperhapsthemostfavouritenovelintheEnglishlanguage,ithasbeensowrittenthatitwouldnothaveoffendedtheauthorhadhelivedtoreadit,nordoesitdisgustorannoythosewhomostlovetheoriginal.ThereisnotawordinithavinganintentiontobelittleScott.Ithassprung from thegenuinehumourcreated inThackeray'smindbyhisaspectofthe romantic. We remember how reticent, how dignified was Rowena,—howcold we perhaps thought her, whether there was so little of that billing andcooing,thatkissingandsqueezing,betweenherandIvanhoewhichweusedtothinknecessarytolovers'blisses.Andtherewasleft tooonourminds,anideathat Ivanhoehad liked theJewessalmostaswellasRowena,and thatRowenamightpossiblyhavebecomejealous.Thackeray'smindatoncewenttoworkandpicturedtohimaRowenasuchassuchawomanmightbecomeaftermarriage;andasIvanhoewasofamelancholynatureandapttobehipped,andgrave,andsilent, as amatterof courseThackeraypresumeshim tohavebeenhenpeckedafterhismarriage.

OurdearWambadisturbshismistressinsomedevotionalconversationwithherchaplain,andthesternladyordersthatthefoolshallhavethree-dozenlashes."IgotyououtofFrontdeBœuf'scastle,"saidpoorWamba,piteously,appealingtoSirWilfridofIvanhoe,"andcanstthounotsavemefromthelash?"

"Yes;fromFrontdeBœuf'scastle,whenyouwerelockedupwiththeJewessinthetower!"saidRowena,haughtilyreplyingtothetimidappealofherhusband."Gurth, givehim four-dozen,"—and thiswas all poorWambagot by applyingforthemediationofhismaster.Thenthesatiristmoralises;"Didyoueverknowa right-minded woman pardon another for being handsomer and more love-worthythanherself?"Rowenais"alwaysflingingRebeccaintoIvanhoe'steeth;"and altogether life at Rotherwood, as described by the later chronicles, is notvery happy even when most domestic. Ivanhoe becomes sad and moody. Hetakestodrinking,andhisladydoesnotforgettotellhimofit."Ahdearaxe!"heexclaims, apostrophising his weapon, "ah gentle steel! that was a merry timewhen I sent thee crashing into thepateof theEmirAbdulMelek!"Therewasnothingleft tohimbuthismemories;and"inaword,his lifewasintolerable."SohedeterminesthathewillgoandlookafterkingRichard,whoofcoursewaswanderingabroad.Heanticipatesalittledifficultywithhiswife;butsheisonlytoo happy to let himgo, comforting herselfwith the idea thatAthelstanewilllook after her. So her husband starts on his journey. "Then Ivanhoe's trumpetblew.ThenRowenawavedherpocket-handkerchief.Thenthehouseholdgavea

shout.Then thepursuivant of thegoodknight,SirWilfrid theCrusader, flungouthisbanner,—whichwasargent,agulescramoisywiththreeMoorsimpaled,—thenWambagavealashonhismule'shaunch,andIvanhoe,heavingagreatsigh,turnedthetailofhiswar-horseuponthecastleofhisfathers."

Ivanhoe finds Cœur de Leon besieging the Castle of Chalons, and there theybothdowondrousdeeds, Ivanhoealways surpassing theking.The jealousyofthecourtiers,theingratitudeoftheking,andthemelancholyoftheknight,whois never comforted except when he has slaughtered some hundreds, aredelightful. Roger de Backbite and Peter de Toadhole are intended to be quitereal.Thenhismajestysings,passingoffashisown,asongofCharlesLever's.SirWilfriddeclaresthetruth,andtwitsthekingwithhisfalsehood,whereuponhehastheguitarthrownathisheadforhispains.Hecatchestheguitar,however,gracefullyinhislefthand,andsingshisownimmortalballadofKingCanute,—thanwhichThackerayneverdidanythingbetter.

"MightIstaythesunaboveus,goodSirBishop?"Canutecried;"CouldIbidthesilvermoontopauseuponherheavenlyride?Ifthemoonobeysmyorders,sureIcancommandthetide.

Willtheadvancingwavesobeyme,Bishop,ifImakethesign?"Saidthebishop,bowinglowly;"Landandsea,mylord,arethine."Canuteturnedtowardstheocean;"Back,"hesaid,"thoufoamingbrine."

Butthesullenoceanansweredwithalouderdeeperroar,Andtherapidwavesdrewnearer,falling,soundingontheshore;Backthekeeperandthebishop,backthekingandcourtiersbore.

Wemust go to the book to look at the picture of the king as he is killing theyoungestofthesonsoftheCountofChalons.ThoseillustrationsofDoyle'sareadmirable.Thesizeoftheking'shead,andthesizeofhisbattle-axeascontrastedwiththesizeofthechild,areburlesqueallover.ButthekinghasbeenwoundedbyaboltfromthebowofSirBertranddeGourdonwhileheisslaughteringtheinfant,andthereisanendofhim.Ivanhoe,too,iskilledatthesiege,—SirRogerdeBackbitehavingstabbedhiminthebackduringthescene.Hadhenotbeenthen killed, hiswidowRowena could not havemarriedAthelstane,which shesoon did after hearing the sad news; nor could he have had that celebratedepitaphinLatinandEnglish;

HieestGuilfridus,bellidumvixitavidus.

CumgladeoetlanceaNormanniaetquoqueFranciaVerberaduradabat.PerTurcosmultumequitabat.Guilbertumoccidit;—atqueHyerosolymavidit.Heu!nuncsubfossasunttantimilitisossa.UxorAthelstaniestconjuxcastissimaThani.[5]

ThetranslationwearetoldwasbyWamba;

Underthestoneyoubehold,Buriedandcoffinedandcold,LiethSirWilfridtheBold.

Alwayshemarchedinadvance,WarringinFlandersandFrance,Doughtywithswordandwithlance

FamousinSaracenfight,Rodeinhisyouth,theGoodKnight,ScatteringPaynimsinflight.

Brian,theTemplaruntrue,Fairlyintourneyheslew;SawHierusalemtoo.

Nowheisburiedandgone,Lyingbeneaththegraystone.Whereshallyoufindsuchaone?

Longtimehiswidowdeplored,Weeping,thefateofherlord,Sadlycutoffbythesword.

Whenshewaseasedofherpain,CamethegoodlordAthelstane,Whenherladyshipmarriedagain.

Thenextchapterbeginsnaturallyasfollows;"Itrustnobodywillsuppose,fromtheeventsdescribedinthelastchapter, thatourfriendIvanhoeisreallydead."He isofcoursecuredofhiswounds, though they takesixyears in thecuring.AndthenhemakeshiswaybacktoRotherwood,inafriar'sdisguise,muchashe

did on that former occasionwhenwe first met him, and there is received byAthelstaneandRowena,—andtheirboy!—whileWambasingshimasong:

Thenyouknowtheworthofalass,Onceyouhavecometofortyyear!

No one, of course, butWamba knows Ivanhoe,who roams about the country,melancholy,—asheofcoursewouldbe,—charitable,—asheperhapsmightbe,—forwearespeciallytoldthathehadalargefortuneandnothingtodowithit,andslayingrobberswhereverhemetthem;—butsadatheartallthetime.Thentherecomesa littleburstof theauthor'sownfeelings,whilehe isburlesquing."AhmydearfriendsandBritishpublic,aretherenototherswhoaremelancholyunderamaskofgaiety,andwhointhemidstofcrowdsarelonely!Listonwasamostmelancholyman;Grimaldihadfeelings;andthenothersIwotof.Butpsha!—letushavethenextchapter."Inallofwhichtherewasatouchofearnestness.

Ivanhoe'sgriefswereenhancedbythewickednessofkingJohn,underwhomhewouldnotserve."ItwasSirWilfridofIvanhoe,Ineedscarcelysay,whogottheBarons of England to league together and extort from the king that famousinstrument and palladium of our liberties, at present in the British Museum,Great Russell Street, Bloomsbury,—The Magna Charta." Athelstane alsoquarrelswiththeking,whoseordershedisobeys,andRotherwoodisattackedbytheroyalarmy.NoonewasofrealserviceinthewayoffightingexceptIvanhoe,—andhowcouldhetakeupthatcause?"No;behangedtome,"saidtheknightbitterly."ThisisaquarrelinwhichIcan'tinterfere.Commonpolitenessforbids.Let yonder ale-swilling Athelstane defend his,—ha, ha!—wife; and my LadyRowenaguardher,—ha,ha!—son!"andhelaughedwildlyandmadly.

ButAthelstaneiskilled,—thistimeinearnest,—andthenIvanhoerushestotherescue. He finds Gurth dead at the park-lodge, and though he is all alone,—havingoutriddenhisfollowers,—herushesupthechestnutavenuetothehouse,which is being attacked. "An Ivanhoe! an Ivanhoe!" he bellowed out with ashoutthatovercameall thedinofbattle;—"NotreDameàlarecousse?"andtohurlhislancethroughthemidriffofReginalddeBracy,whowascommandingthe assault,—who fell howlingwith anguish,—towave his battle-axe over hisown head, and to cut off those of thirteen men-at-arms, was the work of aninstant. "An Ivanhoe! an Ivanhoe!" he still shouted, and downwent aman assureashesaid"hoe!"

Neverthelessheisagainkilledbymultitudes,orverynearly,—andhasagainto

be cured by the tender nursing ofWamba. ButAthelstane is really dead, andRowenaandtheboyhavetobefound.Hedoeshisdutyandfindsthem,—justintimetobepresentatRowena'sdeath.ShehasbeenputinprisonbykingJohn,andisinextremiswhenherfirsthusbandgetstoher."Wilfrid,myearlyloved,"[6] slowly gasped she removing her gray hair from her furrowed temples, andgazingonherboyfondlyashenestledonIvanhoe'sknee,—"promisemebySt.WaltheofofTemplestowe,—promisemeoneboon!"

"I do," said Ivanhoe, clasping the boy, and thinking that it was to that littleinnocentthatthepromisewasintendedtoapply.

"BySt.Waltheof?"

"BySt.Waltheof!"

"Promisemethen,"gaspedRowena,staringwildlyathim,"thatyouwillnevermarryaJewess!"

"BySt.Waltheof!"criedIvanhoe,"but this is toomuch,"andhedidnotmakethepromise.

"HavingplacedyoungCedricatschoolattheHallofDotheboys,inYorkshire,andarrangedhisfamilyaffairs,SirWilfridofIvanhoequittedacountrywhichhadno longer anycharm forhim, as therewasno fighting tobedone, and inwhichhisstaywasrenderedlessagreeablebythenotionthatkingJohnwouldhanghim."Sohegoesforthandfightsagain,inleaguewiththeKnightsofSt.John,—theTemplarsnaturallyhavingadisliketohimbecauseofBriandeBoisGuilbert. "The only fault that the great and gallant, though severe and asceticFolko of Heydenbraten, the chief of the Order of St. John, found with themelancholywarriorwhose lancedidsuchservice to thecause,was thathedidnotpersecute theJewsasso religiousaknightshould.So theJews, incursingthe Christians, always excepted the name of the Desdichado,—or the doubledisinherited,ashenowwas,—theDesdichadoDoblado."ThencamethebattleofAlarcos, and theMoorswere all but in possession of thewhole of Spain. SirWilfrid, like other good Christians, cannot endure this, so he takes ship inBohemia, where he happens to be quartered, and has himself carried toBarcelona, and proceeds "to slaughter the Moors forthwith." Then there is ascene in which Isaac of York comes on as a messenger, to ransom from aSpanishknight,DonBeltramdeCuchillayTrabuco,yEspada,yEspelon,alittleMoorish girl. The Spanish knight of course murders the little girl instead oftaking the ransom.Twohundred thousanddirhemsareoffered, howevermuch

thatmaybe;but theknight,whohappens tobe infundsat the time,prefers tokill thelittlegirl.All this isonlynecessarytothestoryas introducingIsaacofYork. Sir Wilfrid is of course intent upon finding Rebecca. Through all histroublesandtriumphs,fromhisgainingandhislosingofRowena,fromthedayonwhichhehadbeen"lockedupwiththeJewessinthetower,"hehadalwaysbeentruetoher."Awayfromme!"saidtheoldJew,tottering."Away,Rebeccais,—dead!"ThenIvanhoegoesoutandkillsfiftythousandMoors,andthereisthepictureofhim,—killingthem.

But Rebecca is not dead at all. Her father had said so because Rebecca hadbehavedverybadlytohim.ShehadrefusedtomarrytheMoorishprince,oranyofherownpeople, theJews,andhadgoneas faras todeclareherpassionforIvanhoe and her resolution to be a Christian. All the Jews and Jewesses inValenciaturnedagainsther,—sothatshewaslockedupintheback-kitchenandalmost starved todeath.But Ivanhoe foundherofcourse,andmakesherMrs.Ivanhoe, or LadyWilfrid the second. Then Thackeray tells us how for manyyearshe,Thackeray,hadnotceasedtofeelthatitoughttobeso."IndeedIhavethought of it any time these five-and-twenty years,—ever since, as a boy atschool,Icommencedthenoblestudyofnovels,—eversincethedaywhen,lyingonsunnyslopes,ofhalf-holidays,thefairchivalrousfiguresandbeautifulshapesofknightsandladieswerevisibletome,eversinceIgrewtoloveRebecca,thatsweetestcreatureofthepoet'sfancy,andlongedtoseeherrighted."

Andso,nodoubt, ithadbeen.Theveryburlesquehadgrownfromthewayinwhichhisyoung imaginationhadbeenmovedbyScott's romance.Hehad feltfromthetimeofthosehappyhalf-holidaysinwhichhehadbeenluckyenoughtogetholdofthenovel,thataccordingtoalllawsofpoeticjustice,Rebecca,asbeingthemorebeautifulandthemoreinterestingoftheheroines,wasentitledtothepossessionofthehero.Wehaveallofusfeltthesame.Buttohimhadbeenpresentatthesametimeallthatisludicrousinourideasofmiddle-agechivalry;the absurdity of its recorded deeds, the blood-thirstiness of its recreations, theselfishnessofitsmen,thefalsenessofitshonour,thecringingofitsloyalty,thetyrannyofitsprinces.AndsotherecameforthRebeccaandRowena,allbroadfunfrombeginningtoend,butneverwithoutapurpose,—thebestburlesque,asIthink,inourlanguage.

FOOTNOTES:[5]Idoubt thatThackeraydidnotwrite theLatinepitaph,butIhardlydaresuggestthenameofanyauthor.The"vixitavidus"isquiteworthyofThackeray;buthadhetriedhishandatsuchmodeofexpressionhewouldhavedonemoreofit.Ishouldlike

toknowwhetherhehadbeenincompanywithFatherProutatthetime.

[6]ThereissomethingalmostillnaturedinhistreatmentofRowena,whoisveryfalseinherdeclarationsoflove;—anditistobefearedthatbyRowena,theauthorintendsthenormalmarriedladyofEnglishsociety.

CHAPTERVII.

THACKERAY'SLECTURES.

InspeakingofThackeray'slifeIhavesaidwhyandhowitwasthathetookuponhimselftolecture,andhavealsotoldthereaderthathewasaltogethersuccessfulin carrying out the views proposed to himself. Of his peculiar manner oflecturing Ihavesaidbut little,neverhavingheardhim."Hepoundedalong,—veryclearly,"Ihavebeentold;fromwhichIsurmise that therewasnospecialgrace of eloquence, but that hewas always audible. I cannot imagine that heshouldhavebeenevereloquent.Hecouldnothavetakenthetroublenecessarywithhisvoice,withhiscadences,orwithhisoutwardappearance.Iimaginethatthey who seem so naturally to fall into the proprieties of elocution havegenerally taken a great deal of trouble beyond thatwhich themere finding oftheirwordshas cost them. It is clearly to thematterofwhathe thengave theworld,andnottothemanner,thatwemustlookforwhatinterestistobefoundinthelectures.

ThoseonTheEnglishHumoristswere given first.The second setwas onTheFourGeorges. In thevolumenowbeforeusTheGeorgesareprintedfirst,andthewholeisproducedsimplyasapartofThackeray'sliterarywork.Lookedat,however, in that light themerit of the two sets of biographical essays is verydifferent.Intheonewehavealltheanecdoteswhichcouldbebroughttogetherrespectingfourofourkings,—whoasmenwerenotpeculiar,thoughtheirreignswere, andwill always be, famous, because the country during the periodwasincreasinggreatlyinprosperityandwaseverstrengtheningtheholdithaduponitsliberties.Intheothersetthelecturerwasamanoflettersdealingwithmenofletters, andhimself aprinceamonghumorists isdealingwith thehumoristsofhisowncountryandlanguage.OnecouldnotimagineabettersubjectforsuchdiscoursesfromThackeray'smouththanthelatter.Theformerwasnot,Ithink,sogood.

Indiscussingthelivesofkingsthebiographermaytrusttopersonaldetailsortohistoricalfacts.Hemaytaketheman,andsaywhatgoodorevilmaybesaidofhimasaman;—orhemaytaketheperiod,andtellhisreaderswhathappenedtothecountrywhilethisortheotherkingwasonthethrone.Inthecasewithwhich

wearedealing,thelecturerhadnottimeenoughorroomenoughforrealhistory.Hisobjectwastolethisaudienceknowofwhatnaturewerethemen;andwearebound to say that the pictures have not on the whole been flattering. It wasalmostnecessary thatwithsuchasubjectsuchshouldbe theresult.Astoryoffamilyvirtues,withprincesandprincesseswellbroughtup,withhappyfamilyrelations,allcouleurde rose,—as itwouldofcoursebecomeus towrite ifweweredealingwiththelifeofa livingsovereign,—wouldnotbeinteresting.Noone on going to hear Thackeray lecture on the Georges expected that. Theremustbesomepiquancygiven,orthelecturewouldbedull;—andtheeulogyofpersonal virtues can seldom be piquant. It is difficult to speak fittingly of asovereign,eitherlivingornot,longsincegone.Youcanhardlypraisesuchaonewithout flattery. You can hardly censure him without injustice.We are eitherignorant of his personal doingsorweknow themas secrets,whichhavebeendivulgedforthemostparteitherfalselyortreacherously,—oftenbothfalselyandtreacherously.Itisbetter,perhaps,thatweshouldnotdealwiththepersonalitiesofprinces.

IbelievethatThackerayfanciedthathehadspokenwellofGeorgeIII.,andamsurethatitwashisintentiontodoso.Buttheimpressionheleavesispoor."Heis said not to have cared for Shakespeare or tragedy much; farces andpantomimeswerehisjoy;—andespeciallywhenclownswallowedacarrotorastringofsausages,hewouldlaughsooutrageouslythatthelovelyprincessbyhissidewouldhave tosay, 'Mygraciousmonarch,docomposeyourself.' 'George,beaking!'werethewordswhichshe,"—hismother,—"wasevercroakingintheearsofherson;andakingthesimple,stubborn,affectionate,bigotedmantriedtobe.""Hedidhisbest;heworkedaccordingtohislights;whatvirtuesheknewhetriedtopractise;whatknowledgehecouldmasterhestrovetoacquire."Ifthelectures were to be popular, it was absolutely necessary that they should bewritteninthisstrain.AlecturesimplylaudatoryonthelifeofSt.Paulwouldnotdraw even the bench of bishops to listen to it; but were a flaw found in theapostle'slife,thewholeChurchofEnglandwouldbeboundtoknowallaboutit.IamquitesurethatThackeraybelievedeverywordthathesaidinthelectures,andthatheintendedtoputinthegoodandthebad,honestly,astheymightcometo his hand.Wemay be quite sure that he did not intend to flatter the royalfamily;—equally sure that hewould not calumniate. Therewere, however, somanydifficultiestobeencounteredthatIcannotbut thinkthat thesubjectwasill-chosen. Inmaking them so amusing as he did and so little offensive greatingenuitywasshown.

I will now go back to the first series, in which the lecturer treated of Swift,Congreve, Addison, Steele, Prior, Gay, Pope, Hogarth, Smollett, Fielding,Sterne,andGoldsmith.AlltheseThackerayhasputintheirproperorder,placingthemenfromthedateoftheirbirth,exceptPrior,whowasintruththeeldestofthelot,butwhomitwasnecessarytodepose,inorderthatthegreatSwiftmightstand first on the list, andSmollett,whowasnot born till fourteenyears afterFielding, eight years after Sterne, and who has been moved up, I presume,simply fromcaprice.From thebirthof the first to thedeathof the last,was aperiodofnearlyahundredyears.Theywereneverabsolutelyallalivetogether;but itwasnearlyso,AddisonandPriorhavingdiedbeforeSmollettwasborn.Whetherwe shouldaccept ashumorists the full catalogue,maybeaquestion;thoughweshallhardlywishtoeliminateanyonefromsuchadozenofnames.Pope we should hardly define as a humorist, were we to be seeking for adefinition specially fit for him, thoughwe shall certainly not deny the gift ofhumourtotheauthorofTheRapeoftheLock,ortothetranslatorofanyportionofTheOdyssey.Norshouldwehave includedFieldingorSmollett, inspiteofParsonAdamsandTabithaBramble,unlessanxioustofillagoodcompany.ThatHogarthwasspeciallyahumoristnoonewilldeny;butinspeakingofhumoristswe should have presumed, unless otherwise notified, that humorists in lettersonly had been intended. As Thackeray explains clearly what he means by ahumorist,Imayaswellhererepeatthepassage:"Ifhumouronlymeantlaughter,you would scarcely feel more interest about humorous writers than about theprivate life of poorHarlequin justmentioned,whopossesses in commonwiththese thepowerofmakingyou laugh.But themen regardingwhose lives andstories your kind presence here shows that you have curiosity and sympathy,appeal to a great number of our other faculties, besides our mere sense ofridicule. The humorouswriter professes to awaken and direct your love, yourpity, your kindness,—your scorn for untruth, pretension, imposture,—yourtendernessfortheweak,thepoor,theoppressed,theunhappy.Tothebestofhismeansandabilityhecommentsonall theordinaryactionsandpassionsof lifealmost. He takes upon himself to be the week-day preacher, so to speak.Accordingly, as he finds, and speaks, and feels the truth best,we regard him,esteemhim,—sometimeslovehim.Andashisbusinessistomarkotherpeople'slives and peculiarities, we moralise upon his life when he is gone,—andyesterday'spreacherbecomesthetextforto-day'ssermon."

Havingthusexplainedhispurpose,Thackeraybeginshistask,andputsSwiftinhis front rank as a humorist. The picture given of this great man has verymanifestlythelookoftruth,andiftrue,isterribleindeed.Wedo,infact,knowit

tobetrue,—eventhoughitbeadmittedthatthereisstillroomleftforabooktobe written on the life of the fearful dean. Here was a man endued with anintellectpellucidaswellasbrilliant;whocouldnotonlyconceivebutseealso,—withsomefine instincts too;whomfortunedidnot flout;whomcircumstancesfairly served; but who, from first to last, was miserable himself, who madeothersmiserable,andwhodeservedmisery.Ourbusiness,duringthepageortwowhichwecangivetothesubject,isnotwithSwiftbutwithThackeray'spictureof Swift. It is paintedwith colours terribly strong andwith shadows fearfullydeep."Wouldyou like tohave livedwithhim?"Thackerayasks.Thenhesayshow pleasant it would have been to have passed some time with Fielding,Johnson,orGoldsmith."IshouldliketohavebeenShakespeare'sshoeblack,"hesays. "ButSwift! Ifyouhadbeenhis inferior inparts,—and that,withagreatrespect for all persons present, I fear is only very likely,—his equal in meresocial station,hewouldhavebullied, scorned,and insultedyou. If,undeterredby his great reputation, you hadmet him like a man, he would have quailedbefore you and not had the pluck to reply,—and gone home, and years afterwritten a foul epigramuponyou."There is a picture! "If youhadbeen a lordwithablueriband,whoflatteredhisvanity,orcouldhelphisambition,hewouldhavebeenthemostdelightfulcompanyintheworld....Howhewouldhavetornyourenemies topieces foryou, andmade funof theOpposition!His servilitywassoboisterousthatitlookedlikeindependence."Hewasamanwhosemindwasneverfixedonhighthings,butwasstrivingalwaysaftersomethingwhich,littleasitmightbe,andsuccessfulashewas,shouldalwaysbeoutofhisreach.Ithadbeenhismisfortune tobecomeaclergyman,because theway tochurchprefermentseemedtobethereadiest.Hebecame,asweallknow,adean,—butnever a bishop, and was therefore wretched. Thackeray describes him as aclericalhighwayman,seizingonallhecouldget.But"thegreatprizehasnotyetcome.Thecoachwiththemitreandcrozierinit,whichheintendstohaveforhisshare,hasbeendelayedonthewayfromSt.James's;andhewaitsandwaitstillnightfall,whenhisrunnerscomeandtellhimthatthecoachhastakenadifferentwayandescapedhim.Sohefireshispistol intotheairwithacurse,andridesawayintohisowncountry;"—or,inotherwords,takesapoordeaneryinIreland.

Thackerayexplainsverycorrectly,as I think, thenatureof theweaponswhichthemanused,—namely, thewordsandstylewithwhichhewrote."ThatSwiftwas born atNo. 7,Hoey'sCourt,Dublin, onNovember 30, 1667, is a certainfact, ofwhich nobodywill deny the sister-island the honour and glory; but itseemstomehewasnomoreanIrishmanthanamanbornofEnglishparentsatCalcuttaisaHindoo.GoldsmithwasanIrishmanandalwaysanIrishman;Steele

was an Irishman and always an Irishman; Swift's heart was English and inEngland, his habits English, his logic eminently English; his statement iselaboratelysimple;heshunstropesandmetaphors,anduseshisideasandwordswithawisethriftandeconomy,asheusedhismoney;—withwhichhecouldbegenerousandsplendidupongreatoccasions,butwhichhehusbandedwhentherewasnoneedtospendit.Heneverindulgesinneedlessextravaganceofrhetoric,lavishepithets,profuse imagery.He layshisopinionsbeforeyouwithagravesimplicityandaperfectneatness."Thisisquitetrueofhim,andtheresultisthatthoughyoumaydenyhimsincerity,simplicity,humanity,orgoodtaste,youcanhardlyfindfaultwithhislanguage.

Swiftwasaclergyman,andthisiswhatThackeraysaysofhiminregardtohissacredprofession."IknowoffewthingsmoreconclusiveastothesincerityofSwift's religion, thanhisadvice topoorJohnGay to turnclergyman,and lookout for a seaton theBench!Gay, the authorofTheBeggar'sOpera;Gay, thewildestof thewitsabout town! Itwas thisman that JonathanSwiftadvised totake orders, to mount in a cassock and bands,—just as he advised him tohusbandhisshillings,andputhisthousandpoundsouttointerest."

Itwasnotthathewaswithoutreligion,—orwithout,rather,hisreligiousbeliefsanddoubts,"forSwift,"saysThackeray,"wasareverent,wasapiousspirit.ForSwiftcouldloveandcouldpray."Lefttohimselfandtothenaturalthoughtsofhismind,withoutthose"orders"towhichhehadboundhimselfasanecessarypartofhistrade,hecouldhaveturnedtohisGodwithquestioningswhichneednot then have been heartbreaking. "It is my belief," says Thackeray, "that hesuffered frightfully from the consciousness of his own scepticism, and that hehadbenthispridesofardownastoputhisapostasyouttohire."IdoubtwhetheranyofSwift'sworksareverymuchreadnow,butperhapsGulliver'stravelsareoftener in thehandsofmodernreaders thananyother.Ofall thesatires inourlanguage it is probably the most cynical, the most absolutely illnatured, andthereforethefalsest.LetthosewhocaretoformanopinionofSwift'smindfromthe best known of his works, turn to Thackeray's account of Gulliver. I canimaginenogreaterproofofmiserythantohavebeenabletowritesuchabookasthat.

It is thus that the lecturer concludes his lecture aboutSwift. "He shrank awayfromall affections sooneror later.Stella andVanessabothdiednearhim,andaway fromhim.Hehad not heart enough to see themdie.He broke fromhisfastest friend, Sheridan. He slunk away from his fondest admirer, Pope. Hislaughjarsonone'searafterseven-scoreyears.Hewasalwaysalone,—aloneand

gnashingin thedarkness,exceptwhenStella'ssweetsmilecameandshoneonhim. When that went, silence and utter night closed over him. An immensegenius,anawfuldownfallandruin!Sogreatamanheseemstome,thatthinkingof him is like thinking of an empire falling. We have other great names tomention,—none I think, however, so great or so gloomy."And sowe pass onfromSwift,feelingthatthoughthemanwascertainlyahumorist,wehavehadasyetbutlittletodowithhumour.

Congreve is the next who, however truly he may have been a humorist, isdescribedhereratherasamanoffashion.Amanoffashionhecertainlywas,butisbestknowninourliteratureasacomedian,—worshippingthatcomicMusetowhom Thackeray hesitates to introduce his audience, because she is not onlymerrybutshamelessalso.Congreve'smusewasaboutasbadasanymusethatevermisbehavedherself,—andIthink,aslittleamusing."Readingintheseplaysnow,"saysThackeray,"islikeshuttingyourearsandlookingatpeopledancing.What does it mean?—the measures, the grimaces, the bowing, shuffling, andretreating, thecavaliersseulsadvancingupon their ladies, then ladiesandmentwirlingroundat theend inamadgalop,afterwhicheverybodybowsand thequaintriteiscelebrated?"ItisalwayssowithCongreve'splays,andEtherege'sandWycherley's.Theworldwemeetthereisnotourworld,andaswereadtheplayswe have no sympathywith these unknown people. It was not that theylivedsolongago.TheyaremuchnearertousintimethanthemenandwomenwhofiguredonthestageinthereignofJamesI.Buttheirnatureisfartherfromour nature. They sparkle but never warm. They are witty but leave noimpression. Imight almost go further, and say that they arewicked but neverallure."WhenVoltairecametovisittheGreatCongreve,"saysThackeray,"thelatter ratheraffected todespisehis literary reputation;and in this,perhaps, thegreatCongrevewasnotfarwrong.AtouchofSteele'stendernessisworthallhisfinery;aflashofSwift's lightning,abeamofAddison'spuresunshine,andhistawdry playhouse taper is invisible. But the ladies loved him, and he wasundoubtedlyaprettyfellow."

ThereisnodoubtastothetruehumourofAddison,whonextcomesupbeforeus,butIthinkthathemakeshardlysogoodasubjectforalecturerasthegreatgloomymanofintellect,orthefrivolousmanofpleasure.ThackeraytellsusallthatistobesaidabouthimasahumoristinsofewlinesthatImayalmostinsertthemonthispage:"ButitisnotforhisreputationasthegreatauthorofCatoandTheCampaign,orforhismeritsasSecretaryofState,orforhisrankandhighdistinctionasLadyWarwick'shusband,or forhiseminenceasanexaminerof

politicalquestionson theWhigside,oraguardianofBritish liberties, thatweadmire Joseph Addison. It is as a Tattler of small talk and a Spectator ofmankindthatwecherishandlovehim,andoweasmuchpleasuretohimastoanyhumanbeing that everwrote.Hecame in that artificial age, andbegan tospeakwithhisnoblenaturalvoice.Hecamethegentlesatirist,whohitnounfairblow; thekind judge,whocastigatedonly in smiling.WhileSwiftwent abouthanging and ruthless, a literary Jeffreys, in Addison's kind court only minorcases were tried;—only peccadilloes and small sins against society, only adangerouslibertinismintuckersandhoops,oranuisanceintheabuseofbeauxcanes and snuffboxes." Steele set The Tatler a going. "But with his friend'sdiscoveryofThe Tatler, Addison's callingwas found, and themost delightfulTattlerintheworldbegantospeak.Hedoesnotgoverydeep.Letgentlemenofa profound genius, critics accustomed to the plunge of the bathos, consolethemselves by thinking that he couldn't go very deep. There is no trace ofsuffering in hiswriting. Hewas so good, so honest, so healthy, so cheerfullyselfish,—ifImustusetheword!"

SuchwasAddisonasahumorist;andwhenthehearershallhaveheardalso,—orthe reader read,—that this most charming Tattler also wroteCato, became aSecretary of State, and married a countess, he will have learned all thatThackerayhadtotellofhim.

Steelewasonewho stoodmuch less high in theworld's esteem, andwho leftbehindhimamuchsmallername,—butwasquiteAddison'sequalasahumoristandawit.Addison, thoughhehad thereputationofa toper,wasrespectabilityitself. Steele was almost always disreputable. He was brought from Ireland,placedat theCharterHouse,and then transferred toOxford,wherehebecameacquaintedwithAddison.Thackeray says that "Steele foundAddisona statelycollegedonatOxford."Thestatelinessandthedon'srankwereattributablenodoubt to themore sobercharacterof theEnglish lad, for, in fact, the twomenwereborn in the sameyear, 1672.Steele,whoduringhis lifewas affectedbyvarious different tastes, first turned himself to literature, but early in life wasbittenbythehueofaredcoatandbecameatrooperintheHorseGuards.Totheend he vacillated in the same way. "In that charming paper in The Tatler, inwhichherecordshisfather'sdeath,hismother'sgriefs,hisownmostsolemnandtenderemotions,hesaysheisinterruptedbythearrivalofahamperofwine,'thesame as is to be sold atGarraway's nextweek;' upon the receipt ofwhich hesends for three friends, and they fall to instantly, drinking two bottles apiece,with great benefit to themselves, and not separating till two o'clock in the

morning."

He had two wives, whom he loved dearly and treated badly. He hired grandhouses, and bought fine horses for which he could never pay. He was oftenreligious, butmoreoftendrunk.As amanof letters, othermenof letterswhofollowed him, such as Thackeray, could not be very proud of him. Buteverybody loved him; and he seems to have been the inventor of that flyingliteraturewhich,withmanychangesinformandmanner,hasdonesomuchforthe amusement and edification of readers ever since his time.Hewas alwayscommencing, or carrying on,—often editing,—some one of the numerousperiodicals which appeared during his time. Thackeray mentions seven: TheTatler,TheSpectator,TheGuardian,TheEnglishman,TheLover,TheReader,andTheTheatre;thatthreeofthemarewellknowntothisday,—thethreefirstnamed,—andaretobefoundinalllibraries,isproofthathislifewasnotthrownaway.

I almostquestionPrior's right tobe in the list,unless indeed themasteryoverwell-turned conceits is to be included within the border of humour. ButThackerayhadastronglikingforPrior,andinhisownhumorouswayrebukeshisaudiencefornotbeingfamiliarwithTheTownandCountryMouse.HesaysthatPrior's epigramshave the genuine sparkle, and comparesPrior toHorace."Hissong,hisphilosophy,hisgoodsense,hishappyeasyturnsandmelody,hislovesandhisepicureanismbearagreatresemblancetothatmostdelightfulandaccomplishedmaster."IcannotsaythatIagreewiththis.Priorisgenerallyneatinhisexpression.Horaceishappy,—whichissurelyagreatdealmore.

AllthatissaidofGay,Pope,Hogarth,Smollett,andFieldingisworthreading,andmaybeofgreatvaluebothtothosewhohavenottimetostudytheauthors,and to those who desire to have their own judgments somewhat guided,somewhat assisted. That theywere allmen of humour there can be no doubt.Whethereitherofthem,exceptperhapsGay,wouldhavebeenspeciallyrankedasahumoristamongmenofletters,maybeaquestion.

Sternewasahumorist,andemployedhispeninthatline,ifeverawriterdidso,andsowasGoldsmith.Oftheexcellenceandlargenessofthedispositionoftheone,andthemeannessandlittlenessoftheother,itisnotnecessarythatIshouldheresaymuch.ButIwillgiveashortpassagefromourauthorastoeach.HehasbeenquotingsomewhatatlengthfromSterne,andthusheends;"Andwiththisprettydanceandchorusthevolumeartfullyconcludes.Evenhereonecan'tgivethewholedescription.ThereisnotapageinSterne'swritingbuthassomething

that were better away, a latent corruption,—a hint as of an impure presence.Some of that dreary double entendre may be attributed to freer times andmanners than ours,—but not all. The foul satyr's eyes leer out of the leavesconstantly.The lastwords the famousauthorwrotewerebadandwicked.Thelastlinesthepoorstrickenwretchpennedwereforpityandpardon."NowalineortwoaboutGoldsmith,andIwillthenletmyreadergotothevolumeandstudythe lectures for himself. "The poor fellowwas never so friendless but that hecouldbefriendsomeone;neversopinchedandwretchedbuthecouldgiveofhiscrust,andspeakhiswordofcompassion. Ifhehadbuthisflute left,hewouldgivethat,andmakethechildrenhappyinthedrearyLondoncourts."

Ofthis tooIwillremindmyreaders,—thosewhohavebookshelveswell-filledtoadorn theirhouses,—thatGoldsmithstands in the frontwhereall theyoungpeople see the volumes. There are few among the young people who do notrefreshtheirsenseofhumouroccasionallyfromthatshelf,Sterneisrelegatedtosome distant and high corner. The less often that he is taken down the better.Thackeraymakes somehalf excuse forhimbecauseof thegreater freedomofthetimes.But"thetimes"werethesameforthetwo.BothSterneandGoldsmithwroteinthereignofGeorgeII.;bothdiedinthereignofGeorgeIII.

CHAPTERVIII.

THACKERAY'SBALLADS.

We have a volume of Thackeray's poems, republished under the name ofBallads,which is, I think, toagreatextentamisnomer.Theyareall readable,almost all good, full of humour, and with some fine touches of pathos, mosthappyintheirversification,and,withafewexceptions,hittingwellontheheadthe nail which he intended to hit. But they are not on that account ballads.Literally,aballadisasong,butithascometosignifyashortchronicleinverse,which may be political, or pathetic, or grotesque,—or it may have all threecharacteristicsoranytwoofthem;butnotonthataccountisanygrotesquepoemaballad,—nor,of course, anypatheticor anypoliticalpoem.JacobOmnium'sHossmayfairlybecalledaballad,containingasitdoesachronicleofacertainwell-definedtransaction;andthestoryofKingCanute isaballad,—oneof thebestthathasbeenproducedinourlanguageinmodernyears.ButsuchpiecesasthosecalledTheEndof thePlayandVanitasVanitatum,which are didactic aswellaspathetic,arenotballadsinthecommonsense;noraresuchsongsasTheMahogany Tree, or the little collection called Love Songs made Easy. Themajorityofthepiecesarenotballads,butiftheybegoodofthekindweshouldbeungratefultoquarrelmuchwiththename.

How very goodmost of them are, I did not know till I re-read them for thepurposeofwriting this chapter.There is amanifest fallingoff in some few,—whichhascomefromthatsourceofliteraryfailurewhichisnowsocommon.Ifamanwriteabookorapoembecauseitisinhimtowriteit,—themotivepowerbeingaltogetherinhimselfandcomingfromhisdesiretoexpresshimself,—hewillwriteitwell,presuminghimtobecapableoftheeffort.Butifhewritehisbook or poem simply because a book or poem is required from him, let hiscapabilitybewhat itmay, it isnotunlikely thathewilldo itbadly.Thackerayoccasionally suffered from the weakness thus produced. A ballad fromPoliceman X,—Bow Street Ballads they were first called,—was required byPunch, andhad tobe forthcoming,whatevermightbe thepoet'shumour,byacertain time.JacobOmnium'sHoss isexcellent.Hisheartand feelingwereallthere,onbehalfofhisfriend,andagainstthatobsoleteoldcourtofjustice.Butwecan tellwellwhenhewas looking through thepolice reports forasubject,

and taking what chance might send him, without any special interest in thematter. The Knight and the Lady of Bath, and the Damages Two HundredPounds,astheyweredemandedatGuildford,tasteasthoughtheywerewrittentoorder.

Here, in his verses as in his prose, the charm ofThackeray'swork lies in theminglingofhumourwithpathosandindignation.Thereishardlyapiecethatisnotmoreorlessfunny,hardlyapiecethatisnotsatirical;—andinmostofthem,for thosewhowill look a little below the surface, there is something thatwilltouch them.Thackeray, thoughherarelyutteredaword,eitherwithhispenorhismouth, inwhich therewas not an intention to reach our sense of humour,neverwasonlyfunny.Whenhewasmostdeterminedtomakeuslaugh,hehadalwaysafurtherpurpose;—somepitywastobeextractedfromusonbehalfofthesorrowsofmen,orsomeindignationattheevildonebythem.

ThisisthebeginningofthatstoryastotheTwoHundredPounds,forwhichasaballadIdonotcareverymuch:

SpecialjurymenofEnglandwhoadmireyourcountry'slaws,AndproclaimaBritishjuryworthyofthenation'sapplause,Gailycomplimenteachotherattheissueofacause,WhichwastriedatGuildford'sizes,thisdayweekaseverwas.

Herehe is indignant,notonly in regard tosomemiscarriageof justiceon thatspecialoccasion,butatthegeneralunfitnessofjurymenfortheworkconfidedtothem."Gailycomplimentyourselves,"hesays, "onyourbeautifulconstitution,fromwhichcomesuchbeautifulresultsasthoseIamgoingtotellyou!"WhenheremindedusthatIvanhoehadproducedMagnaCharta,therewasapurposeofironyeventhereinregardtoourvauntedfreedom.WithallyourMagnaChartaandyourjuries,whatareyoubutsnobs!Thereisnothingsooftenmisguidedasgeneral indignation, and I think that in his judgment of outside things, in themeasure which he usually took of them, Thackeray was very frequentlymisguided.Asatiristbytradewilllearntosatiriseeverything,tillthelightofthesunandthemoon'slovelinesswillbecomeevilandmeantohim.Ithinkthathewasmistakeninhisviewsofthings.Butwehavetodowithhimasawriter,notas a political economist or a politician. His indignation was all true, and theexpression of itwas often perfect. The lines inwhich he addresses thatPallisCourt,attheendofJacobOmnium'sHoss,arealmostsublime.

OPallisCourt,youmoveMypitymostprofound.

AmostamusingsportYouthoughtit,I'llbebound,

Tosaddlehupathree-pounddebt,Withtwo-and-twentypound.

GoodsportitistoyouTogrindthehonestpoor,

TopaytheirjustorunjustdebtsWitheighthundredpercent,forLor;

Makehasteandgetyourcostesin,Theywillnotlastmuchmor!

Comedownfromthattribewn,Thoushamelessandunjust;

Thouswindle,pickingpocketsin

ThenameofTruthaugust;Comedown,thouhoaryBlasphemy,Fordiethoushaltandmust.

Andgoit,JacobHomnium,Andplyyourironpen,

Andriseup,SirJohnJervis,Andshutmeupthatden;

Thatstyforfatteninglawyersin,Onthebonesofhonestmen.

"Comedownfromthattribewn,thoushamelessandunjust!"Itisimpossiblenottofeelthathefeltthisashewroteit.

There is a branch of his poetrywhich he calls,—orwhich at any rate is nowcalled, Lyra Hybernica, for which no doubt The Groves of Blarney was hismodel. There have been many imitations since, of which perhaps Barham'sballadonthecoronationwasthebest,"WhentoWestminstertheRoyalSpinsterand the Duke of Leinster all in order did repair!" Thackeray in some of hisattemptshasbeenequallydrollandequallygraphic.ThatonTheCristalPalace,—notthatatSydenham,butitsforerunner,thepalaceoftheGreatExhibition,—isverygood,asthefollowingcatalogueofitscontentswillshow;

There'sholysaintsAndwindowpaints,ByMaydiayvalPugin;

AlhamboroughJonesDidpaintthetonesOfyellowandgambougein.

There'sfountainsthereAndcrossesfair;There'swater-godswithurns;

There'sorgansthree,Toplay,d'yesee?"GodsavetheQueen,"byturns.

There'sstatuesbrightOfmarblewhite,Ofsilver,andofcopper;

Andsomeinzinc,Andsome,Ithink,Thatisn'toverproper.

There'sstaymingynes,Thatstandsinlines,Enormousandamazing,

ThatsquealandsnortLikewhalesinsport,Orelephantsagrazing.

There'scartsandgigs,Andpinsforpigs,There'sdibblersandthere'sharrows,

AndploughsliketoysForlittleboys,Andilegantwheel-barrows.

ForthimgenteelsWhorideonwheels,There'splentytoindulge'em

There'sdroskyssnugFromPaytersbug,AndvayhyclesfromBulgium.

There'scabsonstandsAndshandthrydanns;There'swaggonsfromNewYorkhere;

There'sLaplandsleighsHavecross'dtheseas,AndjauntingcyarsfromCorkhere.

In writing this Thackeray was a little late with his copy for Punch; not, weshouldsay,altogetheranuncommonaccident tohim.ItshouldhavebeenwiththeeditorearlyonSaturday,ifnotbefore,butdidnotcometilllateonSaturdayevening.Theeditor,whowasamongmen themostgood-naturedand I shouldthinkthemostforbearing,eithercouldnot,orinthiscasewouldnot,insertitinthenextweek'sissue,andThackeray,angryanddisgusted,sentittoTheTimes.InThe Times of nextMonday it appeared,—very much I should think to the

delightofthereadersofthataugustnewspaper.

Mr.Molony's account of the ball given to the Nepaulese ambassadors by thePeninsularandOrientalCompany,issolikeBarham'scoronationintheaccountitgivesoftheguests,thatonewouldfancyitmustbebythesamehand.

ThenobleChair[7]studatthestairAndbadethedhrumstothump;andhe

DidthusevincetothatBlackPrinceThewelcomeofhisCompany.[8]

Ofairthegirlsandrichthecurls,Andbrighttheoysyousawtherewas;

AndfixedeachoyeyouthencouldspoiOnGeneralJungBahawtherwas!

Thisgineralgreatthentuckhissate,Withalltheotherginerals,

Bedadhistroat,hisbelt,hiscoat,Allbleezedwithpreciousminerals;

Andashethere,withprincelyair,Recloininonhiscushionwas,

AllroundabouthisroyalchairThesqueezinandthepushinwas.

OPat,suchgirls,suchjukesandearls,Suchfashionandnobilitee!

JustthinkofTim,andfancyhimAmidstthehighgentilitee!

TherewastheLorddeL'Huys,andthePortygeeseMinistherandhisladythere,

AndIrecognised,withmuchsurprise,Ourmessmate,BobO'Grady,there.

Alltheseareverygoodfun,—sogoodinhumourandsogoodinexpression,thatitwouldbeneedlesstocriticisetheirpeculiardialect,wereitnotthatThackerayhasmadeforhimselfareputationbyhiswritingofIrish.Inthishehasbeensoentirely successful that for many English readers he has established a newlanguage which may not improperly be called Hybernico-Thackerayan. If

comedyistobegotfrompeculiaritiesofdialect,asnodoubtitis,oneformwilldoaswellasanother,solongasthosewhoreaditknownobetter.Soithasbeenwith Thackeray's Irish, for in truth he was not familiar with the modes ofpronunciationwhichmakeupIrishbrogue.Therefore,thoughheisalwaysdroll,he isnot true tonature.Manyan Irishmancoming toLondon,notunnaturallytriestoimitatethetalkofLondoners.YouorI,reader,werewefromtheWest,and were the dear County Galway to send either of us to Parliament, wouldprobablyendeavourtodropthedearbrogueofourcountry,andindoingsoweshouldmakesomemistakes.ItwasthesemistakeswhichThackeraytookforthenatural Irish tone. He was amused to hear a major called "Meejor," but wasunawarethatthesoundarosefromPat'saffectionofEnglishsoftnessofspeech.TheexpressionnaturaltotheunadulteratedIrishmanwouldratherbe"Ma-ajor."Hediscovershisownprovincialism,andtryingtobepoliteandurbane,hesays"Meejor."InoneofthelinesIhavequotedthereoccurstheword"troat."Suchasound never came naturally from themouth of an Irishman. He puts in an hinsteadofomittingit,andsays"dhrink."HecomestoLondon,andfindingoutthat he is wrongwith his "dhrink," he leaves out all the h's he can, and thuscomes to "troat." It is this which Thackeray has heard. There is a little piececalledtheLastIrishGrievance,towhichThackerayaddsastilllatergrievance,by the false sounds which he elicits from the calumniated mouth of thepretended Irish poet. Slaves are "sleeves," places are "pleeces," Lord John is"Lard Jahn," fatal is "fetal," danger is "deenger," and native is "neetive." Alltheseareunintendedslanders.Tea,Hibernicé,is"tay,"pleaseis"plaise,"seais"say,"andeaseis"aise."Thesoftersoundofe isbroadenedoutbythenaturalIrishman,—not, tomy ear,without a certain euphony;—but no one in Irelandsays or hears the reverse. The Irishman who in London might talk of his"neetive"race,wouldbemincinghiswordstopleasetheearofthecockney.

TheChronicleof theDrumwouldbea trueballadall through,were itnot thatthereistackedontoitalongmoralinanalteredmetre.Idonotmuchvaluethemoral,buttheballadisexcellent,notonlyinmuchofitsversificationandintheturns of its language, but in the quaint and true picture it gives of the Frenchnation.Thedrummer,eitherbyhimselforbysomeofhisfamily,hasdrummedthroughacenturyofFrenchbattling,caringmuchforhiscountryanditsglory,butunderstandingnothingofthecausesforwhichheisenthusiastic.WhetherforKing, Republic, or Emperor, whether fighting and conquering or fighting andconquered,heishappyaslongashecanbeathisdrumonafieldofglory.Butthroughouthisadventuresthereisatouchofchivalryaboutourdrummer.Inalltheepisodesofhiscountry'scareerhefeelsmuchofpatriotismandsomethingof

tenderness.ItisthushesingsduringthedaysoftheRevolution:

WehadtakentheheadofKingCapet,Wecalledforthebloodofhiswife;

Undauntedshecametothescaffold,Andbaredherfairnecktotheknife.

Asshefeltthefoulfingersthattouchedher,Sheshrank,butshedeignednottospeak;

Shelookedwitharoyaldisdain,Anddiedwithablushonhercheek!

'Twasthusthatourcountrywassaved!SotoldustheSafetyCommittee!

But,psha,I'vetheheartofasoldier,—Allgentleness,mercy,andpity.

Iloathedtoassistatsuchdeeds,Andmydrumbeatitsloudestoftunes,

Asweofferedtojusticeoffended,Thebloodofthebloodytribunes.

Awaywithsuchfoulrecollections!Nomoreoftheaxeandtheblock.

Isawthelastfightofthesections,Astheyfell'neathourgunsatSt.Rock.

YoungBonaparteledusthatday.

Andsoitgoeson.Iwillnotcontinuethestanza,becauseitcontains theworstrhymethatThackerayeverpermittedhimselftouse.TheChronicleoftheDrumhasnotthefinishwhichheachievedafterwards,butitisfullofnationalfeeling,andcarriesonitspurposetotheendwithanadmirablepersistency;

AcurseonthoseBritishassassinsWhoorderedtheslaughterofNey;

AcurseonSirHudsonwhotorturedThelifeofourheroaway.

AcurseonallRussians,—Ihatethem;OnallPrussianandAustrianfry;

And,oh,butIpraywemaymeetthemAndfightthemagainereIdie.

TheWhiteSquall,—whichIcanhardlycallaballad,unlessanydescriptionofasceneinversemaybeincludedinthename,—issurelyoneofthemostgraphicdescriptions ever put into verse. Nothing written by Thackeray shows moreplainlyhispoweroverwordsand rhymes.Hedrawshispicturewithouta lineomittedora line toomuch,sayingwithapparentfacilityall thathehas tosay,andsosayingitthateverywordconveysitsnaturalmeaning.

Whenasquall,uponasudden,Cameo'erthewatersscudding;Andthecloudsbegantogather,Andtheseawaslashedtolather,Andtheloweringthundergrumbled,Andthelightningjumpedandtumbled,AndtheshipandalltheoceanWokeupinwildcommotion.Thenthewindsetupahowling,Andthepoodledogayowling,Andthecocksbeganacrowing,Andtheoldcowraisedalowing,Assheheardthetempestblowing;Andfowlsandgeesedidcackle,AndthecordageandthetackleBegantoshriekandcrackle;Andthespraydashedo'erthefunnels,Anddownthedeckinrunnels;Andtherushingwatersoaksall,Fromtheseameninthefo'ksalTothestokerswhoseblackfacesPeeroutoftheirbed-places;Andthecaptain,hewasbawling,Andthesailorspulling,hauling,Andthequarter-decktarpaulingWasshiveredinthesqualling;Andthepassengersawaken,Mostpitifullyshaken;AndthestewardjumpsupandhastensForthenecessarybasins.

ThentheGreekstheygroanedandquivered,

Andtheyknelt,andmoaned,andshivered,Astheplungingwatersmetthem,Andsplashedandoversetthem;AndtheycallintheiremergenceUponcountlesssaintsandvirgins;Andtheirmarrowbonesarebended,Andtheythinktheworldisended.

AndtheTurkishwomenfor'ardWerefrightenedandbehorror'd;Andshriekingandbewildering,Themothersclutchedtheirchildren;Themensang"Allah!Illah!MashallahBis-millah!"Asthewarningwatersdousedthem,AndsplashedthemandsousedthemAndtheycalledupontheProphet,Andthoughtbutlittleofit.

ThenallthefleasinJewryJumpedupandbitlikefury;AndtheprogenyofJacobDidonthemain-deckwakeup.(IwotthesegreasyRabbinsWouldneverpayforcabins);AndeachmanmoanedandjabberedinHisfilthyJewishgaberdine,Inwoeandlamentation,Andhowlingconsternation.AndthesplashingwaterdrenchesTheirdirtybratsandwenches;Andtheycrawlfrombalesandbenches,Inahundredthousandstenches.ThiswastheWhiteSquallfamous,Whichlatterlyo'ercameus.

Peg of Limavaddy has always been very popular, and the public have not, Ithink, been generally aware that the young lady in question lived in truth atNewton Limavady (with one d). But with the correct name Thackeraywould

hardlyhavebeensosuccessfulwithhisrhymes.

CitizenorSquireTory,Whig,orRadi-

CalwouldalldesirePegofLimavaddy.

HadIHomer'sfireOrthatofSergeantTaddy

MeetlyI'dadmirePegofLimavaddy.

AndtillIexpireOrtillIgomadI

WillsinguntomylyrePegofLimavaddy.

TheCane-bottomedChairisanother,better,Ithink,thanPegofLimavaddy,ascontaining that mixture of burlesque with the pathetic which belonged sopeculiarlytoThackeray,andwhichwasindeedtheveryessenceofhisgenius.

Butofallthecheaptreasuresthatgarnishmynest,There'sonethatIloveandIcherishthebest.

Forthefinestofcouchesthat'spaddedwithhairIneverwouldchangethee,mycane-bottomedchair.

'Tisabandy-legged,high-bottomed,worm-eatenseat,Withacreakingoldbackandtwistedoldfeet;

ButsincethefairmorningwhenFannysatthere,Iblesstheeandlovethee,oldcane-bottomedchair.

*****

Shecomesfromthepastandrevisitsmyroom,Shelooksasshethendidallbeautyandbloom;

Sosmilingandtender,sofreshandsofair,Andyondershesitsinmycane-bottomedchair.

This, in the volumewhich I have nowbeforeme, is followed by a picture ofFanny in the chair, towhich I cannot but take exception. I amquite sure thatwhenFannygracedtheroomandseatedherselfinthechairofheroldbachelorfriend,shehadnotonalowdressandloosely-flowingdrawing-roomshawl,nor

wasthereafootstoolreadyforherfeet.Idoubtalsotheheadgear.Fannyonthatoccasion was dressed in her morning apparel, and had walked through thestreets,carriednofan,andworenobroochbutonethatmightbenecessaryforpinninghershawl.

TheGreatCossackEpicisthelongestoftheballads.ItisalegendofSt.SophiaofKioff, tellinghowFatherHyacinth,bytheaidofSt.Sophia,whosewoodenstatuehecarriedwithhim,escapedacrosstheBorystheneswithalltheCossacksathis tail. It isverygood fun;butnotequal tomanyof theothers.Nor is theCarmenLilliensequitetomytaste.IshouldnothavedeclaredatoncethatithadcomefromThackeray'shand,hadInotknownit.

ButwhocoulddoubttheBouillabaisse?Whoelsecouldhavewrittenthat?Whoatthesamemomentcouldhavebeensomerryandsomelancholy,—couldhavegonesodeepintotheregretsoflife,withwordssoappropriatetoitsjollities?Idonotknowhowfarmyreaderswillagreewithmethattoreaditalwaysmustbeafreshpleasure;butinorderthattheymayagreewithme,iftheycan,Iwillgive it to them entire. If there be one whom it does not please, he will likenothingthatThackerayeverwroteinverse.

THEBALLADOFBOUILLABAISSE.

AstreetthereisinParisfamous,Forwhichnorhymeourlanguageyields,

RueNeuvedesPetitsChampsitsnameis—TheNewStreetoftheLittleFields;

Andhere'saninn,notrichandsplendid,Butstillincomfortablecase;

ThewhichinyouthIoftattended,ToeatabowlofBouillabaisse.

ThisBouillabaisseanobledishis,—Asortofsoup,orbroth,orbrew

Orhotch-potchofallsortsoffishes,ThatGreenwichnevercouldoutdo;

Greenherbs,redpeppers,mussels,saffron,Soles,onions,garlic,roach,anddace:

AlltheseyoueatatTerré'stavern,InthatonedishofBouillabaisse.

Indeed,arichandsavourystew'tis;Andtruephilosophers,methinks,

Wholoveallsortsofnaturalbeauties,Shouldlovegoodvictualsandgooddrinks.

AndCordelierorBenedictineMightgladlysurehislotembrace,

Norfindafast-daytooafflictingWhichservedhimupaBouillabaisse.

Iwonderifthehousestillthereis?Yes,herethelampis,asbefore;

Thesmilingred-cheekedécaillèreisStillopeningoystersatthedoor.

IsTerréstillaliveandable?Irecollecthisdrollgrimace;

He'dcomeandsmilebeforeyourtable,AndhopeyoulikedyourBouillabaisse.

Weenter,—nothing'schangedorolder."How'sMonsieurTerré,waiter,pray?"

Thewaiterstaresandshrugshisshoulder,—"Monsieurisdeadthismanyaday."

"Itisthelotofsaintandsinner;SohonestTerré'srunhisrace."

"WhatwillMonsieurrequirefordinner?""Say,doyoustillcookBouillabaisse?"

"Oh,oui,Monsieur,"'sthewaiter'sanswer,"QuelvinMonsieurdesire-t-il?"

"Tellmeagoodone.""ThatIcan,sir:Thechambertinwithyellowseal."

"SoTerré'sgone,"Isay,andsinkinMyoldaccustom'dcorner-place;

"He'sdonewithfeastingandwithdrinking,WithBurgundyandBouillabaisse."

Myoldaccustomedcornerhereis,Thetablestillisinthenook;

Ah!vanish'dmanyabusyyearis

Thiswell-knownchairsincelastItook.WhenfirstIsawye,cariluoghi,I'dscarceabearduponmyface,

Andnowagrizzled,grimoldfogy,IsitandwaitforBouillabaisse.

Whereareyou,oldcompanionstrusty,Ofearlydaysheremettodine?

Come,waiter!quick,aflagoncrusty;I'llpledgetheminthegoodoldwine.

ThekindoldvoicesandoldfacesMymemorycanquickretrace;

Aroundtheboardtheytaketheirplaces,AndsharethewineandBouillabaisse.

There'sJackhasmadeawondrousmarriage;There'slaughingTomislaughingyet;

There'sbraveAugustusdriveshiscarriage;There'spooroldFredintheGazette;

O'erJames'sheadthegrassisgrowing.GoodLord!theworldhaswaggedapace

Sinceherewesettheclaretflowing,Anddrank,andatetheBouillabaisse.

Ahme!howquickthedaysareflitting!Imindmeofatimethat'sgone,

WhenhereI'dsit,asnowI'msitting,Inthissameplace,—butnotalone.

Afairyoungfacewasnestlednearme,Adear,dearfacelookedfondlyup,

Andsweetlyspokeandsmiledtocheerme!There'snoonenowtosharemycup.

*****IdrinkitastheFatesordainit.Comefillit,andhavedonewithrhymes;

Fillupthelonelyglass,anddrainitInmemoryofdearoldtimes.

Welcomethewine,whate'erthesealis;Andsityoudownandsayyourgrace

Withthankfulheart,whate'erthemealis.HerecomesthesmokingBouillabaisse.

Iamnotdisposed tosay thatThackeraywillholdahighplaceamongEnglishpoets.Hewouldhavebeenthefirsttoridiculesuchanassumptionmadeonhisbehalf. But I think that his verses will be more popular than those of manyhighlyreputedpoets,andthatasyearsrollontheywillgainratherthanloseinpublicestimation.

FOOTNOTES:[7]Chair—i.e.Chairman.

[8]I.e.TheP.andO.Company.

CHAPTERIX.

THACKERAY'SSTYLEANDMANNEROFWORK.

Anovelinstyleshouldbeeasy,lucid,andofcoursegrammatical.Thesamemaybe said of any book; but that which is intended to recreate should be easilyunderstood,—for which purpose lucid narration is an essential. In matter itshould be moral and amusing. In manner it may be realistic, or sublime, orludicrous;—or it may be all these if the author can combine them. As toThackeray'sperformanceinstyleandmatterIwillsaysomethingfurtheron.Hismanner was mainly realistic, and I will therefore speak first of that mode ofexpressionwhichwaspeculiarlyhisown.

Realisminstylehasnotalltheeasewhichseemstobelongtoit.Itistheobjectoftheauthorwhoaffectsitsotocommunicatewithhisreaderthatallhiswordsshall seem to be natural to the occasion. We do not think the language ofDogberrynatural,whenhetellsneighbourSeacolethat"towriteandreadcomesby nature." That is ludicrous.Nor is the language ofHamlet naturalwhen heshowstohismothertheportraitofhisfather;

Seewhatagracewasseatedonthisbrow;Hyperion'scurls;thefrontofJovehimself;AneyelikeMars,tothreatenandcommand.

That is sublime.Constance is naturalwhen she turns away from theCardinal,declaringthat

Hetalkstomethatneverhadason.

Inonerespectboththesublimeandludicrousareeasierthantherealistic.Theyarenot required to be true.Amanwith an imagination and culturemay feigneitherofthemwithoutknowingthewaysofmen.Toberealisticyoumustknowaccurately that which you describe. How often do we find in novels that theauthormakesanattemptatrealismandfallsintoabathosofabsurdity,becausehecannotuseappropriatelanguage?"Nohumanbeingeverspokelikethat,"wesay to ourselves,—while we should not question the naturalness of theproduction,eitherinthegrandortheridiculous.

And yet in very truth the realisticmust not be true,—but just so far removedfrom truth as to suit the erroneous idea of truth which the reader may besupposedtoentertain.Forwereanovelisttonarrateaconversationbetweentwopersons of fair but not high education, and to use the ill-arranged words andfragmentsofspeechwhicharereallycommoninsuchconversations,hewouldseem tohave sunk to the ludicrous, and tobeattributing to the interlocutorsamodeoflanguagemuchbeneaththem.Thoughinfacttrue,itwouldseemtobefar from natural. But on the other hand, were he to put words grammaticallycorrectintothemouthsofhispersonages,andtoroundoffandtocompletethespoken sentences, the ordinary reader would instantly feel such a style to bestiltedandunreal.Thisreaderwouldnotanalyseit,butwouldinsomedimbutsufficientlycriticalmannerbeawarethathisauthorwasnotprovidinghimwithanaturallyspokendialogue.Toproducethedesiredeffectthenarratormustgobetween the two.Hemustmount somewhat above theordinaryconversationalpowersofsuchpersonsasaretoberepresented,—lesthedisgust.Buthemustbyno means soar into correct phraseology,—lest he offend. The realistic,—bywhichwemeanthatwhichshallseemtobereal,—liesbetweenthetwo,andinreachingitthewriterhasnotonlytokeephisproperdistanceonbothsides,buthastomaintainvaryingdistancesinaccordancewiththeposition,modeoflife,andeducationofthespeakers.LadyCastlewoodinEsmondwouldnothavebeenproperlymadetospeakwithabsoluteprecision;butshegoesnearertothemarkthan hermore ignorant lord, the viscount; less near, however, than her better-educatedkinsman,HenryEsmond.He,however,isnotmadetospeakaltogetherbythecard,orhewouldbeunnatural.Norwouldeachofthemspeakalwaysinthe same strain, but they would alter their language according to theircompanion,—according even to the hour of the day. All this the readerunconsciouslyperceives,andwillnotthinkthelanguagetobenaturalunlessthepropervariationsbethere.

Insimplenarrativetheruleisthesameasindialogue,thoughitdoesnotadmitof the same palpable deviation from correct construction. The story of anyincident, to be realistic, will admit neither of sesquipedalian grandeur nor ofgrotesqueimages.Theonegivesanideaofromanceandtheotherofburlesque,toneitherofwhichistruthsupposedtoappertain.Wedesiretosoarfrequently,andthenwetryromance.Wedesiretorecreateourselveswiththeeasyanddroll.Dulceestdesipereinloco.Thenwehaverecoursetoburlesque.Butinneitherdoweexpecthumannature.

Icannotbutthinkthatinthehandsofthenovelistthemiddlecourseisthemost

powerful. Much as we may delight in burlesque, we cannot claim for it thepower of achieving great results. So much I think will be granted. For thesublimewelookrathertopoetrythantoprose,andthoughIwillgiveoneortwoinstancesjustnowinwhichithasbeenusedwithgreateffectinprosefiction,itdoesnotcomehometotheheart,teachingalesson,asdoestherealistic.Thegirlwhoreadsis touchedbyLucyAshton,butshefeelsherself tobeconvincedofthe facts as to Jeanie Deans, and asks herself whether shemight not emulatethem.

Now as to the realism of Thackeray, Imust rather appeal tomy readers thanattempttoproveitbyquotation.Whoeveritisthatspeaksinhispages,doesitnotseemthatsuchapersonwouldcertainlyhaveusedsuchwordsonsuchanoccasion?Iftherebeneedofexaminationtolearnwhetheritbesoornot,letthereaderstudyallthatfallsfromthemouthofLadyCastlewoodthroughthenovelcalledEsmond, or all that falls from the mouth of Beatrix. They are personspeculiarly situated,—noble women, but who have still lived much out of theworld.Theformerisalwaysconsciousofasorrow;thelatterisalwaysstrivingafteraneffect;—andbothonthisaccountaredifficultofmanagement.Aperiodforthestoryhasbeenchosenwhichisstrangeandunknowntous,andwhichhasrequired a peculiar language. One would have said beforehand that whatevermight be the charms of the book, it would not be natural. And yet the ear isneverwounded by a tone that is false. It is not always the case that in novelreading the ear should be wounded because the words spoken are unnatural.Bulwer does not wound, though he never puts into the mouth of any of hispersonswords such as would have been spoken. They are not expected fromhim.Itissomethingelsethatheprovides.FromThackeraytheyareexpected,—andfrommanyothers.ButThackerayneverdisappoints.Whether itbeagreatduke,suchashewhowastohavemarriedBeatrix,orameanchaplain,suchasTusher,orCaptainSteelethehumorist,theytalk,—notastheywouldhavetalkedprobably,ofwhichIamnojudge,—butaswefeelthattheymighthavetalked.Wefindourselveswilling to take it asprovedbecause it is there,which is thestrongestpossibleevidenceoftherealisticcapacityofthewriter.

Astothesublimeinnovels,itisnottobesupposedthatanyveryhighrankofsublimityisrequiredtoputsuchworkswithinthepaleofthatdefinition.Ialludeto those in which an attempt is made to soar above the ordinary actions andordinarylanguageoflife.WemaytakeasaninstanceTheMysteriesofUdolpho.Thatisintendedtobesublimethroughout.Eventhewriterneverforamomentthoughtofdescendingtoreallife.Shemusthavebeenuntruetoherownideaof

her own business had she done so. It is all stilted,—all of a certain altitudeamongtheclouds.Ithasbeeninitstimeapopularbook,andhashaditsworldofreaders.ThosereadersnodoubtpreferredthedilutedromanceofMrs.RadclifftothecondensedrealismofFielding.Atanyratetheydidnotlookforrealism.Pelham may be taken as another instance of the sublime, though there is somuchinitthatisoftheworldworldly,thoughanintentionalfalltotheludicrousisoftenmadein it.Thepersonages talk inglitteringdialogues, throwingaboutphilosophy, science, and the classics, in amannerwhich is always suggestiveand often amusing. The book is brilliant with intellect. But no word is everspoken as itwould have been spoken;—no detail is ever narrated as itwouldhaveoccurred.Bulwernodoubt regardednovels as romantic, andwouldhavelooked with contempt on any junction of realism and romance, though, invaryinghiswork,hedidnotthinkitbeneathhimtovaryhissublimitywiththeludicrous.Thesublimeinnovelsisnodoubtmosteffectivewhenitbreaksout,asthoughbysomeburstofnature,inthemidstofastorytruetolife."If,"saidEvanMaccombich,"theSaxongentlemenarelaughingbecauseapoormansuchasmethinksmylife,or the lifeofsixofmydegree, isworth thatofVichIanVohr, it's like enough theymay be very right; but if they laugh because theythinkIwouldnotkeepmywordandcomebacktoredeemhim,IcantellthemtheykenneithertheheartofaHielandmannorthehonourofagentleman."Thatis sublime.And,again,whenBalfourofBurleyslaughtersBothwell, thedeathsceneissublime."Die,bloodthirstydog!"saidBurley."Dieas thouhast lived!Die like the beasts that perish—hoping nothing, believing nothing!"——"Andfearingnothing," saidBothwell.Horrible as is thepicture, it is sublime.As isalsothatspeechofMegMerrilies,assheaddressesMr.Bertram,standingonthebank."Rideyourways,"saidthegipsy;"rideyourways,LairdofEllangowan;ride yourways,GodfreyBertram. This day have ye quenched seven smokinghearths;seeifthefireinyourainparlourburntheblytherforthat.Yehaveriventhe thackoff sevencottarhouses; look ifyourain rooftreestand the faster.YemaystableyourstirksintheshealingsatDerncleugh;seethattheharedoesnotcouchonthehearthstaneatEllangowan."Thatisromance,andreachestheveryheightofthesublime.Thatdoesnotoffend,impossiblethoughitbethatanyoldwomanshouldhavespokensuchwords,becauseitdoesintruthliftthereaderupamong the bright stars. It is thus that the sublime may be mingled with therealistic,if thewriterhasthepower.Thackerayalsorisesinthatwaytoahighpitch, thoughnot inmanyinstances.Romancedoesnotoften justify tohimanabsenceoftruth.ThescenebetweenLadyCastlewoodandtheDukeofHamiltonis one, when she explains to her child's suitor who Henry Esmond is. "Mydaughter may receive presents from the head of our house," says the lady,

speakingupforherkinsman."Mydaughtermaythankfullytakekindnessfromherfather's,hermother's,herbrother'sdearestfriend."Thewholesceneisofthesamenature,andisevidenceofThackeray'scapacityforthesublime.Andagain,when the same ladywelcomes the samekinsmanonhis return from thewars,she rises as high. But as I have already quoted a part of the passage in thechapteronthisnovel,Iwillnotrepeatithere.

Itmayperhapsbesaidofthesublimeinnovels,—whichIhaveendeavouredtodescribeasnotbeinggenerallyofahighorder,—that it isapt tobecomecold,stilted, and unsatisfactory. What may be done by impossible castles amongimpossiblemountains,peopledby impossibleheroesandheroines,and fraughtwith impossible horrors, The Mysteries of Udolpho have shown us. But theyrequireapatientreader,andonewhocancontenthimselfwithalongprotractedandmostunemotionalexcitement.Thesublimitywhichiseffectedbysparklingspeeches is better, if the speeches really have something in them beneath thesparkles. Those of Bulwer generally have. Those of his imitators are oftenwithout anything, the sparkles even hardly sparkling.At the best they fatigue;andanovel,ifitfatigues,isunpardonable.Itsonlyexcuseistobefoundintheamusement it affords. It should instruct also,nodoubt, but it neverwill do sounless it hides its instruction and amuses. Scott understood all this, when heallowedhimselfonlysuchsuddenburstsasIhavedescribed.EveninTheBrideofLammermoor,whichIdonotregardasamongthebestofhisperformances,ashesoarshighintothesublime,sodoeshedescendlowintotheludicrous.

Inthislatterdivisionofpurefiction,—theburlesque,asitiscommonlycalled,orthe ludicrous,—Thackeray isquiteasmuchathomeas in therealistic, though,thevehiclebeinglesspowerful,hehasachievedsmallerresultsbyit.Manifestas are the objects in his viewwhen hewroteTheHoggartyDiamond or TheLegendof theRhine, theywere less importantand lessevidentlyeffected thanthoseattemptedbyVanityFairandPendennis.CaptainShindy, theSnob,doesnottellussoplainlywhatisnotagentlemanasdoesColonelNewcomewhatis.Nevertheless the ludicrous has,withThackeray, been very powerful, and verydelightful.

In trying to describe what is done by literature of this class, it is especiallynecessarytorememberthatdifferentreadersareaffectedinadifferentway.Thatwhichisoneman'smeatisanotherman'spoison.Inthesublime,whenthereallygrand has been reached, it is the reader's own fault if he be not touched.Weknow that many are indifferent to the soliloquies of Hamlet, but we do nothesitate todeclare toourselves that theyaresobecausetheylackthepowerof

appreciating grand language.We do not scruple to attribute to those who areindifferentsomeinferiorityofintelligence.Andinregardto therealistic,whenthetruthofawell-toldstoryorlife-likecharacterdoesnotcomehome,wethinkthat then, too, there is deficiency in the critical ability. But there is nothingnecessarilylackingtoamanbecausehedoesnotenjoyTheHeathenChineeorTheBiglowPapers;and theman towhomthesedelightsofAmericanhumourare leather and prunellomaybe of all themost enraptured by thewit of SamWellerorthemockpietyofPecksniff.Itisamatteroftasteandnotofintellect,asonemanlikescaviareafterhisdinner,whileanotherprefersapple-pie;andthemanhimselfcannot,or,asfaraswecansee,doesnotdirecthisowntasteintheonemattermorethanintheother.

ThereforeIcannotaskothers tosharewithmethedelightwhichIhave in thevarious and peculiar expressions of the ludicrous which are common toThackeray.Someconsiderableportionofitconsistsinbadspelling.Wemaysaythat Charles James Harrington Fitzroy Yellowplush, or C. FitzJeames De LaPluche,asheisafterwardscalled,wouldbenothingbutforhis"orthogwaphysocarefullyinaccuwate."AsIhavebeforesaid,Mrs.Malaprophadseemedtohavereached the height of this humour, and in having done so to have made anyrepetitionunpalatable.ButThackeray'sstudiedblunderingisaltogetherdifferentfrom that of Sheridan.Mrs.Malaprop uses herwords in a delightfullywrongsense.Yellowplushwouldbeaveryintelligible, ifnotquiteanaccuratewriter,hadhenotmadeforhimself special formsofEnglishwordsaltogethernew totheeye.

"Mymawrappedupmybuthinamistry.Imaybeillygitmit;Imayhavebeenchangedatnus;butI'vealwayshadgen'l'm'nlytastesthroughlife,andhavenodoubtthatIcomeofagen'l'm'nlyorigum."Wecannotadmitthatthereiswit,orevenhumour, inbadspellingalone.Wereitnot thatYellowplush,withhisbadspelling,hadsomuchtosayforhimself,therewouldbenothinginit;butthereis always a sting of satire directed against some real vice, or some growingvulgarity,whichismadesharperbytheabsurdityofthelanguage.InTheDiaryofGeorge IV. there are the following reflections on a certain correspondence;"Wooden you phansy, now, that the author of such a letter, instead of writunaboutpippleoftip-topquality,wasdescribin'VinegarYard?Wouldyoubeleavethattheladyhewasa-ritin'towasachasedmodistladyofhonourandmotherofa family?O trumpery! o morris! as Homer says. This is a higeous pictur ofmanners,suchasIweaptothinkof,aseverymorlmanmustweap."Wedonotwonder that when he makes his "ajew" he should have been called up to be

congratulatedonthescoreofhisliteraryperformancesbyhismaster,beforetheDuke,andLordBagwig,andDr.Larner,and"Sawedwadgeorgeearllittnbulwig."AllthatYellowplushsaysorwritesareamongthepearlswhichThackeraywascontinuallyscatteringabroad.

Butthisofthedistinguishedfootmanwasonlyoneoftheformsoftheludicrouswhichhewasaccustomed touse in the furtheranceof somepurposewhichhehadatheart.Itwashispracticetoclothethingsmostrevoltingwithanassumedgrace and dignity, and to add to the weight of his condemnation by theastoundingmendacity of the parody thus drawn.Therewas a grimhumour inthiswhichhasbeendispleasingtosome,asseemingtoholdouttoviceahandwhichhasappearedfortoolongatimetobefriendly.Aswearedisposedtobenot altogether sympatheticwith a detective policemanwho shall have spent ajollynightwithadelinquent,forthesakeoftracinghomethesuspectedguilttohislatecomrade,soaresomedisposedtobealmostangrywithourauthor,whoseemstobetoomuchathomewithhisrascals,andtolivewiththemonfamiliarterms tillwedoubtwhetherhedoesnot forget their rascality.BarryLyndon isthe strongest examplewehaveof this styleof the ludicrous, and thecriticsofwhomIspeakhavethoughtthatourfriendlyrelationswithBarryhavebeentoogenial, too apparently genuine, so that it might almost be doubtful whetherduringthenarrativewemightnot,atthisortheothercrisis,beratherwithhimthanagainsthim."Afterall,"thereadermightsay,oncomingtothatpassageinwhichBarrydefendshistradeasagambler,—apassagewhichIhavequotedinspeakingofthenovel,—"afterall,thismanismoreherothanscoundrel;"sowellis the burlesque humourmaintained, sowell does the scoundrel hide his ownvillany.Icaneasilyunderstandthattosomeitshouldseemtoolongdrawnout.Tomeitseemstobetheperfectionofhumour,—andofphilosophy.IfsuchaoneasBarryLyndon,amanfullofintellect,canbemadethustoloveandcherishhisvice, and tobelieve in its beauty, howmuchmorenecessary is it to avoid thefootstepswhich lead to it? But, as I have said above, there is no standard bywhichtojudgeoftheexcellenceoftheludicrousasthereisofthesublime,andeventherealistic.

NowritereverhadastrongerproclivitytowardsparodythanThackeray;andwemay, I think,confess that there isnoformof literarydrollerymoredangerous.Theparodywilloftenmarthegemofwhichitcoarselyreproducestheoutwardsemblance.Theword"damaged,"usedinsteadof"damask,"hasdestroyedtomyear for ever themusic of one of the sweetest passages in Shakespeare. But itmustbeacknowledgedofThackeraythat,fondasheisofthisbranchofhumour,

hehasdonelittleornoinjurybyhisparodies.Theyrunoverwithfun,butaresocontrivedthattheydonotlessentheflavouroftheoriginal.Ihavegiveninoneoftheprecedingchaptersalittlesetofversesofhisown,calledTheWillowTree,andhisownparodyonhisownwork.Therethereadermayseehoweffectiveaparodymaybeindestroyingthesentimentofthepieceparodied.Butindealingwithotherauthorshehasbeengrotesquewithoutbeingseverelycritical,andhasbeenverylike,withoutmakinguglyordistastefulthatwhichhehasimitated.NoonewhohasadmiredConingsbywilladmireit thelessbecauseofCodlingsby.NorwilltheundoubtedromanceofEugeneArambelessenedintheestimationofanyreaderofnovelsbythewell-toldcareerofGeorgedeBarnwell.Onemaysay that to laugh Ivanhoe out of face, or to lessen the glory of that immortalstory, would be beyond the power of any farcical effect. Thackeray in hisRowena and Rebecca certainly had no such purpose. Nothing of Ivanhoe isinjured,nothingmadelessvaluablethanitwasbefore,yet,ofallproseparodiesin the language, it is perhaps themost perfect. Every character ismaintained,everyincidenthasatasteofScott.IthasthetwangofIvanhoefrombeginningtoend,andyetthereisnotawordinitbywhichtheauthorofIvanhoecouldhavebeen offended.But then there is the purpose beyond that of themere parody.Prudishwomenhavetobelaughedat,anddespotickings,andparasitelordsandbishops. The ludicrous alone is but poor fun; but when the ludicrous has ameaning,itcanbeveryeffectiveinthehandsofsuchamasterasthis.

"Hetodie!"resumedthebishop."Heamortalliketous!Deathwasnotforhimintended,thoughcommunisomnibus.Keeper,youareirreligious,fortotalkandcavilthus!"

So much I have said of the manner in which Thackeray did his work,endeavouringtorepresenthumannatureashesawit,sothathisreadersshouldlearntolovewhatisgood,andtohatewhatisevil.Astothemeritsofhisstyle,it will be necessary to insist on them the less, because it has been generallyadmittedtobeeasy, lucid,andgrammatical.Icall thatstyleeasybywhichthewriterhassucceededinconveyingtothereaderthatwhichthereaderisintendedtoreceivewiththeleastpossibleamountoftroubletohim.Icallthatstylelucidwhichconveystothereadermostaccuratelyallthatthewriterwishestoconveyon any subject.The twovirtueswill, I think, be seen tobeverydifferent.Anauthormaywishtogiveanideathatacertainflavourisbitter.Heshallleaveaconviction that it is simply disagreeable. Then he is not lucid. But he shallconvey somuch as that, in such amanner as to give the reader no trouble inarrivingattheconclusion.Thereforeheiseasy.Thesubjectheresuggestedisaslittle complicated as possible; but in the intercourse which is going oncontinually betweenwriters and readers, affairs of all degrees of complicationare continually being discussed, of a nature so complicated that theinexperienced writer is puzzled at every turn to express himself, and thealtogether inartistic writer fails to do so. Who among writers has not toacknowledgethatheisoftenunabletotellallthathehastotell?Wordsrefusetodoitforhim.Hestrugglesandstumblesandaltersandadds,butfindsatlastthathehasgoneeithertoofarornotquitefarenough.Thentherecomesuponhimthenecessityofchoosingbetweentwoevils.Hemusteithergiveupthefulnessofhis thought,andcontenthimselfwithpresentingsomefragmentof it in thatlucidarrangementofwordswhichheaffects;orhemustbringouthis thoughtwithambages;hemustmasshis sentences inconsequentially;hemust struggleup hill almost hopelesslywith his phrases,—so that at the end the readerwillhaveto labourashehimselfhas laboured,orelse to leavebehindmuchof thefruitwhichithasbeenintendedthatheshouldgarner.Itistheill-fortuneofsometobeneithereasyorlucid;andthereisnothingmorewonderfulinthehistoryoflettersthanthepatienceofreaderswhencalledupontosufferunderthedoublecalamity.ItisasthoughamanwerereadingadialogueofPlato,understandingneither thesubjectnor the language.But it isoften thecase thatonehas tobesacrificed to the other. The pregnant writer will sometimes solace himself bydeclaringthatitisnothisbusinesstosupplyintelligencetothereader;andthen,

in throwing out the entirety of his thought,will not stop to remember that hecannot hope to scatter his ideas far andwide unless he canmake them easilyintelligible. Then thewriter who is determined that his book shall not be putdownbecauseitistroublesome,istooapttoavoidtheknottybitsandshirktherockyturns,becausehecannotwitheasetohimselfmakethemeasytoothers.Ifthisbeacknowledged,Ishallbeheldtoberightinsayingnotonlythateaseandlucidity in style are different virtues, but that they are often opposed to eachother. Theymay, however, be combined, and then the writer will have reallylearnedtheartofwriting.Omnetulitpunctumquimiscuitutiledulci.Itistobedone,Ibelieve,inalllanguages.Amanbyartandpracticeshallatleastobtainsuch amasterhoodoverwords as to express all that he thinks, in phrases thatshallbeeasilyunderstood.

Insuchasmallspaceascanherebeallowed, Icannotgive instances toprovethat this has been achieved by Thackeray. Nor would instances prove theexistenceofthevirtue,thoughinstancesmighttheabsence.Theproofliesintheworkof theman's life, andcanonlybecomeplain to thosewhohave readhiswritings. Imust refer readers to their own experiences, and ask themwhethertheyhavefoundthemselvescompelledtostudypassagesinThackerayinorderthat theymight find a reconditemeaning, orwhether they have not been surethat they and the author have together understood all that there was tounderstand in thematter.Have they runbackwardover thepassages, and thengoneon,notquitesurewhattheauthorhasmeant?Ifnot,thenhehasbeeneasyandlucid.Wehavenothaditsoeasywithallmodernwriters,norwithallthatare old. Imay best perhaps explainmymeaning by taking somethingwrittenlongago;somethingveryvaluable,inorderthatImaynotdamagemyargumentbycomparingtheeasinessofThackeraywiththeharshnessofsomeauthorwhohas in other respects failed of obtaining approbation. If you take the play ofCymbeline you will, I think, find it to be anything but easy reading. Nor isShakespearealwayslucid.Forpurposesofhisownhewillsometimesforcehisreaders to doubt hismeaning, even after prolonged study. It has ever been sowithHamlet. My readers will not, I think, be so crossgrained with me as tosuppose that IamputtingThackerayasamasterofstyleaboveShakespeare. Iamonlyendeavouringtoexplainbyreferencetothegreatmastertheconditionof literary productionwhich he attained.WhateverThackeray says, the readercannotfailtounderstand;andwhateverThackerayattemptstocommunicate,hesucceedsinconveying.

That he is grammatical I must leave to my readers' judgment, with a simple

assertion in his favour. There are some who say that grammar,—by which Imeanaccuracyofcomposition,inaccordancewithcertainacknowledgedrules,—isonlyameanstoanend;andthat,ifawritercanabsolutelyachievetheendbysomeothermodeofhisown,heneednotregard theprescribedmeans.Ifamancansowriteastobeeasilyunderstood,andtoconveylucidlythatwhichhehas toconveywithoutaccuracyofgrammar,whyshouldhesubjecthimself tounnecessary trammels?Whynotmake apath for himself, if thepath somadewill certainly lead himwhither hewishes to go?The answer is, that no otherpathwillleadotherswhitherhewishestocarrythembutthatwhichiscommontohimandtothoseothers.Itisnecessarythatthereshouldbeagroundequallyfamiliar to thewriter and to his readers. If there be no such common ground,theywillcertainlynotcomeintofullaccord.Therehavebeenrecusantswho,byacertainacutenessoftheirown,havepartlydoneso,—wilfulrecusants;buttheyhavebeenrecusants,nottotheextentofdiscardinggrammar,—whichnowritercould do and not be altogether in the dark,—but so far as to have created forthemselves a phraseology which has been picturesque by reason of its illicitvagaries;asawomanwillsometimespleaseill-instructedeyesandearsbylittledepartures from feminine propriety. They have probably laboured in theirvocation as sedulously as though they had striven to be correct, and haveachieved at the best but a short-lived success;—as is the case also with theunconventional female. The charm of the disorderly soon loses itself in theugliness of disorder. And there are others rebellious from grammar, who are,however, hardly to be called rebels, because the laws which they break haveneverbeenaltogetherknowntothem.AmongthoseverydeartomeinEnglishliterature,oneortwomightbenamedofeithersort,whoseworks,thoughtheyhavethatinthemwhichwillinsuretothemalonglife,willbecomefromyeartoyearlessvaluableandlessvenerable,becausetheirauthorshaveeitherscornedorhavenotknownthatcommongroundoflanguageonwhichtheauthorandhisreadersshouldstandtogether.MypurporthereisonlywithThackeray,andIsaythat he stands always on that common ground. He quarrels with none of thelaws.Astheladywhoismostattentivetoconventionalproprietymaystillhaveherownfashionofdressandherownmodeofspeech,sohadThackerayverymanifestlyhisownstyle;but it isone thecorrectnessofwhichhasneverbeenimpugned.

Iholdthatgentlemantobethebestdressedwhosedressnooneobserves.Iamnot sure but that the samemay be said of an author'swritten language.Only,whereshallwefindanexampleofsuchperfection?Alwayseasy,alwayslucid,alwayscorrect,wemayfindthem;butwhoisthewriter,easy,lucid,andcorrect,

who has not impregnated his writing with something of that personal flavourwhichwecallmannerism?Tospeakofauthorswellknowntoallreaders—DoesnotTheRamblertasteofJohnson;TheDeclineandFall,ofGibbon;TheMiddleAges,ofHallam;TheHistoryofEngland,ofMacaulay;andTheInvasionoftheCrimea, ofKinglake?Dowenotknow the elephantine treadofTheSaturday,and theprecise toeofTheSpectator? Ihavesometimes thought thatSwifthasbeennearest to themarkofany,—writingEnglishandnotwritingSwift.ButIdoubtwhetheranaccurateobserverwouldnottraceevenherethe"markofthebeast."Thackeray,too,hasastrongflavourofThackeray.Iaminclinedtothinkthat his most besetting sin in style,—the little earmark by which he is mostconspicuous,—is a certain affected familiarity. He indulges too frequently inlittle confidences with individual readers, in which pretended allusions tohimself are frequent. "What would you do? what would you say now, if youwereinsuchaposition?"heasks.HedescribesthispracticeofhisintheprefacetoPendennis."Itisasortofconfidentialtalkbetweenwriterandreader....Inthecourseofhisvolubilitytheperpetualspeakermustofnecessitylaybarehisownweaknesses,vanities,peculiarities." In theshortcontributions toperiodicalsonwhichhetriedhis'prenticehand,suchaddressesandconversationswerenaturaland efficacious; but in a larger work of fiction they cause an absence of thatdignitytowhichevenanovelmayaspire.Youfeelthateachmorselasyoureaditisadetachedbit,andthatithasallbeenwrittenindetachments.Thebookisrobbedofitsintegritybyacertaingood-humouredgenialityoflanguage,whichcauses the reader to be almost toomuch at homewith his author. There is asayingthatfamiliaritybreedscontempt,andIhavebeensometimesinclinedtothink that our author has sometimes failed to stand up for himself withsufficiencyof"personaldeportment."

InotherrespectsThackeray'sstyleisexcellent.AsIhavesaidbefore,thereaderalwaysunderstandshiswordswithoutaneffort,andreceivesallthattheauthorhastogive.

Therenowremainstobediscussedthematterofourauthor'swork.Themannerand the style are but the natural wrappings in which the goods have beenprepared for the market. Of these goods it is no doubt true that unless thewrappingsbeinsomedegreemeritoriousthearticlewillnotbeacceptedatall;but it is the kernel which we seek, which, if it be not of itself sweet anddigestible,cannotbemadeserviceablebyanyshellhoweverprettyoreasytobecracked. I have said previously that it is the business of a novel to instruct inmoralsandtoamuse.Iwillgofurther,andwilladd,havingbeenformanyyears

amostprolificwriterofnovelsmyself, that I regardhimwhocanputhimselfinto close communication with young people year after year without makingsome attempt to do them good, as a very sorry fellow indeed.However pooryourmattermaybe,howevernearyoumaycometothat"foolishestofexistingmortals,"asCarlylepresumessomeunfortunatenovelist tobe,still, if therebethosewhoreadyourworks,theywillundoubtedlybemoreorlessinfluencedbywhat they find there. And it is because the novelist amuses that he is thusinfluential.Thesermontoooftenhasnosucheffect,because it isappliedwiththedeclaredintentionofhavingit.Thepalpableandovertdosethechildrejects;but thatwhich is cunningly insinuatedby the aidof jamor honey is acceptedunconsciously,andgoesonuponitscurativemission.Soitiswiththenovel.Itistakenbecauseofitsjamandhoney.But,unlikethehonestsimplejamandhoneyof thehouseholdcupboard, it isneverunmixedwithphysic.Therewillbe thedosewithin it,eithercurativeorpoisonous.Thegirlwillbe taughtmodestyorimmodesty, truth or falsehood; the lad will be taught honour or dishonour,simplicity or affectation.Without the lesson the amusementwill not be there.There are novelswhich certainly can teach nothing; but then neither can theyamuseanyone.

IshouldbesaidtoinsistabsurdlyonthepowerofmyownconfraternityifIwereto declare that the bulk of the young people in the upper andmiddle classesreceive theirmoral teachingchiefly from thenovels they read.Motherswouldnodoubtthinkoftheirownsweetteaching;fathersoftheexampleswhichtheyset; and schoolmasters of the excellence of their instructions. Happy is thecountry that has such mothers, fathers, and schoolmasters! But the novelistcreepsincloserthantheschoolmaster,closerthanthefather,closeralmostthanthemother.Heisthechosenguide,thetutorwhomtheyoungpupilchoosesforherself.Sheretireswithhim,suspectingnolesson,safeagainstrebuke,throwingherselfheadandheartintothenarrationasshecanhardlydointohertask-work;andtheresheistaught,—howsheshalllearntolove;howsheshallreceivethelover when he comes; how far she should advance to meet the joy; why sheshouldbereticent,andnotthrowherselfatonceintothisnewdelight.It is thesamewith the youngman, though he would bemore prone even than she torejectthesuspicionofsuchtutorship.Buthetoowilltherelearneithertospeakthe truth, or to lie; and will receive from his novel lessons either of realmanliness,orofthataffectedapishnessandtailor-begottendemeanourwhichtoomanyprofessorsofthecraftgiveoutastheirdearestprecepts.

At any rate the close intercourse is admitted. Where is the house now from

which novels are tabooed? Is it not common to allow them almostindiscriminately, so thatyoungandoldeachchooseshisownnovel?Shall he,then, towhom this close fellowship is allowed,—this inner confidence,—shallhenotbecarefulwhatwordsheuses,andwhatthoughtsheexpresses,whenhesitsincouncilwithhisyoungfriend?This,whichitwillcertainlybehisdutytoconsiderwithsomuchcare,willbethematterofhiswork.Weknowwhatwasthought of suchmatter,whenLydia in theplaywasdriven to thenecessity offlinging"PeregrinePickleunder the toilet,"andthrusting"LordAimwellunderthesofa."Wehavegotbeyondthatnow,andaretolerablysurethatourgirlsdonothidetheirnovels.Themorefreelytheyareallowed,themorenecessaryisitthathewhosuppliesshalltakecarethattheyareworthyofthetrustthatisgiventothem.

NowletthereaderaskhimselfwhatarethelessonswhichThackerayhastaught.Let him sendhismemory runningbackover all those characters ofwhomwehavejustbeenspeaking,andaskhimselfwhetheranygirlhasbeentaughttobeimmodest,oranymanunmanly,bywhatThackerayhaswritten.Anovelisthastwomodesofteaching,—bygoodexampleorbad.Itisnottobesupposedthatbecause the person treated of be evil, therefore the preceptwill be evil. If so,some personages with whom we have been made well acquainted from ouryouth upwards, would have been omitted in our early lessons. It may be aquestionwhethertheteachingisnotmoreefficaciouswhichcomesfromtheevilexample.Whatstorywasevermorepowerfulinshowingthebeautyoffemininereticence,and thehorrorsoffeminineevil-doing, than thefateofEffieDeans?TheTemplarwouldhavebetrayedawomantohislust,buthasnotencouragedothers by the freedom of his life. Varneywas utterly bad,—but though a gaycourtier,hehasenticednootherstogothewaythathewent.SoithasbeenwithThackeray.His examples havebeengenerally of that kind,—but theyhave allbeen efficacious in their teaching on the side ofmodesty andmanliness, truthandsimplicity.WhensomegirlshallhavetracedfromfirsttolastthecharacterofBeatrix,what, let us ask,will be the result on hermind?Beatrixwas bornnoble, clever, beautiful, with certainmaterial advantages,which it waswithinhercompasstoimprovebyhernobility,wit,andbeauty.Shewasquitealivetothatfact,andthoughtofthosematerialadvantages,totheutterexclusion,inourmind,ofanyideaofmoralgoodness.Sherealiseditall,andtoldherselfthatthatwas thegameshewouldplay. "Twenty-five!" says she; "and ineightyearsnoman has ever touched my heart!" That is her boast when she is about to bemarried,—her only boast of herself. "Amost detestable youngwoman!" somewillsay."Anawfulexample!"otherswilladd.Notadoubtofit.Sheprovesthe

miseryofherowncareersofullythatnoonewillfollowit.Theexampleissoawfulthatitwillsurelydeter.Thegirlwilldeclaretoherselfthatnotinthatwaywill she look for thehappinesswhich shehopes to enjoy; and theyoungmanwillsayashereadsit,thatnoBeatrixshalltouchhisheart.

Youmaygo throughallhischaracterswith thesameeffect.Pendenniswillbescornedbecauseheislight;Warringtonlovedbecauseheisstrongandmerciful;Dobbinwillbehonouredbecauseheisunselfish;andtheoldcolonel,thoughhebefoolish,vain,andweak,almostworshippedbecauseheissotrueagentleman.Itisinthehandlingofquestionssuchasthesethatwehavetolookforthematterof thenovelist,—thosemoral lessonswhichhemixesupwithhis jamandhishoney. I say that with Thackeray the physic is always curative and neverpoisonous.Hemayheadmittedsafelyintothatclosefellowship,andbeallowedto accompany the dear ones to their retreats.The girlwill never becomeboldunderhispreaching,ortaughttothrowherselfatmen'sheads.Norwilltheladreceivea false flashy ideaofwhatbecomesayouth,whenhe is first about totakehisplaceamongmen.

As to thatotherquestion,whetherThackeraybeamusingaswellassalutary, Imustleaveit topublicopinion.Thereisnowbeingbroughtoutofhisworksamoresplendideditionthanhaseverbeenproducedinanyageoranycountryofthewritingsof suchanauthor.Acertain fixednumberof copiesonly isbeingissued,andeachcopywillcost£3312s.whencompleted.Itisunderstoodthataverylargeproportionoftheeditionhasbeenalreadyboughtorordered.Cost,itwillbesaid,isabadtestofexcellence.Itwillnotprovethemeritofabookanymorethanitwillofahorse.Butitisproofofthepopularityofthebook.Printand illustrate and bind up some novels how you will, no one will buy them.Previous to these costly volumes, there have been two entire editions of hisworks since the author's death, one comparatively cheap and the other dear.Before his death his stories hadbeen scattered in all imaginable forms. Imaythereforeassertthattheircharmhasbeenprovedbytheirpopularity.

There remains for us only this question,—whether the nature of Thackeray'sworksentitlehimtobecalledacynic.Thewordisonewhichisalwaysusedinabadsense."Ofadog;currish,"is thedefinitionwhichwegetfromJohnson,—quitecorrectly,andinaccordancewithitsetymology.Andhegivesusexamples."Howvilely does this cynic rhyme," he takes fromShakespeare; andAddisonspeaksofamandegeneratingintoacynic.ThatThackeray'snaturewassoftandkindly,—gentle almost to a fault,—has been shown elsewhere. But they whohavecalledhimacynichavespokenofhimmerelyasawriter,—andaswriter

hehascertainlytakenuponhimselfthespecialtaskofbarkingatthevicesandfolliesoftheworldaroundhim.Anysatiristmightinthesamewaybecalledacynicinsofarashissatiregoes.Swiftwasacyniccertainly.Popewascynicalwhenhewasasatirist.Juvenalwasallcynical,becausehewasallsatirist.Ifthatbewhat ismeant,Thackeraywascertainlya cynic.But that isnot all that thewordimplies.Itintendstogobackbeyondtheworkoftheman,andtodescribehis heart. It says of any satirist so described that he has given himself up tosatire,notbecausethingshavebeenevil,butbecausehehimselfhasbeenevil.Hamlet isa satirist,whereasThersites isacynic. IfThackeraybe judgedafterthisfashion,thewordisasinappropriatetothewriterastotheman.

But it has to be confessed that Thackeray did allow his intellect to be toothoroughly saturatedwith theaspectof the ill sideof things.Wecan trace theoperationofhismindfromhisearliestdays,whenhecommencedhisparodiesatschool;whenhebroughtoutTheSnobatCambridge,whenhesentYellowplushoutupontheworldasasatiristonthedoingsofgentlemengenerally;whenhewrotehisCatherine, to show thevilenessof the taste forwhathewouldhavecalled Newgate literature; and The Hoggarty Diamond, to attack bubblecompanies;andBarryLyndon,toexposethepridewhicharascalmaytakeinhisrascality.BeckySharp,MajorPendennis,Beatrix,bothasayoungandasanoldwoman,werewrittenwiththesamepurpose.Thereisatouchofsatireineverydrawing thathemade.A jeer isneeded for something that is ridiculous, scornhas tobe thrownonsomething that isvile.Thesamefeeling is tobe found ineverylineofeveryballad.

VANITASVANITATUM.

Methinksthetextisneverstale,Andlifeiseverydayrenewing

Freshcommentsontheoldoldtale,OfFolly,Fortune,Glory,Ruin.

Harktothepreacher,preachingstill!Heliftshisvoiceandcrieshissermon,

HereatSt.Peter'sofCornhill,AsyonderontheMountofHermon—

Foryouandmetohearttotake(Odearbelovedbrotherreaders),

To-day,—aswhenthegoodkingspake

BeneaththesolemnSyriancedars.

Itwasjustsowithhimalways.Hewas"cryinghissermon,"hoping,ifitmightbeso, todosomething towards lessening theevilshe sawaroundhim.Weallpreachoursermon,butnotalwayswiththesameearnestness.Hehadbecomesourgent in the cause, so loud inhisdenunciations, thathedidnot stopoften tospeak of the good things around him. Now and again he paused and blessedamidthetorrentofhisanathemas.ThereareDobbin,andEsmond,andColonelNewcome. But his anathemas are the loudest. It has been so I think nearlyalwayswiththeeloquentpreachers.

Iwill insert here,—especially here at the end of this chapter, inwhich I havespokenofThackeray'smatter andmannerofwriting,becauseof the justiceofthecriticismconveyed,—thelineswhichLordHoughtonwroteonhisdeath,andwhicharetobefoundintheFebruarynumberofTheCornhillof1864. Itwasthefirstnumberprintedafterhisdeath.Iwouldaddthat,thoughnoDeanappliedfor permission to bury Thackeray inWestminster Abbey, his bust was placedtherewithout delay.What is needed by the nation in such a case is simply alasting memorial there, where such memorials are most often seen and mosthighlyhonoured.Butwecanallofussympathisewith thefeelingof thepoet,writingimmediatelyonthelossofsuchafriend:

Whenone,whosenervousEnglishversePublicandpartyhatesdefied,

WhoboreandbandiedmanyacurseOfangrytimes,—whenDrydendied,

Ourroyalabbey'sBishop-DeanWaitedfornosuggestiveprayer,

But,ereonedayclosedo'erthescene,Craved,asaboon,tolayhimthere.

Thewaywardfaith,thefaultylife,Vanishedbeforeanation'spain.

PantherandHindforgottheirstrife,Andrivalstatesmenthrongedthefane.

Ogentlecensorofourage!Primemasterofouramplertongue!

Whosewordofwitandgenerouspage

Wereneverwrath,exceptwithwrong,—

Fielding—withoutthemanner'sdross,Scott—withaspirit'slargerroom,

WhatPrelatedeemsthygravehisloss?WhatHalifaxerectsthytomb?

But,maybe,he,—whosocoulddrawThehiddengreat,—thehumblewise,

YieldingwiththemtoGod'sgoodlaw,MakesthePantheonwherehelies.

THEEND.

CHARLESDICKENSANDEVANS,CRYSTALPALACEPRESS.

ENGLISHMENOFLETTERS.

EDITEDBYJOHNMORLEY.

These Short Books are addressed to the general public with a view both tostirringandsatisfyinganinterestinliteratureanditsgreattopicsinthemindsofthosewhohavetorunastheyread.Animmenseclassisgrowingup,andmustevery year increase, whose education will have made them alive to theimportanceofthemastersofourliterature,andcapableofintelligentcuriosityastotheirperformances.TheSeriesisintendedtogivethemeansofnourishingthiscuriosity, to an extent that shall be copious enough to be profitable forknowledge and life, and yet be brief enough to serve those whose leisure isscanty.

Thefollowingarearrangedfor:

SPENSER TheDeanofSt.Paul's. [InthePress.

HUME ProfessorHuxley. [Ready.BUNYAN JamesAnthonyFroude.JOHNSON LeslieStephen. [Ready.GOLDSMITH WilliamBlack. [Ready.MILTON MarkPattison.COWPER GoldwinSmith.SWIFT JohnMorley.BURNS PrincipalShairp. [Ready.SCOTT RichardH.Hutton. [Ready.SHELLEY J.A.Symonds. [Ready.GIBBON J.C.Morison. [Ready.BYRON ProfessorNichol.DEFOE W.Minto. [Ready.BURKE JohnMorley.HAWTHORNE HenryJames,Jnr.CHAUCER A.W.Ward.

THACKERAY AnthonyTrollope. [Ready.ADAMSMITH LeonardH.Courtney,M.P.BENTLEY ProfessorR.C.Jebb.LANDOR ProfessorSidneyColvin.POPE LeslieStephen.WORDSWORTH F.W.H.Myers.SOUTHEY ProfessorE.Dowden.

[OTHERSWILLBEANNOUNCED.]

OPINIONSOFTHEPRESS.

"ThenewseriesopenswellwithMr.LeslieStephen'ssketchofDr.Johnson.Itcouldhardlyhavebeendonebetter;anditwillconveytothereadersforwhomitis intended a juster estimate of Johnson than either of the two essays ofLordMacaulay."—PallMallGazette.

"WehavecomeacrossfewwriterswhohavehadaclearerinsightintoJohnson'scharacter,orwhohavebroughttothestudyofitabetterknowledgeofthetimeinwhichJohnsonlivedandthemenwhomheknew."—SaturdayReview.

"Wecouldnotwishforamoresuggestive introduction toScottandhispoemsandnovels."—Examiner.

"The tone of the volume is excellent throughout."—Athenæum Review of"Scott."

"Asaclear,thoughtful,andattractiverecordofthelifeandworksofthegreatestamongtheworld'shistorians,itdeservesthehighestpraise."—ExaminerReviewof"Gibbon."

"Theloversofthisgreatpoet(Shelley)aretobecongratulatedathavingattheircommandsofresh,clear,andintelligentapresentmentofthesubject,writtenbyamanofadequateandwideculture."—Athenæum.

"ItmayfairlybesaidthatnoonenowlivingcouldhaveexpoundedHumewithmoresympathyorwithequalperspicuity."—Athenæum.

"ThestoryofDefoe'sadventurouslifemaybefollowedwithkeeninterestinMr.Minto'sattractivebook."—Academy.

TRANSCRIBER'SNOTES:

Therearevariantspellingsofthefollowingname:

JeamesYellowplushMr.C.JamesYellowplush

Spellingswereleftasintheoriginal.

Thefollowingchangesweremadetothetext:

page 5—Thackeray's version was 'Cabbages, brightgreencabbages,'{addedmissingendingquotationmark}andwethoughtitverywitty.

page 78—Then there are "Jeames on Time Bargings,""Jeameson theGauge{original hadGuage}Question,""Mr.Jeamesagain."

page 131—"I knew you would come back," she said;"and to-day,Harry{original hasHenry}, in the anthemwhentheysang

page143—Thewifewon't{originalhaswo'n't}come.

page 143—On his way he{original has be} shoots aravenmarvellously

page 157—As Thackeray explains clearly what hemeans by a humorist, I may as well here repeat thepassage:{punctuation missing in original} "If humouronlymeantlaughter

page 166—Iwill then letmy reader go to the volumeand study the lectures for himself.{no punctuation inoriginal}"Thepoorfellowwasnever

page 212—[Ready.{original is missing period—thisoccurred in the line referencing DEFOE and the linereferencingTHACKERAY}

***ENDOFTHEPROJECTGUTENBERGEBOOKTHACKERAY***

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