work and much experience. His early writings both in Fraser and Punch were as if groping. In these periodicals his happier efforts come last, and after many preludes,—some of them broken off abruptly. 'Catherine' is lost in 'George de Barnwell;' 'Yellowplush' and 'Fitz-boodle' are the preambles to 'Barry Lyndon' and 'The Hoggarty Diamond;' Punch's 'Continental Tour' and the 'Wanderings of the Fat Contributor' close untimely, and are succeeded by the 'Snob Papers' and the kindly wisdom of the elder Brown. Fame, indeed, was not now far off; but ere it could be reached there remained yet repeated effort and frequent disappointment. With peculiar pleasure we now recall the fact that these weary days of struggle and obscurity were cheered in no inconsiderable degree by the citizens of Edinburgh.

There happened to be placed in the window of an Edinburgh jeweller a silver statuette of Mr. Punch, with his dress en rigueur, his comfortable and tidy paunch, with all its buttons; his hunch; his knee-breeches, with their tie; his compact little legs, one foot a little forward; and the intrepid and honest, kindly little fellow firmly set on his pins, with his customary look of up to and good for anything. In his hand was his weapon, a pen; his skull was an inkhorn, and his cap its lid. A passer-by-who had long been grateful to our author, as to a dear unknown and enriching friend, for his writings in Fraser and in Punch, and had longed for some way of reaching him, and telling him how his work was relished and valued-bethought himself of sending this inkstand to Mr. Thackeray. He went in, and asked its price. Ten guineas, sir.' He said to himself, 'There are many who feel as I do; why shouldn't we send him up to him? I'll get eighty several half-crowns, and that will do it' (he had ascertained that there would be discount for ready money). With the help of a friend, who says he awoke to Thackeray, and divined his great future, when he came, one evening, in Fraser for May 1844, on the word kinopium,1 the half-crowns were soon forthcoming, and it is

1 Here is the passage. It is from Little Travels and Roadside Sketches. Why are they not republished? We must have his

pleasant to remember, that in the 'octogint' are the names of Lord Jeffrey and Sir William Hamilton, who gave their halfcrowns with the heartiest good-will. A short note was written telling the story. The little man in silver was duly packed, and sent with the following inscription round the base :

GULIELMO MAKEPEACE THACKERAY.

ARMA VIRUMQUE

GRATI NECNON GRATÆ EDINENSES

LXXX.

D. D. D.

To this the following reply was made :

'13 YOUNG STReet, Kensington Square, May 11 1848.

'MY DEAR SIR,-The arms and the man arrived in safety yesterday, and I am glad to know the names of two of the eighty Edinburgh friends who have taken such a kind method of showing their good-will towards me. If you are grati I am gratior. Such

'If

Opera Omnia. He is on the top of the Richmond omnibus. I were a great prince, and rode outside of coaches (as I should if I were a great prince), I would, whether I smoked or not, have a case of the best Havanas in my pocket, not for my own smoking, but to give them to the snobs on the coach, who smoke the vilest cheroots. They poison the air with the odour of their filthy weeds. A man at all easy in circumstances would spare himself much annoyance by taking the above simple precaution.

'A gentleman sitting behind me tapped me on the back, and asked for a light. He was a footman, or rather valet. He had no livery, but the three friends who accompanied him were tall men in pepper-and-salt undress jackets, with a duke's coronet on their buttons.

'After tapping me on the back, and when he had finished his cheroot, the gentleman produced another wind instrument, which he called a kinopium," a sort of trumpet, on which he showed a great inclination to play. He began puffing out of the kinopium an abominable air, which he said was the "Duke's March.' It was played by the particular request of the pepper-and-salt gentry. 'The noise was so abominable, that even the coachman objected, and said it was not allowed to play on his bus. "Very well," said the valet, we're only of the Duke of B—'s establish

44

ment, THAT'S ALL.'

"

tokens of regard & sympathy are very precious to a writer like myself, who have some difficulty still in making people understand what you have been good enough to find out in Edinburgh, that under the mask satirical there walks about a sentimental gentleman who means not unkindly to any mortal person. I can see exactly the same expression under the vizard of my little friend in silver, and hope some day to shake the whole octogint by the hand gratos & gratas, and thank them for their friendliness and regard. think I had best say no more on the subject, lest I should be tempted into some enthusiastic writing of wh I am afraid. I assure you these tokens of what I can't help acknowledging as popularity—make me humble as well as grateful-and make me feel an almost awful sense of the responsibility wh falls upon a man in such a station. Is it deserved or undeserved? Who is this that sets up to preach to mankind, and to laugh at many things wh men reverence? I hope I may be able to tell the truth always, & to see it aright, according to the eyes wh God Almighty gives me. And if, in the exercise of my calling I get friends, and find encouragement and sympathy, I need not tell you how much I feel and am thankful for this support. Indeed I can't reply lightly upon this subject or feel otherwise than very grave when people begin to praise me as you do. Wishing you and my Edinburgh friends all health and happiness, believe me, my dear Sir, most faithfully yours, W. M. THACKERAY.'

How like the man is this gentle and serious letter, written these long years ago! He tells us frankly his 'calling :' he is a preacher to mankind. He 'laughs,' he does not sneer. He asks home questions at himself as well as the world: 'Who is this?' Then his feeling 'not otherwise than very grave' when people begin to praise, is true conscientiousness. This servant

of his Master hoped to be able to tell the truth always, and to see it aright, according to the eyes which God Almighty gives me.' His picture by himself will be received as correct now, 'a sentimental gentleman who means not unkindly to any mortal person,'-sentimental in its good old sense, and a gentleman in heart and speech. And that little touch about enthusiastic writing, proving all the more that the enthusiasm itself was there.

O

MARJORIE FLEMING.

NE November afternoon in 1810-the year in

which Waverley was resumed and laid aside again, to be finished off, its last two volumes in three weeks, and made immortal in 1814, and when its author, by the death of Lord Melville, narrowly escaped getting a civil appointment in India—three men, evidently lawyers, might have been seen escaping like schoolboys from the Parliament House, and speeding arm-in-arm down Bank Street and the Mound, in the teeth of a surly blast of sleet.

The three friends sought the bield of the low wall old Edinburgh boys remember well, and sometimes miss now, as they struggle with the stout west wind.

The three were curiously unlike each other. One, 'a little man of feeble make, who would be unhappy if his pony got beyond a foot pace,' slight, with 'small, elegant features, hectic cheek, and soft hazel eyes, the index of the quick, sensitive spirit within, as if he had the warm heart of a woman, her genuine enthusiasm, and some of her weaknesses.' Another, as unlike a woman as a man can be; homely, almost