room.

RECOLLECTIONS OF WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY.

the servant, who was busying herself in the "Sure an' he left a card of his own, an' I put it in the basket, thinking ye'd be after seeing it, to be sure; an' if ye didn't, he'd be coming again, an' it wasn't no great matter no way."

So the card was hunted up, and found to be the bearer of this message, in pencil:

"Sorry not to find you in. Came to say good-by to you all. I sail in the Petrel, for Havre, to-morrow. Hope to see you again three years hence; so don't RAYMOND HERON." forget. Yours truly,

66

'Very satisfactory!" growled Mr. Reed. "Very sudden!" commented Gillian. "Very mysterious-very, very, VERY cruel!" she added, in the solitude of her heart, where a great deal was going on, silently and painfully. Three years! What should she do with them?

"Mr. Oxford is in the drawing-room, Miss Gillian," announced the servant.

261

sort of fragrant wilderness, filling an entire al-
cove of the parlor.

"Good-morning!" said he, with the most
cordial manner at his command. "I hope I
sufficed to erase me from your memory."
find you well, and that three years have not
"Professor Heron! I am glad to see you.
You bewildered me for an instant."

When one is not

"I can understand it.
thinking of a person who is supposed to be at
the other end of the earth—”

"That's just it. I was thinking of you;
and I was bewildered at having my thought
realized so suddenly."

"Thank you, Mrs. Oxford; this is a most
gracious welcome home."

"Mrs. Oxford!" repeated Gillian, laughing.
"I don't know her. You are mistaken. Iam Miss
But when
"So much the worse for them.
Gillian still. Nobody has taken pity upon me."

Oxford. How is this?" "He has come for his answer," whispered I left, you were going to take pity upon Mr. her father.

No-
And then,

"I know it," returned his daughter. "I confess myself favorable to him. thing can be urged against him. Gillian, remember the Professor."

"I shall remember the Professor!" and passed into the drawing-room.

"I did not love Mr. Oxford, Mr. Heron," she answered, quietly.

"Miss Gillian," pursued the Professor, "I believe I made a mistake in going away.'

"Do you?" said Gillian, moving her fingers nervously.

Three years, that seem such an eternity to the young, who have not learned the art of waiting gracefully-even three years have an end, be they ever so barren of pleasure or fruit-hexameter. ful of pain.

"And so does a continental tour," thought Professor Heron, pulling at Mr. Reed's doorbell. "Am I cured, or only convalescent? Or is love like rays of light, which reach and influence us long after the star has left its place in heaven ?"

He found Gillian watering her plants, which three years of painstaking had created into a

"Do you think I made another in coming back?" He had her hand now, and was reading her face with an interest he had never "Do you think I made another given to "La Verrier," to Greek ode or Latin mistake in coming back, Gillian, to ask-to beg for your love?"

"I hope you may never have reason to think "I should not like to so," she answered him. be called Professor Heron's Mistake, you know,” a right to ask for one's own." she laughed; "and as to the rest, why, one has "And you are my own?" "Yes."

IN

RECOLLECTIONS OF WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY.
BY GEORGE HODDER.

N approaching the name of William Make-
peace Thackeray I feel a degree of delicacy,
and even timidity, which his absence from the
scene of his world-wide renown does not tend
to diminish; for Thackeray was a man of such
large mental proportions, and such far-seeing
power in his mode of anatomizing and criticising
human character, that one seems to be treading
on volcanic ground in venturing to deal with
him at all. But of what is biography com-
posed? Assuredly not of the knowledge and
experience of one privileged person, but of the
aggregate contributions of many, who are will-
ing, when occasion offers, to state what they
know for the information and benefit of poster-
ity. A hundred admirers of Thackeray might
undertake to write a memoir of him, and yet
the task of doing full justice to his character

and career must necessarily be left to a chosen
future historian, who shall zealously gather to-
gether all the bits and fragments to be found
scattered among books and men, and blend
them into a substantial and permanent shape.
But it must be admitted that there is an excep-
tional difficulty in regard to Thackeray, inas-
much as there were few whom he allowed to
know him, in the true sense of the phrase-that
is to say, there was a constitutional reserve in
his manner, accompanied, at times, by a cold
austerity which led to some misgivings as to
the possibility of his being the pleasant social
companion his intimates often described him to
be. And yet it is well known to those who saw
much of Thackeray in his familiar moments
that he could be essentially "jolly" (a favorite
term of his) when the humor suited him, and

aspire to his own rank in the literary army; and the following extract is one of the best evidences of this fact I can adduce, because, at the time he wrote it, my knowledge of him did not extend beyond that which was derived from a few brief conversations with him at the chambers of a friend, upon matters in no way relating to business, such as afterward brought me more closely in contact with him.

that he would, on such occasions, open his Mr. Thackeray's answer was as follows: heart as freely as if the word "reticence" formed "DEAR HODDER,-I thank you very much for your no part of his vocabulary; whereas, at other note, and am very glad that my little book has given times, he would keep himself entirely within you pleasure. I hope that the future works of the himself, and answer a question by a monosyl- same author will please you, and, indeed, am quite anxious to have as many people as may be of your lable, or peradventure by a significant move-opinion. It is not my intention to return to Constanment of the head. At one moment he would tinople at present, and when there I hope I shall be look you full in the face and greet you jauntily; more moral than in former days, and have no desire at another he would turn from you with a pe- to fling the handkerchief to any members whatsoever of his Highness's seraglio. culiar waving of the hand, which of course in"Yours truly, W. M. THACKERAY." dicated that he had no desire to talk. Men who were members of the same club with him I can not at this distant date precisely call to have been heard to say that sometimes he would mind the circumstances under which I continued, pass them in the lobbies unnoticed, and at oth-at intervals, to meet Mr. Thackeray, but the yaers he would cheerfully initiate a conversation, rious letters I received from him contain the and leave behind him an impression that sul- most gratifying proof that he was always well lenness or hauteur was wholly foreign to his na-affected toward writers who could not possibly ture. It should be stated, however, that his health for many years had never been entirely unimpaired, and that his acute sensibility often rendered it irksome to him to come in contact with his fellow-men. In short, he was essentially of a nervous temperament, and altogether deficient in that vigorous self-possession which enables a man to shine in public assemblies; for it was absolute pain to him to be called upon to make a speech, and even in ordinary conversation he showed no particular desire to hold a prominent place. But, the above considerations apart, it would be easier to know many men in a few days than it would be thoroughly to understand Thackeray in the same number of years. Douglas Jerrold, dating his acquaintance with Thackeray from the time that the latter, by some curious hazard, illustrated his book of "Men of Character," was often heard to say, "I have known Thackeray eighteen years, and I don't know him yet." But that the great novelist and satirist had a generous and sympathetic heart can hardly, I think, be disputed; and even the few brief letters which I received from him are sufficient to prove that, however austere he sometimes appeared to be externally, he was very rarely wanting in readiness to perform a kind office.

At one period of my intercourse with Mr. Thackeray I had been reading his "Journey from Cornhill to Grand Cairo," and, having always been an enthusiastic admirer of his writings, long before I knew that the "Michael Angelo Titmarsh" of Fraser's Magazine was identical with W. M. Thackeray, I could not refrain from expressing to him by letter the delight I had drawn from his Egyptian pages. Among other things, I remember being deeply impressed by the graphic power displayed in the poem of "The White Squall," and by the charming burst of parental feeling with which it concludes.*

"And when, its force expended,
The harmless storm was ended,
And as the sunrise splendid

Came blushing o'er the sea;
I thought as day was breaking,
My little girls were waking,
And smiling, and making

A prayer at home for me."

The letter refers to a loss which had just befallen me, in consequence of some changes which had taken place in a newspaper establishment with which I was then connected. It is dated May 19, 1855, and says:

"I am sincerely sorry to hear of your position, and

send the little contribution which came so opportunely from another friend whom I was enabled once to help. When you are well-to-do again I know you will pay it back, and I dare say somebody else will want the money, which is meanwhile most heartily at your

service."

It was afterward explained to me that Mr. Thackeray made a practice of acting upon the principle embodied in the above note. Like many other generous men, he had always a few pounds floating about among friends and acquaintances whom he had been able to oblige in their necessity, and whenever he received back money which he had lent, he did not put it into his pocket with a glow of satisfaction at having added so much to his exchequer; but congratulated himself that he could transfer the same sum to another person who he knew was in need of it.

To my great satisfaction, I received one evening a note from Mr. Thackeray, which I had been expecting for several days, as he had promised to write to me on the subject; but, as the delay seemed ominous, I began to think he had changed his determination, and would not require my services as now suggested. In this note, which is dated Onslow Square, September 6, 1855, he says, after referring to other mat

ters:

"I want a little work done in the way of arranging papers, copying at the B. M., etc.-if you are free, and will come here on Tuesday morning next, I can employ your services, and put some money in your way."

To Onslow Square I accordingly went on the

RECOLLECTIONS OF WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY.

263

of the world's goods, and he was happy to think
that he had paid off one moiety of the cost of
his house (which he then occupied), and that
he should be able before he left the country to
discharge the remainder of the liability. He
then went on to relate some of his literary ex-
periences, and the circumstances under which
his fortunes had improved during the last few
years, observing that lecturing was certainly
more profitable than magazine writing.
next alluded to his friends, the contributors to
Punch, and passed in review many of their vir-
tues and idiosyncrasies; and was at some pains
to show that he held the humorous brotherhood
in high esteem.

He

morning fixed upon, and found Mr. Thackeray in his study to receive me; but, instead of entering upon business in that part of the house, he took me up stairs to his bedroom, where every arrangement had been made for the convenience of writing. I then learned that he was busily occupied in preparing his lectures on the "Four Georges," and that he had need of an amanuensis to fill the place of one who was now otherwise occupied. In that capacity, it was my task to write to his dictation, and to make extracts from books, according to his instructions, either at his own house or at the This duty called me to his British Museum. In speaking of periodical literature, he said bedchamber every morning, and, as a general rule, I found him up and ready to begin work, though he was sometimes in doubt and difficulty he contemplated producing a magazine or jouras to whether he should commence operations | nal in his own name after his return from Amersitting, or standing, or walking about, or lying | ica; and upon my venturing to observe that I down. Often he would light a cigar, and, aft- hoped he did not intend to encourage the anonyer pacing the room for a few minutes, would mous system in regard to his contributors, as Our conversation put the unsmoked remnant on the mantle-piece, the conductors of other publications of the day and resume his work with increased cheerful- seemed resolved to do, he replied, "No. I ness, as if he had gathered fresh inspiration think that's hard lines."* States; and when he hinted at the probability from the "gentle odors" of the "sublime to- next turned upon his mission to the United bacco." of his taking a secretary with him, as he had

gested that I should be delighted to fill that
office, if he had not already selected some one.
me know what determination he had arrived at;
He promised to consider my suggestion, and let
but, in the mean time, he feared he should re-
quire a valet more than a secretary. On the
following morning he said he had turned the

It was not a little amusing to observe the frequency with which Mr. Thackeray, in the mo-done on his former visit to that country, I sugments of dictation, would change his position, and I could not but think that he seemed most at his ease when one would suppose he was most uncomfortable. He was easy to "follow,' as his enunciation was always clear and distinct, and he generally "weighed his words before he gave them breath," so that his amanuensis seldom received a check during the prog-matter over in his mind, and had come to the ress of his pen. He never became energetic, but spoke with that calm deliberation which distinguished his public readings; and there was one peculiarity which, among others, I especially remarked, viz., that when he made a humorous point, which inevitably caused me to laugh, his own countenance was unmoved, like that of the comedian Liston, who, as is well known, looked as if he wondered what had occurred to excite the risibility of his audience.

conclusion that, in consequence of the state of
his health, he should be obliged to take a serv-
ant with him instead of a secretary; adding,
dryly, "I can ask a servant to hold a basin to
-at least, he might object." He smiled as he
me; but I doubt if I could so treat a secretary
made this droll observation, but I too well knew
was subject to periodical illnesses which ren-
that it was a true word spoken in jest; for he
dered the services of a valet most essential to
him; and the young man who filled that situa-
tion at the time was fortunately one in whom
he placed implicit confidence; and he was
thankful for the gentle way in which his serv-
ant tended him.

Many authors have often declared that they could not write to dictation. Thackeray was one who could, and liked to do so; and no better proof need be afforded of his power in that It was but natural to suppose that, considrespect than is to be found in his "Four Georges," which contain some of the most thoughtful and vigorous passages that ever em-ering Mr. Thackeray's popularity among his anated from his brain.

friends, and the interest which attached to the While I was thus daily engaged with Mr. object of his visit to America, a desire would Thackeray he sometimes required my assistance be shown to invite him to a farewell dinner. on a Sunday afternoon; and I call to mind one The project being initiated, Mr. Peter CunSunday in particular-I think it was the last be-ningham undertook the duties of secretary; fore he started for America-when I found him in exceptionally high spirits, and much more inHe spoke of the clined to talk than to write. journey he was about to commence, and of the money he should probably make by his readings in America. He wanted a few thousands more, he said, for he had not yet made enough. True, he added, that he possessed a small share

and all the preliminary arrangements were of the most satisfactory kind, care being taken that the party should be entirely private, and that it should consist exclusively of Mr. Thackeray's intimates.

* On his return to England, the Cornhill Magazine was started under the editorship of Mr. Thackeray.

264

On the morning of the banquet he was in a
state of great nervous anxiety, saying that it
was very kind of his friends to give him a din-
ner, but that he wished it was over, for such
"Besides,"
things always set him trembling.
he exclaimed, "I have to make a speech, and
what am I to say? Here, take a pen in your
hand and sit down; and I'll see if I can ham-tences will be found to be quite incomplete;
mer out something. It's hammering now; I'm
afraid it will be stammering by-and-by." I did
as he requested, and he dictated with much
ease and fluency a speech-or rather the heads
of a speech-which he proposed delivering in
response to the inevitable toast of his own
health.

which, as I have just stated, was written by me
to Mr. Thackeray's dictation on the morning of
the dinner. It will be seen, from the occasion-
al vacant spaces, that the writer of the above
was correct in assuming that the speaker had
Some few sen-
intentionally left blanks with the view of sup-
plying them at the moment.

This was on a morning in the first week of October, 1855, and the dinner took place at the London Tavern in the evening of the same day, the duties of chairman being delegated to Mr. Charles Dickens, who from the very beginning of his public career had always manifested a remarkable aptitude for that responsible office.

but it is not very difficult to conjecture how Mr. Thackeray would fill them up; though I believe I am right in saying that the speech as delivered fell far short of the speech as written. The latter has never been out of my possession since it came from Mr. Thackeray's lips; for, having once tested his power, and brought to light the thoughts which animated him, he did not care for the MS., and did not even read it. I subjoin it, ipsissima verba:

"I know great numbers of us here present have been invited to a neighboring palace where turtle, Champagne, and all good things are as plentiful almost as here, and where there reigns a civic monarch with a splendid court of officers, etc.-The sort of The following account of the affair was after-greeting that I had myself to-day-this splendor, etc. ward published by a gentleman who was pres--the bevy in the ante-room-have filled my bosom ent on the occasion:

"The Thackeray dinner was a triumph. Covers,
we are assured, were laid for sixty; and sixty and no
more sat down precisely at the minute named to do
honor to the great novelist. Sixty very hearty shakes
of the hand did Thackeray receive from sixty friends
on that occasion; and hearty cheers from sixty vo-
ciferous and friendly tongues followed the chairman's
-Mr. Charles Dickens-proposal of his health, and of
wishes for his speedy and successful return among us.
Dickens-the best after-dinner speaker now alive-
was never happier. He spoke as if he was fully con-
scious that it was a great occasion, and that the ab-
sence of even one reporter was a matter of congratu-
lation, affording ample room to unbend. The table
was in the shape of a horseshoe, having two vice-
chairmen, and this circumstance was wrought up and
played with by Dickens in the true Sam Weller and
Charles Dickens manner. Thackeray, who is far from
what is called a good speaker, outdid himself. There
was his usual hesitation; but this hesitation becomes
his manner of speaking and his matter, and is never
unpleasant to his hearers, though it is, we are as-
sured, most irksome to himself. This speech was full
of pathos and humor and oddity, with bits of pre-
pared parts imperfectly recollected, but most happily
made good by the felicities of the passing moment.
Like the 'Last Minstrel,'

'Each blank in faithless memory's void
The poet's glowing thought supplied.'

It was a speech to remember for its earnestness of
purpose and its undoubted originality. Then the
chairman quitted, and many near and at a distance
quitted with him. Thackeray was on the move with
the chairman, when, inspired by the moment, Jerrold
took the chair, and Thackeray remained. Who is to
chronicle what now passed?-what passages of wit-
what neat and pleasant sarcastic speeches in propos-
ing healths- what varied and pleasant, ay, and at
times, sarcastic acknowledgments? Up to the time
when Dickens left, a good reporter might have giv-
en all, and with ease, to future ages; but there
could be no reporting what followed. There were
words too nimble and too full of flame for a dozen
Gurneys, all ears, to catch and preserve. Few will
forget that night. There was an 'air of wit' about
the room for three days after. Enough to make the
two companies, though downright fools, right witty."

I am now fortunately enabled to give the
original draft of the speech thus pictured, and

with an elation with which no doubt Sir Francis Gra-
ham Moon's throbs." I am surrounded by respectful
friends, etc.-and I feel myself like a Lord Mayor.
In the fountain of his pleasure there
To his lordship's delight and magnificence there is a
drawback.
surges a bitter. He is thinking about the 9th of No-
"Some years since, when I was younger and used
vember, and I about the 13th of October.t
to frequent jolly assemblies, I wrote a Bacchanalian
song, to be chanted after dinner, etc.-I wish some
one would sing that song now to the tune of the
'Dead March in Saul,' etc.-not for me-I am miser-
able enough; but for you, who seem in a great deal
too good spirits. I tell you I am not-all the drink
in Mr. Bathe'st cellar won't make me. There may be
sherry there 500 years old-Columbus may have taken
it out from Cadiz with him when he went to discover
America, and it won't make me jolly, etc.-and yet,
entirely unsatisfactory as this feast is to me, I should
like some more. Why can't you give me some more?
I don't care about them costing two guineas a head.
It is not the turtle I value. Let us go to Simpson's
fish ordinary-or to Bertolini's, or John o' Groat's,
etc.-I don't want to go away-I cling round the ma-
hogany-tree.

"In the course of my profound and extensive reading I have found it is the habit of the English nation to give dinners to the unfortunate. I have been living lately with some worthy singular fellows 150 or 160 years old. I find that upon certain occasions the greatest attention was always paid them. They might call for any thing they liked for dinner. My friend Simon Frazer, Lord Lovat, about 109 years since, I sack before he was going on his journeys-Lord Ferthink, partook very cheerfully of minced veal and rers (Rice)-I could tell you a dozen jolly stories

or

Sir F. G. Moon, Bart., was at that time Lord May of London.

The day on which he was to start for America. The then proprietor of the London Tavern. He was beheaded in the year 1745 for fighting in the cause of the Pretender, in the Scottish rebellion of 1745.

Execnted at Tyburn in the year 1760 for the mur der of one Johnson, the receiver of his estates. His lordship was allowed to ride from the Tower to the scaffold in his own landau, and appeared gayly dressed silver. It was doubtless to this circumstance that in a light-colored suit of clothes, embroidered with Mr. Thackeray intended to allude in filling up the vacuum.

contrary to his custom-at least as far as my experience told me to leave his house at so early an hour, and I was so much concerned at seeing him in such depression, that I was nat

about feasts of this sort. I remember a particularly jolly one at which I was present, and which took place at least 900 years ago. My friend Mr. Macready gave it at Fores Castle, North Britain, Covent Gar. den. That was a magnificent affair indeed. The tables were piled with most splendid fruits-gor-urally induced to say that I hoped nothing very geous dish-covers glittered in endless perspective Macbeth-Macready, I mean-taking up a huge gold beaker, shining with enormous gems that must have been worth many hundred millions of money, filled it out of a gold six-gallon jug, and drank courteously to the general health of the whole table. Why did he put it down? What made him, in the midst of that jolly party, appear so haggard and melancholy? It was because he saw before him the ghost of John Cooper, with chalked face and an immense streak of vermilion painted across his throat! No wonder he was disturbed. In like manner I have before me at this minute the horrid figure of a steward, with a basin perhaps, or a glass of brandy-and-water, which he will press me to drink, and which I shall try and swallow, and which won't make me any better-I

know it won't.

"Then there's the dinner, which we all of us must remember in our school-boy days, and which took place twice or thrice a year at home, on the day before Dr. Birch expected his young friends to reassemble at his academy, Rodwell Regis. Don't you remember how the morning was spent? How you went about taking leave of the garden, and the old mare and foal, and the paddock, and the pointers in the kennel; and how your little sister wistfully kept at your side all day; and how you went and looked at that confound ed trunk which old Martha was packing with the new shirts, and at that heavy cake packed up in the playbox; and how kind 'the governor' was all day; and how at dinner he said 'Jack-or Tom-pass the bottle' in a very cheery voice; and how your mother had got the dishes she knew you liked best; and how you had the wing instead of the leg, which used to be your ordinary share; and how that dear, delightful, hot raspberry rolly-polly pudding, good as it was, and fondly beloved by you, yet somehow had the effect of the notorious school stick-jaw, and choked you and stuck in your throat; and how the gig came; and then, how you heard the whirl of the mail-coach wheels, and the tooting of the guard's horn, as with an odious punctuality the mail and the four horses came galloping over the hill.-Shake hands, good-by! God bless every body! Don't cry, sister.-Away we go! and to-morrow we begin with Dr. Birch, and six months at Rodwell Regis!

"But after six months came the holidays again!" etc., etc., etc."

There is small chance of it being denied that the above is as fully characteristic of Mr. Thackeray's peculiar style as any passage to be found in his works. Not a doubt or question could possibly be raised in regard to its authorship; for there spoke Thackeray in his own original way-heart, lips, tone, and language.

That Mr. Thackeray was sometimes given to the "melting mood" may be shown by a little incident, in the relation of which I trust I shall violate no confidence, or throw myself open to the charge of ascribing to the great author a larger share of the milk of human kindness than often falls to the lot of ordinary mortals.

One morning I was making my way to 36 Onslow Square, at an earlier hour than usual, when, to my great surprise, I met Mr. Thackeray pacing up and down the footway in a state of great mental uneasiness. It was so entirely

serious had happened to his household. He answered, "Poor Marochetti's child is dying." Having said this, tears came to his relief, and he speedily returned home. He was on terms of close friendship with the Baron Marochetti (his next-door neighbor), and he sympathized with that well-known sculptor in the deep love he bore for his dying child. He was in a cheerless mood for the remainder of the day, and in the course of his work reverted many times to the calamity which he so much deplored.* Again, on the morning of his departure for America. He was to start by an early train, and when I arrived (for it had been previously arranged that I should see him before he left) I found him in his study, and his two daughters in the dining-room-all in a very tearful condition; and I do not think I am far wrong in saying that if ever man's strength was overpowered by woman's weakness it was so upon this occasion; for Mr. Thackeray could not look at his daughters without betraying a moisture in his eyes, which he in vain strove to conceal. Nevertheless he was enabled to attend to several money transactions which it was necessary he should arrange before leaving; and to give me certain instructions about the four volumes of his "Miscellanies" then in course of publication, and which he begged me to watch in their passage through the press, with a view to a few foot- notes that might be thought desirable. Then came the hour for parting! A cab was at the door, the luggage had all been properly disposed of, and the servants stood in the hall, to notify, by their looks, how much they regretted their master's departure. "This is the moment I have dreaded!" said Thackeray, as he entered the dining-room to embrace his daughters; and when he hastily descended the steps of the door he knew that they would be at the window to

"Cast one longing, lingering look behind." "Good-by," he murmured, in a suppressed voice, as I followed him to the cab; "keep close behind me, and let me try to jump in unseen."

The instant the door of the vehicle was closed behind him he threw himself back into a corner and buried his face in his hands. That was the last I saw of Mr. Thackeray before he left London on his second visit to the United States; and I think I have given sufficient proof that, great as was his power of poising the shafts of ridicule at the follies and vices of the day, and coldly reserved as he sometimes was in his demeanor, he was full of that gentle

It will be recollected that the tablet to ThackMr. Thackeray was to be absent from England for eray's memory in Westminster Abbey was the design that space of time. and workmanship of the late Baron Marochetti.