CHAPTER XX.

In those 'flying stage' days travellers booked their passage, per coach, from the Spread Eagle, Piccadilly, to Paris. On this service the journey from Calais to Paris was performed by the 'Hirondelle' in thirty hours. It was in this manner Mr. Pogson accomplished his eventful first journey, in the society of the fascinating 'Baronne de Florval Delval,' as set forth in the pages of Mr. Titmarsh's 'Paris Sketch-Book.' Mr. Titmarsh has probably contributed the pencilling of the 'oldrégime' personage in the margin during the progress to the capital. Travelling caps of every order were assumed for comfort during the jolting on the road.

Mr. Titmarsh had become a partial resident in Paris. He might have been seen mastering the contents of the Louvre, the Beaux Arts, and the Luxembourg; occasionally mounting an easel and copying a picture.

Betweenwhiles he is, we may reasonably suppose, engaged on materials similar to his 'Paris Sketch-Book,' or transferring the thrilling thoughts of Béranger into verses which preserve the vitality of that mighty songster. Here the young author and his fanciful double evidently commenced their daily promenade—we may vainly sigh for the pleasure of forming one of such a desirable party—but in spirit, assisted by the sketches which mark his progress, it is just possible to follow the humourist. 'Planta's Paris' is produced from his pocket to receive rapid pencil jottings, slight but graphic, as the subjects present themselves.

First, the lollingouvrier, common to Paris in all seasons and under every government, slow and shuffling, a lounger through successiverégimes.

We recognise the reign of the 'Citizen King' in the person of one of his citizen soldiers, a worthy National Guard, hurrying from commercial allurements to practise the military duties of a patriot.

At another time Mr. Titmarsh may refresh his pictorial tastes by the inspection of M. Phillipon's latest onslaught on 'thepoire.'

Here we confront M. Aubert's renowned collection of political cartoons in the Galerie Veron-Dodat, the head-quarters of that irrepressible army of caricaturists whose satiric shafts kept the stout Louis Philippe in a quiver of irritation, until he swept away the liberty of the press.

Before us stands a stern dissentient from any expression assailingthe inviolability of the absolute Sovereign who cleverly misnamed himself the 'King of the Barricades.'

A Citizen Soldier

The Army

Here is a sketchy reminiscence of theJardin Bullier, over the water, close by the Barrière d'Enfer. We may imagine that this recollection has been revived by some flaringaffichéposted on the walls regarding a 'long night' and the admission of 'fancy costumes' at that traditional retreat.

We next get a peep into acabaret, while still in pursuit of the military train, and here the artist regales uswith a spirited realisation of 'Mars surrendering to Bacchus,' in a picture not unworthy of Hogarth. These gentlemen are content to espouse the side which offers the best chance of enjoyment—a phase not entirely extinct in the French army, and one that has been relied on in recent instances.

These last drawings are executed with a pen, and cleverly shaded in Indian ink.

Showers, sharp though short, are frequent enough in Paris. Mr. Titmarsh, in the shelter of a 'Passage'—possibly the 'Panoramas'—seizesthe opportunity of this enforced captivity to produce a flying sketch of the damp world out of doors.

Mr. Titmarsh has stepped for a moment into the shelter of a church, for we here find a life-like picture of a priest bearing the Elements.

The shower is over: the sun shines brighter than ever, and Mr. Titmarsh is tempted to trudge over to the Luxembourg. After a few practical criticisms on the paintings, he wanders into the quaint gardens surrounding this palace of art. His active pencilfinds immediate employment on an ever-recurring group, whereverbonnesabound there may the soldiers be found.

These little sketches are full of familiar life.

Thebarrièreis passed, and Mr. Titmarsh takes a stroll in the environs. His pencil preserves for our amusement this record of his wanderings.

We may here allude to his kindly feeling for children, whose romps so often employed his pen. Further down the shady groves thecocoseller finds a customer in amilitaire, whose tastes are simple, or whose means do not compass a more ambitious beverage.

Before he dines, Mr. Titmarsh returns to his lodgings (possibly the very ones he occupied during the tragedy of Attwood's violent end, described in the 'Gambler's Death'), to 'wash-in' a fewcroquisin Indian ink; and there, we may assume, he traces on a loose scrap of paper the whimsical outline of 'An Eastern Traveller.'

An Eastern Traveller

Anon Mr. Titmarsh plunges deeper into the art career; his aspirations lead him to Rome; there, amidst galleries, artists, authors, models, canvases, and easels, he pursues his lively though somewhat desultory course. Who could be more at home in the head-quarters of the fine arts? who more popular than this kind-hearted,keen-witted young satirist? a universal favourite, treasuring, perhaps unconsciously, every phase of the mixed life he met and led there. Again, as in Paris, a pure Bohemian through inclination, and yet fond of fine sights and society, with theentréeat his disposal to every circle, refined or vagabond, of the communism of a republic of art and letters.

A Neapolitan 'Snob'

Southern ItalyA Water-carrierSouthern ItalyA Wayside PlayerItalian Sketches

Southern Italy

A Water-carrier

Southern Italy

A Wayside Player

Italian Sketches

And Thackeray was no less at home in Belgium than he was in Germany, in Paris, and in Rome.

Guide Indispensable du Voyageur en Belgique

GermaniaA Family Jaunt

Germania

A Family Jaunt

On a Rhine SteamerMât de Coca

On a Rhine Steamer

Mât de Coca

Roadside Sketches

His books carry us where we will at pleasure. We can dot about quaint Flanders with O'Dowd, Dobbin, and the Englisharmy, on that famous Waterloo campaign; we can elect as our travelling companion that eminent dandy, Arthur Pendennis, Esq. We can follow Clive Newcome and quiet J. J. to the 'Congress of Baden,' to Italy, and what not, or we can linger with 'Philip' inParis. We can follow Titmarsh through all sorts of delightful journeyings; we are assured that promising young genius was almost an institution in Paris. He has studied Belgium and sojourned in Holland; in 1843 he will allow us to trot over to Ireland in his company, for a pleasant little jaunt; in 1846 our 'Fat Contributor' will suffer us to make one in a pilgrimage from Cornhill to Cairo; in 1850 we may join the Kickleburys on the Rhine. As to Mr. Roundabout, we may go with him where we list—to America, if we would accept a few grateful souvenirs of the New World; to Scotland, where our author's popularity was, if possible, even stronger; to Switzerland, Italy, Germany, back toBelgium and Holland, and through innumerable pleasant reminiscences of fair and quaint cities.

Little Travels

Would you visit the chief sight of Ghent, who could better act as your kindly guide, philosopher, and friend than Thackeray? for one of the most delightfully fresh and picturesque descriptions of the Béguine College or village at Ghent is due to the pen of Titmarsh. In following his sketches of this miniature city of nuns, which every worthy sightseer has visited in the early stage of his travels, the whole place is set out before one with charmsadded, the old interest is renewed, and we are trotting around the quiet shady courts, or are again favoured with an interview by the superior in the 'show-parlour,' with its ledger for the names of all the Smiths in the universe, while around are displayed the treasures of the convent. It is not difficult to imagine Thackeray sitting down by the roadside, rapidly making the sketches which we give in this chapter.

In 1852 Thackeray paid his first visit to America. The generous reception accorded him throughout the States is sufficiently notorious. Mr. W. B. Reed, who enjoyed in Philadelphia the intimacy of the great novelist, has recorded how deeply sympathetic was the feeling of our transatlantic cousins for this sterling example of a thorough and honest English gentleman.Among other tender remembrances of the kindly humourist, he writes, hinting with delicate reserve at 'domestic sorrows and anxieties too sacred to be paraded before the world':—

A Wayside Sketcher

A School Fight

'In our return journey to Philadelphia, Thackeray referred to a friend whose wife had been deranged for many years, hopelessly so; and never shall I forget the look, and manner, and voice with which he said to me, "It is an awful thing for her to continue so to live. It is an awful thing for her so to die. But has it never occurred to you, how awful a thing the recovery of lost reason must be without the consciousness of the lapse of time? She finds the lover of her youth a grey-haired old man, and her infantsyoung men and women. Is it not sad to think of this?" As he talked to me thus, I thought of those oft-quoted lines of tenderness—

Ah me! how quick the days are flitting;I mind me of a time that's gone,When here I'd sit, as now I'm sitting,In this same place, but not alone.A fair young form was nestled near me,A dear, dear face looked fondly up,And sweetly spoke and tried to cheer me—There's no one now to share my cup!

Ah me! how quick the days are flitting;

I mind me of a time that's gone,

When here I'd sit, as now I'm sitting,

In this same place, but not alone.

A fair young form was nestled near me,

A dear, dear face looked fondly up,

And sweetly spoke and tried to cheer me—

There's no one now to share my cup!

'Thackeray left us (the Philadelphians) in the winter of 1853, and in the summer of the year was on the Continent with his daughters. In the last chapter of the "Newcomes," published in 1855, he says: "Two years ago, walking with my children in some pleasant fields near to Berne, in Switzerland, I strayed from them into a little wood; and, coming out of it, presently told them how the story had been revealed to me somehow, which, for three-and-twenty months, the reader has been pleased to follow." It was on this Swiss tour that he wrote me a kindly characteristicletter. On the back of this note is a pen-and-ink caricature, of which he was not conscious when he began to write, as on turning his paper over he alludes to "the rubbishing picture which he didn't see." The sketch is very spirited, and is evidently the original of one of his illustrations to his grotesque fairy tale of the "Rose and the Ring," written (so he told a member of my family years afterwards) while he was watching and nursing his children, who were ill during this vacation ramble.'

The last journey chronicled by Thackeray was a merry little 'Roundabout' trip over the old Netherlands ground, in which he indulged, without preparation, when overworked and suffering from the anxieties of editing the 'Cornhill Magazine;' the journal is filled in with the zest of a stolen excursion, and the writer mentionsthat no one knew where he had gone; that there was only one chance of a letter finding him to curtail the freedom he had snatched, and he goes to the post, and there, sure enough, is that summons back to the 'thorny cushion,' which abruptly cuts short the last recorded holiday jaunt of Thackeray's life. In this last little jaunt through Holland, the impressions of the author were as fresh and full of pleasant observation as in those wayside sketches noted years before.

A Centurion

Swiss Kine

On the Road

Dolce far niente

Unruly Travellers

Dutch Pictures

Off to Market

Dutch Pictures

Commencement of the 'Cornhill Magazine'—'Roundabout Papers'—'Lovel the Widower'—The 'Adventures of Philip on his Way through the World'—Lectures on the 'Four Georges'—Editorial Penalties—The 'Thorn in the Cushion'—Harass from disappointed Contributors—Vexatious Correspondents—Withdrawal from the arduous post of Editor—Building of Thackeray's House in Kensington Palace Gardens—Christmas 1863—Death of the great Novelist—The unfinished Work—Circumstances of the Author's last Illness—His death.

The great event of the last few years of Thackeray's life was the starting of the 'Cornhill Magazine,' the first number of which, with the date of January 1860, appeared shortly before Christmas in the previous year. The great success which Charles Dickens had met with in conducting his weekly periodical perhaps first suggested the project of this new monthly magazine, with Thackeray for editor. But few expected a design so bold and original as they found developed by the appearance of Number 1. The contents were by contributors of first-rate excellence; thequantity of matter in each was equal to that given by the old-established magazines published at half-a-crown, while the price of the 'Cornhill,' as everyone knows, was only a shilling. The editor's ideas on the subject of the new periodical were explained by him some weeks before the commencement in a characteristic letter to his friend, G. H. Lewes, which was afterwards adopted as the vehicle of announcing the design to the public.

The first number contained the commencement of that series of 'Roundabout Papers' in which we get so many interesting glimpses of Thackeray's personal history and feelings, and also the opening chapters of his story of 'Lovel the Widower.' The latter was originally written in the form of a comedy, entitled 'the Wolf and the Lamb,' which was intended to be performed during the management of Wigan at the Olympic Theatre, but was finally declined by the latter. Thackeray, we believe, acquiesced in the unfavourable judgment of the practical manager upon the acting qualities of his comedy, and resolved to throw it into narrative form, in the story with which his readers are now familiar. This was not the first instance of his writing for the stage. If we are not mistaken, the libretto of John Barnett's popular opera of the 'Mountain Sylph,' produced nearly forty years since, was from his pen. In the 'Cornhill' also appeared his story of 'Philip on his Way through the World.' The scenes in this are said to have been founded in great part upon his own experiences; and there can be no doubt that the adventures of Philip Firmin represent, in many respects, those of the Charterhouse boy who afterwards became known to the world as the author of 'Vanity Fair.' But in all such matters it is to be remembered that the writer of fiction feels himself at liberty to deviate from the facts of his life in any way which he finds necessary for the development of his story. Certainly the odious stepfather of Philip must not be taken for Thackeray's portrait of his own stepfather, towards whom he always entertained feelings of respect and affection.

We may also remind our readers that the 'Lectures on the Four Georges' first appeared in print in the 'Cornhill.' The sales reached by the earlier numbers were enormous, and far beyond anything ever attained by a monthly magazine; even after theusual subsidence which follows the flush of a great success, the circulation had, we believe, settled at a point far exceeding the most sanguine hopes of the projectors.

These fortunate results of the undertaking were, however, not without serious drawbacks. The editor soon discovered that his new position was in many respects an unenviable one. Friends and acquaintances, not to speak of constant readers and 'regular subscribers to your interesting magazine,' sent him bushels of manuscripts, amongst which it was rare indeed to find one that could be accepted. Sensitive poets and poetesses took umbrage at refusals, however kindly and delicately expressed. 'How can I go into society with comfort?' asked the editor of a friend at this time. 'I dined the other day at ——'s, and at the table were four gentlemen whose masterpieces of literary art I had been compelled to decline with thanks.' Not six months had elapsed before he began to complain of 'thorns' in the editorial cushion. One lady wrote to entreat that her article might be inserted, on the ground that she had known better days, and had a sick and widowed mother to maintain; others began with fine phrases about the merits and eminent genius of the person they were addressing. Some found fault with articles, and abused contributor and editor. An Irishman threatened proceedings for an implied libel in 'Lovel the Widower' upon ballet-dancers, whom he declared to be superior to the snarlings of dyspeptic libellers, or the spiteful attacks andbrutum fulmenof ephemeral authors. This gentleman also informed the editor that theatrical managers were in the habit of speaking good English, possibly better than ephemeral authors.

It was chiefly owing to these causes that Thackeray finally determined to withdraw from the editorship of the magazine, though continuing to contribute to it and take an interest in its progress. In an amusing address to contributors and correspondents, dated March 18, 1862, he made known this determination; and in the same address he announced that, while the tale of 'Philip' had been passing through the press, he had been preparing another, on which he had worked at intervals for many years past, and which he hoped to introduce in the following year.

Falling foul of the Skirts

In a pecuniary sense the 'Cornhill Magazine' had undoubtedly proved a fortunate venture for its editor. It was during his editorship that he removed from his house, No. 36 Onslow Square,in which he had resided for some years, to the more congenial neighbourhood of the Palace at Kensington, that 'Old Court Suburb' which Leigh Hunt has gossiped about so pleasantly. Thackeray took upon a long lease a somewhat dilapidated mansion, on the west side of Kensington Palace Gardens. His intention was to repair and improve it, but he finally resolved to pull it down and build another in its stead. The new house, a handsome, solid mansion of choice red brick with stone facings, was built from a design drawn by himself; and in this house he continued to reside till the time of his death. 'It was,' says Hannay, 'a dwelling worthy of one who really represented literature in the great world, and who, planting himself on his books, yet sustained the character of his profession with all the dignity of a gentleman. A friend who called on him there from Edinburgh, in the summer of 1862, knowing of old his love of the Venusian, playfully reminded him of what Horace says of those who, regardless of their sepulchre, employ themselves in building houses:

SepulchriImmemor struis domos.

Sepulchri

Immemor struis domos.

"Nay," said he, "I ammemor sepulchri, for this house will always let for so many hundreds (mentioning the sum) a year."' We may add that Thackeray was always of opinion that, notwithstanding the somewhat costly proceeding of pulling down and re-erecting, he had achieved the rare result, for a private gentleman, of building for himself a house which, regarded as an investment of a portion of his fortune, left no cause for regret.

Our narrative draws to a close. The announcement of the death of Thackeray, coming so suddenly upon us in the very midst of our great Christian festival of 1863, caused a shock which will be long remembered. His hand had been missed in the last two numbers of the 'Cornhill Magazine,' but only because he had been engaged in laying the foundation of another of those continuous works of fiction which his readers so eagerly expected. In the then current number of the 'Cornhill Magazine' the customary orange-coloured fly-leaf had announced that 'a new serial story' by him would be commenced early in the new year; but the promise had scarcely gone abroad when we learnt that the hand which had penned its opening chapters, in the full prospect of a happy ending, could never again add line or word to that long range of writings which must always remain one of the best evidences of the strength and beauty of our English speech.

On the Tuesday preceding he had followed to the grave his relative, Lady Rodd, widow of Vice-Admiral Sir John Tremayne Rodd, K.C.B., who was the daughter of Major James Rennell, F.R.S., Surveyor-General of Bengal, by the daughter of the Rev. Dr. Thackeray, Head Master of Harrow School. Only the day before this, according to a newspaper account, he had been congratulating himself on having finished four numbers of a new novel; he had the manuscript in his pocket, and with a boyish frankness showed the last pages to a friend, asking him to read them and see what he could make of them. When he had completed four numbers more he said he would subject himself to the skill of a very clever surgeon, and be no more an invalid. Only two days before he had been seen at his club in high spirits; but with all his high spirits, he did not seem well; he complained of illness; but he was often ill, and he laughed off his present attack. He said that he was about to undergo some treatment which would work a perfect cure in his system, and so he made light ofhis malady. He was suffering from two distinct complaints, one of which had now wrought his death. More than a dozen years before, while he was writing 'Pendennis,' the publication of that work was stopped by his serious illness. He was brought to death's door, and he was saved from death by Dr. Elliotson, to whom, in gratitude, he dedicated the novel when he lived to finish it. But ever since that ailment he had been subject every month or six weeks to attacks of sickness, attended with violent retching. He was congratulating himself, just before his death, on the failure of his old enemy to return, and then he checked himself, as if he ought not to be too sure of a release from his plague. On the morning of Wednesday, December 23, the complaint returned, and he was in great suffering all day. He was no, better in the evening, and his valet, Charles Sargent, left him at eleven o'clock on Wednesday night, Thackeray wishing him 'Good night' as he went out of the room. At nine o'clock on the following morning the valet, entering his master's chamber as usual, found him lying on his back quite still, with his arms spread over the coverlet; but he took no notice, as he was accustomed to see his master thus after one of his severe attacks. He brought some coffee and set it down beside the bed; and it was only when he returned after an interval, and found that the cup had not been tasted, that a sudden alarm seized him, and he discovered that his master was dead. About midnight Thackeray's mother, who slept overhead, had heard him get up and walk about the room; but she was not alarmed, as this was a habit of her son when unwell. It is supposed that he had, in fact, been seized at this time, and that the violence of the attack had brought on the effusion on the brain which, as thepost-mortemexamination showed, was the immediate cause of death. His medical attendants attributed his death to effusion on the brain, and added that he had a very large brain, weighing no less than 58½ oz.

Thus, in the full maturity of his powers, died William Makepeace Thackeray, one of the closest observers of human nature, the most kindly of English humourists; and his death has left a blank in our literature, which we, in the present generation at least, are offered no prospect of seeing filled up. To quote once more his friend Hannay's words: 'It is long since England has lost such a son; it will be long before she has such anotherto lose. He was indeed emphatically English—English as distinct from Scotch, no less than English as distinct from Continental. The highest, purest English novelist since Fielding, he combined Addison's love of virtue, with Johnson's hatred of cant; Horace Walpole's lynx eye for the mean and ridiculous, with the gentleness and wide charity for mankind, as a whole, of Goldsmith.Non omnis mortuus est.He will be remembered in his succession with these men for ages to come, as long as the hymn of praise rises in the old Abbey of Westminster, and wherever the English tongue is native to men, from the banks of the Ganges to those of the Mississippi.'

LONDON: PRINTED BYSPOTTISWOODE AND CO., NEW-STREET SQUAREAND PARLIAMENT STREET

FOOTNOTES[1]The most improbable part of this narrative, observes the historian, is, that Hannibal, in the very centre of the mountains, should have been able to obtain sufficiently large quantities of vinegar for the operations.[2]The Right Hon. Hugh Elliot, brother to Lord Minto, at that date English Minister at Dresden; he was afterwards made Governor of Madras.[3]Marcus Flaminius; or, Life of the Romans, 1795.[4]A similar story has been told of Goldsmith, which, indeed, may have suggested the pill-box remedy in the instance in the text.[5]Paris correspondent,Morning Post.[6]Both the 'new and old Bayleys' are treated to a roasting in theComic Magazine; and we get an earlier glimpse of these worthies, for whom the young writer evidently entertained but scanty respect, inFraserfor 1831, where, in the November number, Oliver Yorke is supposed to hold a levee, at which the prominent celebrities are presented to Regina's editor on various pretences—'Old Bayley, on being sent to France,' and 'Young Bayley, after Four Years in the West Indies,' on his arrival to present a copy of the 'Songs of Almack's.' This young gentleman came over to the 'London World' in a 'National Omnibus:' his appearance excited some curiosity.[7]He had certainly seen Sydney Smith. A quaint half-caricature outline sketch of the latter was contributed by 'Titmarsh' toFraser's Magazine, at an early period of his connection with that journal.[8]Edinburgh Evening Courant, Jan. 5, 1864.[9]Miscellanies, vol. iv. p. 324.[10]Letter of Edmund Yates in theBelfast Whig.[11]A somewhat similar circumstance happened during the delivery of the lectures in America, an allusion in which to 'Catherine Hayes' was warmly resented by the Irish newspapers, until the explanation arrived from Thackeray that the allusion was not to Catherine Hayes, the famous Irish singer, but to Catherine Hayes, the murderess of the last century.[12]Dr. Earle was formerly Bishop of Worcester, from which see he was translated to that of Sarum in 1663; he died at Oxford in 1665.[13]Wycherley, in a letter to Pope (May 17, 1709), writes, 'Hitherto your "Miscellanies" have safely run the gauntlet through all the coffee-houses, which are now entertained with a whimsical new newspaper called the "Tatler," which I suppose you have seen.'[14]White's Chocolate-house was then lower down St. James's Street, and on the opposite side to its present site.[15]Will's Coffee-house was on the north side of Russell Street, Covent Garden, now No. 23 Great Russell Street.[16]The 'Grecian' was in Devereux Court, Strand.[17]'Shire Lane' was also the heading of numerous papers.[18]Mr. Isaac, a famous dancing-master at that time, was a Frenchman and Roman Catholic.[19]Two urns by Jove's high throne have ever stood,The source of evil one, and one of good;From thence the cup of mortal man he fills,Blessings to those, to those distributes ills;To most he mingles both: the wretch decreedTo taste the bad, unmixed, is curst indeed;Pursu'd by wrongs, by meagre famine driven,He wanders, outcast both of earth and heaven.Pope's Hom. Il.XIV. ver. 863.[20]Arne, of Covent Garden; the father of Dr. Thomas Arne, the musician, composer, and dramatic writer, who died in 1778.[21]One who sat on my right hand, and, as I found by his discourse, had been in the West Indies, assured us 'that it would be a very easy matter for the Protestants to beat the Pope at sea;' and added, 'that whenever such a war does break out, it must turn to the good of the Leeward Isles.' Upon this, one who, as I afterwards found, was the geographer of the company, told us for our comfort 'that there were vast tracts of lands about the pole, inhabited by neither Protestants nor Papists, and of greater extent than all the Roman Catholic dominions in Europe.'[22]The gilt lion's-head letter-box, used in the publication of the 'Guardian,' and then placed in Button's coffee-house, was afterwards for many years at the Shakespeare tavern, in Covent Garden. The master of this tavern becoming insolvent, the lion's head was sold among his effects, Nov. 8, 1804, for £17 10s.[23]I have ever had a great respect for the most ingenious as well as most populous society within the liberties, namely, the authors and carvers of news, generous men! who daily retail their histories and their parts by pennyworths, and lodge high, and study nightly for the instruction of such as have the Christian charity to lay out a few farthings for these their labours, which, like rain, descend from the clouds for the benefit of the lower world.My fellow authors are all men of martial spirits, and have an ungovernable appetite for blood and mortality. As if they were the sextons of the camp, and their papers the charnel-houses, they toll thousands daily to their long home; a charitable office! but they are paid for it.[24]Nothing is so valuable as Time; and he who comes undesired to help to pass it away, might with the same civility and good sense give you to understand that he is come, out of pure love to you, with a coach-and-six and all his family, to help you to pass away your estate. To have one's hours and recesses at the mercy of visitants and intruders is arrant thraldom; and though I am an author, I farther declare I would rather pay a mere trifler half-a-crown a time than be entertained with his visits and his compliments.[25]Author of 'Fables for the Female Sex;' he probably approached the nearest of all Gay's imitators to the excellences of that poet. Moore also wrote successfully for the stage. He was the author of the comedies of the 'Foundling' and 'Gil Blas,' and of the famous tragedy of the 'Gamester.'[26]Alluding to the country custom of gathering May-dew.[27]The plate garlands of London.[28]The characteristics printed in italics belong to George Colman.[29]The orator's epistle is in reality couched in violent and opprobrious language; and No. 70 is equally abusive and uncomplimentary to Mr. Town. The communications of both of the reverend gentlemen pertain to the bellicose order, and threaten breaches of the peace.[30]Dr. Johnson seems here to point his homily from the instance of his friend Goldsmith. This circumstance gives an individual interest to a slightly ponderous sketch.[31]North British Review, vol. xl., Feb. 1864.

[1]The most improbable part of this narrative, observes the historian, is, that Hannibal, in the very centre of the mountains, should have been able to obtain sufficiently large quantities of vinegar for the operations.

[2]The Right Hon. Hugh Elliot, brother to Lord Minto, at that date English Minister at Dresden; he was afterwards made Governor of Madras.

[3]Marcus Flaminius; or, Life of the Romans, 1795.

[4]A similar story has been told of Goldsmith, which, indeed, may have suggested the pill-box remedy in the instance in the text.

[5]Paris correspondent,Morning Post.

[6]Both the 'new and old Bayleys' are treated to a roasting in theComic Magazine; and we get an earlier glimpse of these worthies, for whom the young writer evidently entertained but scanty respect, inFraserfor 1831, where, in the November number, Oliver Yorke is supposed to hold a levee, at which the prominent celebrities are presented to Regina's editor on various pretences—'Old Bayley, on being sent to France,' and 'Young Bayley, after Four Years in the West Indies,' on his arrival to present a copy of the 'Songs of Almack's.' This young gentleman came over to the 'London World' in a 'National Omnibus:' his appearance excited some curiosity.

[7]He had certainly seen Sydney Smith. A quaint half-caricature outline sketch of the latter was contributed by 'Titmarsh' toFraser's Magazine, at an early period of his connection with that journal.

[8]Edinburgh Evening Courant, Jan. 5, 1864.

[9]Miscellanies, vol. iv. p. 324.

[10]Letter of Edmund Yates in theBelfast Whig.

[11]A somewhat similar circumstance happened during the delivery of the lectures in America, an allusion in which to 'Catherine Hayes' was warmly resented by the Irish newspapers, until the explanation arrived from Thackeray that the allusion was not to Catherine Hayes, the famous Irish singer, but to Catherine Hayes, the murderess of the last century.

[12]Dr. Earle was formerly Bishop of Worcester, from which see he was translated to that of Sarum in 1663; he died at Oxford in 1665.

[13]Wycherley, in a letter to Pope (May 17, 1709), writes, 'Hitherto your "Miscellanies" have safely run the gauntlet through all the coffee-houses, which are now entertained with a whimsical new newspaper called the "Tatler," which I suppose you have seen.'

[14]White's Chocolate-house was then lower down St. James's Street, and on the opposite side to its present site.

[15]Will's Coffee-house was on the north side of Russell Street, Covent Garden, now No. 23 Great Russell Street.

[16]The 'Grecian' was in Devereux Court, Strand.

[17]'Shire Lane' was also the heading of numerous papers.

[18]Mr. Isaac, a famous dancing-master at that time, was a Frenchman and Roman Catholic.

[19]

Two urns by Jove's high throne have ever stood,The source of evil one, and one of good;From thence the cup of mortal man he fills,Blessings to those, to those distributes ills;To most he mingles both: the wretch decreedTo taste the bad, unmixed, is curst indeed;Pursu'd by wrongs, by meagre famine driven,He wanders, outcast both of earth and heaven.Pope's Hom. Il.XIV. ver. 863.

Two urns by Jove's high throne have ever stood,

The source of evil one, and one of good;

From thence the cup of mortal man he fills,

Blessings to those, to those distributes ills;

To most he mingles both: the wretch decreed

To taste the bad, unmixed, is curst indeed;

Pursu'd by wrongs, by meagre famine driven,

He wanders, outcast both of earth and heaven.

Pope's Hom. Il.XIV. ver. 863.

[20]Arne, of Covent Garden; the father of Dr. Thomas Arne, the musician, composer, and dramatic writer, who died in 1778.

[21]One who sat on my right hand, and, as I found by his discourse, had been in the West Indies, assured us 'that it would be a very easy matter for the Protestants to beat the Pope at sea;' and added, 'that whenever such a war does break out, it must turn to the good of the Leeward Isles.' Upon this, one who, as I afterwards found, was the geographer of the company, told us for our comfort 'that there were vast tracts of lands about the pole, inhabited by neither Protestants nor Papists, and of greater extent than all the Roman Catholic dominions in Europe.'

[22]The gilt lion's-head letter-box, used in the publication of the 'Guardian,' and then placed in Button's coffee-house, was afterwards for many years at the Shakespeare tavern, in Covent Garden. The master of this tavern becoming insolvent, the lion's head was sold among his effects, Nov. 8, 1804, for £17 10s.

[23]I have ever had a great respect for the most ingenious as well as most populous society within the liberties, namely, the authors and carvers of news, generous men! who daily retail their histories and their parts by pennyworths, and lodge high, and study nightly for the instruction of such as have the Christian charity to lay out a few farthings for these their labours, which, like rain, descend from the clouds for the benefit of the lower world.

My fellow authors are all men of martial spirits, and have an ungovernable appetite for blood and mortality. As if they were the sextons of the camp, and their papers the charnel-houses, they toll thousands daily to their long home; a charitable office! but they are paid for it.

[24]Nothing is so valuable as Time; and he who comes undesired to help to pass it away, might with the same civility and good sense give you to understand that he is come, out of pure love to you, with a coach-and-six and all his family, to help you to pass away your estate. To have one's hours and recesses at the mercy of visitants and intruders is arrant thraldom; and though I am an author, I farther declare I would rather pay a mere trifler half-a-crown a time than be entertained with his visits and his compliments.

[25]Author of 'Fables for the Female Sex;' he probably approached the nearest of all Gay's imitators to the excellences of that poet. Moore also wrote successfully for the stage. He was the author of the comedies of the 'Foundling' and 'Gil Blas,' and of the famous tragedy of the 'Gamester.'

[26]Alluding to the country custom of gathering May-dew.

[27]The plate garlands of London.

[28]The characteristics printed in italics belong to George Colman.

[29]The orator's epistle is in reality couched in violent and opprobrious language; and No. 70 is equally abusive and uncomplimentary to Mr. Town. The communications of both of the reverend gentlemen pertain to the bellicose order, and threaten breaches of the peace.

[30]Dr. Johnson seems here to point his homily from the instance of his friend Goldsmith. This circumstance gives an individual interest to a slightly ponderous sketch.

[31]North British Review, vol. xl., Feb. 1864.

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