man of fine proportions, with coal black hair; large luminous eyes, shining like black moons in the firmament of his handsome face. He is a polished gentleman, a successful lawyer, a respectable but not a profound statesman. He caught the filibuster fever at Washington, but the sea air and the climate of Spain have proved a most effectual cure, for he broke out in court dress there, so that the nation understands the diagnosis of his disease.

WM. THACKERAY.

I HAVE just sharpened my pencil, I wish I could sharpen my wit as easily. Now I will fold my paper, then my arms, and wait patiently for the speaker. There he comes; that grey-haired man, who approaches the desk, must be the lecturer. No, that is the sexton, who mounts the platform to light the candles. There goes a silver-haired man toward the organ; I am told Thackeray is prematurely grey-that must be him. Pshaw, that's the organist! That's him, the tall, rosy, robust man, whose face is so much younger than his head, it looks like a rose under a snow-ball. The aristocracy of Boston are present, and they cheer the lecturer faintly, for kid gloves and thin boots render it impossible to create a real rackety, thackery, thundering welcome; besides it is vulgar to allow one's heart to throb so rapturously as to reach to one's feet and fingers.

There stands the great satirist, the inimitable humorist, the famous novelist. He can crush a humbug and scare the blue devils from the town, as easily as a farmer can frighten the crows from his corn-field. Thackeray is a great man, and there is a good deal of him. He must be upwards of six feet in height, for he towers up above common men as the Alps tower above common mountains, and like the Alps he is crowned with snow. He has a wide forehead of respectable height; eyebrows, handsomely arched and neatly pencilled; fat English cheeks (such as roast beef, plum pudding, and pure air can make); a pair of unfrosted whiskers (that appear in the distance like an inch and a half of mousecolored moss, under his ears); heavy aristocratic chin and finely chiselled mouth. A low black stock hugs a linen collar, too lazy to stand erect his shirt bosom is unjewelled (real gentlemen in Europe are never bedizened with jewelry), a plain watch guard, terminating in a cross of gold which leans against his dark vest, is all the ornament that is visible on his person. See what a free and easy, I may add, indolent, way he has of leaning on the desk, and lolling from side to side; then his hearty, healthy face, lit up with eyes that gleam through golden spectacles, seems to say, "How-de-do, Jonathan you have given me a generous welcome; you are not a fair weather friend, for the inclement skies and the streets of mire and clay have not detained you at home."

It is not enthusiasm, nor a propensity to over-estimate the worth of Mr. Thackeray, that induces me to say the lecture to which I now listen is one of the most interesting and instruc

tive lectures I have heard. He has a clear voice, and reads right on with little gesture. The sly satire, and sharp jest, do not stumble at the red threshold of his mouth, but come forth gracefully as though used to the way. Those who do not wish to have the skeletons of their character rattle in the winds at the cross-roads, must take heed and not fall into the hands of Thackeray, for he has the power to gibbet men so high the whole world can gaze at the victims. No one however, need be afraid of him, unless he be a quack, a humbug, or a tyrant, for he has a heart brimful of pity and running over with pathos. He is so far in advance of the age, not a few old fogies who would like to admire him, because he is endorsed by the first men in Europe, dare not, for reasons best known to themselves.

As for the juvenile criticism elicited by his lectures, it reminds one of a giant running the gauntlet between rows of Liliputians. Shoot away, ye grass-hoppers, armed with popguns. Don't be afraid, the grand jury will never indict you for murder, for you cannot kill, and if you could you are not accountable.

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Every person in the Melodeon fell in love with Steele, when the speaker, in his own peculiar manner, said he was a black-eyed, soft-hearted, Irish boy," and their affection for him did not wane the least when he continued, "he was a lazy, good-natured, generous, good for nothing, talented boy, fond of lolly-pop, had an early taste for sack, and the gift to borrow money of his school-mates" (I do not quote verbatim). The speaker here introduced a brief history of his own

experience at school. Said he had seen many great men, but none so great as the head boy at school; and when he had met such in after years, he was astonished to find them not more than six feet tall, and was surprised they had not become prime ministers. He said, Addison was head boy at the school Steele attended.

Mr. Thackeray was exceedingly happy in his description of Steele as a soldier, "when he became deep in debt and deep in drink." Steele was not a teetotaller, for after he had become a Minister, and after he had written the “Christian Hero," he would put on his wig, cap, and laced coat, kiss his wife and children, tell a lie to them about his pressing engagements, and heeler over to the "Rose,” and have a jollification with his bottle companions. Addison was willing to assist him, but found it impossible to keep the tipsy man upon his legs. Steele deserved the admiration and affection of woman, for he was the first of that age to appreciate her worth. Swift and Addison were ungallant, but Steele set a proper estimate upon woman. He dedicated one of his books to his wife, and in the four hundred letters written to her, manifested the traits of true love. He was married twice and outlived his wife, his fortune, and his health.

The above is a very imperfect sketch of the lecture, dashed off in a crowd, with my hat for a writing desk. Thackeray seems blest with an intuitive perception for distinguishing the difference between what things are and what they ought to be. "The world is a stage" and men are players, but he has a box to himself, and an opera glass with clear lens. There

he sits, weeping at the tragedy and laughing at the comedy of life.

He has a profound insight into human nature, and knows exactly how far to go and precisely the place to stop at, when he vibrates between the sublime and the ridiculous. His wit is refined and effectual, because it is based on the detection of unlooked-for resemblance or dissimilarity of ideas, rather than words. He is not like Falstaff, who in a double sense made a butt of himself, first by swallowing so much sack, secondly by his frequent allusions to himself. There is good sense, and practical wisdom, elevation, and enthusiasm in the wit of Thackeray, and however sharp may be the sting, there certainly is no spleen in his satire. His forte lies in describing the characters of men, their modes of dress, their peculiar gestures, their different humors, their singular manners, their style of speaking and writing. He amuses by his coincidences and contradictions, he surprises by his comparisons and combinations. His lectures are not darned and patched with epigrams, quips, quirks, and conundrums. There is no leaving of the high way of his discourse for the purpose of lugging in a metaphor to enliven it. All the figures rise up naturally out of the subject, as blossoms break out under the genial sunshine of Spring. Mr. Thackeray's visit to this city will brush the dust from the old classic authors who have been shamefully slighted for several years past in this country, while the masses have been satisfied with the lollypop literature of the present age. No offence to the bookmakers, for my enemies can say, that I too have written a book.