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to the literary associations of the Temple, for he peopled it with his characters. Therein Pendennis shared chambers with George Warrington Lamb Court, and Timmins, who gave the "Little Dinner" his creator has so graphically described, went every day to Fig Tree Court; while Pump Court housed the Hon. Algernon Percy Deuceace and Mr. Richard Blewitt, who were barristers officially, but who lived on their wits in preference to pursuing their profession. It was the prototypes of these last two gentlemen who in

was kept by Mrs. Bolton and her pretty daughter Fanny. Captain Costigan and Mr. Bows lived on the third floor of No. 4, and to them once came Lady Mirabel, the daughter of the captain, and professionally known as Emily Fotheringay, the beloved of Arthur Pendennis in his nonage. Next door, for a while, resided Colonel Altamont and Captain the Chevalier Edward Strong. It was there that Mrs. Bonner recognized Altamont as the ex

convict Amory, and Blanche Amory, of "Mes Larmes" fame, met her father for the first time for many

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It is some little way from Clement's Inn to Furnival's Inn, which place is historic as having witnessed the first meeting of Dickens and Thackeray. Dickens at the time was writing "Pickwick," and he wanted in great haste an artist to take the place of Buss, the successor of Robert Seymour, as illustrator of the novel. Thackeray, who had been studying art at Paris, called upon Dickens with two or three drawings, which did not impress the author, and so he retired, dejected. Ever after, Thackeray humorously persisted in referring to the rejection of his offer as "Mr. Pickwick's lucky escape." Not far from Furnival's Inn was Newgate Prison, where Thackeray, who had desired (and failed) to be present at the execution at Paris of Fieschi and Lacénaire, went, in 1840, with Richard Monckton Milnes to see the hanging of Courvoisier, the murderer of Lord William Russell. The scene made a deep impression on him. "I confess, for my part," he wrote, "to that common cant and sickly sentimentality, which, thank God! is felt by a great num

Drawn by Ernest Wall-Cousins BRICK COURT, TEMPLE

veigled Thackeray as a young man into card-playing, and eased him, then a most gullible pigeon, of fifteen hundred pounds. Once, at Spa, Thackeray pointed out a man to Sir Theodore Martin. "That," he said, "was the original of my Deuceace. I have not seen him since the day he drove me down in his cabriolet to my brokers in the City, where I sold out my patrimony, and handed it over to him. Poor devil!" he added, "my money does not seem to have thriven with him!"

Thackeray was not content to annex only the Temple, but he spread his net wide and captured Shepherd's Inn, which may have been Clement's Inn. There the gate

ber of people nowadays, and which leads them to revolt against murder, whether performed by a ruffian's knife or a hangman's rope; whether accompanied by a curse from the thief as he blows his victim's brains out, or a prayer from my lord on the bench in his wig and black cap." Later, he expressed the opinion that he was wrong, and declared that his feelings were overwrought at the time of writing. "These murderers," he said, "are such devils, after all." But when invited to attend another hanging, "Seeing one man hanged is quite enough in the course of a life," he replied. "J'y ai été,' as the Frenchman said of hunting."

Though, after he abandoned the law, Thackeray came to London to edit the "National Standard," he did not again settle in the metropolis until the spring of 1837, when he was summoned to take command of his stepfather's newspaper venture, "The Constitutional," which occupied most of his time until July 1, when it ceased to appear. Thackeray was now married, and he and his wife, after a brief stay with Major and Mrs. Carmichael Smyth at No. 18 Albion Street, Hyde Park, took a house in the old-fashioned quarter of Bloomsbury, No. 13 Great Coram Street, in which resided their friends John Leech and John (afterward Archdeacon) Allen, the prototype of Dobbin. Bloomsbury figures largely in Thackeray's writings. In Great Coram Street lived Mr. Todd, the junior partner in the firm of Osborne & Todd: old Osborne lived a few minutes away in the more expensive Russell Square, close by his dear friend Sedley, the father of Jos and Emmy, with whom he remained on the best of terms until Sedley became bankrupt. Mr. and Mrs. Samuel Hoggarty lived in Lamb's Conduit Street, which abuts upon the forecourt of the Foundling Hospital, where Osborne erected a monument to his unforgiven son: "Sacred to the memory of George Osborne, Junior, Esq., late a Captain in His Majesty's -th regiment of foot, who fell on the 18th of June, 1815, aged 28 years, while fighting for his king and country in the glorious victory of Waterloo. Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori." The list might be greatly extended, but farewell must be taken of Bloomsbury after the bare mention that not far away was the British

Museum, where Thackeray often worked. There, in 1858, Motley found him writing the ninth number of "The Virginians. "He took off his spectacles to see who I was, then immediately invited me to dinner the next day (as he seems always to do, every one he meets), which invitation I could not accept," the historian has recorded; "and he then showed me the page he had been writing, a small, delicate, legible manuscript. After that, we continued our studies."

When Thackeray's home was broken up by his wife's illness, he became, until his children were old enough to live with him, a man about town, and, to some extent, a Bohemian. He belonged to the Garrick and Reform clubs, and later was elected to the Athenæum, and he used and delighted in them all. In his earlier years especially he loved the Garrick, and it was there he made the acquaintance of Andrew Arcedeckne, a gentleman who unconsciously sat for Foker in "Pendennis." The portrait is like to have been lifelike, but Arcedeckne naturally was not pleased, and he waited patiently for a chance to score off Thackeray. After the first lecture on "The English Humourists of the Eighteenth Century," when Foker, who had been present, found Thackeray in the smoking-room of the club, receiving congratulations from a group of friends and acquaintances, "Brayvo! Thack, me

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boy!" he cried enthusiastically. "Uncommon good show! . . . But it 'll never go without a pianner!"

The Reform Club has made its contribution to "The Book of Snobs" and "Mr. Brown's Letters to a Young Man about Town," and on the wall of the Strangers' Room hangs in the place of honor Laurence's well-known portrait of the novelist. Looking at the menu in the coffee-room of the Reform one day, Thackeray noticed that among the dishes for dinner was "beans and bacon," which he dearly. loved. He was engaged to dine with a distinguished person that evening, but he could not resist "beans and bacon." After a struggle between duty and inclination, which ended as most such struggles do, he sat down and wrote to his host that he deeply regretted having to break his engagement, but he had just met an old friend whom he had not seen for years, and he must beg to be excused.

Another story may be given as a companion to this. More than once the novelist was seen going east at an hour of the day when all the world was moving westward for dinner, and a friend of his, whose curi

Coffee House, with all possible secrecy short of disguise, whenever I thought a good dinner and a bottle by myself would do me good."

All these clubs are still in existence, and it is perhaps more interesting to dwell on the haunts, since demolished, which Thackeray frequented in the days when he was living en garçon, first in Jermyn Street, and then at No. 88 St. James's Street, opposite St. James's Palace. In

some respects Thackeray's tastes were simple, and he found pleasure in the fare provided by such places, forerunners of the music-halls of to-day, as the "Cyder Cellars," the "Coal Hole," and "Evans's late Joy's," as the punning inscription on the lamp ran. The "Coal Hole," off the Strand, on the site now occupied by by Terry's Theater, was the least popular of these; but the "Cyder Cellars," not far away in Maiden Lane, next to the stage-door of the Adelphi Theater, was a rendezvous for the contributors to "Fraser's Magazine." There Ross, the comedian, sang his famous song, "Sam Hall," the chant of a blasphemous chimneysweep, who was to be hanged for murder the next morning. The "Cyder Cellars" was the original of the "Back Kitchen," where George Warrington took Arthur Pendennis, and introduced him to the habitués. There is in "Pendennis" a graphic description of the company frequenting the "Cyder Cellars."

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Drawn by Frederick Gardner

COLONEL NEWCOME

osity was aroused, "stalked" him one evening, and found that he made his way to the Gray's Inn Coffee House, where he dined in solitary state. Cordy Jeaffreson was the man who followed him, and years after he made his confession. "Ah! that was when I was drinking the last of that wonderful bin of port," Thackeray laughed and explained. "It was wine. There were only two dozen bottles when I came upon the remains of that bin, and I forthwith bargained with mine host to keep them for me. I drank every bottle and every drop myself. I shared never a bottle with living man; and so long as the wine lasted, I slipped off to the Gray's Inn

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Healthy country tradesmen and farmers, in London for their business, came and recreated themselves with the jolly singing and suppers of the Back Kitchen,-squads of young apprentices and assistants, the shutters being closed over the scenes of their labours, came hither, for fresh air doubtless,-rakish young medical students, gallant, dashing, what is called "loudly" dressed,

and (must it be owned?) somewhat dirty, were here smoking and drinking, and vociferously applauding the songs;-young_university bucks were to be found here, too, with that indescribable genteel simper which is only learned at the knees of Alma Mater; --and handsome young guardsmen, and florid bucks from the St. James's Street clubs;--nay, senators English and Irish; and even members of the House of Peers.

At these places, over his gin and water, Thackeray listened to the songs that in the early days, when he was about the town, were too often of the equivocal nature that provoked Colonel Newcome's onslaught when that soldier took Clive to the "Cave of Harmony" (i.e., "Evans's") "to see the wits," and was so unfortunate as to hear one of drunken Captain Costigan's ribald songs. The colonel expressed his opinion of the song, the captain, and the company in his own frank and virile manner, and, before he left, "that uplifted cane of the colonel's had somehow fallen on the back of every man in the room." Perhaps within Thackeray's knowledge, perhaps even when he was present, some such incident had occurred. The songs were not all indecent, and the objectionable items became fewer and fewer as the years passed, and the thirties became the forties, and the forties became the fifties. But by this time Thackeray had lost his way to Bohemia, though to the end of his days he maintained that Prague was the most picturesque city in the world.

In later days Thackeray met James Russell Lowell outside "Evans's," and he looked so ill that the poet asked what was the matter. "Come inside, and I'll tell you all about it," said Thackeray. They entered and sat down in a quiet corner. "I have killed the colonel," said Thackeray; and, drawing from his pocket some pages of manuscript, he read the chapter in which the death of Thomas Newcome is described. The novelist was much affected as he read, and when he had finished the tears ran down his face.

In the summer of 1846, Thackeray's daughters came to live with him, and he took a house in Kensington, No. 13 (now 16) Young Street, where he remained for seven years. The two semi-towerlike embrasures delighted him, and he declared that they gave it the air of a feudal cas

LXXXII-40

tle. "I'll have a flagstaff put over the coping of the wall," he said laughingly, "and I'll hoist a standard when I 'm at home." It was in this house that he wrote "Vanity Fair," "Pendennis," and "Henry Esmond." "Down on your knees, you rascal," he exclaimed mock-heroically years later when passing the house in company with J. T. Fields, "for here 'Vanity Fair' was penned. And I will go down with you, for I have a high opinion of that little production myself." When he returned from his first visit to the United States, Thackeray removed to No. 36 Onslow Square, Brompton; but early in 1862 he returned to his favorite Kensington, and bought an old house, No. 2 Palace Green, close by the royal palace, and facing the fine old park, with its magnificent trees. He pulled down the old building, and erected, in the style of Queen Anne, "the reddest house in all the town,' as he described it to his American friends, the Baxters. "Upon my word," he said enthusiastically, gazing upon the new structure, "it is one of the nicest houses I have ever seen. It was there that, on the Christmas eve of 1863, he passed away.

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There have been many changes in London since Thackeray lived. Soho has become more and more squalid. Bloomsbury has become a vast boarding-house, and the Baker Street region (which Thackeray always hated) has become more and more genteel, such fashion as was there having moved westward. St. James's has not greatly altered since Thackeray resided there, though the house in which he had stayed has been rebuilt; but the smaller streets are very much as they were in the days when Major Pendennis had chambers in Bury Street, and Colonel Newcome and James Binnie, before migrating to Fitzroy Square, put up at Nerot's Hotel in King Street. Mayfair has changed not at all, and it is still the most aristocratic area in the world. At one time or another Thackcray lived on every side of this small district, yet never in it, though it is the Thackeray district par excellence. Within it resided innumerable characters of his creation. In Bond Street, its eastern boundary, once for a while lodged Harry Warrington, the "Fortunate Youth" of "The Virginians"; in Park Lane, its western boundary, Sir Brian Newcome lived, not far from the house occupied by Miss

Crawley, the aunt of Rawdon Crawley and the patroness of Becky Sharp. The family mansion of the Crawleys was in Great Gaunt Street. "Having passed through Shiverly Square into Great Gaunt Street, the carriage at length stopped at a tall, gloomy house between two other tall gloomy houses, each with the hatchment over the middle drawing-room window, as is the custom of houses in Great Gaunt Street, in which gloomy locality death seems to reign perpetual," -thus runs the passage in "Vanity Fair" describing Becky's arrival at Sir Peter Crawley's, when she went to take up her engagement as governess to his daughters. Leading out of Great Gaunt Street is Gaunt Square, one side of which is occupied by Gaunt House, the residence of the Most Honorable George Gustavus, Marquis of Steyne. Gaunt Square is the aristocratic Berkeley Square, and the private palace that suggested Gaunt House to Thackeray stands to-day as it did when he described it, though now, as then, all that can be seen

of it is the vast wall in front, and over the wall the garret and bedroom windows and the chimneys.

Not far away, and in the heart of Mayfair, is Curzon Street, where at No. 201 lived for a while the Honorable Frederick Deuceace. When that gentleman absconded, Raggles, once Miss Crawley's butler, purchased the house and furniture, and let it to Colonel and Mrs. Rawdon Crawley. There Lord Steyne became a constant visitor, and there he was thrashed by Rawdon, who, with all his faults, was not un mari complaisant. "He struck the peer twice over the face with his open hand, and flung him bleeding to the ground. It was all done before Rebecca could interpose. She stood there trembling before him. She admired her husband, strong, brave, and victorious." This is the finest scene in "Vanity Fair"; it is, indeed, one of the most magnificent scenes in any novel. "When I wrote that scene," Thackeray remarked, "I slapped my fist on the table, and said, "That is a stroke of genius.'"

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