THE

CORNHILL MAGAZINE,

JULY 1911.

WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY.

'July 18, THACKERAY b. 1811.'

АH! what a world the words bring back—
Those bald words in the Almanack!

Once more they come from days long fled-
The towering form, the grand white head;
The upturned look that seems to scent

The paltry and the fraudulent;

The kind eyes that too soon confess
Their sympathy with wretchedness;

Nor only these, but all the train
That issued from that teeming brain.

Trooping they enter, one by one,
Distinct and vivid, strangers none;
Nay-if that can be better known
Than mortal kinsfolk of our own:
'Becky,' 'Amelia,'' Dobbin,' 'Jos,'
'Pendennis,' 'Warrington' and 'Cos '-
Cos' with his 'oi'-Pen's uncle too,
'Florac,' the Colonel, 'Ethel,' 'Kew,'
"Trix' and her mother, and not less,
That later Trix'-the Baroness,

VOL. XXXI.-NO. 181. N.S.

1

'Esmond' of course, and 'George,' and 'Harry ';
The rogues and rascals- Deuceace,'' Barry,'
Evil or good, none immature,

From Yellowplush' to 'Barbazure';
None dimly seen or half-achieved,
Or drawn too vague to be believed;
But each, however small the rôle,
A thing complete, a finished whole.

These are no puppets, smartly drest,
But jerked by strings too manifest;
No dummies wearing surface skin
Without organic frame within;
Nor do they deal in words and looks
Found only in the story-books.

No! for these beings use their brains,
Have pulse and vigour in their veins;
They move, they act; they take and give
E'en as the master wills; they live-
Live to the limit of their scope,

Their anger, pleasure, terror, hope.

Because he touched the flaw in all,
There were who called him cynical;
Because his mood to pity leant,
They styled it mawkish sentiment;
Because disdaining to make light
Of wrong by treating it as right-
He probed the wound he saw exist,
They dubbed him heartless satirist!

We have reversed all that to-day:
We know him better-or we may.
We know he strove by ridicule
To shame the hypocrite and fool;
We know, alike in age and youth,
He sought unshrinkingly for truth;
Made of no smallest virtue sport;
Loved honesty and good report;

From a

WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY

(AGED 52)