a barnetcy; but the primmier
being of low igstraction, natrally stikles for his horder." And the
letter is signed "Fitzjames De la Pluche." Then follows his diary,
beginning with a description of the way in which he rushed into
_Punch's_ office, declaring his misfortunes, when losses had come upon
him. "I wish to be paid for my contribewtions to your paper.
Suckmstances is altered with me." Whereupon he gets a cheque upon
Messrs. Pump and Aldgate, and has himself carried away to new
speculations. He leaves his diary behind him, and _Punch_
surreptitiously publishes it. There is much in the diary which comes
from Thackeray's very heart. Who does not remember his indignation
against Lord Bareacres? "I gave the old humbug a few shares out of my
own pocket. 'There, old Pride,' says I, 'I like to see you down on your
knees to a footman. There, old Pomposity! Take fifty pounds. I like to
see you come cringing and begging for it!' Whenever I see him in a very
public place, I take my change for my money. I digg him in the ribbs, or
clap his padded old shoulders. I call him 'Bareacres, my old brick,' and
I see him wince. It does my 'art good." It does Thackeray's heart good
to pour himself out in indignation against some imaginary Bareacres. He
blows off his steam with such an eagerness that he forgets for a time,
or nearly forgets, his cacography. Then there are "Jeames on Time
Bargings," "Jeames on the Gauge Question," "Mr. Jeames again." Of all
our author's heroes Jeames is perhaps the most amusing. There is not
much in that joke of bad spelling, and we should have been inclined to
say beforehand, that Mrs. Malaprop had done it so well and so
sufficiently, that no repetition of it would be received with great
favour. Like other dishes, it depends upon the cooking. Jeames, with his
"suckmstances," high or low, will be immortal.

There were _The Travels in London_, a long series of them; and then
_Punch's Prize Novelists_, in which Thackeray imitates the language and
plots of Bulwer, Disraeli, Charles Lever, G. P. R. James, Mrs. Gore, and
Cooper, the American. They are all excellent; perhaps Codlingsby is the
best. Mendoza, when he is fighting with the bargeman, or drinking with
Codlingsby, or receiving Louis Philippe in his rooms, seems to have come
direct from the pen of our Premier. Phil Fogerty's jump, and the younger
and the elder horsemen, as they come riding into the story, one in his
armour and the other with his feath