inions differ as to the greatness of Thackeray
and the value of his books. Some regard him as the greatest novelist of
his age and country and as one of the greatest of any country and any
age. These hold him to be not less sound a moralist than excellent as a
writer, not less magnificently creative than usefully and delightfully
cynical, not less powerful and complete a painter of manners than
infallible as a social philosopher and incomparable as a lecturer on the
human heart. They accept Amelia Sedley for a very woman; they believe in
Colonel Newcome--'by _Don Quixote_ out of _Little Nell_'--as in something
venerable and heroic; they regard William Dobbin and 'Stunning'
Warrington as finished and subtle portraitures; they think Becky Sharp an
improvement upon Mme. Marneffe and Wenham better work than Rigby; they
are in love with Laura Bell, and refuse to see either cruelty or
caricature in their poet's presentment of Alcide de Mirobolant.
Thackeray's fun, Thackeray's wisdom, Thackeray's knowledge of men and
women, Thackeray's morality, Thackeray's view of life, 'his wit and
humour, his pathos, and his umbrella,' are all articles of belief with
them. Of Dickens they will not hear; Balzac they incline to despise; if
they make any comparison between Thackeray and Fielding, or Thackeray and
Richardson, or Thackeray and Sir Walter, or Thackeray and Disraeli, it is
to the disadvantage of Disraeli and Scott and Richardson and Fielding.
All these were well enough in their way and day; but they are not to be
classed with Thackeray. It is said, no doubt, that Thackeray could
neither make stories nor tell them; but he liked stories for all that,
and by the hour could babble charmingly of _Ivanhoe_ and the
_Mousquetaires_. It is possible that he was afraid of passion, and had
no manner of interest in crime. But then, how hard he bore upon snobs,
and how vigorously he lashed the smaller vices and the meaner faults! It
may be beyond dispute that he was seldom good at romance, and saw most
things--art and nature included--rather prosaically and ill-naturedly, as
he might see them who has been for many years a failure, and is naturally
a little resentful of other men's successes; but then, how brilliant are
his studies of club humanity and club manners! how thoroughly he
understands the feelings of them that go down into the West in broughams!
If he writes by preference for people with a thousand a year, is it not
the duty of