the method--the secret so to say--of
Rubens; and then goes on to lament the impotence of his own hand, the
"pitiful niggling," that cannot reproduce the bold sweep of Ruben's
brush.

Thackeray was like Theophile Gautier, who began life as a painter, and
who has left to posterity a wonderful etching of his own portrait, pale,
romantic, with long sweeping moustache, and hair falling over his
shoulders. Both writers found their knowledge of the technique of
painting useful in making their appreciation of art and nature more keen
and versatile. But Mr. Thackeray's powers had another field--he really
did succeed in illustrating some of his own writings. Accomplished his
style never was. There was a trace of the old school of caricature in
the large noses and thin legs which he gave his figures. Nor was his
drawing very correct; the thin legs of the heroes of "The Virginians" are
often strangely contorted. He has even placed a thumb on the wrong side
of a hand! For all that, he gave to many of his own characters a visible
embodiment, which another artist would have missed. Mr. Frederick
Walker, for instance, drew Philip Firmin admirably--a large, rough man,
with a serious and rather worn face, and a huge blonde beard. Mr.
Walker's Philip has probably become the Philip of many readers, but he
was not Mr. Thackeray's. It is delightful to be sure, on the other hand,
that we have the author's own Captain Costigan before us, in his habit as
he lived--the unshaven chin, the battered hat, the high stock, the blue
cloak, the whiskeyfied stare, and the swagger. Mr. Thackeray did not do
his young men well. Arthur Pendennis is only himself as he sits with
Warrington over a morning paper; in his white hat and black band at the
Derby, he has not the air of a gentleman. Harry Foker is either a coarse
exaggeration, or the modern types of Fokers have improved in demeanour on
the great prototype. But Costigan is always perfect; and the nose and
wig of Major Pendennis are ideally correct. In his drawings of women,
Mr. Thackeray very much confined himself to two types. There was the
dark-eyed, brown-haired, bright-complexioned girl who was his
favourite--Laura, Betsinda, Amelia; and the blonde, ringletted, clever,
and false girl--Becky, Blanche, Angelica, who was the favourite of the
reader. He did not always succeed in making them pretty, though there is
a beautiful head of Amelia, in a court dance at Pumpernickel; but he
alwa