Thackeray | Page 9

been domiciled with a lady with whom she has
been happy. Thus she was, after but a few years of married life, taken
away from him, and he became as it were a widower till the end of his
days.
At this period, and indeed for some years after his marriage, his chief
literary dependence was on Fraser's Magazine. He wrote also at this
time in the New Monthly Magazine. In 1840 he brought out his Paris
Sketch Book, as to which he tells us by a notice printed with the first
edition, that half of the sketches had already been published in various
periodicals. Here he used the name Michael Angelo Titmarsh, as he did
also with the Journey from Cornhill to Cairo. Dickens had called
himself Boz, and clung to the name with persistency as long as the
public would permit it. Thackeray's affection for assumed names was
more intermittent, though I doubt whether he used his own name
altogether till it appeared on the title-page of Vanity Fair. About this
time began his connection with Punch, in which much of his best work
appeared. Looking back at our old friend as he used to come out from
week to week at this time, we can hardly boast that we used to
recognise how good the literary pabulum was that was then given for
our consumption. We have to admit that the ordinary reader, as the
ordinary picture-seer, requires to be guided by a name. We are moved
to absolute admiration by a Raphael or a Hobbema, but hardly till we
have learned the name of the painter, or, at any rate, the manner of his
painting. I am not sure that all lovers of poetry would recognise a
Lycidas coming from some hitherto unknown Milton. Gradually the
good picture or the fine poem makes its way into the minds of a slowly
discerning public. Punch, no doubt, became very popular, owing,
perhaps, more to Leech, its artist, than to any other single person.
Gradually the world of readers began to know that there was a
speciality of humour to be found in its pages,--fun and sense, satire and
good humour, compressed together in small literary morsels as the

nature of its columns required. Gradually the name of Thackeray as one
of the band of brethren was buzzed about, and gradually became known
as that of the chief of the literary brothers. But during the years in
which he did much for Punch, say from 1843 to 1853, he was still
struggling to make good his footing in literature. They knew him well
in the Punch office, and no doubt the amount and regularity of the
cheques from Messrs. Bradbury and Evans, the then and still owners of
that happy periodical, made him aware that he had found for himself a
satisfactory career. In "a good day for himself, the journal, and the
world, Thackeray found Punch." This was said by his old friend Shirley
Brooks, who himself lived to be editor of the paper and died in harness,
and was said most truly. Punch was more congenial to him, and no
doubt more generous, than Fraser. There was still something of the
literary Bohemian about him, but not as it had been before. He was still
unfixed, looking out for some higher career, not altogether satisfied to
be no more than one of an anonymous band of brothers, even though
the brothers were the brothers of Punch. We can only imagine what
were his thoughts as to himself and that other man, who was then
known as the great novelist of the day,--of a rivalry with whom he was
certainly conscious. Punch was very much to him, but was not quite
enough. That must have been very clear to himself as he meditated the
beginning of Vanity Fair.
Of the contributions to the periodical, the best known now are The
Snob Papers and The Ballads of Policeman X. But they were very
numerous. Of Thackeray as a poet, or maker of verses, I will say a few
words in a chapter which will be devoted to his own so-called ballads.
Here it seems only necessary to remark that there was not apparently
any time in his career at which he began to think seriously of appearing
before the public as a poet. Such was the intention early in their career
with many of our best known prose writers, with Milton, and
Goldsmith, and Samuel Johnson, with Scott, Macaulay, and more lately
with Matthew Arnold; writers of verse and prose who ultimately
prevailed some in one direction, and others in the other. Milton and
Goldsmith have been known best as poets, Johnson and Macaulay as
writers of prose. But with all of them there has been a distinct effort