New-York tribune. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1866-1924, 1911-09-10

), companion whom she paints as at once
sad and silent and wondrously droll, who
was kindness itself. yet mindful Of the
necessity OF discipline for small per-
sons. There is winning picture Of the
little girl perched on the arm Of the
chair beside him, and questioning her
grandmother's beloved visitor:
rs YOU good?" from the perch)
Not so good as should like TO be" (from
Mr. Thackeray).
Wei. I've written book or two. Per-
haps / am rather clever"
Is you pretty?'
oh no. no no, No! No! No@ Il re-
call Mr.. Thackeray bursting out laughing
Il think you's good and you's clever, and
yous pretty
Of later days in Thackeray's house IN
London his kinswoman offers some
agreea BILE notes. The house was as full
of eighteenth century furniture. pictures
and china as the home OF the author of
The Virginians' should be. The at
mosphere was one Of beauty and mirth
and kindness and brains. The novelist
breakfasted alone and began work an
hour or two before his young daughters
and their cousin appeared. Then, as
they sat at breakfast, he would always
come to talk TO them while pacing the
floor. He would give them news Of the
novel upon which he was at work and
sometimes consult them as to details.
What did babies wear? They wore
shoes-and Count de Saverne when he
fell In the duel with De la Motto, wore
his child's shoe tied around his neck,
hidden within his shirt. But Mr..
Thackeray continued, Hugo has got a
shoe In "Notre Dame de Paris" there
IS q magnificent shoe What can we have
In place Of a shoe"" On their drives
through the London streets in the sum-
mer afternoons the novelist would read
the names over the shop windows in
search Of those which his characters
might fifty wear. Sometimes when the
carriage came to the door with garden
party in prospect the girls seated within
would wait for an hour for the novelist
10 appear. Buried in his manuscript he
was oblivious of time and garden par
ties. He did not break off easily" we
are told, when he was in the vein"
AS for Amy and Minny Thackeray, they
were delighted to wait, saying blithely,
Papa is getting on with his story"
The family letters which Mrs. Cornish
reproduces are full Of Thackeray's char
acteristic tenderness and humor, and
here and there are glimpses Of the re-
ngious feeling which in him was as sim
Die and sincere as that Of q child.
Knowing the world and his kind as few
men have known them, he kept his
faith in humanity as we'll as in that
divine goodness" Of which he has writ
ten in manly humbleness. No cynic
could have written these letters. That
charge of cynicism which has been so
often made against him could only have
been uttered by the sentimental, and it
remains a thing TO wonder over-or TO
regard perhaps, as tribute paid by
mediocrity TO genius If sorrow could
have made him cynical he might well
have been so, for sorrowful he was at
heart through all his years of most i'm
portant productivity There was no
healing Of his hidden wound for the
lovely young wife, whose charm and
whose sweet voice won everybody's lik-
ing, was lost TO him more cruelty than
through death. There are not many
traces OF Isabella Thackeray in nine
teenth century "reminiscences. interest
ing for more than one reason, therefore,
is the playful letter which Thackeray
wrote from Paris to his cousin, William
Richie, In the days of courtship. Il
am arrived" he says. "at such pitch
OF sentimentality dor a girl without
penny In the world that my whole seyn.
etre, or being, is bouleverse or capsized
Il sleep not neither do eat, only smoke
. little and build castles in the clouds;