Milnes, and Kinglake--to say nothing of John Allen, Brookfield, and Kemble-was not likely to refrain his hand from the English language, and Thackeray's ambition was assured. It is characteristic that his first step was in the direction of university journalism, and he enhanced the vapid humour of The Snob1 with a few specimens of verse and prose. Timbuctoo, the parody of a prize poem, is his, and he ingenuously records how proud he was to hear it praised by those who knew not its authorship. It is not a sparkling travesty; indeed it is chiefly memorable because the subject, given out for the Chancellor's Medal, suggested a set of verses to Tennyson in which the master's genius is already revealed. Thackeray's, also, were the reflections of Dorothea Julia Ramsbottom, while he claimed with a proper pride the simple advertisement: "Sidney Sussex College.-Wanted a few Freshmen; please apply at the Buttery."

Once he had seen himself in print, Thackeray did

1 "The Snob, a Literary Journal, not conducted by members of the University," was published by W. H. Smith of Rose Crescent in 1829. Eleven numbers appeared, of which the first was dated April 9. Lettsom and Brookfield are reputed to have been its editors. In addition to the contributions mentioned above, Thackeray wrote a set of verses "To Geneviève," and is said to have written the whole of No. 8, with the editor's help, in five hours. Much ingenuity has been spent by bibliographers in detecting Thackeray's hand here or there. But the ingenuity is wasted, since the humour of The Snob does not even hold the promise of better things. It should be noted that "snob" in the cant of 1829 meant a townsman, and that the little journal was not the herald of The Snob Papers.

not pause, and he claimed an active share in The Gownsman,1 which followed The Snob. There is nothing sparkling in its eighteen numbers, and the wonder is that it survived two terms. Meanwhile more serious projects engrossed him, and he destined a paper upon The Revolt of Islam for The Chimara, a journal which never made its appearance. But with that zest of life which always distinguished him, he had other than literary interests. In his second year, we are told, he plunged into the many extravagances which presently involved Pendennis in ruin, and, like Pendennis, he profited enormously. Duns, no doubt, followed the purveyors of little dinners up his chastened staircase, and if he took his fate less tragically than Arthur Pendennis, he, too, suffered remorse and embarrassment. But the compensations were obvious. The friendships which he made ended only with his life, and he must

1 Of The Gownsman seventeen numbers were published, the first on November 5, 1829, the last on February 25, 1830. A note in Edward FitzGerald's copy of The Gownsman suggested that the contributions signed were from the hand of Thackeray. But the matter was put beyond doubt by Mr C. P. Johnson, who, writing in The Athenæum, April 30, 1887, pointed out that the MS. of one of these contributions, a set of rhymes entitled "I'd be a Tadpole," existed in Mr Sabin's possession, written and signed by Thackeray. All those, therefore, which are signed @ may confidently be ascribed to Thackeray, and it is highly probable that he wrote others as well. Anthony Trollope, for instance, is doubtless right in giving him credit for the general dedication: "To all Proctors, past, present, and future, . . . whose taste it is our privilege to follow, whose virtue it is our duty to imitate, whose presence it is our interest to avoid." But the discussion is rather curious than profitable.

have been noble, indeed, who was the friend of Alfred Tennyson and of Edward FitzGerald. Moreover, Cambridge taught him the literary use of the university, as the Charterhouse had taught him the literary use of a public school. In a few chapters of Pendennis he sketched the life of an undergraduate, which has eluded all his rivals save only Cuthbert Bede. He sketched it, moreover, in the true spirit of boyish extravagance, which he felt at Cambridge, and preserved even in the larger world of London; and if Trinity and the rustling gown of Mr Whewell had taught him nothing more than this, he would not have contemplated them in vain.

Paris

For Thackeray, while he had neglected scholarship, had already learnt the more valuable lessons of life and travel-lessons not one of which he forgot when he sat him down to the composition of fiction. had always been familiar to him, and no sooner had he made up his mind to leave Cambridge than he set out-in 1830-for Germany. He visited Weimar, the quietude of whose tiny Court he celebrated when he drew his sketch of Pumpernickel and its society; and there he gave himself up to the study of German literature and to the worship of Goethe. Already his head was full of literary schemes. He would translate the German ballads into English, he would write a treatise upon German manners: in brief, he adopted and dismissed the innumerable projects which cloud the brain of ambitious youth. But, what is more important, he made his first entry into "society," and he

saw Goethe.

In Fraser's Magazine of January 1840 there are some Recollections of Germany which may be ascribed to him, and in which are set forth the perturbation of a young student who confronts the pontiff of letters for the first time. But a letter, addressed to G. H. Lewes, presents a better picture, and proves that a quarter of a century had not dimmed the youthful impression.

The

"Five-and-twenty years ago," thus he wrote in 1855, "at least a score of young English lads used to live at Weimar for study, or sport, or society: all of which were to be had in the friendly little Saxon capital. Grand Duke and Duchess received us with the kindliest hospitality. The Court was splendid, but most pleasant and homely. We were invited in our turn to dinners, balls, and assemblies there. Such young men as had a right appeared in uniforms, diplomatic and military. Some, I remember, invented gorgeous clothing: the kind old Hof-Marschall of those days, Monsieur de Spiegel (who had two of the most lovely daughters eyes ever looked on), being in nowise difficult as to the admission of these young Englanders." So Thackeray spent his days in the study of literature and in a pleasant hero-worship. He purchased Schiller's sword, and he saw Goethe. "Vidi tantum," said he; "I saw him but three times." But the image was ineffaceable. "Of course I remember well," again Thackeray speaks, "the perturbation of spirit with which, as a lad of nineteen, I received the long-expected intimation that

the Herr Geheimrath would see me on such a morning. This notable audience took place in a little antechamber of his private apartments, covered all round with antique casts and bas-reliefs. He was habited in a long grey or drab redingote, with a white neckcloth and a red ribbon in his buttonhole. He kept his hands behind his back, as in Rauch's statuette. His complexion was very bright, clear, and rosy. His eyes extraordinarily dark, piercing, and brilliant. I felt quite afraid before them, and recollect comparing them to the eyes of the hero of a certain romance called Melmoth the Wanderer." But Thackeray was relieved to find that the great man spoke French with not a good accent, was emboldened to send him Fraser's Magazine, and heard with pride that he had deigned to look at some of his drawings. The meeting is a link in the unbroken chain of literary tradition, and it is not surprising that Thackeray should have guarded a proud memory of the poet who lit the torch of romanticism, then-in 1830-dazzling the eyes of Europe.

Meanwhile he was intent upon a profession. Though only twenty he reflected that at that age his father had seen five years' service, and the inaction irked him. Accordingly he chose the law, and read for a while in the chambers of Mr Taprell, a well-known conveyancer. But the study of deeds did not long engross him. The few months which he spent in London were devoted to the companionship of his friends and to the practice of caricature. He smoked pipes with