maturity
beneath his roof, one of them the Miss Thackeray now so well known as a
novelist. But tenderly as he was attached to them,--and there could have
been no fonder father,--he no doubt felt all the sadness of the thought
that

"The many make the household,
But only one the home."

In one of the "Roundabouts" he says:--

"I own, for my part, that in reading papers which this hand
formerly penned, I often lose sight of the text under my eyes. It
is not the words I see, but that past day, that by-gone page of
life's history, that tragedy--comedy it may be--which our little
home company were enacting, that merry-making which we shared, that
funeral which we followed, that bitter, bitter grief which we
buried."

That he should live much in that vanished past, was but natural; yet it
was hard for a man like Thackeray, who had naturally such great capacity
for the enjoyment of life.

That his home was a pleasant and goodly place, all who have ever visited
it bear witness. He made it his refuge from all outer troubles, and
practised a genial and kindly hospitality there. It was a long time
before he was able to buy a house, though he made a good deal of money
from his books, his free-handed generous ways always keeping him back
financially; but when he was enabled to buy one, he took great pride and
pleasure in it, and decorated it according to his artistic tastes. To
make a little more money for his daughters, that they might be
independent when he was gone, he began lecturing, and was twice induced
to come to America for that purpose, much as he dreaded leaving home,
and especially crossing the ocean.

His speech at the farewell dinner given him before leaving for America
the last time, expressed this dread in a very comical manner, and was
received with great cheering and uproar. "I have before me," he said,
"at this minute the horrid figure of a steward with a basin perhaps, or
a glass of brandy and water, which he will press me to drink, and which
I shall try to swallow, and which won't make me any better. I know it
won't." This with a grimace which put the whole table in a roar. Then he
went on to tell of the last dinners given to criminals and convicts, and
how they were allowed always to choose what they would have, in a manner
so droll that all thought him in the happiest mood, while he was
scarcely able to keep up, so sad was his heart at the prospect of
leaving h