y was
overflowing. His generosity excessive. I heard once a story of woe from
a man who was the dear friend of both of us. The gentleman wanted a
large sum of money instantly,--something under two thousand pounds,--had
no natural friends who could provide it, but must go utterly to the wall
without it. Pondering over this sad condition of things just revealed to
me, I met Thackeray between the two mounted heroes at the Horse Guards,
and told him the story. "Do you mean to say that I am to find two
thousand pounds?" he said, angrily, with some expletives. I explained
that I had not even suggested the doing of anything,--only that we might
discuss the matter. Then there came over his face a peculiar smile, and
a wink in his eye, and he whispered his suggestion, as though half
ashamed of his meanness. "I'll go half," he said, "if anybody will do
the rest." And he did go half, at a day or two's notice, though the
gentleman was no more than simply a friend. I am glad to be able to add
that the money was quickly repaid. I could tell various stories of the
same kind, only that I lack space, and that they, if simply added one to
the other, would lack interest.

He was no cynic, but he was a satirist, and could now and then be a
satirist in conversation, hitting very hard when he did hit. When he was
in America he met at dinner a literary gentleman of high character,
middle-aged, and most dignified deportment. The gentleman was one whose
character and acquirements stood very high,--deservedly so,--but who, in
society, had that air of wrapping his toga around him, which adds, or is
supposed to add, many cubits to a man's height. But he had a broken
nose. At dinner he talked much of the tender passion, and did so in a
manner which stirred up Thackeray's feeling of the ridiculous. "What has
the world come to," said Thackeray out loud to the table, "when two
broken-nosed old fogies like you and me sit talking about love to each
other!" The gentleman was astounded, and could only sit wrapping his
toga in silent dismay for the rest of the evening. Thackeray then, as at
other similar times, had no idea of giving pain, but when he saw a
foible he put his foot upon it, and tried to stamp it out.

Such is my idea of the man whom many call a cynic, but whom I regard as
one of the most soft-hearted of human beings, sweet as Charity itself,
who went about the world dropping pearls, doing good, and never wilfully
inflicting a wound.

FOOTN