ighly amused by Forster telling me how he had taken his revenge.

"You should know, sir," he said solemnly, "that at Stafford House,
Lady Palmerston's, and the other swell places, a little table is
set for me just outside the drawing-room doors, where I take down
the names of the company as these are announced by the attendant
footmen. Well, Mr. Thackeray was at the Marquis of Lansdowne's the
other evening, and his name was called out, as is customary;
nevertheless, I took very good care that it should not appear in
the list of the company at Lansdowne House, given in the 'Post.' A
night or two afterwards I was at Lord John Russell's, and Mr.
Thackeray's name was again announced, and again I designedly
neglected to write it down; whereupon the author of 'The Snobs of
England,' of all persons in the world [it must be candidly
confessed that Thackeray was himself a bit of a tuft-hunter],
bowed, and bending over me, said: 'Mr. Thackeray;' to which I
replied: 'Yes, sir, I am quite aware;' nevertheless, the great Mr.
Thackeray's name did not appear in the 'Post' the following
morning."

In another version of the same story it is recorded that when Thackeray
pronounced his name to Rumsey Forster, the latter dramatically retorted,
"And I, sir, am Mr. Jenkins"--an account far more artistic, if somewhat
less faithful.

After the "Snobs" were finished and the evergreen "Mahogany Tree," in
Volume XII., "_Punch's_ Prize Novelists" were begun in April, 1847. In
their way these parodies have never been excelled, and the fourth of the
series--"Phil Fogarty," by "Harry Rollicker"--was so excellent a
burlesque that Charles Lever, on reading this story of the hero of "the
fighting onety-oneth," good-humouredly declared that he "might as well
shut up shop;" and he actually did change, thenceforward, the manner of
his books. These "Prize Novels" continued into the following volume, in
which "Travels in London" were begun. These ran into Volume XIV., 1848,
in which year their author received from Edinburgh a testimonial from
eighty of his Scottish admirers. This took the shape of a silver
inkstand in the form of Mr. Punch's person, and greatly resembled that
which a similar subscription had already procured for Mark Lemon. It
drew from Thackeray a charming letter in acknowledgment. Then followed
"A Dinner at Timmins's" (Volumes XIV.-XV.) and "Bow Street B