THACKERY IN AMERICA.

Waikato Times, Volume I, Issue 59, 14 September 1872, Page 3

THACKERY IN AMERICA.

It was a bright moonlight night on which we (Thaokery and I) walked home from that dinner ; and I remember well the walk and the place, for I seem to localise all my as L ;ociations with him; mid 1 as ke< 1 1 ilm what, perhaps, he might have thought i I,ho absurd question —" What do you honestly think of my count ry ?or rather, what lias most .-tr.iek joil j i:i America'■ '101 lme candidly, for I shall not boat all angry or hurt if it be unfavourable, or much ! ehi'-ed if it be not." And then his answer as he stopped (we were walking along I'ennsquare) and turning round to me, said —You .know what a virtue-proud people wo English are. Wo think we have got. it all to ourse'i vcs. Now that which most impresses me here is, that I find Ironies as pure as ours, iiros'des like; ours, domestic virtues as gentle ; the Knglish language, though the accent be a little difreiil, with its home-like melody ; and the common Prayer-book in your families. I am more struck by pleasant resemblance-! tban by anything else." And so I sincerely believe he was. There was a great deal of dining out while " the great satirist," as we used to address him, wa* here ; but although always genial, I do not think according to recollection he was a brilliant conversationist. It wars on close private intercourse he was delightful. Once—it was in New York—he gave a dinner, at which I was a guest,, to what are called " literary men"—authors, and lawyers, actors (two very accomplished ones, and most estimable gentlemen—oneslill living), and editors,and magazine men. Then lie made what seemed to be an °elfort. He talked for the table. He sang some odd post-prandial songs —one, in a strange sort ot a " recitative," about Dr. Martin Luther. But as T ha\ >• said, it was an effort; and I liked him better at home and alone. It was on this occasion, or r.it-her on our return journey to Philadelphia —that on board the steamboat, (here again am I localising) bespoke to me of domestic sorrows and anxieties too sacred to be recorded here. And yet, it was this man whom vul-gar-minded people called heartless ! As he thus talked to me 1 thought of lines of tenderness, often quoted, which no one but he could have written : — " Ah, me ! how quick the days are flitting ! I mind me of a time that's gone, When here I'd sit, as now I'm sitting, In this same place, but not. alone. A fair young form was nestled near me, A dear, dear face looked fondly up, And sweetly spoke, and smiled to cheev ivtc — There's no one now to share iny cup." —From Blackwood's Magazine.