FOREWORD THE author begs to express his indebtedness to the several authorities who have made a close and intimate study of the life and work of the man whom we all love. Notably to my friends William H. Rideing, for his "Thackeray's London," and Lawrence Hutton, for his "Literary Landmarks of London." To Hare's "Walks in London," Taylor's "Historical Guide to London," Lucas's "A Wanderer in London," Merivale's "Thackeray," Theodore Taylor's "Thackeray, the Humorist and Man of Letters," Melville's "Thackeray's Country," and Anthony Trollope's "Life of Thackeray." F. H. S. New York, August, 1913. INTRODUCTION THE first and only time I saw him was in Baltimore, when I was seventeen years old. He and Mr. John P. Kennedy, a friend of my father, strolled one Saturday afternoon into the Mercantile Library where we boys were reading. "Look!" came from a tangle of legs and arms bunched up in an adjoining easy chair. "That's the Mr. Thackeray who is lecturing here." My glance followed a directing finger, and rested on a tall, rather ungraceful figure, topped by a massive head framed about by a fringe of whitish hair, short, fuzzy whiskers, crumply collar and black stock. Out of a pink face peered two sharp inquiring eyes, these framed again by the dark rims of a pair of heavy spectacles, which, from my point of sight, became two distinct dots in the round of the same pink face. The portrait of Horace Greeley widely published during his Presidential campaign the one all throat-whiskers and spectacleshas always recalled to my mind this flash |