Found dead in his bed upon the morning of Christmas eve, with his arms stretched above his head as was his way when very weary-so I am sure I heard or read at the time it was the newspapers of Christmas morning that told the sad tale to the world.

death, his old friend John Leech being him for Etou from his cradle. Merone of the stewards of the day. Though chant Taylors' was good enough for he was then looking very weary, and his father, who has been a business anticipating, I think, recourse to a man all his life, is still redolent of the small surgical operation, none could City from which he has retired, honest, have expected the loss which made the sober, and in middle life. But Dick Christmas of 1863 so sad a one to thou- must go to Eton. Of course, says the sands in England and beyond it. mother. What is the use of having money if one doesn't spend it on Dick ? So he goes through a course of governesses, tutors, and preparatory schools -a varied course, because none of them will keep him more than three months at the most. It is not so much that he is idle, though he is very idle; it is not so much that he is stupid, for he has some cunning amid his dulness; but he is bad-that is what one of his masters says of him. Bloomsbury Square has never liked that masteralways knew there was something fishy about that man. When Mrs. Bloomsbury hears that he has eloped with a housemaid, that is just exactly what she would have expected of himunjust, and so prejudiced against Dick. The Penny is one of those infinitelyto-be-pitied people who are always exciting prejudice in others. There is a prejudice against him at Eton dreadful prejudice, which finally grows so strong that the authorities decide that the only way to remove it is to remove him. He is, therefore, removed.

The bed upon which he died was given by his daughters to Charterhouse. I remember receiving it for I was then the master in charge of the Foundation Scholars and to the head gownboy and his successors was accorded the honor of lying upon that historic bed, which bore at his head the following inscription from the pen of the master, Archdeacon Hale :

Hoc lecto recumbens Obdormivit in Christo GULIELMUS MAKEPEACE THACKERAY ix Kal. Janvar: an. MDCCCLXIV. Scholæ Carthusianæ quondam discipulus Matura ætate hujusce loci amantissimus uti testantur ejus scripta per orbem terrarum divulgata.

Vixit annos LII.

Was I not justified in saying, when making memorial of our great alumni in the notes to a Founder's Day sermon [1872]: "But surely Thackeray must be held the prince of Carthusians, seeing that he has illustrated in his works every part of our house"? He loved what was worth loving, and scorned meanness and wrong. Requiescat in pace. JOHN W. IRVINE.

1 Brethren and Companions. A sermon preached in the chapel of the Charterhouse on Founder's Day, Dec. 12, 1872, by John W. Irvine, M.A. London: Henry S. King & Co. 1873.

From The Cornhill Magazine.
THE BAD PENNY.
On pardonne tant que l'on aime.
His parents, denizens of pompous
and prosperous Bloomsbury, decree

SO

a

He comes back to Bloomsbury Square with a bluster. Eton, he says, is a beastly hole - not fit for a gentleman. His mother tries to be fair, to hear both sides of the case, to believe that Dick has in some very minor degree, of course-erred as well as the masters; but she cannot. It is to be thought that she is as just as most women, but to believe anything against her boy is not to be expected of her it is impossible.

Dick is removed to a private tutor's. His father says that private coaching is the very thing for a young man — beats Eton hollow. When Dick's letters arrive-they are letters which, in point of spelling and composition, would disgrace a kitchen-maid — his face reddens with pride. He puts them all away to

gether, in a desk where he keeps other feelings so dreadfully to think we were going without any little comfort on his account."

sacred possessions.

One fine morning Dick turns up again unexpectedly in Bloomsbury Square. The tutor, he finds, is such a beastly cad; he has, therefore, renounced him. From a letter which arrives next morning from the tutor it appears that the renunciation is mutual. There is a garbled story of a flirtation with a housemaid; but it is very garbled, and, of course, entirely incorrect. Dick says that he never saw such a liar as that coach-enough to corrupt any fellow's morals. Therefore, of course, it is only right and proper that Dick should leave him. Some young men do not mind to what influences they subject themselves-not so the Penny. Mr. and Mrs. Bloomsbury are quite hurt and annoyed when their son-inlaw, an outspoken person, condoles with them, and is sorry to hear the young cub has been up to his tricks again.

The Penny manages to scrape through an entrance examination, and goes to Cambridge.

"Not every young man, mind you, can pass those entrance exams nowadays," says papa, sipping his glass of port with honest pride in the Penny's extraordinary prowess. "They tell me, Dick says himself, that it's a very different thing to what it was twenty years ago. The competition is enormous-by Gad! sir, enormous ! "

So Dick's feelings are not harrowed, and when he comes down for the first vacation a carriage is jobbed. A young man finds a carriage so useful, and Dick would naturally not like to be without one. Very likely he will not notice the difference between this one and our own. Perhaps he does not notice the difference, or perhaps his tact is so divine and beautiful that he does notice the difference and says nothing. In appearance he has grown larger, stouter, and redder-in fact, has become so fine-looking. “I dare say you remember, cook," says the mother to that elderly domestic," what a beautiful baby he was ! - such a dear sturdy little fellow! I must confess I should have been a little disappointed if he had grown up pale and puny and weakly-looking, as one sees so many young men nowadays."

In this contingency cook would have been disappointed also. Now Jane says Mr. Dick is too red-like for her, but cook always did hold with a good fresh color. Cook has a good fresh color herself - not unlike Mr. Dick's, in fact, only plebeian, of course, very plebeian.

Mr. Bloomsbury is anxious to know what books Dick has been studying; but, naturally, after a hard term's work, the Penny does not wish to be very communicative on the subject.

"Oh, Herodotus, and Livy, and all those chaps," he says, in a voice which might sound to persons who do not know his idiosyncrasies a trifle surly.

Papa stretches up, with great incon

Mr. Jones, also of Bloomsbury Square, quite believes you. Neither he nor the proud father has ever been to the university themselves; but they send their sons, and know as much about it, mind you, as any one. The mother colors with pleasure at the other end of the table. It is indeed a privilege, know-venience to himself, for the Livy. He ing how dreadfully idle some young cuts the leaves with a sort of reverence. men are, to have a son like Dick. He cannot read a word of it himself. Bloomsbury Square discovers, by de- Education was not so much thought of grees, that the privilege is a very ex- in his day. But it's a fine thing, my pensive one. It is so expensive, in boy, a fine thing, and I wish I had fact, that they find out it is very much had your advantages. The Penny exmore healthy, as well as a great deal presses a wish that the advantages more enjoyable, to walk instead of may be blowed-only he uses a word driving everywhere; so they put down much more emphatic than "blowed." the carriage. "Only don't tell Dick," | Papa replaces the Livy, with the same says the mother. "It would hurt his inconvenience to himself with which

he got it down, and with something which, if he had not everything to be thankful for, might almost be taken for a sigh.

In due time Dick returns to Cambridge. His bills are heavier than ever next term; they are so heavy that the mother begins to be afraid that the butler must be dull without any companion of his own sex, now that the coachman has gone. Mr. Bloomsbury therefore tells the butler that he cannot justify himself in keeping himthe situation must be such a terribly lonely one.

"Lor'! sir," says Thomson, with a tear and a twinkle in his old eye at the same time, "don't you be a troublin' yourself to find no reasons for givin' me notice. Thim colleges has ruined many of us afore now" - with which remark Thomson retires to the pantry and wipes his eyes on the plate-leather.

The Penny now thinks he would like to farm in Canada. He says very frequently that he is blowed if he can't make something out of that. So he has a fine outfit-flannel underclothing sewed with tears, love, and devotion-and a fine sum of money to put into the business he has heard of out there.

After he has gone-only just after - Cambridge bills and, alas promissory notes of very extensive promise indeed begin to come in to Bloomsbury Square; and when they once begin it is a long time before they stop. It is about this period that the mother discovers that the air of Bloomsbury is very relaxing-is not sure, indeed, that it is a wholesome place to live in ; hears that many doctors consider the neighborhood of Peckham excellent for the rheumatism from which she suffers

So

when convenient. And then this house is so large. Two old people like you and me feel quite lost in a wilderness of a place like this. Now, in a dear comfortable little box they go to the dear comfortable little box in the refreshing neighborhood of Albert Road, Peckham-just cook and themselves

so nice and homely. But the old man can look the world in the face. Dick's Cambridge expenses. he speaks of them thus-have been quite comfortably settled.

Six months later the Penny turns up at Bloomsbury Square unexpectedly, in the middle of a term and a hansom. The very small amount of gilding with which he was gilt when he left the family mint is nearly all worn off. He looks as if he drank-only looks, of course. Many other perfectly innocent people do the same, and very awkward it is for them. He has, he says, "come down;" this is, indeed, perfectly obvious. It presently becomes obvious that he has been compelled to " come Dick does not write very often-indown." To the old man there is a deed, has not written at all. He is horror in the very idea of such a thing. busy with his farm. Farming is a very It takes a great deal of explaining fine thing for young men; an active. and explaining things is Dick's forte-open-air life makes something better of to make him feel easy again. Lots of a young fellow than your stuffy offices fellows do it-it's nothing. There's and your ledgers and your accountLord Noodle and the Marquis of Fool- books. Make your boy a farmer sir, as ington who have well, left with me. I have made mine. They were up to larks, if you like; but in my case it's been a most beastly swindle - that's what it is, a beastly swindle. (The Penny's language has long been noted for its richness and elegance.) Why, any of the chaps 'll tell you it's a swindle. None of the chaps step forward to do this, however. Fortunately, Bloomsbury Square does not need them. Dick is believed on his own assertion, by two people only.

66

99

And the farmer turns up in a year at Albert Road, Peckham, in a condition which the brother-in-law, full of uncharitableness, characterizes as disgraceful. The Penny looks more as if he drank than ever-which is unfortunate, but of course unavoidable. He is ill-dressed; he is more surly in manner. If he were not her son -- her only son -the mother, who has gentle blood in her perhaps, and that refine

ment which comes of a pure mind and haps, very educated in style or very a tender heart, might shudder to touch correct in spelling, nor even very filial anything so coarse and unclean. But in expression; but all saying the same she kisses and cries over him like a thing, that he is getting on famously, fool, before she has heard his story, and asking for the loan of five or ten which may be forgiven her, and after-pounds in the postscript. The mother wards, which cannot. The farm was a thinks that Dick has really found his beastly swindle, of course; the money vocation. As the weeks go by, she which was sunk in it was lost, equally becomes sure of it; gets more sure, of course; but if his father can get and feels sometimes a little angry that him -say some post of responsibility her husband is so quiet, moody, and in a bank, or something like that he unresponsive. He does not believe is blowed (again) if he doesn't make a success. He is also blowed when his father tells him something-not all, not half, for fear of hurting his feelings - of his Cambridge debts. He is of opinion his father has been swindled; a beastly swindle, indeed, as usual. His father looks in the fire meditatively. He says nothing; there is, in fact, nothing to be said. The Penny thinks that upon his soul, you've got wretched diggings here. The father sequel. says quietly they are the best he can now afford. It is his only reproach, and that does not penetrate the target, the target being remarkably thick, tough and invulnerable.

that ugly story. God help him! no, but it haunts him; or perhaps the shadow of an evil to come hangs over him. He looks back on this time, long after, wondering which it was, and cannot determine.

Then Dick turns up again—at night this time, and without a bluster. He looks sober; and looks, too, as if he were haunted by a ghost. It is the old story, but with a new and engaging Everything a beastly swindle, as usual. The manager a cad, and Dick accused of forgery. The mother goes white to her lips, then a flaming scarlet. Her boy accused of that! Her boy-the soul of honor! The soul of honor has something in his appearance to-night suggestive of a cur expecting a whipping. This appearance is not lessened when he says that he must get out of this damned country before to-morrow.

"Get out of the country!" shouts the old man, with a heavy fist on the table which makes the glasses ring. "My God! if you're an honest man you shall face the world and give it the lie."

The position of trust is, through influence, procured. For three weeks Albert Road, Peckham, is supremely happy. Everything is going on SO well. And then a story is whispered in the father's ear, which, if it gets abroad, means Dick's ruin. It is not a pretty story. The mother does not know it. It is not kept from her so much because it would wound her, for she would not believe it, but because it is not fit, as a story, for her hearing. The old man denies it furiously. His son! Dick! It is proved to him beyond reasonable doubt; and he denies it again, like Peter, with an oath. The evidence is damning; and he turns and damns his informant. The scandal is, however, hushed up. Dick mentions it in a note to his father. It was an- "That's it," says her boy, thrusting other fellow with an unfortunate re- her away; "that is why I am going !" semblance to himself. An old story; The Penny does not turn up any but not so old that the father will not more - at least, not in England. It is believe it from the lips of the son. to be presumed that abroad he turns After this, Dick's letters come fairly up pretty constantly anywhere where regularly; such nice letters-not, per- there is foolishness and money.

The son falls back a little, scared at his father's gleaming eyes and ashen face; and the mother, in that old, fond, foolish way, puts her arms round her boy and says he must fight it out because it will all come right. God takes care of such things; and the guilty are found out and punished."