THACKERAY. THE large contributions to the current | eray's earlier purely literary efforts, are literature of the day, from the pen of Mr. the Yellowplush Papers, Paris SketchThackeray, will render a portrait of him Book, Irish Sketch-Book, and Notes desirable and acceptable to all his readers of a Journey from Cornhill to Cairo, and admirers. He has long been familiar to the public by the productions of his pen and pencil in the pages of Punch. Among his contributions to that paper were, Jeames's Diary, Snob Papers, the burlesques of the modern novelists, etc. Mr. Thackeray's first fully - developed novel, the work by which he at once established his present reputation, was Vanity Fair, the first number of which appeared in 1847. The manuscript of this work is said to have been offered to the editor of a magazine who declined it, whereupon the anthor published it himself. This was followed by Pendennis, a novel which did not, perhaps, attain to the popularity of its predecessor, but which is a production worthy of the author. The Great Hoggarty Diamond; Stubbs, or the Fatal Boots; Mrs. Perkins's Ball; Our Street; Dr. Birch and his Young Friends; Rebecca and Rowena; and The Kickleburys on the Rhine, are among his lighter effusions. His latest public literary work is the course of lectures upon the wits of Queen Anne's time, which were read before large and fashionable audiences in London, and received with great applause. Mr. Thackeray usually wrote in Fraser, under the signature of Michael Angelo Titmarsh, a name which he afterward retained in the title-page of many of his works. WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY, one of the most popular of modern English writers, was born in 1811, in Calcutta, where his father was a high official in the East, India Company. He was sent to school in England, and afterwards to the University of Cambridge, where he counted among his fellow students, Kinglake, the author of Eothen, Eliot Warburton, and Monckton Milnes. He left the university without taking a degree. In the mean time his father died, and left the future novelist his own master, with an income of about a thousand pounds a year. He gave himself up to the pleasures of the world, and led for some time a gay and idle life on the continent. On his return to England he passed some time in the Temple, nominally engaged in the studying of the law, and he has given the world an interesting picture of the life of the templars, probably from his own experiences, in his last novel, Pendennis. He next betook himself to Paris, conceiving, from his facility in sketching, that he might make some progress as an artist, but he soon perceived that this was a mistaken idea. He next applied himself to literature. His step-father had established a journal in London, called The Constitutional, and the artist became the Paris correspondent. This journal, however, did not prove successful, and Mr. In 1851 appeared The Kickleburys on Thackeray was obliged to return to Eng- the Rhine, on the publication of which a land, and began to work in earnest. critic in the Times took the opportunity He contributed to the Times, and also of repeating against Mr. Thackeray the to Fraser's Magazine, in which, among charges already common in the critical other things, he wrote a story called world, that he delighted in representing Catharine, burlesquing the sentimental the ugly side of human nature and seemcriminal style of novels of the class of ed skeptical of the existence of amiability Bulwer's Paul Clifford. He also start- or real virtue in the world. This drew ed a newspaper in connection with Dr. forth from Mr. Thackeray a very pungent Maginn, another contributor to Fraser, reply in the form of an Essay on Thunbut without success. Among Mr. Thack-der and Small Beer, prefixed to the second edition of the sketch in question. | been his third serial work of fiction, The Perhaps a more efficient answer to the Newcomes, and The Rose and the Ring, charges above indicated was furnished by or the History of Prince Giglio and Mr. Thackeray in his History of Henry Prince Bulbo, 1855. Within the last Esmond, Esq., written by himself, pub- two years, also, a republication of his lished, not serially, but entire in three Miscellanies, from Punch, Fraser's Magvolumes, in 1852. This beautiful and azine, etc., has been in progress; and now very peculiar novel, though deficient in that his fame as an author is fixed, these some of the elements of popular interest, papers are read with avidity. Mr. gave a new idea of the author's powers Thackeray's last literary appearance has of conception and style. The scene be- been in his lectures on The Four Georges, ing laid in the time of Queen Anne, and delivered first in America, to which he Addison, Steele, and other wits of the paid a second visit for the purpose in time being introduced as characters, the 1855-56, and, since his return, in Edinauthor had been obliged, in preparing the burgh, London, and other cities and novel, to make the social manners and towns in England and Scotland. Altothe conspicuous men of Queen Anne's gether, whether in respect of past reign a subject of historical study; and achievement or of still unfailing power, out of these researches arose his Lectures which promises much to come, Mr. on the English Humorists of the Eigh- Thackeray stands conspicuous among teenth Century, which were first delivered those who are the admitted chiefs of in Willis's Rooms, in London, before a British literature at the present day; and very brilliant audience in the summer of the question, still debated, as between 1851, afterwards in the provinces, and him and Dickens is, in the main, a quesfinally in America, where the author tion as between two styles or theories of spent some months for the purpose, and the art of prose fiction. In person, Mr. was very heartily received." The Lec-Thackeray is a somewhat large and tall tures were published in 1853. Mr. man; with a fine head, the hair of which Thackeray's subsequent publications have is prematurely white. From the Dublin University Magazine. FOUND AT SEA. SHORTLY after the loss of the steamer | fishing-place, surrounded with rugged Argus on the Mull of Cantire, it became my duty to cross the channel which divides the island of Rathlin from the coast of Antrim. The storm, which had previously detained me, had scarcely subsided; the waves still rolled heavily in upon the wild iron shore, and the broken waters still leaped and flashed along the many perilous tideways. Had it been possible, I would gladly have deferred my return to the island; but there was no alternative; urgent reasons compelled me at least to attempt the passage. The spot I selected from which to sail, was then, and is probably still, a remote cliffs, and protected from the full strokes of the Northern ocean by some scattered islets and rocks, perpetually streaming with white foam. Anxious to avail myself of a temporary calm, I pressed a strange-looking fisherman to undertake the voyage. At my suggestion, he engaged a boy to assist in managing the sails, and as the evening began to close, we stepped the mast and bore out to sea. At first there was considerable risk amongst the broken waves and currents rushing through and over the rocks surrounding the port; but, presently the open sea lay before us, and the full steady swell of the canvas held fair Another instant and he would have ful and straight for the opposite bay of the | for yon bloody work. But I'll never fa' island. Nevertheless, the sea continued into the hands o' man's justice. I'll dee laboring under us with deep convulsive noo, and ye shall sink alang wi' me. Dee waves, even to my experienced eyes, a', a' tagither." strangely abrupt and dark, considering the light still in the skies, and the comparative tranquillity of the wind. As the boat flew on into the full current of the ebb tide, coming down the channel, this agitation became more singular and alarming, and I began to consider myself justified in desisting from the attempt, when each sluggish and almost perpendicular mass of water threatened to break upon us and overwhelm the boat. But a few minutes, and my intentions and plans received a startling interruption. I turned to consult the fisherman as to the weather, and our safest course. To my surprise he had removed from the place he first occupied on the after-thwart, and was standing beside the mast to the leeward. I called him twice, as loudly as I was able, but he did not answer. He seemed to have fixed his eyes upon a distant island, seldom seen from the Irish coast, but which our position had made visible. The man seemed fascinated as by a spell. When the boat mounted or sank with the wave, he strained and struggled to keep the island in sight, and followed it till the last possible instant. Suddenly, the morose look of the man when first we met upon the shore, and the recklessness of his manner when speaking of the probable risk of the voyage, occurred to me. He must be insane. The peril of our situation had called forth a paroxysm of his malady. In such a craft and place, I was at his mercy. I could not doubt that any attempt to control him by force would inevitably overset the boat. It occurred to me, however, that he might be soothed by kind words. So I cried out: "Oh! never mind Ghea; like a good fellow, I'll take you there to-morrow, if you'll be quiet till we get ashore." If you have ever been confronted by a madman, you may perhaps fancy-what I never can remember without horror-the fearful sight of that wretch, as he turned upon me. His bloodshot eyes glared with savage rage. His gray shaggy hair straggling over his convulsed features, and his hands tossed in horrible despair, as he cried: "I ken it a'; I ken it a'. Strange man! ye came to drag me to the doom, filled his threat. Leaping upon the gunwale he seized the mast, and with fearful cries endeavored to capsize the boat. It was an awful moment; hanging over the dark hollows of the sea, or horribly tottering upon the verge of the white hissing wave. I recommended myself to God, and believed I should never rise a living man from out the depth of the enormous wave just past. The madman repeated his wild efforts; our fate was certain. When suddenly there occurred one of those events which, however true, are scarcely credible. Right before the boat, about half-way down the side of the approaching wave, there appeared the face and shoulders, as far as the bosom, of a beautiful woman; one arm clasped across her breast, bore the form and drapery of an infant, the other was stretched forth white and beautiful, as if to guard the infant from danger; while her large humid eyes seemed pleading with whatever form of peril was about to destroy them. Her long yellow hair lay half-floating, half-mingled with the crest of the wave, and her white garments partly clung closely to her person, partly drifted behind. The poor fisherboy, who had sat terrified during the struggles of the lunatic, now cast himself headlong into the bottom of the boat, praying and trembling. As for myself, I also felt utterly unable to speak or act under the strange and sudden shock, and immediately when the lunatic saw the object, he became like a man paralyzed, his face assumed a look of utmost terror, and clasping his hands, with eyes wildly fixed, he cried: "O my leddy! my leddy! forgie me, for his sake. It was na me was led into it, forgie me, forgie me, my leddy." I While he spoke the form disappeared under water, and the black surging wave rushed past. Either the revulsion of feeling, or deadly purpose against his life, impelled the wretched man, but in a moment he was in the deep sea, scarcely struggling, apparently unconscious of his danger. To drop the sail, seize the boat-hook, and keep him above water, was the work of a second; presently we had him re placed in the bottom of the craft, with | cession, with their dark sails over the the precaution of strong lashing to the melancholy sea, making one of the strangthwarts, lest another recurrence of his est funerals I ever looked upon. violence should renew our peril. By and by a mass of yellow hair escaped We found little difficulty in making from the sail and trailed far out upon the our return to the port with our prisoner. waves. The sight of it affected the rough, I lost no time in communicating with a strong men, one and all, most deeply. magistrate, taking care to give my suspi- From every eye the tears flowed big and cion that the body we had seen was some- fast, and while some hardy fellow swept how connected with some crime, of which them off with his great brown hand, he I believed the prisoner guilty or cogni- would half excuse his weakness, saying: zant. He perfectly agreed with my view" Ech, sirs, it's hard to thole. Whaever of the case. And after much persuasion, saw the like out here. The puir mither, and many offers of reward, the wild super- and where's her winsome baby ?" stitious fishermen were induced to begin a search for the corpse. Strongly they protested against the very idea of remuneration, the only reason they would admit being, "that naebody could fish the banks while a corpse was floating about them; and that the sea would na, and could na, settle till it was delivered of its burden." The search was full of very interesting and, to me, pathetic incidents. The wives and children of the great bronzed men accompanied them to the boats, and the old women, standing out upon the projecting rocks, delivered cautions and prayers to the fishermen as they passed. Now, it was their fervent desire "that she should find her rest, God pity her!" Now, a shrill voice would remind a passing boatman: "Alick! d'ye hear! Dinna take her in the boat, it's no canny to carry aboard them frae whom the Lord has ta'en awa' life!" And out upon the blue Atlantic, as the boats flew past each other, tacking to and fro, it was strange to find that the usual cheer and good-natured jest were silent and forgotten, and to observe the gloomy, sorrowful looks of the men as they gazed down into the sea and conversed in whispers about the dead body, which they presumed was near. At last a signal announced the recovery of the corpse, and the boats gathering from all quarters, proceeded to arrange for its conveyance to the shore. The body of the infant which I had seen was not recovered, having probably been torn from the mother's arms in the storm of the preceding night. Upon the shore the people of the village were gathered, standing out upon the shelving rocks, knee-deep in the foam, and the burst of real sorrow that rose from the crowd, as the corpse was carried to the green, was, beyond measure, affecting. "Rin and ca' the rector, some o' ye," gruffly ordered the oldest of the fishermen, who usually took great authority upon emergencies, and was now obeyed by some of the young men about him. Presently the rector of the parish appeared among his kindly and humble flock, tears in his soft eyes, and his white head uncovered in the presence of the dead. "We will bury her," said he, "in our own churchyard, and pray God to comfort her friends and prepare us all whenever he shall call us." The I shall never forget that burial. quaint old church, with its little slated spire, and white tower and walls; below, the evening sea rolling up its hoarse murmurs and blending with the voices of minister and people; the great, stern headlands boldly profiled along the lofty coast; and the bold hills rising closely round the smoke of the not distant village; the simple poor people, with frequent sobs, assembled round the grave of one who had no other title to their regard than that she was a woman, a mother, and lost at sea! Immediately after the funeral I proceeded to my post, and it was not until years after I heard the remainder of the narrative. For a time the circumstances of the True to their traditions, the fishermen death of the lady remained unknown, would not receive the body into one of though many advertisements descriptive their boats, but wrapping a sail carefully of her person had been published. A around it, drew it after the leading boat child, whose clothes bore the same initials, to shore. The others followed in pro-and was certainly hers, had drifted on |