they might have been the relaxation of a doctor or a barrister.

And so they were. When Thackeray first settled himself in London, to
make his living among the magazines and newspapers, I do not imagine
that he counted much on his poetic powers. He describes it all in his
own dialogue between the pen and the album.

"Since he," says the pen, speaking of its master, Thackeray:

Since he my faithful service did engage,
To follow him through his queer pilgrimage
I've drawn and written many a line and page.

Caricatures I scribbled have, and rhymes,
And dinner-cards, and picture pantomimes,
And many little children's books at times.

I've writ the foolish fancy of his brain;
The aimless jest that, striking, hath caused pain;
The idle word that he'd wish back again.

I've helped him to pen many a line for bread.

It was thus he thought of his work. There had been caricatures, and
rhymes, and many little children's books; and then the lines written for
his bread, which, except that they were written for _Punch_, were hardly
undertaken with a more serious purpose. In all of it there was ample
seriousness, had he known it himself. What a tale of the restlessness,
of the ambition, of the glory, of the misfortunes of a great country is
given in the ballads of Peter the French drummer! Of that brain so full