were in the course of publication. All the evidence goes against the
necessity of such precaution. Nevertheless, were I giving advice to a
tiro in novel writing, I should recommend it.

With the last chapter of _Denis Duval_ was published in the magazine a
set of notes on the book, taken for the most part from Thackeray's own
papers, and showing how much collateral work he had given to the
fabrication of his novel. No doubt in preparing other tales, especially
_Esmond_, a very large amount of such collateral labour was found
necessary. He was a man who did very much of such work, delighting to
deal in little historical incidents. They will be found in almost
everything that he did, and I do not know that he was ever accused of
gross mistakes. But I doubt whether on that account he should be called
a laborious man. He could go down to Winchelsea, when writing about the
little town, to see in which way the streets lay, and to provide himself
with what we call local colouring. He could jot down the suggestions, as
they came to his mind, of his future story. There was an irregularity in
such work which was to his taste. His very notes would be delightful to
read, partaking of the nature of pearls when prepared only for his own
use. But he could not bring himself to sit at his desk and do an
allotted task day after day. He accomplished what must be considered as
quite a sufficient life's work. He had about twenty-five years for the
purpose, and that which he has left is an ample produce for the time.
Nevertheless he was a man of fits and starts, who, not having been in
his early years drilled to method, never achieved it in his career.

He died on the day before Christmas Day, as has been said above, very
suddenly, in his bed, early in the morning, in the fifty-third year of
his life. To those who saw him about in the world there seemed to be no
reason why he should not continue his career for the next twenty years.