It has been said of Thackeray that he was a cynic. This has been said so
generally, that the charge against him has become proverbial. This,
stated barely, leaves one of two impressions on the mind, or perhaps the
two together,--that this cynicism was natural to his character and came
out in his life, or that it is the characteristic of his writings. Of
the nature of his writings generally, I will speak in the last chapter
of this little book. As to his personal character as a cynic, I must
find room to quote the following first stanzas of the little poem which
appeared to his memory in _Punch_, from the pen of Shirley Brooks;

He was a cynic! By his life all wrought
Of generous acts, mild words, and gentle ways;
His heart wide open to all kindly thought,
His hand so quick to give, his tongue to praise!

He was a cynic! You might read it writ
In that broad brow, crowned with its silver hair;
In those blue eyes, with childlike candour lit,
In that sweet smile his lips were wont to wear!

He was a cynic! By the love that clung
About him from his children, friends, and kin;
By the sharp pain light pen and gossip tongue
Wrought in him, chafing the soft heart within!

The spirit and nature of the man have been caught here with absolute
truth. A public man should of course be judged from his public work. If
he wrote as a cynic,--a point which I will not discuss here,--it may be
fair that he who is to be known as a writer should be so called. But, as