And yet he had begun to write verses when he was very young;--at Cambridge, as we have seen, when he contributed more to the fame of Timbuctoo than I think even Tennyson has done,--and in his early years at Paris.

Here again, though he must have felt the strength of his own mingled humour and pathos, he always struck with an uncertain note till he had gathered strength and confidence by popularity.

Good as they generally were, his verses were accidents, written not as a writer writes who claims to be a poet, but as though 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.