Beatrix, for instance--but in the tales of modern life there are few characters that can be traced to any particular source. “You know you are only a piece of Amelia. My mother is another half; my poor little wife--_y’est pour beaucoup_,” the author wrote to Mrs. Brookfield. Edmund Yates always insisted that Wagg in “Pendennis” stood for Theodore Hook; that Lord Lonsdale was the original of Major Pendennis’s noble friend Lord Colchicum; and that Bunn was the model for Dolphin, the theatrical manager. It has been said that Mr. J. M. Evans, the publisher, was portrayed in “The Kickleburys on the Rhine”; that Mr. Flam in “Mrs. Perkins’s Ball” was a portrait of Abraham Hayward; that the Rev. W. H. Brookfield stood for the curate, Frank Whitestock; that Leigh Hunt was the original of Gandish in “The Newcomes”; and that the third Marquis of Hertford was the prototype of Lord Steyne. Mrs. Ritchie once saw the young lady who was supposed to have suggested Becky Sharp to her father; and Carlyle and his wife knew--and disliked--the original Blanche Amory. [Illustration: _From a photograph by Ernest Edwards_ W. M. THACKERAY] Thackeray was not topographical in the [Illustration: A PAGE OF THACKERAY’S MANUSCRIPT Showing an original sketch in the margin (Reproduced from “Denis Duval,” by kind permission of Mrs. Richmond Ritchie)] sense that Dickens was. Often the briefest mention of a street satisfied him. Yet somehow the places of the principal scenes of his novels linger in the memory. As a young man he studied at Weimar, and later, while serving his apprenticeship both to art and letters, he resided from time to time at Paris. Had he never visited Germany, perhaps Amelia and Jos and Dobbin would not have gone Am Rhein, and the chapter about Becky and the Pumpernickel students would never have been written. Many of his characters went to Paris, which had for him a strong personal interest. It was there he wooed and won his wife. It was at Paris that he wrote the autobiographical verse in the ballad which tells of the Bouillabaisse served at Terré’s Tavern in the Rue Neuve des Petits Champs: Ah me! how quick the days are flitting! I mind me of a time that’s gone, When here I’d sit, as now I’m sitting, In this same place--but not alone. A fair young form was nestled near me, A dear dear face looked fondly up, And sweetly spoke and smiled to cheer me, --There’s no one now to share my cup. [Illustration: _From a photo by H. N. King, Avenue Road, W._ THE HOUSE AT NO. 2, PALACE GREEN, KENSINGTON, IN WHICH THACKERAY DIED]