Nothing written by Thackeray shows more plainly his power over words and rhymes.
He draws his picture without a line omitted or a line too much, saying with apparent facility all that he has to say, and so saying it that every word conveys its natural meaning.
When a squall, upon a sudden, Came o'er the waters scudding; And the clouds began to gather, And the sea was lashed to lather, And the lowering thunder grumbled, And the lightning jumped and tumbled, And the ship and all the ocean Woke up in wild commotion.
Then the wind set up a howling, And the poodle dog a yowling, And the cocks began a crowing, And the old cow raised a lowing, As she heard the tempest blowing; And fowls and geese did cackle, And the cordage and the tackle Began to shriek and crackle; And the spray dashed o'er the funnels, And down the deck in runnels; And the rushing water soaks all, From the seamen in the fo'ksal To the stokers whose black faces Peer out of their bed-places; And the captain, he was bawling, And the sailors pulling, hauling, And the quarter-deck tarpauling Was shivered in the squalling; And the passengers awaken, Most pitifully shaken; And the steward jumps up and hastens For the necessary basins.
Then the Greeks they groaned and quivered, And they knelt, and moaned, and shivered, As the plunging waters met them, And splashed and overset them; And they call in their emergence Upon countless saints and virgins; And their marrowbones are bended, And they think the world is ended.
And the Turkish women for'ard Were frightened and behorror'd; And shrieking and bewildering, The mothers clutched their children; The men sang "Allah! Illah! Mashallah Bis-millah!" As the warning waters doused them, And splashed them and soused them And they called upon the Prophet, And thought but little of it.
Then all the fleas in Jewry Jumped up and bit like fury; And the progeny of Jacob Did on the main-deck wake up.
(I wot these greasy Rabbins Would never pay for cabins); And each man moaned and jabbered in His filthy Jewish gaberdine, In woe and lamentation, And howling consternation.
And the splashing water drenches Their dirty brats and wenches; And they crawl from bales and benches, In a hundred thousand stenches.
This was the White Squall famous, Which latterly o'ercame us.
_Peg of Limavaddy_ has always been very popular, and the public have not, I think, been generally aware that the young lady in question lived in truth at Newton Limavady (with one d).

But with the correct name Thackeray would hardly have been so successful with his rhymes.
Citizen or Squire Tory, Whig, or Radi- Cal would all desire Peg of Limavaddy.
Had I Homer's fire Or that of Sergeant Taddy Meetly I'd admire Peg of Limavaddy.
And till I expire Or till I go mad I Will sing unto my lyre Peg of Limavaddy.
_The Cane-bottomed Chair_ is another, better, I think, than _Peg of Limavaddy_, as containing that mixture of burlesque with the pathetic which belonged so peculiarly to Thackeray, and which was indeed the very essence of his genius.
But of all the cheap treasures that garnish my nest, There's one that I love and I cherish the best.
For the finest of couches that's padded with hair I never would change thee, my cane-bottomed chair.
'Tis a bandy-legged, high-bottomed, worm-eaten seat, With a creaking old back and twisted old feet; But since the fair morning when Fanny sat there, I bless thee and love thee, old cane-bottomed chair.
* * * * * She comes from the past and revisits my room, She looks as she then did all beauty and bloom; So smiling and tender, so fresh and so fair, And yonder she sits in my cane-bottomed chair.
This, in the volume which I have now before me, is followed by a picture of Fanny in the chair, to which I cannot but take exception.

I am quite sure that when Fanny graced the room and seated herself in the chair of her old bachelor friend, she had not on a low dress and loosely-flowing drawing-room shawl, nor was there a footstool ready for her feet.

I doubt also the headgear.

Fanny on that occasion was dressed in her morning apparel, and had walked through the streets, carried no fan, and wore no brooch but one that might be necessary for pinning her shawl.
_The Great Cossack Epic_ is the longest of the ballads.