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Updated: May 2, 2025
Yellowplush, I still am confident that many of your friends in the servants'-hall will clean my boots a great deal better than a gentleman of your genius can ever be expected to do it is for this purpose I employ footmen, and not that they may be writing articles in magazines.
They preferred the language of compliment, they loved to dawdle, to hold a skein of worsted, to read a novel aloud, or "The Yellowplush Papers" or selections from "Boz"; when tired of female society, or when it was too hot to hunt or fish, they retired to the gaming tables.
In looking over, not very long since, a long neglected, thin portfolio of my twin-brother, the late Willis Gaylord Clark of Philadelphia, I came across a sealed parcel endorsed "London Correspondence." It contained letters to him from many literary persons of more or less eminence at that time in the British metropolis; among others, two from Miss Landon ("L.E.L."); two from Mrs. S. C. Hall, the versatile and clever author of Tales and Sketches of the Irish Peasantry, cordial, closely written and recrossed to the remotest margin; one from her husband, Mr. S.C. Hall; three or four from Mr. Chorley; and lastly, five or six elaborate letters from Mr. E. Lytton Bulwer, sent through his American publishers, the Brothers Harper, by Washington Irving, then secretary of legation to the American embassy "near the court of St. James." Enclosed with these last-mentioned letters was a communication from Miss Fanny Kemble, to whom they had been sent for perusal, and who, in returning them, did not hesitate to say that she did Not share his young American correspondent's admiration for the author of Pelham. She had met him frequently in London society, and regarded his manners as affected and himself as a reflex of his own conceited model of a gentleman a style which Thackeray perhaps did not too grossly caricature when he made Chawls Yellowplush announce, from his own lips, his sounding name and title to a distinguished London drawing-room as "Sa-wa-Edou-wah'd-
No doubt the effect was already in me, and he did not so much produce it as find it. In the mean time he was a vast delight to me, as much in the variety of his minor works his 'Yellowplush, and 'Letters of Mr. There was something in the art of the last which seemed to me then, and still seems, the farthest reach of the author's great talent.
Yellowplush upon some of the segregated passages are amusing enough. Take the following, for example: Girl, beware! The love that trifles round the charm it gilds, Oft ruins while it shines. Igsplane this, men and angles! I've tried every way; backards, forards, and all sorts of trancepositions: The love that ruins round the charm it shines Gilds while it trifles oft, or
By 1837, having lost his fortune of five hundred pounds a year in speculation and gambling, he began to contribute to Fraser's, and thereafter to the New Monthly, Cruikshank's Comic Almanac, Punch, and other periodicals, clever burlesques, art criticisms by "Michael Angelo Titmarsh," Yellowplush Papers, and all manner of skits, satirical character sketches, and humorous tales, like the Great Hoggarty Diamond and the Luck of Barry Lyndon.
On July 26 Willis writes to Dr. Porter: 'I have engaged a new contributor to the Corsair. Who do you think? The author of Yellowplush and Major Gahagan. He has gone to Paris, and will write letters from there, and afterwards from London for a guinea a close column of the Corsair cheaper than I ever did anything in my life. For myself, I think him the very best periodical writer alive.
"The sea, the sea, the open sea!" as Barry Cromwell says. "Yellowplush my boy," said I, in a dialogue with myself, "your life is now about to commens your carear, as a man, dates from your entrans on board this packit. Be wise, be manly, be cautious, forgit the follies of your youth.
Yellowplush or Michael Angelo Titmarsh and you will realise that at the very beginning there was more potential clumsiness and silliness in Thackeray than there ever was in Dickens. Nevertheless there was some potential clumsiness and silliness in Dickens; and what there is of it appears here and there in the admirable Sketches by Boz.
Mr. and Mrs. Jasper were delighted beyond expression; Joe was deeply interested, though he confessed he did not know Thackeray as he ought. He had read only one or two of the novels and the "Yellowplush Papers." "I am going to read 'Vanity Fair' over again," said Hanny, when they reached home. "I didn't like it, really and truly." "You are hardly old enough to enjoy such things," returned Joe.
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