.^,

'V*^'.

.^.^^>%^

EMAGE EVALUATION
TEST TARGET (MT-3)

I.U 1^ "

I.I

M 112.5

1^ 1^

? '- IIIIM

ill 1.8

1111.25 1.4

1.6

6" —

►

'/}

°m

e^i

»f •>

Photographic

Sdences

Corporation

23 WEST MAIN STREET

WEBSTER, NY. 14S80

(716) 872-4503

#fo

CIHM/ICMH

Microfiche

Series.

CIHM/ICIVIH
Collection de
microfiches.

Canadian Institute for Historical Microreproductions / Institut Canadian de microreproductions historiques

Technical and Bibliographic Notas/Nota* techniques at bIbUographlquea

Thi
to t

The Institute has attempted to obtain the best
original copy available for filming. Feetures of this
copy which msy be bibllographlcally unique,
which mey alter any of the Images In the
reproduction, or which may significantly change
the usual method of filming, are checked below.

Coloured covers/
Couverture de couleur

I I Covers damaged/

Couverture endomrjiagAe

Covers restored and/or laminated/
Couverture restaurie et/ou pelliculAe

Cover title missing/

Le titre de couverture manque

r~~| Coloured maps/

Cartes gAographiques en couleur

Coloured ink (I.e. other than blue or black)/
Encre de couleur (I.e. autre que bleue ou noire)

I I Coloured plates and/or Illustrations/

Planches et/ou illustrations en couleur

Bound with other material/
ReliA avec d'autres dociments

Tight binding may cause shadows or distortion
along interior margin/

La reliure serrde peut causer de I'ombre ou de la
distortion le long de la marge int6rieure

Blank leaves added during restoration may
appear within the text. Whenever possible, these
have been omitted from filming/
II se peut que certpines peges blanches ajoutAes
lors d'une restauration apparaissent dans le texte.
mais, lorsque cela Atalt possible, ces peges n'ont
pas 6tA filmAes.

Additional comments:/-
Commentaires supplimentaires:

L'Instltut a microfilm* le meilleur exemplaire
qu'il lui ?! 6X6 possible de se procurer. Les details
de cet er^emplaire qui sont peut-Atre uniques du
point de vue bibliographique, qui peuvent modifier
une image reprodulte, ou qui peuvent exiger une
modification dans la mAthode normale de fllmage
sont indiqu6s ci-dessous.

I I Coloured papr.s/

Page& ds couleur

Pages damaged/
Pages endommagies

Pages restored and/oi

Pages restauries et/ou pelliculAes

Pages discoloured, stained or foxei
Pages dAcolorAes. tacheties ou piqu6es

Pages detached/
Pages ditachies

Showthroughy
Transparence

Quality of prir

Quallt6 inigaib de I'impresslon

Includes supplementary materii
Comprend du metiriei supplAmentaire

Only edition available/
Seule Mitlon disponible

I I Pages damaged/

I — I Pages restored and/or laminated/

r~Jy| Pages discoloured, stained or foxed/

I I Pages detached/

[T"] Showthrough/

I I Quality of print varies/

I I Includes supplementary material/

I — I Only edition available/

The
pos
oft
filn'

Ori]
be(
the
sioi
oth
firs
sior
or i

The
sha
TIN
whi

Mai
diff
enti
beg
righ
reqi
met

Pages wholly or partially obscured by errata
slips, tissues, etc., have been refilmed to
ensure the best possible image/
Les pages totalement ou partiellement
obscurcies par un feuillet d'errata, une pelure.
etc., ont 6X6 filmies 6 nouveau de fapon 6
obtenir la meilleure image possible.

This item is filmed at the reduction ratio checked below/

Ce document est film* au taux de reduction indiquA ci-dessous.

10X

14X

18X

22X

26X

30X

12X

16X

20X

24X

28X

»K

sire
details
ues du
t modifier
gar una
I fiimaga

tea

Tha copy fiimed hare has been reproduced thanlts
to the generosity of:

National Library of Canada

The images appearing here are the best quality
possible considering the condition and legibility
of the original copy and in keeping with the
filming contract specifications.

Original copies in printed paper covers are filmed
beginning with the front cover and ending on
the last page with a printed or illustrated impres-
sion, or the back cover when appropriate. All
other original copies are filmed beginning on the
first page with a printed or illustrated impres-
sion, and ending on the last page with a printed
or illustrated impression.

The last recorded frame on each microfiche
shall contain the symbol ^^> (meaning "CON-
TINUED"), or the symbol V (meaning "END"),
whichever applies.

L'exemplaire filmd fut reproduit grdce d la
g6n6rosit6 de:

Blbliothdque nationale du Canada

Las images suivantes ont 6x6 reproduites ivec le
plus grand soin, compte tenu de la condititn at
de la nettet6 de l'exemplaire film6, et en
conformity avec les conditions du central de
filmage.

Les exemplaires originaux dont la couverture en
papier est imprimde sont filmds en commenpatit
par le premier plat et en terminant soit par la
dernidre page qui comporte une empreinte
d'impression o*i d'illustration, soit par le second
plat, salon le cas. Tous les autres exemplaires
originaux sont film6s en commenqant par la
premidre page qui comporte une empreinte
d'impression ou d'illustration et en terminant par
la dernidre page qui comporte une telle
empreinte.

Un des symboles suivants apparaitra sur la
dernidre image de cheque microfiche, selon le
cas: le symbole -^ signifie "A SUIVRE", le
symbole V signifie "FIN".

Maps, plates, charts, etc., may be filmed at
different reduction ratios. Those too large to be
entirely included in one exposure are filmed
beginning in the upper left hand corner, left to
right and top to bottom, as many frames as
required. The following diagrams illustrate the
method:

Les cartes, planches, tableaux, etc., peuvent dtre
filmds d des taux de reduction diff^rents.
Lorsque le document est trop grand pour dtre
reproduit en un seul clich6, il est film6 d partir
de Tangle sup^rieur gauche, de gauche d droite,
et de haut en bas, en prenant le nombre
d'images ndcessaire. Les diagrammes suivants
illustrent la mdthode.

t errata
d to

« pelure,

;on A

32X

TIIK LAST rOHTKAIT OF
CHARLES DICKENS.

« alien w fcb bans; before bis beeeii&r.

THE LIFE AND WRITINGS

CHARLES DICKENS:

% UTcmorial Oolumc.

R. A. HAMMOND, LL.D.,

AUTHOR or "life IX E(;\rT," "Knii in the holy land," etc., etc.

CONTAINMNO

Pcisoiul KtCoHu'ions, .-l HI !/<!:/;:; .■liu-cJotcs, /.,•//< v,v ntid UncolLxtcd Papers

by "/>V«," never before pitbiishcd,

%K\\\\ an gntnntuctiou

By ELIHU BURRITT.

"1 have always .striven ill my writinirs ti. cvpnjsr, vmieration f<>r the life aiiil lessons ol
our SaviiHir; beeau-c I fnl it." CiiviUiiis Dickex.i.

Toronto :

r U B L I S II K D B V M A C L K A R iil: CO.

1S71.

302!)

Entered, according: tn the Art of Parliiunoiit, nf the nominiun of Canada, in the year
1870, by A. II. IIOVKY, in the office of tiic Hogistrar of tlic Pominion of Canada.

Pkixted Axn BorsD nv IIin-tku, Rose & Co.,
8u & So KiNu Sr. V.'K.sr.

302!)

Canada, in the year
inion of Canada.

/ T-t— <_ v-^

''^2 a I Ic ./.,-' >^

L (

The

THIS TRIB

ALL LOVERS OF LITERATURE,

AND ESPECIALLY

THE ADMIRERS OF THE WRITINGS OP

CHARLES DICK.ENS,

THIS TRIBUTE TO THE MEMORY OF THE GREAT NOVELIST

IS RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED

THE AUTHOR.

INTrtODUCTIOX.

JJrHKN tlio tL'le;^n-a])li ilaslicd from cniitinont to
^^ cMHitiiiont, Jiiul IVoui city to i*itv, tlu' intflH-
b^3Sd) fence of the su<l«lon deiith of Charles Dickens,
md wlicn tliat sad news was eani;ht up and carried
)y Word of mouth from handet to liamiet, the nations
md peo[)h\s of the earth seemed by an instinctive im-
)ulse to i)anse for a brief space from the turmoil and
)itter strife of their daily lives, to unite in one spontanc-
)us and heartfelt Inu'st of sorrow at the loss of an old
md constant friend. He whom they had been accus-
tomed to greet, year after year, witii anxious hospitality —
lot, perhaps, in actual person, but in a form as real and
tangible, tlu'ough the creations of his genius and the out-
ourings of his heart ; he whoso fictions and vivid pen-
)aintings had created household gods in every home ;
harles Dickens was no more. The truth was ^ard to
realize. For nearly forty years he had held the palm of
luthorship, tlie first place amongst a host of literary rivals,
the hearts of the millions. No other had appealed so

INTRODUCTION.

strongly to their afrcctioiis, none touched the ten<ler and
sym])athetie chords of tlicii* inmost natures as lie had
done. Born of hard working parents, with scanty ecUica-
tion, and without the assistance of fortune or patronage
to give him an adventitious start in the world, he owed
his success to his natural gifts and rare genius alone. The
struggle in his early days was an uphill one. -The field
was full of rivalry. Publishers failed to appreciate his
offerings. Envious and carping critics sneered at hini as
low and vulgar, because he dealt with the masses. Po-
verty pressed him. But in the midst of all discourage-
ments he manfully struggled on ; and fnmi the clouds of
neglect and disappointment he emerged the brightest star
in the constellation.

A man of the people, he thoroughly sympathised with
the people ; and he made it the labor of his life to expose
the various systems of cruelty and persecution to which the
lower classes were subjected, and the sufferings and tem-
tations to which they were exposed. He had no sympa-
thy with those ai'istocratic lordlings, who, wrapping them-
selves up in a mantle of caste and haughty reserve, look
down with scorn upon the laboring classes as upon a
race beneath themselves ; nor yet with those statesmen,
who finding the evils around them so wide-spreading, so
deep-rooted, aud so difficult of solution, prefer to ignoro

INTnODUCTIOX,

tliem altogotlicr, or to \vf\\G them until tlicy work out
their own cure. Anti(|U:it('(l and ahsunl national customs,
fortitieil as they wore hy a IuukUhmI years of habit and
usa"(', were assailcMl hv liim with a vi 'orous and unsnar-
ini,' hand. He sympathised with the lowly. lie niixiid
with all classes of men. He thorougldy comprehended
what t(M) many of his countrymen liave yet to learn, the
di<mity of lahor. He held in sli<dit estimation the bar-
ren honor of titles. He thorougldy realized and appre-
ciated the true American idea of a nobleman : —

'' Who arc Nature's n()l)lLMnon ?

In tlio tiekl and in thu niino,
And in dark ami i^^riiuy wurkshops

Like Oolconda's yenis they shino ;
Lo I they smite the ringinj,' anvil ;

And they dress the yieUling soil ;
They are on the patliless ocean
^ Where the raging surges boil !

T]ir}f are noble — fhcii \rhn hdmr —

Whether with tlie hand or pen,
Tf their liearts beat true and kindly

For their suflering fellow-men.
And the day is surely coming,

Loveliest since the world began,
Wlio.n {jood deeds .sludl he the patent

Of Hold it ij to man I ^' — Whittier.

Any other nobility than this is self elected, and has no
sympathy with human progress. It maintains itself solely
for the gratification of its own ambition, and the further-
ance of its own lust of wealth, power and position.

We do not wish to be understood for a moment to

* > •

INTRODUCTION.

maintain that Charles Dickens was a paragon of perfec-
tion, or a heau-ideal to be closely imitated in his personal
attribute's. We are well aware on the contrary, and v/ould
not suppress the fact, tliat he had many failhigs, and that
there was much about him which we would wish to have
been otherwise. In character, he was somewhat vain and
sordic looking closely after what is called the " main
chance." Perhaps too, at times, he was somewhat vin-
dictive; and we cannot justify his separation from his
wife. But it is not with Charles Dickens, as an individual,
that wo have to deal; but solely as an author. We do not
know Shakespeare now as so nuicli llesh and blood digni-
fied by that name. When we use the a])})ellaLion wo
mean the bound volume with that title, and which intro-
duces us to Hamlet, Leai-, and Macbetli. This is what
Shakespea e is to us. His body has long since mouldered
in the grave. His faults, if any he had, are forgiven him
i r forgotten. But his mind still lives, and is all in all to
■as. So it must be witli Dickens. \ A few short years and
1x11 who have known him personally will slumber with
him in the grave. Posterity will know him only through
his writings. If the tendency of these be good, then
Dickens will live for good ; if it be evil, then he must
live for evil.) The record of his life is comparatively
ynimportant, It concerns himself and a narrow circle

INTRODUCTION.

of relative?}. But his writings will influence posterity

for ages.

Many and diverse arc the criticisms wliicli have, from
time to time, been showei'cd upon the various works of
our author. Supercilious sludlowness has patronised him,
or pronounce<l him low, as tlie humor seized it. Pedantic
writino* masters have measured his clinracters witli the rule
and tape line of their schools, and made them overdrawn
or deficient as to them seemed fit. Tlie best commentary
on his works is their success, v/hich has been unparal-
leled. Journalists have decried Ficl'wai' ; but while
they were decrying, peo[)le slipped into the book-stalls
and bou<'']it Fickiricl' ; which was a better comment — at
least it was a more satisfiictory one to the authc. His
populaiity has already outlived even the names of many
of his earlier critics ; and affords their only claim to re-
membrance to others. It h'nh fair to pertorm the same
kindness to his later ones. It is absurd to characterize
certain creations of genius as deficient in art or untrue to
nature, and consequently incapable of pleasing, when the
creations themselves jn'umptly disprove the assertion by
giving universal satisfaction. If it be true that certain
forms and rules must be complie>l with in order that suc-
cess in the creation of characters may be obtained, then if
the full measure of success be obtained, it follows that

i I

X INTRODUCTION.

those rules have been fully complied with. The works of
Dickens need no other testimony than their unbounded
success to silence the clamor of every critic.

No author, with the single exception of Shakespeare, has
been successful in creating so many and varied types of
character as Charles Dickens. We can scarcely take up
a newspaper, but we find a reference to some creation of
his as typical of the class referred to. Everybody taking
the world as it goes, and idly " waiting for something to
turn up," is a Mlcavhor ; every despotic school master
doling out Ids treacle is a Squeers; a treacherous, insidi-
ous law clerk will be known as a Meek, for years to
come; the expert, sneaking picki)ocket will be the Art-
ful Dodger; and the sanctimonious hypocrite will be
called a Peehmijf to tlie end of time. Tliis universality,
if anything further be needed, furnishes ami)le evidence of
the accuracy of our author's delineations of character^.

It has been objected by many good and pious men that
his works savored of irreligion. I cannot acquiesce in
this decision. Whatever may have been his conduct in
life, or his private character, throughout his writings I
fail to find any expressions or ideas promulgated which I
apprehend would prove detrimental to tlie progress of
true Christianity, or injurious to tne minds of youthful
readers, Much that is hypocritical and pretentious in r^-?

jj —

INTRODUCTION.

ligion has indeed been the object of his ridicule ; and the
cloak has been stripped off more than one saintly Pharisee.
But are not these pretenders, these wolves in sheep's
clothing, an obstacle to Christian progress. Are they not
objects of constant philippics, ];»oth in the pulpit and in
the religious press. And where in the whole range of
literature, shall we direct the young for examples of a
moi'e simple charity, more self-denying devotion, more
long-suffering patience, more fervid love, more constant
trust, than are depicted in the writings of Charles Dick-
ens. A lover of children myself, whose welfare is to me
a consideration far beyond any object of earthly amT)i-
tion, I know of nothing in these works which I would
hesitate to lay before them. I cannot but feel that their
perusal would incite a demand for a higher class of litera-
ture, and feed a healthy mental appetite, instead of minis-
tering — as too much of the current literature of our day
undoubtedly does — to that prurient taste for the obscene,
or that morbid passion for sensation, so detrimental and
weakening to the mind, especially of the young.

Neither time nor the space allotted me, will allow of any
extended discussion of the various topics of interest in con-
nection with this subject, or of any analysis of the writ-
ings of the great author. Posterity will form a just esti-
mate of his labors ; and '* Old Time," who sifts the good

1
If-

INTUODUCTION.

from the bad, will, in spite of us, assert his pi'erogative as
the final and infallible critic.

To the many friends of our author the present memorial
volume cannot but prove acceptable. To such, he "still
lives," and any ti'ibute to his memory will be greeted with
acclamation. All that was mortal of Charles Dickens has
been followed by weeping mourners to the grave; but Piek-
lu'ick, SmU'CyPaid, Florence and Little Xcll will never
die. The writings of Dickens touched the hearts of the
people as did those of no -other author. And m.any
a head has been made wiser, and many a heart better,
by the creations of his ])rolific and powerful })cn. The
spontaneous outburst of sympathy and grief, and the
man}'- tributes of respect, that filled the Press of every
land at the sudden announcement of his death, bear
witness to his fame. His career is ended. His race is
run. And in the ripe harvest of his renown, and en-
nobled with a nation's honors, he has gone to "join his
immortal compeers in the mansions of the just."

E. B.

New York, Aittjiist, 1S70.

CONTENTS.

IXTRODUCTION, BY ElIIIU BuRRITT.

PAGE.
5

CHArTER I.

Introduction. — Ancestry. — His Father, John Dickens.
— His Birth at Landtort, England. — Removal to
Chatiiam.-^Early Edl cation. — Scanty Means. — Goes
TO London.' — Commencing Life. — Attorney's Clerk. —
Dry Duttes. — Ambition. — Parliamentary Reporter.
— The ''True Sun. — The " Morning Chronicle." . 17

CH ALTER n.

Higher Destiny. — D awnings of F\me. — First Contribu-
tions TO THE Press. — Sketches by " Boz." — Early
Notices by the Press. — Great Popularity. — Cruik-

SHANK, THE AllTIST. — N. P. WiLLIs' OPINION OF DlCK-

ENs. — Extracts from the "Sketches" and Early
Writings 36

CHAPTER TIL

Rising Fame. — Negotiations with Messrs. Chapman &
Hall. — Seymour, the Artist. — " Pickwick Papers." —
Monthly Series. — Dedication. — Origin of the Title.
— Its Failure Feared. — "Sam Weller." — Immense
Success. — Rival Authors. — Bulwer. — Scott. — Com-
ments.— Extilicts , .

XIV

CONTENTS.

CHAPTER IV.

TAGE.

Conclusion of '' Pickwick." — " Bentley's Miscellany"
►STARTED. — Mr. Dickens engaged as Editor. — Bril-
liant Staff. — His own Contributions. — Father
I^rout's Poem to"Boz." — "Oliver Twist" commenced.
— Great Success of "Bentley's." — Description of
Jacob's Island. — Comments of the Press on Mr. Dick-
ens' Writings. — The Reviews. — Washington Irving. 131

CHAPTER V.

Established Reputation. —Cruikshank, the Artist. —
Editor of various Magazines. — "Memoirs of Joseph

GrIMALDI." — "PiC-NIC }*APERS." — As A DRAMATIST. — >

The "Village Coquettes." — His Marriage. — The
Hogarth Family. — Resigns the Editorship of "Bent-

ley's." — "Nicholas Nickleby'." — Yorkshire Schools.
Mr. Lester's Opinion of Dickens

170

CHAPTER VI.

"Master Humphrey's Clock." — PickwickRevived. — "Old
Curiosity Shop." — Little Nell. — Dick Swiveller.—
Jeffrey's Opinion. — " Barnaby Rudge." — No Popery
Riots. — " Grip," the Raven. — Public Dinner to Dick-
ens. — Visits the United States. — Ovation in Boston.
— Banquet. — Josiah Quincy. — Speech of Dickens. —
New York. — Washington Irving and Dickens. —
Opinion of Philadelphia. — In Washington. — Recep-
tions. — Journey Westward. — Mint Julep. — On the
Canal Boat. — Return to London. — Gossip.

CHAPTER Vll.

The "Amerciav Notes." — Opinions on Slavery. — Copy-
right. — Hawthorne. — "Martin Chuzzlewit. " — Peck-
sniff. — Sarah Gamp. — "Christmas Carol." — "Crick-
et ON THE Hearth". — "The Chimes." — Criticisms. —

189

CONTENTS.

3fV

IPAGE.

Exhaustion. — Ylsit to Italy.— Genoa. — Palace or
THE Fish-Ponds, 222

CHAPTER VIII.

Iett'kn to London. — Politics. — The "Daifa' News." —
Charles Dickkns as Ej)1tou. — Poor Success. — Hi.s

F(»IITE. — " PiCTlKES FROM ItLAY. — " DoMDEY AND SON."

— DouoLAs Jerkuld. — Little Paul. — Florence. —
Schoolmasters. — "David Copperfield." — Autobio-
(jRApHicAL Features. — Mkavvbhr. — Hoffman. — Es-
tablishes " Household Words." — Editor once More.
— " All the Year Round." — "Bleak House. "—Chan-
cery Courts. — Skempole. — Lekjh Hunt. — Labor. . 249

CHAPTER IX.

Pecuniary Success. — "Little Dorrit." — The Circumlo-
cution Office. —"Our Mutual Friend." — Southey. —
" A Child'sHistory of England." — " Hard Times." —
*'A Tale of Two Cities." — The French Revolution. —
Carlyle. — " Uncommercial Traveler." — " Great
Expectations." — Minor Pieces. — " The Holly Tree
Inn." — "Somebody's Luggage." — "Mrs. Lirriper's
Lodgings." — "Mugby Junction." — "Hunted Down."
— "Edwin Drood."— Artists, — Thackeray. . . 285

CHAPTER X.

Removal to Tavistock House. — Habits at Home. — Intel- .
lectual Toil. — Family Troubles. — Separation. —
Explanations — Children. — Disagreement with Pub-
lishers. — Kent. — Removal to Gad's Hill. — Dickens
AT Home— Gad's Hill Place 319

CHAPTER XI.

[Dickens AS an Actor.— ChariTxIble Reading,— The Guild
OF Literature.— The Jerrold Fund. — Professional

^\-

XVI

CONTENTS.

PAGE.
Readings. — Banquet at Freemasons' Hall. — Second

Visit to Ameur'a.*%-Readinos in Boston. — Grand Re-
ception. — Tour to New York anj> other Cities. —
GRATirviNG Results. A- Pi BI.IC Dinner. — Farewell
Address. — Departure for Home 352

CHAPTER XII.

Disappointment and Success. — Experiences as Reporter.
— Home Influences. — True Name. — False Predic-
tions. — Luck. — Handwriting. — Aikjumknt. — Collect-
ing Material. — Egotism. — Gossip. — Piracy. — Poli-
tics. — Popular Education. — Reliuion. — Intemper-
ance. — Contemporaries. —Social and Business Haij-
ITS. — Personal Appearance. — Dress. — Ciiarfty. ' . 379

CHAPTER Xin.

In England Again. — Farewell Readings. — Speeches.—
Ill Health.— Last Reading. — Last Speech. — Retires
to Gad's Hill. — Failing Powers. — Alarming Illness.
— Death.— Burial. — Sermon. — Will. — Conclusion. . 405

^ i

PAGE.

352

379

HES.—
ETIRES

LNESS.

lox. . 405

'=^

~ - f^

r- '.

o m

|hat
iuac
l-nd

LIFE AND WRITINGS

CHAItLES DICKENS.

CHAPTER I.

[NTRODUCTION. — ANCESTRY. — TIIS FATTIER, JOHN DICKENS.
HIS BIRTH AT LANDPOUT, ENULAND. — REMOVAL T(J CHAT'
HAM. — EARLY EDUCATI(3N. — jSCANTY MKANS. — GOES TO
LONDON. — COMMENC ING LI F K. — ATTORN F. y's CLERK. —
DRY DUTIES. — AMIUTION. — PARLrAMENTARY REl'OllTER. —
IHE "TRUE SUN." — THE " MORNING CHJIONICLE."

"A smile for one of mean degree,

A courteous bow for one of high ;
So modulated both, that each

Saw friendship in his eye.'' — Hirst.

5^?™§HE ninth of June will Ioiil,^ bo a dark day in the

fe ml? Literary Calendar, for that day Avitnesscd the

sudden demise of the greatest novelist the world

has yet jn'oduced, Charles Dickens. Throughout

[hat large portion of the globe in which the English lan-

lage is spoken, the name of " Boz" is a household woi'd :

id races of men in other climes, whose motlier ton^rues

re not the Anglo-Saxon dialect, though venerating him

53 than we, are yet not unfamiliar with his name and his

ne. Essentially a man of the people, having no sym-

1 j

LIFE AND WBITIXOS OF

pathy or oommuiiity c»f f('oliii;< with tlio proud, tho
Imu^'lity, tlic aristi'ocrat'n*, lie toiiclicMl in all liis works ;i,
sympiithctio clioi'd in the jtopiilar heart, and (h-cw the;

toll

itli

'ti'

In li

nmsHcs

rccognizx'd a friend of tluMr oinUt ; a foe to those wlut
would di<j^ a broad gulf between man and man. His forte
■was ridicule; and many au ah.surd practiee, and many an
ancient prejudice in society and hiw, in ])oliti('s and reli-
gion, has trendjled and sueeundxMllicfortdiis biting sarcasm.
If lie has sometimes seemed to ireiieh uj)on sacred ground
and to attack with his shaft sul»jec*ts ordinarily considered
beyond the range of the novelist's ])en, and too solemn for
jest or humor, it will be found on a closer and more care-
ful study that it is the show and affectation, the worldliness
and pomposity of its adherents, and not the sim})le yet
deep and heartfelt charit}' of religion, which is the subject
of his ridicule. His adv^ent to the world of letters found
the English laws and customs, their system of schools,
iails and workhouses abounding in absurdities, or full of
moral leprosy ; affording a fruitful theme for liis caustic
pen, but a mortifying blot on a nation's greatness and
honor. His departure leaves the country with tho more
glaring of these defects removed ; and if not freed from
all of them, yet Avith its eyes o|)ened to their enormity
and absurdity. The politician, the lawgiver and the
clergyman receive a large meed of praise for the advance-
ment of a nation in intelligence, religion, and freedom ;
the novelist none ; yet it Avould be diihcult to find
among all the politicians, the clergymen and law-
givers who have moved on the stage of English

CHARLES DICKENS.

proud, tlio
lis works a

I drew till!

In liiin they
) tliosc! who
His forte
ad many un
cs and roli-
inLT sarcasm,
cred m'ound
y consi(h.'r(Ml
osoK'nni lor
1 more carc-
3 worldliness
\ simple yet
1 i\[(i subject
etters found
of schools,
, or full of
his caustic
atness and
h the more
freed from
r enormity
r and the
le advancc-
1 freedom ;
It to find
and law-
)f English

luhlic lifo during the past thirty years, any ono to
rhom the oomitry '^^ more deeply indebted for its

Irogrcss than to Cliarh's Dickens. 'J'he K^gishitor attempts

control the minds and actions of the people, and to

)c'rce them into tittini,' channels. His was the still small

^oice appcalin;^' to their own consciousness, jud<,'ment and
iuty ; i»raisin«; what was ])raiseworthy, and huin^hing at
rhat was ridiculous ; condenuiing the bad, and stripping

Iff the cloak from a thousand mcnistrosities, wliich tho
lasses would otherwise never have sei^n in their naked-
less; quietly drawing near to, reasoning with, and con-
fincintr the millions of minds which the le«dslator never
)uld have reached. The Christianity of his works is a
ue Christianity; not of the head, but of the heart; not
creed or sect, not of time or place, but of humanity.
"Charity dwells in every page; not church charity, in long

iobes and formal accents, but human charity, that blends

with every state and class however lowly, sympathizes

With every wounded, troubled heart, and finds a brother

•nd a neighbor everywhere.

It is fitting that the peo])les' idols should spring from the

jieople, and this is eminently the case with Charles Dickens.

jtte had no long line of ancestry to lierald his advent.

|)rawing his i:)atent of nobility direct from the Creator,

Je needed none of the titles and escutcheons, so dear to

lose who have little else to b(.)ast of His father was a

lain man, John Dickens l)y name, of fair education, and

)])orting himself and his family by his occupation as

Merk in the pay de})artment of the navy. This family
msisted of his wife Elizabeth, a matronly sort of woman,

- ■'!

if ) !

!h It

' 1

i il

50^

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

somewhat vain,but a fond mother, and her six children, viz. :
— 1. Fanny, married in her day to a Mr. Bennett, a lawyer.
2. Charles, the subject of this memoir. 3. Letitia, the wife
of Mr. Austen, an engineer and architect in London. 4.
Frederic William, at one time a clerk in the Foreign office,
London, an easy-going sort of a fellow, who lived freely
and died young. 5. Alfred, an raxhitect in London. 6.
Auf];ustus,who came to the United States some fifteen years
ago, and took a situation with the Illinois Central Rail-
road Company. Augustus married for his second wife
Miss Bertha Phillips, daughter of Charles Phillips, the
Irish orator, now deceased. There was some dissatisfac-
tion in the Dickens family at this alliance, which caused
an estrangement between Augustus and the remainder
of the family. It was from this cause that Charles Dickens
on his recent visit to the United States, refnsed to visit
Chicago. All of the Dickens family named above, father,
mother and children, with the single exception of Letitia,
are now deceased. We shall follow the fortunes of the
second child only.

Charles Dickens, the subject of this memoir, was born in
a suburb of the great naval station of Portsmouth, in
England, called Landport, on the 7th of February, 1812 ;
in the stormy times of Napoleon's fatal campaign against
Russia, and of the commencement of the "War of
1812 " between the United States and England. As
before remarked, his i\ither was at that time employed
as a clerk in the Navy Department, and in this
capacity he was obliged to make frequent visits
to the various naval ports, Sheerness, Chatham, Ply-

■'■'^

CHARLES DICKENS.

mouth and others, though residing for the most of his
time at Portsmouth. In the long wars between England
and France, from 1702 to 1815, the former power kept a
gigantic navy in constant and active service, employing
sometimes nine hundred ships, three or four hundred
transports, and a hundred and fifty thousand men ; and
expending nearly a hundred million dollars a year. In an
employment so extensive and multifarious as that of pay-
ing off the numberless and heterogeneously varied indi-
viduals of this great sea-army with wages and prize-money
— a kind of intercourse that comes so closely home to
men's business and bosoms, and, like the giving of an ex-
hilerating gas, stirs them into the joyful or angry exhibi-
tion of their most natural characters — in such a business
as that, Paymaster Dickens could not but see an infinite
series of pictures and traits of humanity, good and bad,
ludicrous and affecting, sinn)le and shrewd, contemptible
and noble. This he actually did, and was accustomed to
watch them with a lively interest. After the peace of
1815, being dismissed from office with a pension, he went
to London with his wife and two children, and ap-
parently from a coincidence of character with that of his
son, obtained employment as a reporter of the Parlia-
mentary debates under an engagement with the Morning
Chronicle. All his life long he habitually enjoyed des-
cribing the scenes and characters that had come before
him during his official life.

Mr. John Dickens' connection with the Morning

Chronicle continued uninterruptedly until the Dccily

Meivs was established, under the auspices of his son

' •

I i

\ I

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

I I I

Cliarles, in 1840, when he engaged with that newspaper,
and remained with it until his death.

It was the constant joke, among newspaper-men, that
Charles Dickens had dvaAvn upon his father's actual char-
acter, when lie was writing David Copperjidd, and put
him into that story as MicctAvher ; but tliough there was
a gi'eat deal of " waiting until something should turn up,"
in much that John Dickens did, (and did not), a man who
had kept himself in London, during a period of over forty
years, upon the newspaper press, with only a single change,
and that for the better, was considerably above the Micaw-
ber scale. Some traits of the living may have been trans-
mitted, with the novelist's natural exaggeration, to the fic-
titious character. A journalist, with a wife and six young
children, must always have found it difficult to keep his head
above water in London, where (the price of bread regu-
lating all other prices of provisions,) the four pound loaf
then cost twenty-five cents. It is possible that a man
may have found it mther difficult to " raise" a brood of
six children, " my dam and all her little ones," upon two
or three guineas a week, to say nothing of their schooling.
Now and then, perhaps, the reporter may have had some
" outside" chances, but it may be presumed that an avun-
cular relation, sporting the three golden balls of Lombardy
over his place of business, may have been resorted to when
money was scarce. Perhaps, too, on an emergency, money
had to be raised by " a little bill." The Micawber mode of
financiering, as developed in David C op)per field, n^idlQ which
avowedly gives many of its author's own experiences, may
have been drawn less from imagination than memory, and

CHARLES DICKENS.

it mny be noticed that while Mleawber docs and says many
unwise tilings, he never goes into anything which he con-
sidds dishonest or dishonorable. For my own part, I
see no reason why John Dickens should not have been
the orioiiial of Wdliuf^ j\[ic(nvhev. He considered himself
rather com[)liniented in thus being converted into literary
"capital" by his son.

It Avas thus among associations congenial to his own
disposition, that the early youth of Charles Dickens was
passed ; and a nature so extremely and sensitively open
as his to impressions from Avithout, and so persistent and
l)erfect in retain.ing and apprehending them, must neces-
sarily have received nmcli, both of incident and of habit,
from this homo experience.

Over {uid above his home training, the boy received
nothing of what is usually termed " education," except an
ordinary school course, which docs not seem to have even
pointed toward any regulai'ly classical or professional
studies.

The support and education of a growing family was a
serious burden to ^Ir. John Dickens in his new capacity,
uj)on his small salary and pension. In consequence of
this, Charles' school experience was extremely limited.
Fn)m the Rev. Mr. Giles, the pastor of a small Baptist
Church in Chatham, he learned the rudiments of an Eng-
lish education and a little Latin. But beyond this, what-
ever he knew, he ]>iek6d u]) in his own reading. He
]»orcd over Fielding's and Smollett's novels; find Gil Bias,
Dor Quixote and Robinson Crusoe were his favorites.
Thc.^c works, with the Arabian Mfjhts, formed his early

a <

LIEE AND WRITINGS OF

,11

i .

reading, and gave the first bent to his mind. In these
boyish days he was wont to wander through that part of
the county of Kent in the vicinity of Chatham. The
acquaintance he then acquired with men and localities, he
subsequently used as material for his works. In Flck-
ivlch we find the following description of Rochester and
Chatham : —

"The principal productions of these towns, (says Mr.
Pickwick,) apj)ear to 1)0 soldiers, sailors, Jews, chalk,
shrimps, officers, and dock-yard men. The commodities
chiefly exj^osed for sale in tlio i)ublic streets, are marine
stores, hard-bake, ap})les, flat-fish and oysters. The street;?
present a lively and aniniatcd ap])carance, occasioned
chiefly by the conviviality of the military. It is truly
delightful to a philantliropic mind, to see these gallant
men, staggering along under the influence of an overflow,
both of animal and ardent s[)irits ; more especially when
we remember that the following them about, and jesting
with them, affords a cheap and innocent amusement for
the boy population. Nothing (adds Mr. Pickwick) can
exceed tlieir good humor. It was but the day before my
arrival, that one of them had been most grossly insulted
in the house of a publican. The bar-maid had j^ositively
refused to draw him any more ]i(pior ; in return for which,
he had (merely in ])layfulness) drawn his bayonet, and
wounded the girl in the shoulder. And yet this fine fel-
low was the very first to go down to the house next morn-
ing, and express his readiness to overlook the matter, and
forget what had occurred ! The consumption of tobacco
in these towns (continued Mr. Pickwick) must be very
gi'nat : and tlie smell which pervades the streets must be
exceedingly delicious to those who are extremely fond of
smoking. A superficial traveller might object to the dirt
which is their leading cliaractoristic ; but to those who
view it as an indication of traliic and commercial pros-
perity, it is truly gratifying."
' # >(■ a- ''!•

■H'

i('

€^

CHARLES DICKENS.

"Bri(^^lit and pleasant was the sky, balmy the air, and
beautiful the appearance of every object around, as Mr.
Pickwick leaned over the balustrades of Rochester Bridge,
conteini)lating nature, and waiting for breakftist. The
scene was indeed one which might well have channed a
far less reflective mind than that to which it was pi*©-
sented.

" On the left of the spectator lay the ruined wall, broken
in many places, and in some, overhanging the narrow
beach below in rude and heavy masses. Huge knots of
sea-weed hung upon the jagged and pointed stones, trem-
bling in every breath of wind ; and the green ivy clung
mournfully round the dark and ruined battlements. Be-
hind it rose the ancient castle, its towers roofless, and its
massive walls crumbling away, but telling us proudly of
its old might and strength, as when, seven hundred years
asro, it rannr with the clash of arms, or resounded with the
noise of feasting and revelry. On either side, the banks
of the Medway, covered with corn-fields and pastures,
with here and there a windmill or a distant church,
t stretched away as far as the eye could see, presenting a
rich and varied landscape, rendered more beautiful by the
changing shadows which passed swiftly across it, as the
thin and half- formed clouds skimmed away in the light of
I the morning sun. The river, reflecting the clear blue of
[the sky, glistened and sparkled as it flowed noiselessly
on ; and the oars of the fishermen dipped into the water
with a clear and liquid sound, as the heavy but picturesque
boats glided slowly down the stream."

Again, in the Seven Poor Travellers, speaking of Watt's

Hospital, he says : — "I found it to be a clean white house,
of a staid and veneral)le air, Avith the quaint old door
ah'cady three times mentioned (an arched door), choice
little long low lattice-windows, and a roof of three gables.
The silent High Street of Rochester is full of gables, with
old beams and timljers carved into strange faces. It is
oddly garnished with a queer old clock that projects over
the pavement out of a grave red-brick building, as if Time

\ il

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

carried on business there, and Inmiij ont Lis sicfn. Sootli
to say, hv did an activ^e stroke of worli in lloclioster, in
the old (hiys of the llonians, and tlie Saxons, and the Nor-
mans ; and down to the times of Ivini,^ John, wlien tlie
niirired castle — I will not midertake to say how many
hundreds of years old then — was abandoned to the con-
turies of weath.er which have so defaced the dark aper-
tures in its walls, that the ruin looks as if the rooks ainl
daws had picked its eyes out."

So enamoured was our hero ^\'ith this locality, that in
suLseciuent yeai's he often avowed his desire to be in-
terred in the burial ground of St. Nicholas Parish, near
the Cathedral. Often he gazed enraptured upon this spot
from the to}) of Ilochester castle, and declared it, to his
view, one of the finest in Eno-ldnd. Here the Medwav
meanders peacefully through a fine stretch of beautiful
country, and under the shadow of tlie grand old crumbliiii;
tower. He once remarked to the writer that it was his
bo3dsh pastime to sti'etch himself at ease upon its gras,<y
banks, and |)ore over his favorite books, or imagine him-
self to be the hero of the tale, and work it out to a solu-
tion in his own mind. It is not strange, then, that in his
works he should recur so frequently to this locality, and
bring his heroes hither so often. It was the authors
tribute to the spot of his boyish love and waking di'cains,

As soon as Charles became old enough to contribute 'to
his own support, he was recalled from his rambles in the
fields and taken to London. His castles in the air were
rudely shattered, and he was brought back to the great
city to contend with the stern realities of life. He was
now sixteen years of age, and an opportunity occurriii^^,
he was placed as ii copying clerk with one of the many

I' i|

CHARLES DICKENS.

attorneys in Southampton Buildings, Bedford Tlow, Lon-
don. This capacity of copying clerk must not be con-
founded with the regularly "articled clerk" of English
usafi^e. The custom there differs so widely from that pre-
vailing in the United States, where a knowledge of the
law only is rc(piired for admission to practise as an attor-
ney, regardless of how that knowledge is attained, tliat it
will be necessary to explain that in England to entitle to
practise, a clerk must be regularly " articled" for five years
to an attorney, and the " articles" require to be stamped
to the amount of £120 sterling. Now John Dickens was
in no condition to spare this largo sum for his son's bene-
fit. Charles Avas therefore merely apprenticed in the
attorney's office to do the drudgery, at a salary of eighteen
shillings per week. Here he was occupied in visiting
Police Courts, serving subpcenas, hunting up witnesses,
and copying multifarious folios. In this place he picked
up what little of law he knew, which was principally
confined to attorneys' practise and customs. How much
this served him in subsequent life, all readers of his
Avorks fully know. The Biizfuz, Sampson Brass, and
Dodsoii and Fogg, who have now become historical, em-
body the impressions of that day.

The duties of the position were, however, entirely un-
congenial to him. The English "attorney" does not cor-
respond exactly to what we in America call a "lawyer."
He is occupied only in the inferior duties of the profes-
sion, while the barrister (the more successful of whom be-
come "Sergeants," such as Messrs. Bitzfuz and Snuhhin)
execute whatever requires, or is supposed to requii'c, the

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

f !

nobler powers of the mind. A moment's recollection "Will|
remind every reader of Englisli romance that the men of I
details, of mere writs and copies and drudgery, and tlie !
rascally men of law, arc attorneys^ and not harristen^
such as Oihj Gammon and his partners, and Sam2')son
Brctss, In the attorney's office, therefore, is to be encoun-
tered the greatest share of whatever is dry, tiresome, and
unprofitable, and the greatest risk of whatever is petty,
vulgar, dirty, and corrupt in the business of the law. As
that business lives entirely on tlie disputes of human be-
ings, it has a full share of these qualities. And of what-
ever is most tedious and unprofitable in the office drud-
gery, the junior clerk is, by virtue of his position, certain
to obtain the fullest portion. In the city of London, the
busiest and most crowded mass of modern civilization, all
the evil side of every human interest is concentrated and
intensified. Of all the law offices in the world, therefore,
that of an attorney, and a London attorney, is exactly
the place whose occupations must be most intolerable to a
joyous, free, genial, and overflowingly imaginative youth,
full of abounding life and activity in body and mind, lov-
ing what is kindly and generous and good, hating what is
mean and dirty and bad, by natural organization under
the necessity of devoting his whole existence to one single
task, and held to this necessity by sheer inability to do
well in any other.

His legal experience, short and superficial as it was,
was, however, by no means lost upon him. It is one of
the magical powers of genius to receive much from little.
Gibbon has told us how even a brief experience as an of-

'f I c

■:l

CHARLES DICKENS.

[ccr of the militia became a constant and considerable aid

his understanding and description of the military his-

)ry and battle tactics of the Roman. Empire. Scott's

[imilar career as a cavalry volunteer gi-eatly vitalized and

rerified his many spirited battle-pictures ; and even the

lort office life of our dissatisfied young clerk has left

lany distinct traces in his works. His delineations of

le persons, the office fittings, the documents, the personal

Lnd })rofessional manners of the London attorney's office

ind his clerks, are clear, life-like, full, and detailed even

a microscopic point as compared with those of mercan-

|ile counting-houses and warehouses. Observe, for a single

istance, the quantity of pictorial representation about the

Offices of Dodson <Sj Fogg, and Mr. Perkei^, and on the

fther hand the scarcity of the same in the case of the

rarehouse of Murdstone c5 Grinhy, or the counting-house

^f Cheeryhle Brothers. In the latter cases, all the persons

Accessary for the story are described, and sufficiently des-

ribed, but with very little of still-life, so to speak, or ac-

jssory grouping; whereas the lawyers' offices are des-

ribed with a gusto, an obvious fulness of apprehension,

lnd even a superfluity of both personages and surround-

igs.

Finding, however, after the lapse of about four years,
lat there was no hope of a rise, and nothing to look for-
ward to in his present position, he cast about for other
id more pi ofi table employment. A youth of creative
lagination, fond of the exercise of his brain, he naturally
)oked to the Press as his best opening. He was at this

le nearly twenty years of age, A newspaper entitled

] '>

:( V lii'l!

II 1=

\"r

\ ^h

I'r'

! ;■'

1 !

LIFE AND WRITINaS OP

the Mirror of Pinilmnent, liad .sliortly bcfi^rc; tliis been
establislied, for tlio purpose of rc])ortinL;- the (l('l)ato.s ; and
on the staff of this joiuiiJil lio found employmont as rcpoi*-
ter. There is no otlicial reporter in the English ParUa-
ment, the daily press furnishing the only aecount of the
proceedings ; and at this period, during the Reform debates
of 1832, there existed a bitter rivalry amongst the morn-
ing dailies in the matter of the earliest and fullest reports.
Charles Dickens at once entered upon his new duties,
acting both as reporter and sul)-editor of the journal with
which he was connected. 8o successful did he become in
the former capacity, owing, probably, to the (juickness of
his apprehension and connnand of language, that he soon
received an offer from a more important journal, the
True San, an evening i)aj)er, which prided itself especi-
ally on, and largciy increased its circulation by, its full
and early reports of Parliamentary proceedings. It will
be remembered that at that time there were no railroads
or telegraphs. All the mails from London, running in
every direction, left the city by stages at seven o'clock in
the afternoon of each day. Newspapers were received
until six o'clock. The Sini, by great exertions and at
large expense, furnished the latest intelligence up to three
or four o'clock in the afternoon ; and either by the ordi-
nary mails, or by conveyance of its own, despatched this
edition to all parts of the countr}'-, thus anticipating the
morning papers. The Tnte Sun — Dickens' paper — es-
tablished in rivalry to tlie Sun, was forced to use equal
expense and exertion. Charles Dickens soon proved him-
self to be one of their most efficient and satisfactory assis-
tants.

CIIATILT:?} DTCKEXfH.

we this been
l('l)atcs ; and
out asrcpor-
^lisli Parlia-
:ount of the
form debates
it the nioni-
llest reports,
new duties,
journal witli
le become in
[uickness of
hat lie soon
journal, the
itself especi-
b}^, its full
i^s. It will
10 railroads
running in
o'clock in
|rc received
ions and at

up to three
the ordi-

/tched this
Ipating the

paper — es-
use equal

'oved hini-

!tory assis-

In Dftrid Copprrficld, which is understood to be part-
V('j>rosonted or colored from jiortious of tlie Wl•iter'so^^^l
xitcricnce of life, tliiTu is a curiously cntcrtaiuiu<< and
Vividly cliMi'.H'tcristic account (d'liis trials in becoming a
)m|>ctcnt sliorl-liand reporter — a story whicdi is exactly
rue to nature, as liun(he<ls of editors and reporters can
jstifv, wlio have imder^one it all. Most characteiistic,
leiliaps, is the ditllculty — whicdi pi-obaldy even the most
Ihoughtful a i>i'i(>i'l analyst would never foresee — of read-
hv^ wliat one's own self has written. I)i(d<<'ns, liowever,
qui( kly vaiKfuislied all obstacles, and became a successful
Iie\\spiij)or Avorkman, heini;' the' swiftest veibatim re])orter
-—and besides this the hcst I't'jtor/rr, whi(di is by no means
the same thing — in (dther House of Parliament. In this
particular, Mr. Dickens was very much like the late Hen-
ry- J. Raymond. The gr(>at intellectual })owers, and par-
licalarly the entire self-connnand, and extreme J'cadiness,
quickness, and certitude of mental action with which such
men superadd brain to tingeis, lifts them far above the
Bttere reporter-mechanic, and indeed prevents them from
jfemaining reporters very long. While they follow the
Speaker word for word, they are supervising and revising
llim with an intellect very likely every way e([ual, and,
in truth and finish of expression, very likely decidedly su-
perior to his ; and as one or another of the invariable slips,
stumbles, or carelessness of oral delivery streams out of
^e lightning-like pencil, the brain re[)orter cures it, while
^-C mechanical reporter insures it. Mr. Raymond accord-
%gly made the best reports of Mr. Webster's speeches ; —
it was because they were better than tli€ speeches. With-

- ?*•

LIFE AND WRITINnS OP

out knowing a ainglc tra<liti()n or anecJoto bearing on the
point, it is necessarily obvious to any experienced news-
paper man, that this quality, superadded to his other pro-
fessional qualities, was what gave the youthful Dickons
his success in reporting. His work when "extended" was
not only what the speakers had spoken, but it was tlic
same made better, and, in fact, wherever necessary, made
good. Like the work of a great portrait painter, this re-
porter with a genius reproduced all the good of his suij-
ject, cured or concealed the defects, "telling the truth in
love," and giving to the spectators the best of the subject
blended with the best of the artist.

The True Sun was an ultra-radical newspaper, born
amidst the furious contests which marked the era of tlie
Reform Bill of 1832, and the times ])receding, in which
O'Connell was so prominent, and among whose clouds ^^•o
can now begin to see, in something like historical perspec-
tive, across the distance of a whole general \,.i, not only
the vigorous and burly figure of the great Irish patriot,
but many other famous personages, some few still living,
but most of them dead. O'Connell himself, Burdett,
Brougham, the late Earl of Derby (the "Rupert of Debate,"
and garnished, moreover, by O'Connell with the bitter
nickname of " Scorpion Stanley"), Sir Robert Peel, and
many moi'e are gone. Lord John Russell, now Earl Rus-
sell, is almost a solitary survivor of the leading parliamen-
tarians of those days of turbulence and peril. The I'mc
Sun was established bv Patrick Grant, was edited after
him by Daniel Whittle Harvey, and then by Mr. W. J.
Fox. It was rather the expression of partisan views so

ClIArj.ES mCKF.N'Jt.

)carlng on the U
•ienced news- 1
his other pro- I
hfiil Dicki'iis
xten(lt'd"\va.s 1
t it was tlic
jesaary, made
inter, this re-
1 of his sub-
tile truth in
)f the subjert

rspapcr, born

le era of tlie

ig, in wliich

ISO clouds we

rical perspec-

...1, not only ^

rish patriot,

still living,

If, Burdett,

It of Debate,"

\\ the bitter

Peel, and

\y Earl Rus-

parlianien-

The True

dited after

Mr. W. J.

views so

Ntiviiic and an^ry as to be uiily tenipnravy in iniportanco
)• intt.'rt'st, than the jM'nM.'incMt and appr(jpriatt' voice of
iiy "rr.it piinciplc. or ol any laigr ronstitueney, and it
i'('nrdinL;iy iasttMJ not nianv yoars. A njoni^nts staff were,
rsi«l('s Noini"" hickons, his lVicn«.l, Lanian J'dainhard, that
Idn- woiknian n[' liti'iaturo, J.<'i-h J hint, and perhaps
)oUL;laKS .K'lrold.
The servifos of the speedy and trustworthy young re-
,,,.(,.,. \vcr»', howi'ViM', soon translernnl (ISJ^j) toa stronger
nd Itcttci" |»a|tt'r, ihr Morn in;/ C/n'onich', also a liheral,
ui nuMlcrati'ly and ivspcctably liberal sheet, U[)on which
•(•re at diU'ei'enl times employed man}- persons wellknown
n other lirlds of clloit. Among these were James Ste-
hcn, the lawyei" an<l jiolitieal writi'r; David llicardo, the
(>litie;d econonnst ; William lla/lill, the eritie; Joseph
ekyll, the lawserand w i( ; J. l*ayne (N)llier, the Shak-
i])('ariaii connnenlator ; Alexander Chaliniers, the bio-
raphcr ; and, somewhat later, Jienry iMayhew, Shirley
brooks, ( !. II. F.ewcs, and t< o many more to be named
lieiv, At tln' time ol' L>i(d<ens' accession to its stall*, his
fuUiiv falln'r-iu-law, Mr. CJeorge Hogarth, was also em-
loyed upon it. Mr. Hogarth, who had heeii a lawyer, or,
n the locid [)hrase, a " ^Vriter to the Signet," in Edinburgh,
had come to Lon<lon iij \i\o bv his talents as a musical
,|D(»iiipuser and a write)-, and was now, and for some yeai'S
erwai'd, the (b'amatic an<l musical critic of the CJivonlcle,

'[ The connection ol" Mr. Dickens with the Morn in a

'^Jiroaiclr, was t>f considerahle duration, and endnently

3*1 1 is factory to himself and to his employers. He had now

|iad considerable practice at reporting debates, and had

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

acquired great skill and success in the work. He ■vva '
especially noted for the neatness and accuracy of his notiv
and for the case with which lie transcribed them.

At one of the dinners of the Press Fund, in Londuii,
whore he occu])ied the chair, he told his audience tliat tli
habits of his early life as a reporter so clung to him, tlm:
he seldom listened to a clev-ci' s[)eocli without his fingei^
mechanically and unconsciously going through the \)r<<-
ce^iS of reporting it.

All that is now rememljcred of him In " the Gal]er\
i'. that he Avas reserved, but not shy, and that he took un-
usual pains with his work. Sometime before this, !i
rented what are called ''Chambers," in Furnival's Ini
Holborn Bars, — one of the two Inns of Cliancery attaclieil
to Lincoln's Inn, and mentioned not on) y in Flckiv Id', ]){\i\
also in the fourtli part of Edivlii Brood.

t !i

CHARLES DICKENS.

CHAPTER 11.

Jilt his finaei>

IIGTIER DESTINY. — DAWNINGS OF FAME. — FIRST CONTRI-
BUTIONS TO THE PJIKSS. — " SKETCHES BY BOZ." — EARLY
NOTICES BY THE PRESS. — GREAT POPULARITY. — CRUiK-
SHANK, THE ARTIST. — N. P. WILLIs' OPINION OF DICKENS.
—EXTRACTS FROM THE "SKETCHES" AND EARLY WRIT-
INGS.

((

Ay— Father ! I have hail those early visions,
And noble aspirations in my youth,
To make my mind the mind (^f other men,
The er.lighteuer of the nations."

UT more congenial labors were in stO''e for our

young aspirant for fame, and a liiglier destiny

awaited liim. It was not by the drudgery and

conlinement of a re^^orter's labors that the rare

fabric of his faiuo was to be reared. But the habits of

arefulness and attention which he had acquired while

ursuing this avocation, as well as the acquaintance with

en and things, with civil and government affairs, which

furnished him were of incalculable value in th<^ profes-

ion of one so well fitted to turn them to account.

It Avas during the period of his employment on the

'hron'idc that youug Dickens made his first real ex-

eriment in his real vocation. Like many another author,

owever, he had long before composed " certain tragedies

hicved at the mature age of eight or ten, and repre-

nted. with great applause to overflowing nurseries."

How luuny authors have remembered, and will remem-

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

I'M'*

"m'

ber with amusement and sympothy, their own first expe.|
rience of print, with its odd, poignant little glory of con-
scious achievement — like a hen's at hatching, or a human !
mother's with her first baby — when they read the great
novelist's own description :

"The magazine in which my first effiision — dropped
stealthily one evening at twilight, with fear and trem-|
bling, into a dark letter-box, in a dark ofiice, up a darki
court, in Fleet street — appeared in all the glory of print ;|
on which memorable occasion — how well 1 recollect it 1-
I walked down to Westminster Hall, and turned into it I
for half-an-hour, because my eyes were so dimmed with joj|
and pride that they could not bear the street, and were!
not fit to be seen there."

This sketch w\as " Mr. Minns and his Cousin," and the
magazine was the Montlthj Mcfjardne, now-a-days often
called the Old Montlibj Macjazine, to distinguish it
from its comparatively rather " ftif,t " young competitor,!
the New MoutJibj, in those days just begun. Tliek
Old Monthly was really old, too, for a magazine, hav-
ing been established in 179G, and being therefore now
forty years old, save one. I

Shortly afterward, and during the }T-ars 1886 and 1837m
the Sketches hy Bo:^ appeared in the evening edition
of t^e Chronicle. Though often re-printed, the authors
own statement of the characteristic fancy which selected
his well-knoAvn sif]jnature of "Boz" is better than anv
other. He says that it was " the nickname of a pet child,
a younger brother, whom I had dubbed Moses, in honor j|
of the Vicar of Wakefield, which being facetiously pro-
nounced through the nose, became Boses, and, being short-

CHARLES DICKENS.

vvn first expe-
i glory of con-
g, or a human

ead the great j

■jion — dropiji'd
ear and trem-l
ce, up a dark
lory of print ;j
recollect/ it !-
urned into iti
imed with joy
let, and were

Lsin," and the
'-a-days often I
istinguish it 1
g competitor,
begun. The
agazine, hav-
lerefore now

^36 and 188"
ning edition
I, the authors
rich selectc'
3r than anv
If a pet child,
|es, in honor
^tiously pro-
bei^g short-

ed, became Boz. ' Boz' was a very familiar household
3rord to me, long before i was an author, and so I came to

:lopt it."

One authority — not thel)est, however— says that it was
httle sister who first said Boses, because she could not
ronounce it right.
If Dickens had never written anything but the Sketches
2/ Boz, it is not improbable that they would have been
iiblished in two volumes, as they wei*e ; but their author
ould not at present be heard of any often er, for instance,
an the Spaniard, Don Telesforo de Trueba y Cosio, who
as a writer of some standing in those days, but of whom
obody knows anything now except people who rummage
roiio'h KjtiCT sets of old maf^jazines. Tlie Sketches
ere, however, at once decidedly successful in London,
here they belonged, and at once gave their author a re-
gnized standing among the belles-lettres writers of the
fity. It is easy to trace in them nearly all the character-
istics afterward more strongly developed in the novels —
ihe overflowing fun and humor, and sense of the ridicu-
lous and absurd ; the almost preternatural sensibility to
points, shades, and ])eculiarities of character, utterance,
Ippcarance, and manners ; the ease and fi 11 abundance of
ipersonation ; the astounding quantity of grotesque names
•nd surnames ; the kindness and sym]>athy, just as ready
id just as nbundant as the laughter ; the entire original-
y, often vei'giug toward caricature, of the metliods of
nceiving the thoughts, and of the forms of expressing
em ; in short, the super-abounding and almost riotous
^ealth of material, the unconscious ease and certainty of

LIFE AND WRITINGS OP

I .

management, and the hearty, joyful geniality which batlicv
the whole. The first series of the Sketches was piilu
lishecl in two volumes, and was embellished — really cni-
"hellished — with illustrations by George Cruikshank—
as great a genius in his art as Dickens in his ; and who>e
modes of expressing thought pictorially might have becii
created on purpose for an alliance with the new author,
so congenial were they in their healthy mirth, sharp, good-
natured satire, and wonderfrd keenness and closeness of
characterization. The practical good sense, or the good
fortune, which suggested this immediate union of pen and
graver, aided greatly in the success of the Sketch f^
and still more so in that of the romances that followed,
Indeed, it might almost be assured, that a novel of tlie
men and manners of the day, must be illustrated, and l)y
able hands too, in order to have anything like a full suc-
cess. The great mass of readers have none too much
power of pictorial imagination ; what they are to receive
with pleasure must be so presented as not to require any
effort of thought ; and competent pictures afford them ex-
actly the centres of crystallization, so to speak, which tho}
need. ■

The author of Random Recollections of the Houses oj\
Lords and Commons, (Mr. James Grant) thus refers to|
Mr. Dickens' dehiU as an author : —

" It was about the year 1833-4, before Mr. Dickens's!
connection with the MovnuKj Chronicle, and before!
Mr. Black, the editor of that 'journal, had ever met with
him, that he commenced his literary career as an amateur
writer. He made his debiU in the latter end of 1834 or
beginning of 1835, in the Old Monthly Magazine, then

CITAIILES DTC'KEXFI.

)n(lucte(l hy Captain Holland, a friend of mine. Ho
mt, in the first instance, liis contributions to that periodi-
il anonymously. Tliese consisted of sketches, chieHy of

hunioroiis character, and Avere simply signed " Boz."
I'or a long time they di<l not attract any special attention,

it Avere o-enerally spoken of in news})aper notices of tlie

lacfazme as c

lever,'

"gra])]iic," etc. Early in 183G, tlio
[itorship of the Montlihi M<i(jo.z'nic — the adjective
iOld" having been by this time dropped — came into my
[ands; and in making the necessary arrangements for its
ransfer from Ca})tain Holland — then, I should have men-
ioned, proprietor as well as editor — 1 ex})ressed my great
idmiration of the series of " Sketches by Boz," which had
Ippeared in the Moiithhj, and said I should like to
lake aw arrangement with the writer for the continuance
^f them under my editorship. With that view I asked
lim the name of the author. It will sound strange in
lost ears, when I state that a name which has for so many
rears filled the whole civilized world with its fame, was
lot remembered by Captain Holland. But, he added,
ifter ex]:>ressing his regret that he could not at the mom-
ent recollect the real name of " Boz," that he had receiv-
ed a letter from him a few days previously, and that if I
rould meet him nt the same time and place next day, he
^ould bring me that letter, because it related to the
Sketches of the writer in the Monthhj Magazine. As
laptain Holland knew I was at the time a Parliament-
ry reporter on the Mo ruin f/ Chronicle, then i\ journal
)f high literary reputation, and of great political influence
■he supplemented his remarks by saying that " Boz'*
''as a Parliamentary reporter ; on which I oljserved that
must, in that case, know him, at least by sight, as I was
lC([uainted in that respect, more or less, with all the re-
)orters in the gallery of the House of CVjumions. Cap-
lin Holland and I met, according to appointment, on the
[bllowing day, when he brought the letter to which he
lad referred. I then found that the name of the au-
lor of ^Sketches hy Boz, was Charles Dickens. The
itter was written in the most modest terms. It was

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

simply to the effect tluit as lie (Mi*. Dickens) liad liithor-
to ;j;iveri all his coiilrihiitioiis — those sIh'ikmI "Boz"
gratuitously, lu^ would l>o «;l;i(l if C*;ij)iniu llollaud tboui
his " Skett'hes" worthy of juiy small reniuuL'i'ation,
otherwise he would lie obliged to discoiitiuue thcui, 1
cause hti was ix<>inu^ xcvy soi.u to <j:vt w.wv'wi], and thct
fore Avoidd he subji'cted to more exj^cuses tliau he \v:<-
while livini>' alone, which ho Avas (hirini:,- the time, iuFiu-
nival Inn."

An obitu.'uy nrii(tl(' in the L'nrrpool Alh'io)), says: —

''It may not he an inadmissihlr snvj'fuJr of the fill-
monrned idol to stat(.' here, that the first lines ever ]\lr.
Dickens composed Avere submitted imeonditionally to tliu
writer of these lemarks, submitted as tiie merest matter
of professional literary business, hap-hazard, without any
introduction or intervention ol any kind, and without
critic or antlior haviuLi' the faintest idea of eaeh other's
individuality. It is, jn'rhajts, not a too extraA'agant hypo-
thesis to surmise th.at, had the judgment been advei'se,
there might never ha\'(,' been another appeal elsewhere l»y
the hand which has hehl the Avhole reading world in ca|)-
tive admiration to its multitudiuous spells ever since — a
pei'iod of some thirty-tiv(.' years.

"At that time the (Jhl Moh/Ji/t/^ ns it Avas called, to
distinguish it from the 'JVarJ about whh-h latter (\A-
burn, with (*ampbell for editor, kept bloAving such trmu-
pety, AVJis still a ]>uissance, tliough it liad lately ]>arteil
with its priiKripai contributor. He v. I)i'. CVoly, Avhose >SV-
lathicl Avas yet in tlic llow of its orioinal success ; and liis
'Notes of the ]\lonth' Avere always a pi(piant feature,
even in an age of trenchant and polished penmanship.
Under Croly the magazine Avas ai'dently tory ; l)ut it had
become to pro])erty oL'C/aptain Ilolland, formerly one of
BoliA'ars aides-de-cam]) — a hig]i-l>red man, of a type now
passed away, most A'arie<lly accomplished, and the centre
of a congenial circle a>-' gifted as himself iiK.-luding many
who afterAvards made the fame of Frd.^ir. Holland's His-
panoliaii liberalism, stirmdated by the hot and turbid Eiii^-

CHARLES DICKENS.

'\('i' .since — ;i

lisli "Reform noitation, still seething, nnd the Campbell and
^*()ll)uvn oonij)etiti()n, led him to look lor fresh blood to
r«;'vivt' the dr()(>])in!4- eireulntion. llcnee ont^ reason why

>iekens, then hunyantly radical, was drawn thitherwards,
ilthnn^h tlici'c was notldni;- whatever ]i()litieal in the
jliLi'lit initial ])a|)ei', of less than half a dozen pa^es, he ven-
tnrt'd n]»(»ii. i\or was there in the thriM^ oi' four similar
)nes he afterwards furnished, and which attracted only
the most cursory notice from his I'd low-con ti'ibutors.
"hes(^ arti(^ics sulliced, howev(.'i-, to induce Dr. Black, an
)ld iViend of his fatlicj", to reconunend the accej)tanee of
)thers like them, hut of a mei'e 'social' character, in the
ifter manner of the master, for Bi'lUi^ Life — the ])roprie-
or of which was lavishini;' lar^^x^ means, in every form of
buhlicity, upon lils three journals, morning, evening, and

cekly. Then the success of 'her Majesty's van' (Peel's
iew]\'-(levised heaise-like vehicle for conveying prisoners
to and from the police courts), and a few more of the like
category, tliough printed in the smallest and densest
lewspapor ty])e, some twcvthirds of a column in length,
)htaiued in all j(Mn-nals the (extensive (juotation which
[ed to the ('ha])man and Hall alliarjce that resulted in

!(l-('''n-l,\ and in the unexam})lcd celcLrity thereupon
Sinp<'rv(^ning, and sustained rrr.sct^/^^/o to the last. Unicpie
all thini-'s, Dickens was ])r<>-eminentlv^ sinrndar in
this, that, thougli a 'gentleman of the |)ress' to a degree
mdreamed of in the vocaliiilarv of the ri<'ht honorable
)ei'sonage who affectedly disavows any other escutcheon,
le had no assailants, no traducei-.s, no enemies. And for
this reason, that, without being in the least mawdvish,
fnfl -hunting, or mealy-mouthed — on the contrary, l)eing
■lie most out-spoken extii'|»ator of shams, imposture, and,
his own all-exhaustive phrase, of 'Pecksniiiism,' he
levertheless ti'aduced, maligned, satirized nobody. Not
jven his censors. For he had many such. Ic would be
^kc descending into the catacombs of criticism, so to speak,
uiu.'arth ijioofs of how leadine* journals, now blatant in
|is posthumous praise, once ridiculed his [)retensions to
Ifclineate anything beyond the Marionettes at a peep-

LIFE AND WniTINCS OF

show; what jiil)ilant clapping of hands there was over
Jupiter's pseudo-classic joke, Procniiih'd huDii Boz, in re- 1
ference to his first and last dramatic fiasco, TJie VUhtijo,
Coquette.<, under Brahani's nianageinent, at the St. Jamos
a quarter of a century back ; antl what a titter of sardonic
approval was evoked by the Superfine Keviewer's ])edaii-
tic scoff, that Mr. Dickens' readings a})i)eared to be c(jii-
fined to a ])erusal of his own writings. His first stejis
were beset with Rigbys, whose 'slashing article:^' cried
out, 'This will never do !' pointing out how tho.ough a
cockney he was, once his foot was off the tlagways of the
bills of mortality, and anticipating the late vixenish ver-
dict of a certain screaming sister of the sensational school,
that his works are stories of pothouse ])leasan tries. He
won his way into universal favor in virtue of an all-assi-
milative geniality, against which no predetermination of
resistance was proof, as in the case of Sydney Smith, who,
with characteristic candor, avowed his intolerance of what
he believed to be the cant of Dickens' popularity, and
promptly ended in becoming an enthusiastic apostle of the
propaganda himself."

Mr. John Black, for some time editor of the Morning
Chronicle, was not a great admirer, at the time, of Mr.
Dickens' literary attempts. He was a matter-of-fact
character, little given to humor and little appreciating it.
We suspect that it was on this account that the Sketches
were published only in the tri- weekly afternoon editions
of the paper, more especially intended for the country.
Dickens' remuneration for them was not high. For this
reason many of them found their way into Bell's Life in
London, a sporting journal of extensive circulation, and
hence able to offer better inducements to the young ?
author.

Mr. N. P. WiUis, then iu London, (1835), writing to the |

CHARLES DICKENS.

icre was ovor
nii Boz, ill rc-
, The Vi/hnj,
the St. JaniL's,
tor of sardonic
It'wor's ])(jcLni-
)d to be coii-
lis first steps
artieli;^' crii.'il

V tllO.OUf^ll Jl

igways of till!
vixenish ver-
iational school,
isantries. lie
of an all-assi-
ermination of
;y Smith, who,
3rance of wliat
ppuhirity, and
apostle of the

ihe Morning
time, of Mr,
matter-of-fact
preciating it.

the Sketches
lOon editions
the country,
h. For this
BelUs Life in
uhition, and

tlie young

riting to the

>*'

shington Kational Intelligencer, concerning Mr. Dick-
ons, then aged 23 years, says :

" I was following a favorite amusement of mine one day

I tlie Strand, London — strollingto wards the more crowded
thoroughfares, with cloak and umbrella, and looking at
people and shop window.s. I heard my name called out
ty a passenger in a street cal). Fn^m out the smoke of
tlie wet straw ])eered the head of my publisher, Mr.

■|Macrone, (a most liberal and noble hearted fellow, since

|dead). After a little catechism as to my damp destiny for

that morning, he informed me he was going to visit New-

ate, and asked me to join him. I willingly agreed, never

aving .seen this famous prison, and after I was seated in

he cab he said he was to pick up on the way a young

aragrapliist for the Morninf) Chronicle, who wished to

rite a descripcion of it. In the most crowded part of

olborn, within a door or two of the Bull and Mouth Inn

the great starting and stoping-place of the stage-coaches),

e pulled up at the entrance of a large l)uilding used for

awyers' cliambers. Not to leave me sittinof in the rain,

^Placrone asked me to dismount with him. I followed by

It long flight of stairs to an upper story, and was ushered

a|nto an uncarpeted and bleak-looking room, with a deal

ble, two or three chairs and a f^w books, a small boy

nd ^Ir. Dickens for the contents. I was jnly struck at

rst with one thing (and I made a memorandum of it

rhat evening, as the strongest instance I had seen of Eng-

ish obsequiousness to employers), the degree to which the

oor author was overpowered with the honor of his pub-

islier's visit ! I remember saying to myself as I sat down

II a rickety chair, ' My good fellow if you were in Ame-

ca with that fine face and your ready quill, you would

ave no need to be condescended to by a publisher.'

jckens w\as dressed very much as he has since described

ick Swiveller — minus the swell look. His hair was

.|;ropped close to his head, his clothes scant, though jauntily
Jut, and after changing a ragged oftice-co ^ for a shabby
lue, he stood by the door, collarless and buttoned up, the

Pi '

¥'
m

|! :;!il

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

very personification, I thought, of a close sailor to the
wind. We went down and crowded into the cab (ono
passenger more than the law allowed, and Dickens partly
in my la]) and ]>artly in Macrone's), and druve on to New-
gate. In his works, if youremenibrr, there is a description
of the prison, drawn IVoni this day's ohservji^ion. We
were there an hour or two, and were shown somo of tlic
celebrated murderers contined for life, and one youiif
soldier waiting for execution ; and in one oi' the ])assag('s
we chanced to meet Mrs. Fry, on her usual errand of ])ene-
volence. Though interested in Dickens' face, 1 forgot him,
naturally enough, after we entered the prison, and I du
not think I heard him s])eak during the two hours. 1
parted from him at the door of the prison, and continued
my stroll into the city. Not long after this Macrone sent
me the sheets of ^Sl-c.lcJirs hi/ Boz, witli a note saj'in^
that they were by the gentlenum wlio went with us tn
NcAvgate. I read the book with amazement at the genius
displayed in it, and in my note of reply assured Macronc
that I thought his foitune was made as a publisher, if ho
could monopolize the author.

"Two or three yeai's afterwards I was in London, and
was present at thecomjdimentary dinner given to JVIacready.
Samuel Lover, who sat next to me, pointed out Dickens.
I looked up and down the table, but was wholly unable
to single him out without getting my friend to number the
])eople who sat .above him. He was no more like the same
man I had seen than a tree in June is like the same tree
in February. lie sat leaning his head en his hand while
Bulwer was speaking, and with his very long hair, his ]
very Hash waistcoat, his chains an<l rings, and with all a
much paler fixce than of old, he was totally unrecognizable. I
The comparison was very interesting to me, and I looked I
at him a long time. He was then in liis culmination of
popularity, and seemed jaded to stupefaction. Remem-
bering the glorious work he had written since I had seen
him, I longed to [)ay him my homage, but had no oppor-
tunity, and 1 did not see him again till he came over to
reap his harvest, and u]3set his hay-cart in Amerii^a.

CHARLES DICKEXH.

or to the
cjib (ouo
?ns partly
n to N(3W-
escriptinn
ion. \\\i

llU^ of tilt'

no youut,'

])assaf;('s

(I of 1)0110-

orofot liiiii,
and 1 do
hours. T
con tin u 0(1
crone sent
)te saj'inij;
kvitli us tt)
the genius

1 Maci'oue
;her, if ho

>ndon, and
riacready.
Dickens.
[\y unahlo
iiniber the
tlie same
;ame tree
Imd while
hair, his
itli all a
)U'nizabk'.
I looked
lation of
Remeni- f
Iliad seen [
^o oppor-
over to
lAmeric^a,

When nil the ephemera of his imprudences and improvi-
doncos shall have passed away — say twenty years hence
— I should like to see Idm again, renowned as he will be
for the most original and remarkable works of his time."

The tSl'dches are the earliest ])roductions of Dio'kens,
anil were the product of his leisure hours and odd ends of
tin^e, or written as ho tells us " t(.) meet the exigencies of
a ne\vspa[)or or magazine." They were originally published
in two series ; the first in two vidumes, the second in one.

In ISoO, when publishing a collective edition of his
works, Mr. Dickens says in his preface :

" The whole of these Slrtches were written and pub-
lished one by one, wlion I was a very young man. They
Avere collocted and re-]Hiblishod while 1. was still a very
yoimg man; and sont into tlu^ world with all their imper-
I'ootions (a good many) on their heads. They comprise my
iirst attempts at authorship — with the exce])tion of certain
trageilies achieved at the mature age of eight or ten, and
roprosonted with great a])plause to ovorilowing nurseries.
1 am conscious of their often being extremely crude and
ill considered, and bearing obvious marks of haste and
inex[)erionoo ; [>articularly in that section of the present
volume which is comprised urulor the general head of
Tiller. But as this collection is not origi'iated now, and
kvas very leniently and favci'ably received when it was
first made, I have not felt it right either to remodel or ex-
punge, beyond a few words and [)hrases here and there."

The authorship of the 8kc(c!irs had been kept a jiro-
fuund secret, nor was it until the 2)ubiication of the
l^lvJiii'tck I\ipers, that JMr. Dickens becjime known to
vthe public. Hence arose the ei)igrani :

*' Who the Dickens Boz could be,
Puzzled many a learned elf ;
But time unveiled the n^ystery,
And Boz appeared as Dickens' »elf . "

ti 1

ill

)i ill

LIFE AKD WRITINGS OF

These sketches are rcinarkij[)lc for their truthfulness ti,
life, a.s well as for their hiunor and sprightliness. They
treat of every i)hase of London life — high as well as lo^v
— and exhihit the remarkable capacity of one so young
to depict human character in every condition.

The early success of tliese works of Dickens was un-
doubtedly in a great measure due to the illustrations nf
Cruikshank. This gentleman was Mr. Dickens* senior,
and had made himself even better ac(|uainted with Loii-
don scenes and society than Dickens. His truthful dctl-
nitions, his aptness in hitting off characters with his pcn|
oil, his ready illustration of the text added immensely t
the interest in the story. Hardly could author and artist
have worked more in unison.

"We subjoin a few extracts from his tSketdtes of EwjlUl
Life and Character :

A VISIT TO NEWGATE.

" ' The force of habit,' is a trite phrase in every body^
mouth ; and it is not a little remarkable that those wli'
use it most as applied to others, unconsciously afford in
their own persons singular examples of the power whicl
habit and the custom exercise over the minds of men, aiui
of the little reflection they are apt to bestow on subjecti
with which every day's experience has rendered them fa-
miliar. If Bedlam could be suddenly removed like anotlicr
Aladin's palace, and set down on the space now occupic!
by Newgate, scarcely one man out of a hundred, whose
road to business every morning lies through Newgati
street or the Old Bailey, would pass the building without
bestowing a hasty glance on its small, grated windows
and a transient thought at least upon the condition of tlie
unhappy beings immured in its dismal cells, and yet tliesu
same men, day by day, and hour by hour, pass and repa>^

-if

CHARLES DICKENS.

[this gloomy dopoHitory of the «i:uilt and misery of Lon-
klon, in one jxMpctual stream of life and bustle, utterly
minuinilful of the tliron;,^ of wretched creatures ])ent up
kvithiii it — nay not even knowing, or if they do, nothecd-
\iu'^ the fact, that as they pass one particular angle of the
inassive wall with a light laugh or merry whistle, they
stand within one yard of a fellow- creature, ])ound and
[Lelpless, whose hours arc luunhered, fi'om whom the last
|feel)le lay of hoj)e has fled forever, an«l whose miscrahlo
Icareer will shortly terminate in a violent and shameful
leath. Contact with death even in its last terril)le shape
Ms solemn and appalling. How much more awful is it to
[reflect on this near vicinity to the dying — to men in full
hcaltli and vigor, in the flower of youth or the jn'ime of
life, Avith all their faculties and perceptions as acute and
)erfect as your own ; hut dying, nevertheless — dying as
anely — with the hand of death im})riiited upon them jus
indeliltly — as if mortal disease had wasted their frames
to shadows, and loathsome corruption had already begun!
I " It was with some such thoughts as these that we de-
vltermiiied not many weeks since to visit the interior of
SKewgate — in an amateur capacity, of course ; and, having
Icarried our intention into effect, we proceed to lay its re-
sults Itcfbre our readers, in the hope — founded more upon
^lie nature of the subject, than on any presumptuous ccn-
^lidenct in our own descri])tive powers — that this paper
|may not be f()und wholly devoid of interest. We have
)iily to i)rcmise, that we do not intend to fatigue the read-
jr with any statistical accounts of the j)rison : they will
)e found at length in numerous reports of numerous com-
nittecs, and a variety of authorities of equal w^eight. We
book no notes, made no memoranda, measured none of the
^ards, ascertained the exact numljer of inches in no par-
ticular room, are unable even to report of how many
iparlments the jail is composed.

" \ye saw the prison, and saw the prisoners ; and what
ve did see, and what we thought, we will tell at once in
)ur own way.

;* Having delivered our credentials to the servant who

t)>i ' W

\i'':>

I i

;;

1 ;|

1 :

r !

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

answered our knock at tlio door oi' the governor's hoiis.
"vve were ushered into tlie ' (office;' a Jittle I'ooni, on tli^
right-liand side as you enter, witli two windoAVs h?okiiiJ
into the Old Bailey, fitted U]) like an oi'diiiary attoiii('\ >|
office, or merchant's couniing-house, with the usual hxtiiml
— a wainscoted partition, a shelf or two, a desk, a coiipld
of stools, a pair of clci'ks, an almanac, a ckx-k, and a few
maps. After a little delay, occasioned by sending into tli.,
interior of the jriison for the ojilcer \\ hose duty it was iJ
chaperon us, that functionary arrivcfl ; a res})ectaMe look-
ing man of al)out tAVo or tliree ai.d fifty, in a broad-briui-
med liat, and full suit of ])lack, who, hut for his k(jy>
would have looked quite as much like :i clergyman as
turnkey: Ave Avei'e (piitc disapjiuintcl ; he had not ever:!
top-boots on, FolloAving our conductor by a door oppos-j
ite to that at Avhich we had entered, avc arriA ed at a siiialJ
room, Avithout any other furniture tlian a little desk,Avitl|
a book for A'isitors' autogi'aphs, and a shell", on which avo
a fcAA^ boxes for paners, and casts of the heads and faces oij
the tAvo notorious muivlerers, J^ishop and Williams ; tli
former, in particular, exhibiting a siyle of head and setij
features, Avhich Avould have alibrded sufncient m(ir;i
grounds for Ids instant executi.)n at any time, ca'cu 1i:i
there been no otlun* evidence aii'ainst him. Leaving" tlii
loom also by an opposite door, av(3 found ourself in t!;
lodge AAdiich o])en on the Old r)adley, one side of Avliir'
is plentifully garnished Avith a choice collection of Ik ;iv)
sets of iron, including th(»se Avorn by the redoubtable J;iil
8heppard — genuine; and those t<ai(l to hav^e been grat'
by the sturd}^ liml)s of the no less celebrated Dick Turpi:
— doubtful. bVom this loelge a lieavy oaken gate. It. tun
with iron, studded with nails oi' the same material, ;.!,
guarded by anotlier turnkey, o[)ens on a few ste[)s, if w
remember rii>ht, Avhicli terminate in a narrow and fli
mal stone passage, running ])arallel Avith the Old Ijaili;
and leadini-' to the different yards, throui-h a number ''
tortuous and intricate vA^indings, guarded in their turn i
huge gates and gratings, whose appearance is sutHcicnti
dispel at once the slightest hope of escape that any ii'v '

CHARLES DICKENS.

jmer may have entertained : and the very ^'ocollec-
ion of which, on eventually traversing the place again,
ivolves one in a maze of confusion

It is necessiir;/ lo explain here, tliat the huildi.igs in the
Irison, or in ( cher words the diHerent wards — form a
juare, of which the four si<.]es alnit respectively on the
)ld Bailey, the old College of Physicians (now forming a
irt of Newgate-market), the Sessions-house, and New-
ite street. The intermediate space is divided into seve-
l1 })aved yards, in which the prisoners take such air and
Lercise as can be had in such a place. These yards, with
le exception of that in which prisoners under sentence

death are confined (of which we shall presently give a
lore dctailel dcscrir-tion), run parallel with Newgate
treet, and consequently from the Old Bailey, as it were,

Newgate market. The women's side is in the right
ing of the [)rison neorest the Sessions-house ; and as we
reie introduced into this part of the building first, we
fill adopt tlie same order, and introduce our readers to it

" Turning to ihe right, then, down the passage to which
^e just now adverted, omitting any mention of intervon-
ig gates — for if we noticed every gate that was unlock-

for us to pass through, and locked again as soon as we
id passed, we should require a gate at every comma — we
line to a door co^riposed of thick bars of wood, through
rhicb. were discernible passing to and fro in a narrow
ird, some twenty women, the majority of whom, how-
rer, as soon as they were aware of the presence of strang-
rs, retreated to tlieir wards. One side of this yard is
liled off at a considerable distance, and formed into a
[ind of iron ca£je, about five feet ten inches in hei<_dit,
)oied at the top, and defended in front by iron bars, from
^liicli the friends of the female prisoners communicate
ritli them. In one corner of tMs singular-looking den
•Hs a yellow, haggard, decrepit old woman, in a tattered
)wn that had' once been black, and the remains of an old
^raw bonnet, with faded ribbon of the same hue, in ear-
Jst conversation with a young girl — a prisoner of course
4

wyi'i ■ 'III

lit i';i!i

'Ml

! I

Hi!

fi i

#•

:■

i
1

'80

LIFE AND WHITINGS OP

— of about two-and-twenty. It is impossible to imarriJ
a more poverty-stricken object, a creature so borne (IottI
in soul and body, by excess C)f misery and destitutirj
The girl was a o-ood-lookin_£( rol)Ust female, with a profJ
Bion of hair strcamino- alxait in tlie wind — for she hach]
bonnet on — and a man's pocket-handkerchief was loose!
thrown over a most ample pair of shoulders. The oLl^v;.
man was talking in that low, stifled tone of voice wlii
tells so forcibly of mental anguish ; and every now niJ
then burst into an irrepressible, sharp, abrupt cry of ariJ
the most distressing sound that human ears can hear. Ttl
girl was perfectly unmoved. Hardened beyond all hop
of redemption, she listened doggedly to her mother's eJ
treaties, whatever they were : and, beyond inquiring aftd
* Jem/ and eagerly catching the few halfpence her mise'l
able parent had brought her, took no more apparent irl
terest in the conversation than the most unconccinj
spectators. God knows there were enough .f them in til
persons of the other prisoners in the yard, who were im
more concerned by what was passing before their ey^^^'
and within their hearing, thar if they were blind ?[
deaf. WliT should they be ? Inside the prison and m
such scenes were too familiar to them, to excite e^-en
passing thought, unless of ridicule or contempt, for t'^
display of fcL-lings which they had long since forgets ■
and lost all sympathy for. I

" A little further on, a squalid-looking woman in
slovenly thick-bordered cap, with her arms muffled up .
a larsje red shawl, the frino^cd ends of which stvaairli
nearly to the bottom of a dirty white apron, was couini
nicatingf some instructions to Jtcr visitor — her dauobt
evidently. The girl was thinly clad, and oliaking vi!!
the cold. Some ordinary word of recognition passed 1 1
twe©n her and her mother when she appeared at the gri'p
ing, but neither hope, condolence, regret nor aflection v^B
expressed on either side. The mother whispered her i'^
structions, and the girl received them with herpinched-
half-starvcd features twisted into an expression of caref^H
cunning. It was some scheme for the woman's defent/l

CHARLES DICKENS.

«l

woman in

lat she was disclosing ; and a sullen smile came over the
[irl's face for an instant, as if she was ])leasod, not so much
It the probability of her mothers hbenition, as at the
Ihance of her "getting off" in spite of her prosecutors.
^]\G diiilogue was soon concluded ; and with the same
ireless indifference with which the}" h;id approached each
^ther, the mother turned towards the inner end of the
rard, and the girl to the gate at which she had entered.

The girl belonged to a class — unhappity but too exten-
live — the very existence of which should make men's
hearts bleed. Barely past her childhood, it required but
glance to discover that she was one of those children
mi and bred in poverty and vice, who have never known
rhat childhood is ; who have never been taught to love
|bnd court a parent's smile, or to dread a parent's frown.
^he thousand nameless endearments of childhood, its
raiety and its innocence, are alike unknown to them.
?hey have entered at once upon the stern realities and
dseries of lii'e, and to their better nature it is almost
lopeless to appeal in afteriimes, by any of the references
rhich will awaken, if it be only for a moment, some good
jeling in ordinary bosoms, however corrupt they may
lave become, Talk to them of parental solicitude, the
lappy days of childhood, and the merry days of infancy !
^cll them of liunger and the streets, beggary and stripes,
[he gin-shop, the slation-house, and the pawnbrokers, and
[hey will understand you.

" Two or three women were standing at different parts
^f the grating, conversing with their friends, but a very
irge proportion of the prisoners appeared to have no
'iends at all, beyond such of their old companions as
light happen to be within tl)o >,alls. So, passing hastily
town the yard, and pausing only for an instant to notice
the little incidents we have just recorded, we were con-
lucted up a clean and well-lij^hted flight of stone stairs to
me of the wards. There are several in this part of the
■)uilding, but a description of one is a description of the

diole. ,

" It was a spacious, bare, whitewashed apartment, light-

!i!lt1l I

Ir \

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

ed, ol course, by windows looking into the interior of tlij
prison, but far more light and airy than one could rens n
ably expect to find in such a situation. There was a lai.i
fire, with a deal table bcibi;e it, round which ten or a rlozl
en women were seated on wooden forms at dinner. Alonj
both sides of the room ran a shelf; and below it, at re J
lar intervals, a row of large hooks were fixed in the ^valJ
on each of which was hung the sleeping mat of a prisoner [
her rug and blanket being folded up, and placed on tlJ
shelf above. At night, these mats are placed upon tlJ
Hoor, each beneath the hook on which it hangs during tlij
day ; and the ward is tluis made to answer the purpose
both of a day-room and slee[)ing apartment. Over tli:
fireplace was a large sheet of pasteboard, on which wer;!
displayed a variety of texts from Scri[)ture, which ^rer;|
also scattered about tlio room in scra])s about the size an:
shape of the copy-sli[)s Avliich are used in schools. On tlJ
table was a sufficient provision of a kind of stewed beJ
and brown bread, in pewtel* dishes, which are kept perl
fectly briglit, and displayed on shelves in great order aii:j
regularity wiien they are not in use.

" The women rose hastily on our entrance, and retire!!
in a hurried manner to either side of the lireplace. Theif
were all cleanly — many of them decently — attired, an:!
there was nothing peculiar either in their appearance o:j
demeanor. One or two resumed the needlework wliicj
they had probabty laid aside at the commencement k|
their meal, others gazed at the visitors with listless curif
osity, and a few retired beiiind their companions to tU
very end of the room, as if desirous to avoid even tlitl
casual observation of the strangers. Some old Irish w^f
men, both in this and other wards, to whom the tliinjp
was no novelty, appeai*ed perfectly indifferent to o'j:|
presence, and remained standing close to the seats froiJ
which they had just risen ; but the general feeling anion.]
the females seemed to be one of uneasiness during the pel
riod of our stay among them, which was very brief. Koil
a word was uttered durinof the time of our remain-
ing, unless indeed by the wardswoman in reply to soins^

CHARLES DICKENS.

cstion wliich wo put to the turnkey who nccompanicd
III every ward on the female side a wardswoinan is

jiointed to preserve order, and a similar regulation is

opted among the males. Tlie wardsmen and wardswo-
[en are all ]jrisoners, selected for good conduct. They
(one are allowed the privilege of sleei)ing on bedsteads ;
Ismail stump bedstead being placed m^ every ward for
lat purpose. On both sides of the jail is a small receiv-
fg-ruom, to which prisoners are conducted on their first
lcei)tiun, and whence they cannot be removed until they
ive been examined by the surgeon of tlie prison.*

" Uetracing our stei)S to the dismal i)assage in which we
(uud ourselves at first (and Avhich, by the by, contains
u'ce or four dark cells for the accommodation of refrac-
)rv jjrisoners), we were led through a narrow yard to the
bcliool" — a portion of the prison set a})art for ooys under
jurteen years of age. In a tolerable-sized room, in which
[ere Avriting-materials and son e copy-books, was the
|hoolmaster, with a couple of his pupils ; and the remain-
^r having been fetched from an adjoining a})artment, the

K)le weie drawn up in line for our inspection. There

jre fourteen of them in all, some with shoes, some with-
it ; some in pinafores without jackets, others in jackets
f tliout pinafores, and one in scarce anything at all. The

lole number, without an exception we believe, had been
bmiitted for trial on charges of pocket-picking ; and
(urteen such villainous little faces we never beheld. —

lere was not one redeeming feature among them — not a
[ancc of honesty — not a wink expressive of anything but
\e gallows and the hulks, in the whole collection. As to
lything like shame or contrition, that was entirely out
' the (piestion. They were evidently quite gratified at
sing thought worth the trouble of looking at ; their idea
)pcarL'd to be that we had come to see Newga'.e as a
rand ail'air, and that they wx^re an indispensable part of

rThe reguUitions of the prison relative to the confinement of priboners dur-
r tlif day, their slee[>ing at nio4it, their talcing their meals, and other
itter.s of yaol economy, have been all altered— jfreatly for the better— since
sketch was writtec, three years ago.

54j

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

B ■'>

the show ; and every boy, as he 'fell in' to the line, actu.
ally socmed as ])leased and important as if he had done
something excessively meritorious in getting there at all.
We never looked upon a more disagreeable sight, because
^ve never saw fourteen such hojjeiess and irreclaimaLle
wretches before.

" On either side of the school-yard is a yard for men, in
one of which — that towards JNewgate-street — prisoners of
the more respectable class are contined. Of the other, vve
have little description to otter, as the different wards ne-
cessarily partake of the same character. They are pro-
vided, like the wards on the women's side, with mats and
rugs, which are disposed of in the same manner during
the day ; and the only very striking difference between
their ai)pearance and that of the wards inhabited by the
females, is the utter absence of any employment whatever.
Huddled together upon two opposite forms, by the fireside,
sit twenty men perhaps ; here a boy in livery, there a man
in a rough groat-coat and top-boots ; further on, a desper-
ate-looking fellow in liis shirt sleeves, with an old Scotch
cap upon his shaggy head ; near him again, a tall ruftian,
in a smock-frock, and next to him, a miserable being of
distressed appearance, with his head resting on his hand;
— but all alike in one respect, all idle and listless. When
they do leave the fire, sauntering moodily about, lounging
in the window, or leaning against the wall, vacantly
swinging their bodies to and fro. With the exception of
a man reading an old newspaper in two or three instances,
this was the case in every ward we entered.

" The only communication these men have with their
friends is through two close iron gratings, with an inter-
mediate space of about a yard in width between the two,
so that nothing can be handed across, nor can the prisoner
have any communication by touch with the person who
visits him. The married men have a separate grating, at
which to see their wives, but its construction is the same.

" The prison chapel is situated at the back of the gov-
ernor's house, the latter having no windows looking nito
the interior of the prison. Whether the associations con-

iccte(
)f thel

it a st
id to
There I
khii) li

5^'alkn^

CHARLES DICKENS.

ions coll-

ected with the place — the knowledge that here a portion
t'tlio burial service is, on some dieadiVil occasions, per-
oniied over the (piick and not upon the dead — cast over
It a still more gloomy and S(jmbre air than jirt hasimpart-
l to it, we know not, but its ai)[)e'U'tvnco is very sti'iking.
iTliere is something in a .silent and deserted [)laee of wor-
shi]) highly solenui and impressiv;^ at any time ; i.id the
very dissimilarity of this oue from any we have been ac-
customed to, only enhances the impression. The mean-
ness of its appointments — the bai'e and scanty pulpit, with
the paltry panited pillars on either side — the w^omen's gal-
lery, with its great heavy eurtnin, the uien's, with its un-
paiuted benches and dingy front — the tottering little table
at the altar, with the conunandments on the wall above
it, scarcely legible through lack of paint, and dust and
daiu[) — so unlike the rich velvet and gilding, the stately
marble and polished wood of a modern church — are the
ijiore striking from their powerful contrast. There is one
subject, too, which rivets the attention :ind fascinates the
gaze, and from which we may turn disgusted and horror-
.stiieken in vain, for the recollection (jf it will haunt us,
waking and sleeping, for months afterwards. Immediate-
ly below the reading-desk, on the lloor of the chapel, and
iuriuing the most conspicuous object in its little area, is
the condemned pew; a huge black pen, in which the
wretched men who are singled out for death, are placed,
on the Sunday preceding their execution, in sight of all
their fellow-prisoners, from many of whom they may have
been separated but a week before, to hear prayers for
their own souls, to join in the responses of their own bur-
ial service, and to listen to an address, warning their re-
cent companions to take example ))y their fate, and urg-
ing themselves, while there is yet time — nearly four-and-
twenty hours — to 'turn, audliee from the Avrath to comeT
Luagine what have been the feelings of the men whom
that fearful pew has enclosed, and of wdiom, between the
gallows and the knife, no moiial remnant may now re-
main ; think of the hopeless clinging to life to the laat,
and the wild despair, iar exceeding in anguish the felon's

l! Ill

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

c^eith itself, l)y which they have hoard the certainty of
their speedy transmission to another world, with all their
crimes upon their heads, lung into their ears by the oflici-
ating clergyman !

"Atone time — and at no distant period either — the coffins
of the men about to be executed were ])laced in that pew,
upon the seat by their side, during the whole service. It
may seem incredible, but it is strictly true. Let ns hope
that the increased spirit of civilization and hnmanity
which abolished this frightful anti degrading custom, may
extend itself to other usages eciually barbarous ; usages
which have not even the plea of utility in their defence,
a.-i every year's experience has shown them to be more aud
more ineMlcacious.

"Leaving the chapel, descending i,o the passage so fre-
quently alluded to, and crossing the yard before noticed
as being alloted to j)risoners of a more resi)ectable descrip-
tion than the generality of men confined here, the visitor
arrives at a thick iron gate of great size and strength.
Hiving been admitted through it by the turnkey on duty,
he turns sharp round to the left, and pauses before another
gate ; and having })ast the last barrier, he stands in the
most terrible part of tliis gloomy building — the condemn-
ed ward.

" The press-yard, well-known by name to newspa])er
readers, from its frecjuent mention (fu.»'merly, thank Grod 1)
in accounts of executions, i.j at ihe corner of the building,
iJid next to the orduiary's house, in Newgate-stroot : run-
ning from Newgate street, towards the centre of the prison
parallel with Newgate market. It is a long, narrow court,
of which a portion of the wall in Newgate street forms
one end, and the gate the other. At the upper end on the
left-hand — that is, adjoining the wall in Newgate- street
— is a cistern of water, and at the bottom a double grat-
ing (of which the gate itself forms a. part) sinular to tliat
before described. Through these grates the prisoners ai'e
allowed to see their friends, a turnkey always remaining
in the vacant space betAveen, during the whole interview.
Immediately on the right as you enter, is a building ecu-

CHARLES bICKilNH.

taiiiing tlie press-rooin, day rr^oin and cells ; the 3^'\rdison
every side siirfoimded hy lofty walls guarded by clwvaux
de /rise ; and the whole is iindei" the constant inspection
of vigilant and ex[)erienced turnkeys.

"In the first a})artnient into which we were conducted
— which was at the top of a staircase, and immediately
over the press-room — were five-and-twenty or thirty pri-
soners, all under sentence of death, awaiting the result of
the Recorder's report — men of all ages and appearances,
from a hardened old offender with swarthy face and grizzly
heard of three days' growth, to a handsome boy, not four-
teen years old, of singularly youthful appearance even for
that age, who had been condennied for burglary. There
was nothing remarkable in the appearance of these pri-
soners. One or two decently dressed men were brooding
with a dejected air over the fire; several little groups ©f
two or tliree liad been engaged in conversation at the
ii})})er end of the room, or in the windows ; and the re-
mainder were crowded round a young man seated at the
table, who a})peared to be engaged in teaching the younger
ones to write. The room was large, airy and clean. There
was very little anxiety or mental suffering de[)icted in the
countenance of any one of the men ; — they had all been
sentenced to death, it is true, and the Kecorder's report
had not yet been made ; but we question whether there
was one man among them, notwithstanding, who did not
kiioiv that although he had undergone the ceremony, it
never was intended that his life should be sacrificed. On
the table lay a Testament, but there were no signs of its
having been in recent use.

*'In the press-room below, were three men the nature of
whose offence rendered it necessary to separate them, even
from their companions in guilt. It is a long, sombre room,
with two windows sunk into the stone wall, and here the
wretched men are pinioned on the morning ^f their exe-
cution, before moving towards the scofibld. The fate of
one of these men was uncertain ; some mitigatory circum-
stances havino* come to light since his trial, which had
been humanely represented in the proper quarter. The

H
liil! I il

I l!

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

other two luid notliirif,' to expect from the mercy of the
crown; their doi^m was sealed ; no plea could be ur^^ed in
extenuation of their crime, and they well knew that for
them there was no ho})e in this world. * The two short
ones/ the turnkey whis})ered, 'were dead men.'

" The man to whom we have alluded as entertainirig
some hopes of csca[)e, was lounging at the greatest t s-
tance he could place between himself and his companio.is,
in the window nearest the door, lie was probably awaiu
of our ai)})roach, and had assumed an air of courageous iii-
ditference ; his face was purposely averted towartls the
window, and he stirred not an inch while we were [)resent.
The other two men were at the up[)er end of the room.
One of them, who was imperfectly seen in the dim light,
had his back towards us, and was stooping over the lire,
with his right arm on the mantel-piece, and liis head sunk
U])on it. The other was leaning on the sill of the furthest
window. The light fell full upon him, and communicated
to his pale, haggard face, and disordered hair, an api)ear-
ance which, at that distance, was perfectly ghastly. His
cheek rested u})on his hand ; and, with his face a little
raised, and his eyes widely staring before him, he seemed
to be unconsciously intent on counting the chinks in the
opposite wall. We passed this room again afterwards.
The tirst man was pacing up and down the coiu't with a
firm military step — he had been a soldier in the foot-
guards — and a cloth cap jauntily thrown on one side of the
head. He bowed respectfully to our conductor, and the
salute was returned. The other two still remained in the
positions we have described, and were motionless as stat-

ues.

" A few paces up the yard, and forming a continuation
of the building, in which are the two rooms we have just
quitted, lie the condemned cells. The entrance is by a
narrow and obscure staircase leading to a dark passage,
in which a charcoal stove casts a lurid tint over the ob-
jects in its immediate vicinity, and diffuses something like

*These two men were executed shortly afterwards, The other was respit-
ed during his Majesty's pleasure.

CHARLES DICKENS.

r>f)

wnrmth around. From the loft-hand side of this passage
tin; massive door of every eell on tlie story opens, and
f)(»in it alone can tliey he ap|n"oaehed. There are three of
these ])assaf^es, and three of these ranjj^es of cells one above
the other; l)Ut in size, furniture and apjiearance, they are
all precisely alike. Prior to the Recorder's report being
jiiadc, all the prisoners under sentence of death are re-
moved from tlie day-room at five o'clock in the afternoon,
and locked u{) in these cells, where they are allowed a
candle until ten o'clock, airl here they remain until seven
next morning. When the warrant for a [)risoner's execu-
tion arrives, he is immediately removed to the cells, and
confined in one of them until he leaves it for the scaffold.
He is at liberty to walk in the yard, but both in his walks
and in his cell he is constantly attended by a turnkey,
who never leaves him on any pretence whatever.

" We entered the first cell. It was a stone dungeon,
eight feet long by six wide, with a bench at the further
end, under which were a connnon horse-rug, a Bible and
a Prayer-Book. An iron candlestick was fixed into the
wall at the side ; and a small high window in the back
admitted as much air and liu-ht as could struo-orle in be-
tween a double row of heavy, crossed iron bars. It con-
tained no other furniture of any description.

" Conceive the situation of a man, spending his last
night on earth in this cell. Buoyed up with some vague
and undefined hope of reprieve, he knew not why — indulg-
ing in some wild and visionary idea of escaping, he knew
not how — hour after hour of the three preceding days al-
lowed him for preparation, has fled with a speed which no
man living wotdd deem possible, for none but this dying
man can know. He has wearied his friends with entreat-
ies, exhausted the attendants with importunities, neglect-
ed, in his feverish restlessnes, the timely warning of his
spiritual consoler ; and now that the illusion is at last dis-
[lelled, now that eternity is before him and guilt behind,
now that his fears of death amount almost to madness,
and an overwhelming sense of his helpless, hopeless state
rushes upon him, he is lost and stupified, and has neither

TTFE AND WiailNOS OF

:!i 111

111

thoughts to turn to, nor power to call upon tho Ahni^^hfy
Bcin<3^ from wlioin mIoiic Ik; can seek mercy find forgive-
ness, and before whom his repentance can alone avail.

" Hours have glided ])y, and still he sits n[)on tlni same
stone Itench witli f(»l('e(l ai'ms, In^edless alike of the fast
decreasing time before him, and the urgent entreaties of
the iiood man at his side. The feeble liuht is wastin''
gradually, and the death-like stillness of the street with-
out, broken only by the rund)ling of some passing vehicle
which echoes mournfully througli the empty yards, warns
him that the night is waning fast away. The deep bell
of St. Paid's strikes — one! He heard it; it has roused
him. Seven hours left! He ])aces the narrow limits of
his cell with rapid strides, cold drops of ternjr starting on
his forehead, and eveiy muscle of his frame (iuiveriiii(
with agony. Seven hours ! He suthns himself to be led
to his seat, mechanicirlly takes the Bible which is placed
in his hand, and tries to read and listen. No : his thoughts
will wander. The book is toj-n and soiled by use — how
like the book he read his lessons in at school just forty
years ago ! He has never bestowed a thought upon it
since he left it as a child : and yet the i)lace, the time, the
room — nay, the very boys he i)layed with, crowd as vividly
bcfoi'o him as if they were scenes of yesterday ; and some
forgotten phrase, some childish woid of kindness, rings in
his ears like the echo of one uttered but a minutb since.
The deep voice of the clergyman recalls him to himself.
He is reading from the sacred book its solemn ])romises of
pardon for repentance, and its awful denunciation of obdu-
rate men. He falls upon his knees and clasps his hands
to pray. Hush! what sound was that? He starts upon
his feet. It cannot be two yet. Hark ! two quarters have
struck ; — the third — the fourth. It is ! Six hours left.
Tell him not of re[)entance. Six hours' repentance for
eiojht times six vears of (^nilt and sin ! He buries his face
in his hands, and throws himself on the bench.

" Worn with Avatching and excitement, he sleeps, and
the same unsettled state of mind pursues him in his
dreiuus, An insupportable load is taken from his breast;

CIIAULES DICKENH.

just forty

t upon it

! time, tlie

as vividly

and some

s, rings in

tb since.

himself.

omises of

of obdu-

lis hands

irts upon

:ers have

3urs left.

a nee for

s his face

eps, and
in his
breast ;

ho is walk inpf with his wife in a ])loasant field, with the
hri'dit hhie sky ahove them, and a fresh and houndle.ss
pr(»s]>e('t on every side — how diilcicnt from tlnvstono walls
of Newgate ! SIk; is looking — not as sho did when ho
saw lier for the last time in that dnsadful |)la('e, hut as sho
used when he 1oV(m1 — long, long ago, before misery and ill-
treatment had altered her looks, and vice had changed his
nature, and she is leaning U|)on his arm, and looking up
into Ids face with tenderness and atlection — and ho does
'iiut strike her now, nor ru<lely shake her from him. And
oh ! how glad he is to tell her all he had forgotten in that
last hurried interview, and to fall on his knees before
her and fervently beseech her pardon for all the unkind-
ness and cruelty that wasted her form and broke her
hcai-t ! The scene suddeidy changes. He is on his trial
jigain : there are the judge and jury, an<l prosecutors, and
witnesses, just as they were before. How full the court
is — what a sea of heads — with a gallows, too, and a scaf-
fold — and how all those peo])le stare at him! Verdict,
'CJuilty.' No matter; he will escape.

" The night is dark and cold, the gates have been left
open, and in an instant he is in the street, fiying from the
scene of his im])risonmont like the wind. The streets are
cleared, the open fields arc gained, and the broad wide
country lies before him. Onward lie dashes in the midst
of daikness, over hedge and ditch, through mud and pool,
bounding from spot to spot with a speed and lightness
astonishing even to himself. At length he pauses; he must
bo safe from pursuit now ; he will stretch himself on that
bank and sleep till sunrise.

" A period of unconciousness succeeds. He wakes cold
and wretched ; the dull grey light of morning is stealing
into the cell, and f Us upon the form of the attendant
turnkey. Confused by his dreams, he starts from his un-
easy bed in momentary uncertainty. It is Init momentary.
Every object in that narrow cell is too frightfully real to
admit of doubt or mistake. He is the condemned felon
again, guilty and despairing ; and in two hours more he
is a corpse."*

^1 ■'!

hi, lij

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

The following is one of the liveliest of the Sketches, and
gives a good idea of liis style :

HORATIO SPARKINS.

" Indeed, my love, he paid Teresa very great attention
on the last assembly night," said Mrs. Malderton, addres-
sing her spouse, who after the fatigues of the day in the
city, was sitting with a silk handkerchief over his head,
and his feet on the fender, drinking h:s pot ; — " very great
attention ; and I say again, every possible encouragement
ought to be given him. He positively must be asked
down here to dine."

" Who must ?" inquired Mi*. Malderton.

" Why, you know whom I mean^ my dear — the young
man with the black whiskers and the white cravat, who
has just come out at our assembl}^, and whom all the girls

are talking about. Young deal' me ! what's his

name ! — Marianne, what is his name ?" continued Mrs.
Malderton, addressing her youngest daughter, who was
engaged in netting a purse, and endeavouring to look
sentimental.

" Mr. Horatio Sparkins, ma," replied Miss Marianne,
with a Juliet-like sigh.

"Oh! yes, to be sure — Horatio Sparkins," said Mrs,
Malderto 1. " Decidedly the most gentleman-like young
man I ever saw. I am sure, in the beautifully-made coat
he wore the other night, he looked like — like "

" Like Prince Leopold, ma, — so noble, so full of senti-
ment ;" suggested Miss Marianne, in a tone of enthusiastic
admiration.

"You should recollect, my dear," resumed Mrs. Malder-
ton, " that Teresa is now cight-and- twenty ; and tliat it
really is very important that something should be done."

Miss Teresa Malderton was a very little girl, rather
fat, with vermilion cheeks, but good-humored, and still
disengaged, although, to do her justice, the misfortune
arose from no lack of perseverance on lier part. In vain
had she flirted for ten years ; in vain had Mr. and Mrs.

"M * ■"•

''CHARLES DICKENS.

Malclerton assiduously kept up an extensive acquaintance
amori!]: the youncf elif:,dble bachelors of Camberwell, and
even of Wandsworth and Brixton ; to say nothing of those
who "dropped in" from town. Miss Maldorton was as
well known as the lion on tlie top of Northumberland
House, and had an equal chance of " going off."

" I am quite sure you'd like liim," continued Mrs.
^laldorton ; " he is so gentlemanly !"

" 80 clever !" said Miss Marianne.

" And has such a flow of lanf]juao;e !" added Miss Teresa.
• *' He has a great respect for you, my dear," said Mrs.
Maldcrton to her husband, in a confident tone. Mr.
Malderton coughed, and looked at the fire.

" Yes, I'm sure he's very much attached to pa's society,"
said Miss Marianne.

" Xo doubt of it," echoed Miss Teresa.

"Indeed, he said as much to me in confidence," ob-
served Mrs. Malderton.

*' Well, well," returned Mr, Malderton, somewhat flat-
tered ; " if I see him at the p.ssembly to-morrow, perhaps
I'll ask him down here. I hope ho knows we live at Oak
Lodge, Camberwell, my dear ?"

** Of course — and that you keep a one-horse carriage."

" I'll see about it," said Mr. Malderton, composing him-
self for a nap ; " I'll see alx)ut it."

Mr. Malderton was a man whose whole scope of ideas
Avas limited to Lloyd's, the Exchange, the India House,
and the Bank. A lew successful speculations had raised
him from a situation of obscurity and comparative poverty
to a state of affluence. As it frequently happens in such
cases, the ideas of himself and his family became elevated
to un extraordinary pitch, as their means increased; they
aflected fashion, taste, and many other fooleries, in imita-
tion of their betters, and had a very decided and becom-
ing horror of anything which could* by possibility be con-
sitlc.ed low. He was hospitable from ostentation, illiberal
from ignorance, and [)rejudiced from conceit. Egotism
and the love of display induced him to keep an excellent
table : convenience, and a love of the good things of this

LIFE AND WRllINGS OP

life, ensured him plenty of guests. He liked to have
clever mon, or what he considered such, at his table, be-
cause it was a great thing to talk about ; but he never
could endure wliat ho called " slvarp fellows." Probably
he cherished this feeling out of com))liment to his two
sons, who gave their respected parent no uneasiness in
that particular. The fani;ly were ambitious of formill^f
acquaintances and connections in some sphere of society
superior to that in which they themselves moved ; and
one of the necessary consequences of this desire, added to
their ignorance of the world beyond their own small
circle, was, tliat any one who could plausibly lay claim to
an acquaintance with people of i*ank and title, had a sure
passport to the table at Oak Lodge, Camberwell.

The appearance of Mr. Horatio S{)arkins at the as-
sembly had excited no small degree of surprise and curi-
osity among its regular frequenters. Who could he be ?—
He was evidently reserved, and apparently melancholy.
W?s he a clergyman ? — He danced too w^ell. A barriscer \
He was not called. He used very fine words, and said a
great deal. Could he be a distinguished foreigner come to
England for the purpose of describing the country, its
manners and customs ; and frequenting public balls and
public dinners, with the view of becoming acquainted
with high life, polished etiquette, and English refinement 1

-No, he had not a foreign accent. Was he a surgeon,

a contiibutor to the Magazines,

writer of

fashionable novels, or an artist ? — No ; to each and all of
these surmises there existed some valid objection. —
"Then," said every body, "he must be Homebody^ — "I
should think he must be," reasoned Mr. Malderton, with
himself, " because he perceives our superiority, and pa\ s
us so much attention."

The night succeeding the conversation we have just re-
corded was "assembly night." The double-fly was or-
dered to be at the door of Oak Lo<lge at nine o'clock pre-
cisely. The Miss Maldertons were di'essed in sky-blue
satin, trimmed with artificial flowers ; and Mrs. M. (who
was a little fiit woman), in ditto ditto, looked like her

CHARLES DICKEX!-*.

G.^

LSiness lu

eldest daiigliter multiplied by two. Mr. Frederick Mal-
derton, the eldest son, in full-dress costume, w<as the very
beau ideal of a smart waiter ; and Mr. Thomas Malderton,
the youngest, with his white dress-stock, blue coat, bright
buttons, and red watch-ribbon, strongly resembled the
portrait of that interesting, though somewhat rash young
gentleman, George Barnwell. Every member of the party
had made up his or her mind to cultivate the acquaintance
of Mr. Horatio Sparkins. Miss Teresa, of course, was to be
as amiable and interesting as ladies of eight-and-twenty
on the look out tor a husband usually are ; Mrs. Malder-
ton would be all smiles and graces ; Miss Marianne would
request the favor of some verses for her album ; Mr.
Malderton would patronise the gTcat unknown by asking
him to dinner; and Tom intended to ascertain the extent
of his information on the interesting topics of snuff and
cigars. Even Mr. Frederick Malderton himself, the family
authority on all points of taste, dress, and fashionable
arrangement — who had lodgings of his own in town; who
had a free admission to Coveot-garden theatre, who al-
ways dressed according to the fashions of the months, who
went up the water twice a week in the season, and who
actually had an intimate friend who once knew r- gentle-
man who formerly lived in the Albany, — even he had de-
termined that Mr. Horatio Sparkins must be a devilish
good fellow, and that ho would do him the honor of
challenging him to a game at billiards.

The tirst object that met the anxious eyes of the ex-
pectant fiimily on their entrance into the ball-room, was
tbo interesting Horatio, with his hair brushed off his fore-
head, and his eyes fixed on the ceiling, reclining in a con-
templative attitude on one of the seats.

" There lie is, my dear, anxiously whispered Mrs. Mal-
derton to Mr. Malderton.

" How like Lord Byron !" nmrmured ^liss Teresa.

*' Or Montgomery !" whispered Miss IMarianne.

" Or the portraits of Ca})tain Ross !" suggested Tom.

" Tom — don't be an ass !" said his father, who checked
liim upon all occasions, probably with a view to pre*

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

vent his becoming "sharp" — which was very unneces.
sary.

The elegant Sp?.rkins attitudinized with admirable effect
until the family had crossed the room. He then started
up with the most natural appearance of surprise and de-
light ; accosted Mrs. Malderton with the utmost cordiality,
saluted the young ladies in the most enchanting manner;
bowed to, and shook hands with Mr. Malderton, witli a
degree of respect amounting alnn^st to veneration, and re-
turned the greetings of the two young men in a half-grati-
fied, half-patronizing manner, which fully convinced them
that he must be an important, and, at the same time, con-
descending personage.

" Miss Malderton," said Horatio, after tlio ordinary
salutations, and bowing very low, " may I be permitted to
presume to hope that you will allow me to have the

pleasm-e "

*' I don't tliink I am engaged," said Miss Teresa, with a
dreadful affectation of indifference — "but, really — so

many "

Horatio looked as liandsomely miserable as a Hamlet |
sliding upon a bit of orangepeel.

"I shall be most happy," simpered the interesting
Teresa, at last ; and Hoiatio's countenance brightened up
like an old hat in a shower of ram.

" A very genteel young man, certainly ! " said the grati-
fied Mr. Malderton, as the obsequious Sparkins and his
partner joined the quadrille which was just formi?ig.

" He has a remarkably good address," said Mr. Fred-
erick.

*' Yes, he is a prime fellow," interposed Tom, who al-
ways managed to put his foot in it — " he talks just like an
auctioneer."

" Tom," said his father solemnl}^, " I think I desired
you before not to bo a fool." — Tom looked as happy as a
cock on a drizzly morning.

" How delightful ! " said the interesting Horatio to his
partner, as they promenaded the I'oom at the conclusion
of the set — " how delightful, how refreshing it is, to re-

CHARLES DICKENS.

tire from the cloudy storms, the vicissitudes, and the
troubles of life, even if it be but for a few short fleeting
moments ; and to spend those moments, fading and evan-
escent though they be, in the delightful, the blessed society
of one individual — of her whose frowns would be death,
whose coldness would be madness, whose falsehood would
be ruin, whose constancy would be bliss ; tlie possession of
whose affection would be the brightest and best reward
that Heaven could bestow on man."

" What feeling ! what sentiment ! " thought Miss Teresa,
as she leaned more heavily upon her companion's arm.

" But enough — enough ! " resumed the elegant Sparkins,
with a theatrical air. " What have I said ? what have I
-^I — to do with sentiments like these ? Miss Malderton
— " here he stopped short — " may I hope to be permitted
to otter the humble tribute of "

•' Really, Mr. Sparkins," returned the enraptured Teresa,
blushing in the sweetest confusion, " I must refer you to
papa. I never can, without his consent, venture to — to — "

" Surely he cannot object — "

" Oh, yes. Indeed, indeed, you know him not," inter-
rupted Miss Teresa, well knowing there was nothing to
fear, but wishing to make the interview resemble a scene
in some romantic novel.

" He cannot object to my offering you a glass of negus,"
returned the adorable Sparkins, with some surprise.

" Is that all ? " said the disappointed Teresa to herself.
" What a fuss about nothing ! "

" It will give me the greatest pleasure, sir, to see you
to dinner at Oak Lodge, Camber well, on Sunday next at
five o'clock, if you have no better engagement," said Mr.
MtJderton, at the conclusion of the evening, as he and his
sons were standing in conversation with Mr. Horatio
Sparkins.

Horatio bowed his acknowledgments, and accepted the
flattering invitation.

"I must confess," continued the manoeuvring father,
offering his snuff-box to his new acquaintance, " that I
don't enjoy these assemblies half so much as the comfort

•

■

•
1

i
t

LIFE AND WRITINGS 01*

' — I had almost said the luxury — of Oak Lodge : they
have no great chrtrms for an elderly man."

" Aiid after all, sir, what is man ? " said the metaphysi-
cal Sparkins — " I say, what is man ?"

"Ah ! very true." said Mr. Malderton — " very truj."

" We know that we live and breathe," continued Hora.
tio ; that we have wants and wishes, desires and appe-
tites—"

" Certainly," said Mr. Frederic Malderton, looking veiy
profound.

" I say we know that we exist," repeated Horatio, rais-
ing his voice, " but there we stop, there is an end to our
knowledge ; there is the summit of our attainments ; there
is the termination of our ends. What more do we know V

" Nothing," replied Mi*. Frederick — than whom no one
was more capable of answering for himself in that parti-
cular. Tom. was about to hazard something, but fortun-
ately for his reputation he caught his father's angry eye,
and slunk off like a puppy convicted of petty larceny.

" Upon my word," said Mr. Malderton the elder, as they
were returning home in the *Fly,' " that Mr. Sparkins is
a wonderful young man. Such surprising knowledge!
such extraordinary information ! and such a splendid
mode of expressing himself!"

" I think he must be somebody in disguise," said !Miss
Marianne. " How charmingly romantic 1"

" He talks very loud and nicely," timidly observed Tom,
" but I don't exactly understand what he means."

" I almost begin to despair of your understanding any-
thing, sir," said his fiither, who, of course, had been much
enlightened by Mr. Horatio Sparkins' conversation.

"It strikes me, Tom," said Miss Teresa, " that you have
made yourself very ridiculous this evening."

" No doubt of it," cried everybody, and the unfortunate
Tom reduced himself into the least possible space. That
nic]rht Mr. and Mrs. Malderton had a lonnj conversati(>n
respecting their daughter's prospects and future arrange-
ments. Miss Teresa went to bed considering whether, in
the event of her marrying a title, she could conscientiously

CHARLES DTOKENS.

encourage the visits of her present associates ; and dreamt
all ni/]^ht of disguised noblemen, large routs, ostrich plumes,
bridal favors and Horatio Sparkins.

Various surmises were hazarded on the Sunday morning,
as to the mode of conveyance which the anxiously expect-
ed Horatio would adopt. Did he keep a gig ? — was it
possible he could come on horseback ? — or would he
patronize the stage ? These, and various other conjectures
of equal importance, engrossed the attention of Mi'S. Mal-
derton and her daughters the whole morning.

" Upon my word, my dear, it's a most annoying thing
that that vulgar brother of yours should have invited
himself to dine here to-day," said Mr. Malderton
to his wife. " On account of My. Sparkins coming down,
I purposely abstained from asking anyone but Flamwell.
And then, to think of your brother — a tradesman — it's
insufferable. I declare I wouldn't have him to mention
his shop before our new guests — no, not for a thousand
pounds ! I wouldn't care if he had the good sense to con-
ceal the d'sgrace he is to the family ; but he is so cursedly
fond of his horrid business, that ho will let people know
what he is."

Mr. Jacob Barton the individual alluded to, was a large
grocer ; so vulgar, and so lost to all sense of feeling that
he actually never scrupled to avow that he wasn't above
his business : " He'd m.ake his money by it, and he didn't
care who know'd it."

" Ah ! Flamwell, my dear fellow, how d'ye do ?" said
Mr. Malderton as a little spofEsh man, with green specta-
cles, entered the room, " You got my note ?"

" Yes, I did ; and here I am in consequence."

"You don't happen to know this Mr. Sparkins by name ?
Yon know evervbodv."

Mr. Flamwell was one of those gentlemen of remark-
ably extensive information, whom one occasionally meets
in society, who pretend to know everybody, but in reality
know nobody. At Malderton's, where any stories about
great people were received with a greedy ear, he was an
especial favorite; and knowing the kind of people he

LIFE AND WRITINGS OP

II ll

had to deal with, he carried his passion of claiming ac-
quaintance with evei y))ody to the most immoderate length.
He Iiad rather a singular way of telling his greatest lies in a
parenthesis, and with an air of self-denial, as if he feared
being thought egotistical.

" Why, no I don't know him by that name," returned
riamwell, in a low tone, and with pji air of immense irr-
portancc "I have no doi '^t I l:'io/^ him Jiough. Is he
tall!"

" Middle sized," said Mss Tviob.i/.

"With black hair?" inquired 1- .mwell, hazarding a
bold guess.

*' Yes," returned Miss Teresa, eagerly.

" Rather a snub nose V

" No," said the disappointed Teresa, " he has a Homnn
nose."

"I said a Roman nose, didn't I?" inquired Flamwel].
" He's an elegant young man ?"

" Oh, certainly."

" With remarkably prepossessing manners ?"

*' Oh, yes !" said all the family together. " You must
know him."

" Yes, I thought you knew him, if he was anybody,"
triumphantly exclaimed Mr. Malderton. *' Who d'ye think
he is r

" Why, from your description," said Flamwell, ruminat-
ing, and sinking his voice almost to a whisper, " he bears
a strong resemblance to the Honorable Augustus Fitz-
Edward Fitz-John Fitz-Osborne. He's a very talented
young maUj and rather eccentric. It's extremely probable
he may have changed his name for some temporary pur-
pose."

Teresa's heart beat high. Could he be the Honourable
Augustus Fitz-Edward Fitz-John Fitz-Osborne ! What a
name to be elegantly engraved upon two glazed cards, tied
together with a piece of white satin ribbon ! " The
Honorable Mrs. Augustus Fitz-Edward Fitz-John Fitz-
Osborne !" The thought was transport.

" It's five minutes to five," said Mr. Malderton, looking
at his watch : '' I hope he's not going to disappoint u»."

CHARLES DICKENf?.

" There he is exclaimed Teresa, as a loud double-knock
was heard at ■ '"e door. J^vorv^vvly ondepvored to look —
as people \vh', .. they particularly expect a visitor always
do — fiS if thev were pevfcetly uncuncious ;f the approach
of any body.

Tlio' room- ' ioor opened — "Mr. Barton!" said the servant,

'• Cjiitbund the man !" xiiurmured Malderton. " Ah 1
iny dear sir, how d'ye do ! Any news ?"

" Why, no," returned the grocer, in his usual honest,
bluff manner. " No, none parti cklar. None that I am
nuich av7are of. — How d'ye do, gals and boys ? — Mr. Flam-
well, sir — glad to see you."

" Here's Mr. Sparkins," said Tom, who had been looking
out at the window, " on such a black horse !" — There was
Horatio, sure enough, on a large black horse, curveting
and prancing along like an Astley's supernumerary. Af-
ter a great cteal of reigning in and pulling up, with the
usual accompaniments of snorting, rearing, and kicking,
the animal consented to stop at about a hundred yards
from the gate, where Mr. Sparkins dismounted, and con-
Ikled him to the care of Mr. Malderton's groom. The
coreraony of introduction was gone through in all due
form. Mr. Flamwell looked from behind his green spec-
tacles at Horatio with an air of mysterious importance ;
and the gallant Horatio looked unutterable things at Te*
resa, who tried in her turn to appear uncommonly lacka-
daisical.

" Is he the honorable Mr. Augustus — ^what's his name ?"
whispered Mrs. Malderton to Flamwell, as he was escort-
ing her to the dining-room.

" Why, no; — at least not exactly," returned that great
authority — '' not exactly."

" Who is he then ?"

" Hush !" said Flamwell, nodding his head with a grave
air, importing that he knew very well ; Imt was prevent-
ed by some grave reasons of state from disclosing the im-
portant secret. It might be one of the ministers making
himself acquainted with the views of the people.

"Mr. Sparkins," said the dejighted Mrs. Malderton,

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

" pray divide tlio l.adics. Jolin, put a clmir for the pfon-
tleman between Miss Teresa and Miss ^larianne." Tliis
was addressed to a man who, on ordinary occasions, acted
as half-groom, half-gardener ; Init who, as it was most im-
portant to make an iir.])rcssi(>n on Mr. Spark ins, had been
forced into a white neckerchief and shoes, and touched up
and brushed to look like a second footman.

" The dinner was excellent ; Horatio was most attentive
to Miss Teresa, and every one felt in high s])irits exco|)t
Mr. Malderton,who, knowing the propensity of his brother-
in-law, Mr. Barton, endured that sort of agony which the
newspapers inform us 13 cxj)erienced by the surrounding
neighborhood when a pot-boy hangs himself in a hay-
loft, and which is " much easier to be imagined than de-
scribed."

''Have you seen your friend, Sir Thomas Noland, late-
ly, Flamwell ?" incpired Mr. Malderton, casting a side-long
look at Horatio, to see what effect the mention of so great
a name had upon him.

" Why, no — not very lately ; I saw Lord Gubbleton the
day before yesterday."

" Ah ! I hope his lordship is very well," said Malderton,
in a tone of the greatest interest. It is scarcely necessary
to say that until that moment he had been quite innocent
of the existence of such a person,

" Why, yes ; he was very well — very well indeed. He's
a devilish good fellow ; I met him in the City, and had a
long chat with him. Indeed, I'm rather intimate with
him. I couldn't stop to talk to him as long as I could
wish, though, because I was on my way to a banker's, a
very rich man, and a member of Parliament, with whom
I am also rather, indeed I may say, very intimate."

" I know whom you mean," returned the host, conse-
quentially, in reality knowing as much about the matter
as Flamwell himself.

" He has a capital business."

" This was touching on a dangerous topic.

" Talking of business," interposed Mr. Barton, from the
centre of the table. " A gentleman that you knew very

CTTAT^LEfJ DTCRENS.

well, Malderton, Lefore you marie that first lucky spec of
yours, called at our shop the other day, and "

"Barton, may I trouble yon for a potato," inteiTupted
the wretched master of the house, hoping to nip the story
in the l)ud.

" Certainly," returned the grocer, quite unconscious of
his brother-in-iaw's object — *'and ho said in a very plain
mnnner "

"jP/o?n'?/, if you please," interrupted Malderton again;
dreading the termination of the anecdote, and fearing a
repetition of the word " sho])."

"He said, says he," continued the culprit, after des-
patching the potato — " says he, how goes on your busi-
ness ? So I said jokingly — you know my way — says I,
I'm never above my business, and I hope my business will
never be above me. Ha, ha !"

" Mr. Spark ins," said the host, vainly endeavoring to
conceal his dismay, " a glass of wine I"

" With the utmost pleasure, sir."

" Hap])y to see you."

" Thank you."

""We were talking the other evening," resumed the host,
addressing Horatio, partly with the view of displaying the
conversational powers of his new acquaintance, and partly
in the hope of drowning the grocer's stories — " we were
talking the other day about the nature of man. Your ar-
gument struck me very forcibly."

" And me," said Mr. Frederick. Horatio made a grace-
ful inclination of the head.

" Pray, what is your opinion of woman, Mr. Sparkins ?"
inquired Mrs. Malderton. The young ladies simpered.

" Man," replied Horatio, "man, whether he ranged the
bright, gay, flowery plains of a second Eden, or the more
sterile, barren, and, I may say, commonplace regions, to
which we are compelled to accustom ourselves in times
such as these ; man, I say, under any circumstances, or in
any place — whether he were bending beneath the wither-
ing blasts of a frigid zone, or scorching under the rays of
a vertical sun — man, without woman, would be — alone."

LIFE AND WRITINGS OV

" Fin vory happy to find you entortain such honorablo
opinions, Mr. Sparklnri," said Mrs. Malderton.

" And I," ad(led Miss Teresa. Horatio looked his de-
light, and tlie young lady blushed like a full-blown peony.

" Now, it's my opinion," said Mr. Bai-ton

" I know what you're K^ing to say," interposed Malder-
ton, determined not to give his relation another opportu-
nity, "and I don't agree with you."

" What ?" inquired the astonished grocer.

" 1 am sorry to differ from you, Barton," said the host,
in as positive a manner as if he really were contradicting
a position which the other had laid down, " In it I cannot
give my assent to what I consider a very monstrous pro-
position."

" But I meant to say "

" You never can convince me," said Malderton, with an
air of obstinate determination. " Never."

" And I," said Mr. Frederick, following up his father's
attack, " cannot entirely agree in Mr. Sparkins' argument."

" What !" said Horatio, who became more metaphysical,
and more argumentative, as he saw the female part of the
family listening in wondering delight — "what! is effect
the consequence of cause ? Is cause the precursor of ef-
fect ?"

" That's the point," said Flamwell.

" To be sure," said Mr. Malderton.

" Because, if effect is the consequence of cause, and if
cause does precedeJefFect, I apprehend you are decidedly
wrong," added Horatio,

" Decidedly," said the toad-eating Flamwell.

" At least I apprehend that to be the just and logical
deduction," said Mr. Sparkins, in a tone of interrogation.

" No doubt of it," chimed in Flamwell again. "It settles
the point."

" Well, perhaps it does," said Mr. Frederick ; " I didn't
see it before."

" I don't exactly see it now," thought the grocer ; but
I suppose it's all right."

" How wonderfully clever he is !" whispered Mrs. Malr

CnARLES DICKENS.

(lerton to her dangliters, as tliey retired to the drawing-
room.

" Oh, lip's quite a love !" said hoth of the young ladies
tof]fethor ; ho talks like an oracle. He must have seen a
great deal of life."

" The f^^entlenien l)einf:r left to themselves, a pause en-
sued, during "which ev<'ry body looked grave, as if they
were quite overcome by the pi'ofouud nature of the pre-
vious discussion. Flamwell, who had made up his mind
to find out who and what Mr. Horatio Sparkins really
was, first l)roke silence.

" Excuse me, sir," said that distinguished personage —
"I presume you hav(; studied for the l)ar ? I thought of
entering once myself — indeed I'm rather intimate with

soni(i of the highest ornaments of that distinguished pro-

f' • >}
ess ion.

" No — no !" said Horatio, with a little hesitation ; " not
exactly."

" But you have been much among the silk gowns, or I
mistake ?" inquired Flamwell deferentially.

" Nearly all my life," returned Sparkins.

" The ((uestion was thus pretty well settled in the mind
of Mr. Flamwell. — He was a young gentleman " about to
be called."

" I shouldn't like to be a barrister," said Tom, speaking
for the first time, and looking round the table to find
somebody who would notice the remark.

" No one made any reply.

" I shouldn't like to Wl ir a wig," added Tom, hazarding
another observation.

''Tom, I beg you'll not m ike yourself ridiculous," said
his father. " Pray listen, and improve yourself by the
conversation you hear, and don't be constantly making
these absurd remarks."

"Very well, fiither," replied the unfortunate Tom, who
had not spoken a word since he had asked for another
slice of beef at a quarter past five, P. M., and it was then
eight.

" Well, Tom," observed his good-natured uncle, " never

TJFF. AND WRITINGS OF

mind; I think with you. /shouldn't like to wear a wig.
I'd rather wear an apron."

Mr. Malderton coughed violently. Mr. Barton resumed
-— " For if a man's above his business "

The cough returned with tenfold violence, and did not
cease until the unfortunate cause of it, in his alarm, had
quite forgotten what he intended to say,

" Mr. Sparkins," said Flamwell, returning to the charge,
" do you happen to know Mr. Delafontaine, of Bedford
square 1 "

" I have exchanged (-anls with him ; since which, indeed,
I have had an opportunity of serving him considerably,"
replied Horatio, slightly coloring, no doubt, at having
been betrayed into making the acknowledgment.

" You are very lucky, if you have had an opportunity
of obliging that great man," observed Flamwell, with an
air of profound respect.

" I don't know who he is," he whispered to Mr. Malder-
ton, confidentiall}", as they followed Horatio up to the
drawing-room. '' It's quite clear, however, that he be-
longs to the law, and that hi is somebody of great impor-
tance, and very highly connected."

■ No doubt, no doubt," returned his companion.

The remainder of the evening passed away most de-
lightfully. Mr. Malderton, relieved from his apprehen-
sions by the circumstance of Mr. Barton's falling into a
profound sleep, was as affable and gracious as possible.
Miss Teresa played the " Fall of Paris," as Mr. Sparkins
declared, in a most masterly manner, and both of them,
assisted by Mr. Frederick, tried over glees and trios with-
out number ; they having made the pleasing discovery
that their voices harmonized beautifully. To be sure,
they all sang the nrst part ; and Horatio, in addition to
the slight drawback of having no ear, was perfectly inno-
cent of knowing a note of music ; still they passed time
away very agreeably, and it was past twelve o'clock be
fore Mr. Sparkina ordered the mourning coach-looking
steed to be brought out — an order which was only com-
plied with, upon the distinct understanding that he was
to repeat his visit on the following Sunday.

to-ml
ton il

Span
48, if

CliARLES DICKENS.

" But, perhaps, Mr. Sparkins will form one of our party
to-morrow evening ? " suggested Mrs. M. " Mr. Malder-
ton intends taking the girls to see the pantomime."— Mr.
Sparkins bowed, and promised to join the party in box
48, in the course of the evening.

" We will not tax you for the morning," said Miss
Teresa, bewitchingly ; " for ma is going to take us to all
sorts of places, shopping. But I know that gentlemen
have a great horror of that employment." Mr. Sparkins
bowed again, and declared that he should be delighted,
but business of importance occupied him in the morning.
Flam well looked at Malderton significantly. — " It's term
time I " he whispered.

At twelve o'clock on the following morning, the " fly '*
was at the door of Oak Lodge, to convey Mrs. Maldeiton
and her daughters on their expedition for the day. They
were to dine and dress for the play at a friend's house ;
first driving thither with their band-boxes, they departed
on their first errand to make some purchases at Messrs.
Jones, Spruggins, and Smith's, of Tottenham-court road ;
after which they were to go to R-edmayne's, in Bond-street ;
and thence to innumerable places that no one ever heard
of. The young ladies beguiled the tediousness of the ride
by eulogizing Mr. Horatio Sparkins, scolding their mamma
for taking them so far to save a shilling, and wondering
"whether they should ever reach their destination. At
length the vehicle stopped before a dirty-looking ticketed
linen-draper's shop, with goods of all kinds, and labels of
all sorts and sizes in the window. There were dropsical
figures of a seven with a little three-farthings in the cor-
ner, something like the aquatic animalcuh^ disclosed by
the gas microscope, " ])erfectly invisible to the naked eye ;'"
three hundred and fifty thousand ladies' boas, from one
sliilling and a penny halfpenny ; real French kid shoes, at
two and ninepence per pair ; green parasols, with handles
like carving-forks, at an e(pially cheap rate ; and " every
description of goods," as the proprietors said — and they
must know best — '' fifty per cent, under cost price."
\[ La ! ma, what a place you have brought us to ! " said

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

Miss Teresa ; " what ivoulcl Mr. Sparkins say if he could
see us !"

"Ah! what, indeed!" said Miss Marianne, horrific i at
the idea.

" Pray be seated, ladies. What is the first article ? "
inquired the obsequious master of ceremonies of the es-
tablishment, who, in his large white neckcloth and foi'mal
tie, looked like a bad " portrait of a gentleman " in tho
Somerset-house exhibition.

" I want to see some silks," answered Mrs. Maluerton.

" Directly, ma'am. — Mr. Smith ! Where is Mr. Smith ?"

" Here, sir," cried a voice at the back of the shop.

" Pray make haste, Mr. Smith," said the M. C. " You
never are to be found when you're wanted, sir."

Mr. Smith, thus enjoined to use all possible dispatch,
leaped over the counter with great agility, and placed him-
self before the newly-arrived customers. Mrs. Malderton
uttered a faint scream ; Miss Teresa, who had been stoop-
ing down to talk to her sister, raised her head, and beheld
— Horatio Sparkins !

" We will draw a veil," as novel Avi^iters say, over the
scene that ensued. The mysterious, philosophical, roman-
tic, metaphysical Sparkins — he who, to the interesting
Teresa, seemed like the embodied idea of the young dukes
and poetical exquisites in blue silk dressing-gowns, and
ditto ditto slippers, of whom she had read and dreamt,
but had never expected to behold — was suddenly convert-
ed into Mr. Samuel Smith, tiio assistant at a " cheap shon;"
the junior partner in a slii)pery firm of some three weeks*
existence. The dignified evanishment of the hero of Oak
Lodge on this unexpected announcement, could only be
equalled by that of a furtive dog with a considerable ket-
tle at his tail. All the hopes of the Maldertons were des-
tined at once to melt away, like the lemon ices at a Com-
pany's dinner ; Almacks was still to them as distant as the
North Pole ; and Miss Teresa had about as much chance
of a husband as Captain Ross had of the north-west pas-
sage.

Years have elapsed since the occurrence of this dread-

CHARLES DICKENS.

fill morning. The daisies have thrice bloomed on Camber-
well-green — the sparrows have thrice repeated theix- ver-
nal chirjis in Camberwell-grove; but the Miss Maldertons
are still unmated. Miss Teresa's case is more desperate
than ever; but Flarawell is yet in the zenith of his repu-
tation ; and the family have the predilection for aristo-
cratic personages, with an increased aversion to anything

We give the following as a sample of his inimitable
comic humor, and ability to take off the peculiarities and
eccentricities of human nature :

THE PABLOR ORATOR.

;ead-

We had been lounging one evening, down Oxford-
street, Holborn, Cheapside, Coleman-street, Finsbury-
square, and so on, with the intention of returning by Pen-
tonville and the New-road, when we began to feel rather
thirsty, and disposed to rest for five or ten minutes. So,
we turned l)ack towards an old, quiet, decent public-house
which we remembered to have passed but a moment be-
fore, (it was not far from the City-road,) for the purpose of
solacing ourself with a glass of ale. The house was none
of your stuccoed, French-polished, illuminated palaces, but
a modest public-house of the old school, with a little old
bar, and a little old landlord, who, with a wife and daugh-
ter of the same pattern, was comfortably^ seated in the bar
aforesaid — a snug little room with a cheerful tire, protected
by a large screen, from behind which the young lady em-
erged on our representing our inclination for a glass of ale.

" Won't you walk into the parlor, sir ?" said the young
lady, in seductive tones.

" You had better walk into the parlor, sir," said the
little old landlord, throwing his chair back, and looking
round one side of the screen, to survey our appearance.

" You had much better step into the parlor, sir," said
the little old lady, popping out her head, on the other ride
of the screen,

' ■> < I

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

We cast a slight glance around, as if to express our ig-
norance of the locality so much recommended. Tlie little
old landlord observed it ; bustled out of the small door of
the small bar ; and forthwith ushered us into the parlor
itself.

It was an ancient, dark-looking room, with oaken
wainscoting, a sanded floor, and a high mantelpiece. The
walls were ornamented with three or four old colored
prints in black frames, each print representing a naval en-
gagement, with a couple of men-of-war banging away at
each other most vigorously, wliile another vessel or two
were blowing up in the distance, and the foi'eground pre-
sented a miscellaneous collection of broken masts and blue
legs sticking up out of the water. Depending from tho
ceiling in the centre of tho room, Avere a gas-light and
bell-pull ; and on each side were three or four long narrow
tables, behind which was a thickly planted row of onose
slippy, shiny-looking wooden chairs, peculiar to places of
this description. The monotonous appeivrance of the
sanded boards was relieved by an occasional spittoon ; and
a triangular pile of those useful articles adorned the two
upper corners of the apartment.

At the furthest table, nearest the fire, with his face to-
wards the door at the bottom of the room, sat astoutish man
of about forty, whose short, stiif, black hair curled closely
round a broad high forehead, and a face to which some-
thing besides water and exercise had communicated a
rather inflamed appearance. He was smoking a cigar,
with his eyes fixed on the ceiling, and had that confident
oracular air which marked him as the leading politician,
general authority, and universal anecdote-relater of the
place. He ';i:«d evidently just delivered himself of some-
thing very A\ci^!lity : for the remainder of the com])any
were puffing at Lticir respective pipes and cigars in a kind
of solemn Tib vt vacuo ii, a!i jf qui^'- overwhelmed with the
magnitude of tt .- .subjei?t recently under discussion.

On his rigMt 'iiod sat an Ciieily gentleman with a
whitehead and urotd brimmed brown hat; and on his
left, a sharp-no^ij(! Li^lit -haired man in a brown surtout

an aci
" V

•i.':

CHARLES DICKERS.

reaclnnpf nearliis lieol.s, avIio took a wluff at his pipe, and
an admiring glance at the red-faced man, alternately.

" Veiy extraordinary!" said the light-liaired man after
a pause of tive minutes. A mui-niur of assent ran through
the (company.

" Not at all extraordinary — not at all," said the red-
faced man, awakening suddenly from his reverie, and
turning u])on the light-haired man, the moment he had
spoken.

" AVhy should it be extraordinary I — why is it extraor-
dinary ? — prove it to be extraordinary !"

'' Oh, if you come to that — " said the light-haired man.

"Come to that!" ejaculated the man. with tJie red face ;
•'hut we must come to that. We stand, in these times,
upon a calm elevation of intellectual attainment, and not
in the dark recess of mental deprivation. Proof is what
I re(pure — proof, and not assertions in this stiri'ing times.
Every gen'lem'n that knows me, knows what was the na-
ture and effect of my observations, when it was in the
contem]»lation of the Old Street Subui'ban llepresentative
Discovery Society, to recommend a candidate for that })lace
iu Cornwall there — I forgot the name of it. ' Mr. Snobee/
said Mr. Wilson, 'is a fit and pro[)er person to rejiresent
the borough in Parliament.' ' Prove it,' says I. ' He is a
fiiend to Keform,' says Mr. Wilson. * Prove it,' says I.
' The abolitionist of the national debt, the unflinching
opponent of pensions, the uncompromising advocate of
the negro, the reducer of sinecures and the duration of
Parliament; the extender of nothing but the suffraires of
the people,' says Mr. Wilson. ' Prove it,' says I. ' His
acts prove it,' says he. ' Prove them! says I.

" And he could not prove them," said the red-faced
man, looking round triumphantly ; " and the borough
didn't have him ; and if you carried this ])rinciple to the
full extent, you have no debt, no [)ensions, no sinecures,
no negroes, no nothing. And then standing upon an ele-
vation of intellectual attainment, and having reached the
summit of popular prosperity, you might bid defiance to
the natious of the earth, and erect yoursjelves in the proud

Jiiii'

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

K r

I tl^ i

confidence of wisdom and superiority. This is my argu-
ment — this always has been my argument — and if I was
a Member of the House of Conununs to-morrow I'd make
'em shake in their slioes witli it." And tlie red faced man
having struck tlie baljle witli liis clenched fist, by way of
adding weight to liis dechiration, smoked away like a
breweiy.

" Well !" said the sharp-nosed man, in a very slow and
soft voice, addressing tlie c()m[)any in general, ''I always
do say that of all the gentlemen I have the i)leasure of
meeting in this room, there is not one whose conversation
I like to liear so much as Mr. Rogers's, or Avho is such im-
proving company."

"Improving company!" said j\1i'. Ilogers, for that was
the name of the red faced man, " You may say I am im-
proving compr^ny, fjr I've improved you all to some pur-
pose, tliough as to my conversation being as my friend
Mr. Ellis here describes it, that is not for me to say any-
thing about. You, gentlemen, are the best judges on that
point ; but this I will say, when I first came into this
parish, and first used this room, ten years ago, I don't be-
lieve there w^as a man in it who knew he was a slave, and
now you all know it, and writhe under it. Inscribe that
upon my tomb, Jind I am satisfied."

"Why as to inscribing it on your tomb," said a little
greengrocer with a rather chubby face, "of course you
can have anything chalked up, as you likes to pay for, so
far as it relates to yourself and your affairs ; but when
you come and talk about slaves and that there abuse, you
had better keep it in the family, 'cos I for one don't like
to be called them names niolvt after niu'ht."

" You are a slave," said the red faced man, " and the
most pitiable of all slaves."

" Werry hard if I am," interrupted the greengrocer,
" for I got no good out of the twenty million that was
paid for 'maiicip;\tion, any how."

"A willing slave," ejaculated tlie red faced man, getting
more red with elncpiencc and contradiction — '' resigning
the dearest birthright of your children — neglecting the

WiJN

CHARLES DICKENS.

ittle
you

you
like

the

ting

[ling

tliu

feacred call of Liberty — who staiwling- imploringly l)cforc
you uppeaLs to tlio warmest feelings (»f your heart and
points to your hel]»k^ss infants, hut in vain."

'' Prove it," said the i;'reeni»Toeer.

" Prove it!" sneered the man with the red faec "What!
hending beneath the yoke of an insulcnt and faetious oli-
garehy ; howed down hy the domination of cruel laws;
gi-oaning beneath tyranny and ojji-essioii on every hand,
at every sidcV and in every cornel'. Prove it! — " The
red faced man abruptly l)i"oke of)', sncci-cf] mdo-dramati-
cally, and buried his countenance and his indignation
together in a pint pot.

" Ah, to be sure, Mr. Rogers," said a stout broker in a
large Avaistcoat, Avho had kept his eyes lixed on tins lumi-
nary all the time he was s])eaking. "Ah, to be sure/'
isaid the broker with a sigh, " that's the point."

" Of course, of course," said dixers meml)crs oi uue
company, Avho understood almost as nuich about the matter
as the broker himself

" You had better let him alone, Tommy," said the broker,
hv wav of advice to the little oTcenoTucer, " he can tell
what's o'clock by an eight-day, withont looking at the
minute-hand, he can. Try it on on some other suit ; it
won t do Avith him, Tonniiy."

" What is a man ?" continued the red faced specimen of
the species, jerking his hat indignantly from its peg on
the Avail. " What is an Englishman ? Is he to be tram-
pled upon by eA^ery oppressor 1 Is he to be knocked doAvn
at every body's bidding ? AVliat's freedom ? jN'ot a stand-
ing army. What's a standing aruiy ? Not freedom.
Wliat's general ha])})iness ? ]Not uni\-ersal inisery. Liberty
ain't the AvindoAV tax, is it ? The Lords ain't the Commons,
arc they ?" And the red. faced man gradually bursting
into a radiatinijf sentence, in wliich such adh-ctives as
"dastardly," "oppressive," "violent," and ''sanguinary,"
funned the most conspicuous Avords, kn(jcked his hat in-
dignantly oAxr his eyes, left the ro^nn, and slammed the
door ofter him.

" Wonderful man '." said he of the sharp nose.

[' fSplcndid speaker," added the broker.

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

''W, ' >i

wBb

'^H

" Great power !" said ever3d:)ody but the greengrocer.
And, as they said it, the whole party shook their heads
niyisteriously, and one uy one retired, leaving us alone in
the old [)ar]or.

If we had followed the estal)lished ])recedent in all such
instances, we should have fallen into a ht uf musing, with-
out delay. The ancient appearance of the room — the eld
panelling of the Avail — the chimney blackened with smoke
and age — would have carried us back a hundred years at
least, and we should liave gone dre.'imiug on, until the
pewter-pot on the table, or the little beer chiller on the
lire, had started into life, and addressed to us a long story
of days gone by. But by some means or other, we were
not in a roiriantic humour ; and although we tried very
ha',>! to invest the furniture with vitality, it remained
perlectly uniuoved, obstinate and sullen. Being thus re-
duced to the unpleasant necessity of musing about ordi-
nary matters, our thoughts reverted to the red-faced man,
and his oratorical dis[)]ay.

A numerous race arr tliose red faced men ; there is not
a parlour, or club-roon., or .jenelit society, or humble pai'ty
of any kind without its red-faced man. Weak-pate ddolts
they are, and a great deal of mischief they do to their
cause, however good. So, just to hold a ])attern one up,
to know the others by, we took his likeness at once, and
put liini in here. And this is the reason why we have
written this paper.

))}}

CHARLES DICKENS.

CHAPTER III.

PJRTNG FAME. — XEfiOTlATIOXS WITlf ^FESSRS. CHAPMAN &
]IAEL. — SEYMOUR, THE AKTIST. — 'PICKWICK PAPERS." —
MONTHLY SKULKS.— DllDICATiON.— OlllO IN OF THE TPrLE.—

rrs FArj.uRE eeaiiej). — sam wkllkr. — [mmensk suc-
cess. — RIVAL AUTHORS. — BULWEIl. — SCOTT. — COMMENTS.
—EXTRACTS.

dl.

"Take <a portion of wit,

And fashion it tit, f

Tiike a needle ^vitll point and with eye :

A point that can A>'()und,

An eye to look round,

And at folly or vice let it fly." — HovEV.

^^^I^UR hero had now readied his twenty-fow'th year
(1836). His literary labors, outside of the du-
^^ ties of his report(n-ial occupation, had been con-
fined to a few vsketches, wiitten without any
settled purpose, and published in such journals as would
accept of them, and pay a sliglit remuneration. His en-
deavors had sufficed, however, to give him a considerable
reputation, and to create a demand for his productions.
It was the culminating point in his career. He had gain-
ed experience in delineating character, and practise in
writing. All tliat he now ruipiired was an opportunity.
He had overcome the first great difficulty ; and an open-
ing for future and more ambitious vondeavors was not long
delayed.

While the Sketches w^ere still appearing in the Chron-
icle, or in the Monthly, or both^ it happened that thero

1 ■'

m^'

m ..

IJFE AND WRTTTN0F5 OF

was in London ii firm of, sin t if >nors and l)Ool<sollcrs, in a
small way, l)y name ^lossrs. CniM])maii i^' Hall. One <l;iy
a lady, cvidi.'ntly in necessitous ciicumstances, entered
their shop, and dcsiriMl Air. flail to l»iiy certain designs
"which she showed lilni. 'J'1h-\' were by her ]uisl)and, she
said, ]\Ir. Seymoni', the aitist ; she Avas Mi"s. Seymour;
they were in need; and she liad heen trying to sell these
designs, at one ])lace and another, for a few shillings. Af-
ter some convorsati(»n, "Air. ITall ]taid hersomii small price
for them, and she went away.

AVhcn Mr. Chapman came in, Mr. Hall told him ahout
the purchase ; and the ))artners proceeded to consider
what they could do with their designs, since they had
bought them. Thoy were all, or nearly all, drawings of a
sort for which there Avas in those days a good deal of de-
mand — namely, illustrations of the absurdities and mis-
haps of Cockneys in search of s})()rt, science, adventures,
or the picturcs(|ue ; and had l)cen executed l)y the artist
— a man of undoubted ability, l)ut not more gifted than
other people with the fa.culty of getting on in the world
' — on s})eculation, fi/i' whomsoever would buy. The first
conckision reached was, to procure some text of some kind
to be "written up" to the p>ictures, to be of an amusing
character, and to be issued in shilling numbers. The next
question was, who shall write this text ? and, on still fur-
ther consultation, it was decided that the best hand w^ould
be the young man, whoever he was — it seems to have
been taken for granted that he was young — who was
writing the Sl'cfchcs by Bo:, Avhich were amusing peo-
ple so much, It is not unlikely that the firm also re-

CHARLES DICKENS.

nicml)OVOcl a comic opera al)Out that time prodncocl, cnlled
"The Villao'o Coquettes," whose text was also by the
same Boz, and which was fairly Hiiccessful.

^Ir. Dickens has hiniselC recorch.Ml the account of tho
nci^otiation wiruli ensued, and which resulte<l in tlie com-
position of the Piclavlch Papcr.^. He tells of the pleas-
ant surprise with which he beheld iu the visitor a coun-
tenance of good augur}^

Youthfid and unknown, without patrons or friends, ho
had succeeded in getting his H/rcfclif!^ placed before tho
world, in the substantial form of a book, and a publisher
saw sufhcient in them to warrant the expi use of having
■them illustrated by George Cruikshank, then very famous
for the spirit, truth and humor of his designs. Tho
hiietches had been favorably, kindly noticed in tho
public journals, and their author w^as lal)oring in prepar-
ing a, third volume, when an incident occurred which is
best told in his own words :

" I was a young man of two or three-and-twenty, when.
Messrs. Chapman '& Hall, attracted ly some pieces I was
at that time writing in tlniMoraluf/ (yliro)! '<'Je n( wspaper
or had just Avritten in the old MontJihj lUafjazine (of
which one series had boon lately cc)llected and published
in two volumes, illustrated 1^/ l!eorge Cruikshank),
waited upon me to proi)ose a something that should be
published in shilling numbers — then only known to me,
or, I believe, to any body else, by a dim recollection of
certain interminable novels in that form, which used to
be carried about the country by peddlers, and over some
of which I remember to have shed innumerable tears
before I had served my apprenticeship to life.

"When I opened my door in FurnivaFs Inn to the part-
ner who represented the firm, I recognized in him the

rf-***f-

IMAGE EVALUATION
TEST TARGET (MT-S)

1.0

I.I

U£|28 |2.5
£ MS 112.0

1.8

1.25 U|||||,.6

■ ►

Photographic

Sciences
Corporation

23 WEST MAIN STREET

WEBSTER, NY. 14580

(716) 872-4503

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

W '

& u

person from whose hands T had bought, two or three years
previously, and whom I had never seen V)efore or since, a
paper, in which my first contribution to the press — in the
SIcetche.% called Mr. Minns and his Cousin — dropped
stealthily one evening at twilight, with fear and trembling
into a dark letter-box, in a dark otlice, up a dark court in
Fleet-street — apj)earcd in all the gloiy of ])rint; on which
occasion I walked down to Westminster Hall, and turned
into it for half an hour, because v^y e^^es were so dim witli
joy and pride that they could not l)ear the street, and were
not fit to bo seen there. I told my visitor of the coinci-
dence, which we both hailed as a good omen ; and so fell
to business.

" The idea propounded to me was, that the monthly
something should be a veliicle for certain plates to be exe-
cuted by Mr. Seynioiu* ; and there was a notion, either on
the part of that admirable humorous artist, or of my visi-
tor (I forget which), that a "Ninn-odClulj," the members
of which were to go out shooting, fishing, and so forth, and
getting themselves into difficulties through their want of
dexterity, would be the l)est means of introducing these.
I objected, on considei'ation, that although born and
partly bred in the country, I was no great sportsman, ex-
cept in regard of all kinds of locomotion ; that the idea
was not novel, and had been already much used ; that it
would be infinitely better for the plates to arise naturally
out of the text ; and that I should like to take my own
way, with a freer i-ange of English scenes and people, and
was afraid I should ultimately do so in any case, what-
ever course I might prescribe to myself at starting. My
views being deferred to, I thought of Mr. Pickwick, and
wrote the first numbei* ; from the proof-sheets of which,
Mr. Seymour made his drawing of the Club, and thftt
happy portrait of its foundei', by which he is always
recognized, and which may be said to have made him a
reality. I connected ]\ir. Pickwick with a club, because
of the original suggestion, and I put in Mr. Winkle ex-
pressly for the use of Mr. Seymour. We started with a
number of twenty-four pages instead of thirty-two, and

CHARLES DICKENS.

four illustrations in lien of a couple. Mr. Seymour's
sudden and lamented death before the .iccond number was
published, brought about a([ui('k decision upon a point al-
ready in agitation ; the number became one of thirty-two
])ages with two illustrations, and lemained so to the end.
My friends told me it was a low, chenp form of publica-
tion, by which I should ruin all my rising hopes ; and how
ri^dit my friends turned out to bo, everybody now knows."

The issue of the work in shilling parts wan a ccm-
paratively new idea at that time. The PicJavlck Papers
would have cost, if issued in the customary form, nearly
five guineas. It w^as sold, when completed, in its bound
state, for one guinea, including u})wards of forty engrav-
ings from original designs. The issue in this form had
been objected to by his friends as being a low and cheap
form of publication. There were, however, other works
of merit then being sold through the country in the same
style, including various Histories of the War, Pilgrim's
Progress, Szc, as well as the novels mentioned by Dick-
ens himself.

These " interminable novels " were doubtless The Po-
mance of the Forest, The Scottish Chiefs, and other
works of the same kind ; for, in the days when Dickens
was young enough to cry over such books, they and their
like used to be sold and delivered serially, in separate
numbers, about the country by the " peddlers," or chap-
men — personages much like what are in this country at
present sufficiently notorious by the more stately designa-
tion of ''subscription book-agents." Indeed, the same
sort of business is carried on in England still, although
the books now sold in the serial form are, perhaps, a grade
higher in literary merit than they were fifty years ago.

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

No apology is necessary for the repetition or paHicu-
l.arity used in this mode of recording the process of pro-
duction of so significant a work as TJie Pickwick Fa-
pers. The facts are important and interesting, and there
has been more or less confusion, or at least indistinctness,
about them ; but the present order of occurrence is either
given in the words of Mr. Dickens himself, or is accurately
the substance of the narative of tliose i)ersonally cogni-
zant of the facts. First came the preparation of certain
designs by Mr. Seymour, to be sold as should be practic-
able ; his wife, after hawking them about for a time,
sells them to Chapman & Hall ; the firm ask Mr. Dickens
to write a text to them ; he agrees, not precisely to this,
but to write a text, for which Mr. Seymour is to prepare
plates ; he writes accordingly, and Mr. Seymour at first,
and afterward Mr. Ilalbot K. Brown, illustrate the book.
Apparently the only one of the original set of designs
sold by Mrs. Seymour which was actuallj^ used in the
book was that of Mr. Alfred Jingle's intelligent dog Ponto
perusing the notice, "Gamekeeper has orders to shoot
all dogs found in this enclosure," and declining to enter,
while his admiring mastei", with flint-lock fowling-piece
on his shoulder, stares back at him from within the pal-
ing. Abundance of comic pictures of this general char-
acter are to be found in the literature of London of those
days, and some of them are from time to time sold at the
book auctions in New York.

The first number of The Pickwick Papers, with its
memorable pictui'e of Mr. Pickwick addressing the Club,
appeared March 1, 183G. The success of the work was

CHARLES DTCKEXS.

Roon so immense, as to mark the power and fix the fame
of their youthful author — for he was now only twenty-
four years old. Ilis loputation was made as suddenly,
hased as firmly, maintaincl as high and as long, as those
of Seott or Byi'on. He was at once recognized as a
Cfonius of tlie first rank, and as the series of his works
lengthened, they ecjnflnned tliis reputation until it is no
more to he (picstioned than tliose of the two great writers
just named.

The first issue was in the form of a monthly serial, as
before stated ; it was clothed in green paper covers, with
numerous emblematic designs. Tliis style and color of
cover was conuinueO by Dickens, an^' known as his color,
while Lever similarly adopted red, and Thackeray yellow.
The author often pleasantl}^ refers to this fact. The issue
of the work continued for a year and six months ; the
concluding chai)ter having been issued in the month of
October of tlie following year (1837). With this conclud-
ing number came a title page, dedication, index, and all
the preliminary matter usually accompanying a complete
novel. The form of the work had changed entirely since
its inception. At first intended merely as a collection of
sketches, not necessarily having any close connection one
with another, it had taken the shape of a continuous tale,
as we have elsewhere more fully explained. The original
design, as the author tells us, was " to place before the
reader a constant succession of characters and incidents ;
to paint them in as vivid colors as he could command ;

and to render them, at the same time, K^e-like and amus^

• >>
xng.

LIFE AND WRITIXaS OF

HE '.ri

The dedication of the work was to Mr. Sergeant Tal-
fourd, as is well known,notonly as a testimonial of friend-
ship, but, as Dickens says, " as a slight and most inade-
quate acknowledgment of the inestimable services you arc
rendering to the literature of your country, and of tlie
lasting benefits you will confer upon the authors of this
and succeeding generations, by securing to them and their
descendants a permanent interest in the copyright of their
works."

This acknowledgment may be explained by the fact that
Talfourd, then in the "Commons," had that year intro-
duced a new " Copyright Act," which, however, was only
passed in 1 842, and which extended an author's right to
his works from twenty-eight to forty-two years. This
law, however, though at present in vogue, has redounded
to the benefit of publishers, rather than authors, since the
author rarely receives more for the longer than for the
shorter term. Dickens anticipated, however, a different
result, for he writes that it will immensely serve " those
who devote themselves to the most precarious of all pur-
suits," (literature,) and, still addressing his friend, said,
" Many a fevered head and palsied hand will gather new
vigor in the hour of sickness and distress from your ex-
cellent exertions ; many a widowed mother and orphan
child, who would otherwise reap nothing from the fame
of departed genius but its too frequent legacy of poverty
and suffering, will bear, in their altered condition, higher
testimony to the value of your labors than the most lav-
ish encomiums from lip or pen could ever afford."
' The preface tells us that he originally designed '* to

CHARLES DICKENS.

plftcc "before the readers a constant succession of characters
and incidents ; to paint tliem in as vivid colors as he could
command ; and to render them, at the same time, life-like
and amusing." He added that, " deferring to the judg-
ment of othei-s in the outset of the undertaking, he adopt-
ed the machinery of the club, wliich was suggested as
that best adapted to his purpose ; but, finding that it ten-
ded rather to his embarrassment than otherwise, he grad-
ually al:>andoned it, considering it a matter of very little
importance to the work whether strictly epic justice were
awarded to the club or not."

He assures them also that throuofliout the book no inci-
dent or. expression occurs which could call a blush into
the most delicate cheek, or wound the feelings of the most
sensitivQ person, and his closing words are, " If any of his
imperfect descriptions, while they afford amusement to
the perusal, should induce only one reader to think better
of liis fellow-men, and to look upon the brighter and more
kindly light of human nature, he would indeed be proud
and har)py to have led to such a result."

It is an interesting inquiry, and has been the subject of
much discussion, as to the manner in which the title of
the work was arrived at. It was at first intended to en-
title it Nlmrod, but a name which pleased him better
was soon discovered. While the first number was in
l)rc.is, Mr. Dickens astonished the publishers on a certain
day by rushing in, in great excitement, exclaiming, " I
have it now — Moses Pickwick, Bath, coach-master."
When asked for an explanation, he said that he had seen
the above title painted on the door of a stage-coach which

iWt •■'If!*

94f

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

passed him, and that the name suited him to a charm.
Moses he changed to Samuel, ai\d thus the immortal title
arose. This fact is referred to in tlic i)apers themselves.
After the famous trial, when Mr. Pickwick resolved to visit
Bath, and proceeded to the Whi+e Horse Cellar, Piccadilly,
a noted coaching and booking hotel in those days, Sam Wel-
ler drew his attention to the fact that Pickwick was in-
scribed on the stage-coach, in gilt letters of goodly size,
and adds, " that ain't all : not content vith writin' up
Pickwick, they puts 'Moses' afore it, vich I call addin' in-
sult to injury, as the [)arrot said ven they not only took
him from his native land, hut made him talk the English
langwidge arterwards." His indignation and sqnow,
when he found that "nobody was to bo whopped for tak-
ing this here liberty," was unbounded, and for a time he
half lost faith in his master, as being too timid to resent
a terrible insult. Mr. Chapman, the publisher, described
to Mr. Dickens and to Seymour, the artist, an eccentric
elderly gentleman, whom he saw looking over the Thames
at Richmond. The idea v/as caught up by both readily,
and hence arose the famous character of world-wide cele-
brity, "Samuel Pickwick," of the "Pickwick Club." Mr.
Seymour at once sketched the rotund form of the philo-
sophical enquirer, the identical likeness by which he has
ever since been known, and which is sufficient to this day
to identify him everywhere.

The success of the work was slow. Much less than had
been expected. Without the stimulus which the publica-
tion in monthly parts lent to the sale, it would have fallen
quite flat upon the book market. So depressed were the

ClIAllLES DICKENS.

publishers in regard to the small sale, that they pro-
nounced the work a failure, and made some arrangements
for its discontinuance. This state of things continued up
to the time of the introduction into the story of the eccen-
tric character " Samuel Weller." Upon his advent, critics
at once changed their oi)inion concerning the tale, and pro-
nounced " Sam " an entirely oi'iginal character and the
production of a genuis. A sudden demand foi* the work
now arose. Applications Ix'gan to pour in for the back
numbers of the serial, and the work became widely
known. So great was the success, that, when the work
was no more than half published, the proprietors felt able
to hand to Mr. Dickens a check for £500 sterling, or $2500,
as an instalment for his labors. Before the completion of
the work, its circulation had reached nearly 50,000 copies.
Mr. Dickens leceived, up to the time of its conclusion, a
total sum of £3,000 from the publishers, in addition to the
15 guineas agreed upon as the guarantee price per number,
in all say £3,500. Messrs. Chapman and Hall them-
selves are reputed to have cleared £20,000 by the publi-
cation. Certainly not a bad result from so uncertain a
beginning.

Mr. Dickens has told us that between himself and his
publishers " there never had been a line of written agree-
ment, but that author, printer, artist and publisher had all
proceeded on simply verbal assurances, and that there
never had arisen a word to interrupt or prevent the com-
plete satisfaction of every one."

The reputation of The Pickwick Papers was now
established, It is doubtful whether any novel up to that

LIFE AND WRITINOS OF

time had acquired nnytliing like the same popularity so
early after publication. Miss Mitlbrd, herself a })opular
novelist, writing in 1837, says: — " So you never heard of
The Pickwick Papers! Well, they i)ul)li.sh a number
once a month, and [a'int 2;5,()()(). The bookseller has made
about £10,000 by the speculation. It is fun — London life
— but without anything unpleasant ; a lady might read it
aloud; and this so grjj])hic, so individual, and so true,
that you could curtsey to all the [)eople as you see them
in the streets. I did think there had not been a place
where English is spoken to which ' Boz ' had not pene-
trated. All the boys and girls talk his fun — the boys in
the sti'eets ; and yet those who are of the highest taste
like it the most. Sir Benjamin Brodie takes it to read in
his carriage, between patient t^nd patient ; and Lord
Denman studies Fickwich on the bench while the jury
are deliberating. Do take some means to borrow The
Pickiuick Pajjcvs. It seems like not having heard of
Hogarth, whom he resembles greatly, except that he takes
a far more cheerful view, a Shakespearian view, of hu-
manity. It is rather fragmentary, except the tri^l (No.
11 or 12), which is as complete and perfect as any bit of
comic writing in the English language. You must read
The Pickiuick Papers. It is very odd that I should not
object to the perfectly low-life of The Pickwick Papers,
because the closest copies of things that are, and yet dis-
like the want of elegance in Charles Lamb's letters, which
are merely his own fancies ; but I think you will under-
stand the feeling."
Mr, Dickens by no means had the field to himself, an

CHARLES DICKEXS.

arity so
popular
I card of
iuiinl>er
as made
(Ion life

road it
30 tnie,
ce tliom

a place
)t pene-
boys in
st taste
> read in
d Lord
he jury
o\v The
eard of
le takes

, of 1)11-

1^1 (No.
y bit of
list read
)uld not
Papers,
yet dis-
, which
unler-

Lself, an

easy conquest. His competitors w»^i'o nnmoroiis and able,
Ainsworth, Buhver, Warrou, autlior of Ten Thousand a
Yvny, Airs. TrollojJO, (J. I*. R. James, Disraeli, Lover, Aiiss
Mitfonl, Ml>s Lniideii, Mi-s. S. ('. Mall, Crosby, Hood, and
a host of others were all rival aspirants in the world of
fiction. Heie was a youni,' man of twenty years throw-
in:,' <lown tlie ^'a^i^(> in tlu^ pi-esenco of a score of writers,
many with establislied reputations. Yet his marked ta-
lents, descrij)tive powers, and keen insight into human na-
ture, joined with his ready wit, at once gave him a posi-
tion in advance of all others. AValter Scott in his day
had the field of fiction to himself; but Dickens was sub-
jected to the keenest of com])etition. Thackeray, another
rival aspirant, since l)ecame famous, was then engaged in
writing for mere bread, uiFrn^i'vs Magftzhie The fields
which Dickens and Buhver had respectively chosen for
the display of their powers of delineation of character
were as widely separated as they could well have been.
The latter had selected the so called fashionable society as
his theme, and depicts the aristocratic and snobbish ele-
ments of English society. The former, guided by his
more genial and social)le instincts, chose to devote his
literary labors to the welfare of the then ignorant and
cle.^j)i;>ed classes of society, and the elevation of the masses
of his fellow beings. This very sympathy of our author
with the humble and the lowly, and the fact of the selec-
tioii of such classes for the subjects of his Sketches,
bei-'ot Dickens a host of enemies and detractors amonojst
tiie snobbisli journalists and magazine scribblers of his
day. Contemptuous and disparaging criticism in maga-

<i|;

1, ,,!:^!

'I !

•' <

I m

ii>

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

zlnes of standing -would inidouLtcdly prove somcwlmt
annoying and disooiiniolnir to n yoiiu.LC wiitor of twenty-
livo ; yot on© of Ids ,'d)ilitios could wcW nflnrd to ignore
the carping critiiMsuis of those •\vlio jdU'eted to despise
whatever related to the masses as hriug Ix-neuth tlicii'
lordly notice. J Tow mnuy of these scrihhlers are forgot-
ten in their graves, ^\■hih3 the iiieiu(»ry of those ^vho havi;
been the ohjects of their detraetion is still fresh and green.
Bulvver, writing in iStO, fifteen yeai's after the heginuing
of his successful authorship, ^nid : "Long after my name
was not quite unknown in evejy other country where
English literature is received, the great (piarterly journals
of my own disdahie<l to recoguize my existence."

It may be interesting to com})arethe success of Wacer-
ley, Scott's earliest i)roduction, with that of the Pickwick
Papers. The first edition of Waro'Irij comprised 1,000
copies ; and the number issued only rose to 5,000 during
the year following : and the publishers were ordy able to
hand to Scott, on dividing the profits, the sum of about
$3,000. We have seen that the Pickv/irk rose to 50,000
copies at once, and that, although the form of publication
was a cheap one, it was very remunerative to all con-
cerned.

The form of the iniblication had, hoAvever, undoubtedly
lent success to the work, which was largely increased by
the comical and pleasing illustrations. The work was
very extensive, and in a volume niight have been looked
upon as too long drawn out. In the serial form however,
the objection to its extent was avoided; and the con-
stantly arriving numbers recurred to its readers to bring

((

tiiiK

CHARLES DICKENS.

back old friends. The mode of its inr(M>tion nnd its object,
ns a series of skotclies fni* {iiiiusfMucnt jiiid illustration
merely, fully aecounts tor its want of plot. Althougli the
(lesi'ni wfis afterwards cnlar^'cil, vet tlic work ])reserved
its eharaeter as a series of advi'iituri's, rather than a con-
nected novel to the end. Speak iuL,' on this subject in the
preface to a subse<[Uent edition, Mr. r)iekens .says :

" It has been observed of ^Fr. Piekwiek, that tliere is a
(leeide<l chanL,'e in his eharactei', as these pa;^'es proceed,
and that lie becomes more j^'ood and more sensible. I do
not thiidv this change will apjx'ar forced oi* unnatnral to
my readers, if they will rellect that in real life tlie pecu-
liarities and oddities of a man who has an3'thing whimsi-
cal about him, generally impress us lirst, and that it is
not until we are better ac(piainted with him thit we
usually begin to look below these superlicial traits, and to
know the bettei* ])art of him.

" I have found it curious and interestincj, lookinfx over
the sheets of this re})rint, to mark what important social
improvements have taken place about us, almost impercep-
tibly, ever since they Avere originally wi-itten. The license
of counsel, and the degree to which juries are ingeniously
bewildered, are yet susceptible of moileration ; while an
improvement in the mode of conducting Parliamentary
elections (especially lor counties) is still within the bounds
of possibility. But, legal refoi'ins have pared the claws of
Messrs. Dodson and Fogg ; a s[)irit of self-respect, mutual
forbearance, education, and co-operation, for such good
ends, has diffused itself among their clerks ; places far
apart are brought together, to tlie present c(jnveniencc and
advantage of the Public, and t« tlie certain destruction, in
time, of a host of petty jealousies, blindnesses, and l)reju-
dices, by which the Public alone have always been the
sufferers; the laws relating to imi)risonment for debt are
altered ; and the Fleet Prison is pulled down !

" With such a retrospect comprised within so short a
period, who knows, but it may be discovered, within this

100

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

, J ■'

century, that there are even magistrates in town and
country, who should be taught to shake hands every day
with Common Sense and J ustice ; that even Poor Laws
may have mercy on tlie weak, the aged, and unfortunate ;
that Schools, on the broad principles of Christianity, are
the best adornment for the length and breadth of this
civilized land ; that Prison-doors sliould be barred on the
outside, no less heavily and carefully than they are barred
within ; that the universal diffusion of common means of
decency and health is as much the right of the poorest of
the poor, as it is indispensable to the safety of the rich,
and of the State ; that a few petty boards and bodies —
less than drops in the great ocean of humanity, which
roars around them — are not to let loose Fever and Con-
sumption on God's creatures at their will, or always to
keep their little fiddles going for a Dance of Death I"

Numerous stories, having no connection with the work
itself, were introduced from time to time, being put into the
mouths of the various characters introduced. These were
probably written with the intention of publishing them as
another volume of Sketches ; but when the new design
of The Pickwich Paper's was adopted, they were probably
used to fill up, when the author was short of other matter ;
or with the prudent purpose of making use of old mater-
ial on hand. The scene early in the Papers where two
members of the "club" abuse each other, and then apolo-
gize and declare the words to have been used only in a
" Pickwickian sense," was a take-off on a then recent scene
in Parliament, where two members similarly pronounce un-
gentlemanly language to have been intended only in a
" Parliamentary sense." This was the first good and tak-
ing hit. Sam Weller is undoubtedly the most decided-
ly original and satisfactory character introduced into the

CHARLES DICKENS.

101

work. His wit is sparkling, and at the same time always
natural. Hisstj'le of enumerating the guests ot the famous
"Inn" at which he officiated as "Boots" is inimitable: —
" There's a wooden leg in numher six ; " says he, " there's
a i)air of Hessians in thirteen ; tliere's two pair of halves
in the commercial ; these 'ere painted tops in the snug-
gery inside the bar ; and live more tops in the coffee room.'*
We give a few extracts fiom the Papers below. We
presume that most of our readers are familiar with them ;
those who are not, should make it a point to become so at
once. It may be necessary to premise here for the benefit
of those who are not acquainted with the circumstances
connected with the celebrated trial recorded below, that
Mr. Pickwick had announced to his landlady, Mrs. Bardell,
his intention of employing a man servant, asking her
whether, in her opinion, it would cost much more to keep
one than two — meaning himself and his servant. The an-
nouncement, however, having been made somewhat am-
biguously, and Mrs. Bardell, like widows in general, being
on the look out for "chances," takes Mr. Pickwick's allu-
sion to two to refer to that gentleman and herself — in fact,
as an incipient and timid proposal of matrimony. Where-
at the good lady falls into the arms of the astonished
Pickwick, and calls hi: a a dear, good creatui'e — so thought-
ful, and several other endearing terms. Pickwick is found
by his friends in this rather annoying predicament, en-
deavoring to pacify the lady and appealing to her to
" think what a predicament if any body should come."
From this slight afiair rose the celebrated law-suit, which
ended by consigning Mr. Pickwick to Fleet Prison j a terri-

g,,.iH

1^ -''' '

102

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

ble warning to bcaclielors to be very careful in their deal-
ings with elderly ladies in general, and widows in parti-
cular :

A FULL AND FAITHFUL EErORT OF THE MEMORABLE TRIAL
OF EARDELL AGAINST PICKWICK.

" I wonder what the foreman of the jury, whoever he'll
be, has got for breakfast," said i\Ir. Siiodgrass, by way of
keej)ing up a conversation, on the eventful morning of the
fourteenth of Fel)ruary.

"Ah !" said Perker, "I ho])e he's got a good one."

"Why so ?" inquired Mr. Pickwick.

" Higldy im[)()rtant ; very important, my dear sir," re-
plied Perker. " A good, contented, we] l-l)reakfasted jury-
man, is a capital thing to get hold of Discontented or
hungry jurymen, n-y dear sir, ahvays Hnd for the plain-
tiff."

"Bless my heart," snid Mr. Pickwick, looking very
blank ; " what do they do that for ?"

" Why, I don't know," replied the little man, coolly;
"saves time, I suppose. If it's near dinner-time, the fore-
man takes out his watch when tlie jury has retired, and
says, ' Dear me, gentlemen, ten minutes to five, I declare.
I dine at five, gentlemen.' ' So do I,' says every body else,
except two men who ouglit to have dineel at three, and
seem more than linlf disposed to stand out in consequence.
The foreman smiles, and puts up his watch : — ' Well, gen-
tlemen, what do we say, plaintitl' or defendant, gentlemen ?
I rather think, so far as I am concerned, gentlemen, — I
say, I rather think, — but don't let that intkience you, — I
rather think the plaintiti"s the man.' Upon this, two or
three other men ai'c sure to say that they think so too —
as of course tliey do ; and then tliey get on very unani-
mously and comfortably. Ten minutes past nine!" said
the little man, looking at his watch. " Time W3 were ofi",
my dear sir; breach of promise trial — court is generally
full in such cases. You had better ring for a coach, my
dear sir, or we shall be rather late."

CHARLES DICKENS.

103

Mr. rirkwick immcdi.'itulv ranix the bell; cand a coach
having been iirocured, the ibni- Pickwiekians and Mr. Per-
kur ense()nce<l themselves therein, and drove to Guiidhall;
Sam WeHer, Mr. Lowten, and tho Lhie bag, following in a
cab.

" LoAvten," s.'i.id Perke-i', Avlien they reached the outer
liall of the court, "put Mr. Pickwick's friends in the stu-
dents' box; ^Ir, Pickwick liimself Imd better sit by me.
Tl^is way, my dear sir, this way." Taking Mr. Pickwick by
tlie coat sleeve, the little ni;in hj(l him to the low seat just
beneath the desks of tlie King's Counsel, \vhich is con-
struoted for the convenience of attorneys, who, from that
spot, can whis[)er into tlie ear of the leading counsel in the
case, any instiuctions that may be necessary during the pro-
gress of tlie trial. The occupants of this seat arc invisible
to the great body of spectators, inasmuch as they sit on a
much lower level tlian either tlie barristers or the audience,
Avhose seats are raised above the floor. Of course they
have their backs to both, and their faces towards the

" That's the witness-box, I suppose," said Mr. Pickwick,
pointing to a kind of pulpit, with a brass rail, on his left
hand.

" That's the witness-box, my dear sir," replied Perker,
disinterring a (juantity of [)apeis from the blue bag, which
Lowten had just deposited at his feet.

''And that," said Mr. Pickwick, pointing to a couple of
enclosed seats on his riglit, "that's where the jurymen sit,
is it not ?"

"Tlie identical place, my dear sii'," re})lied Perker, tap-
ping the lid of his snutf-box.

Mr. Pickwick stood up in a state of great agitation, and
took a glance at the court. Thei'e wei'e already a pretty
large sprinkling of spectators in the gallery, and a numer-
ous muster of gentlemen in v/igs, in the barristers' seats :
who presented, as a body, all that ] (leasing and extensive
variety of nosii and whisker for which the bar of England
is so justly celebrated. Such of the gentlemen as had a
brief to carry, carried it in as conspicuous a manner as

104

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

possible, and occasionally scratched tlieir nose therewith
to im])rcss the fact more strongly on the Ouservation of
the spectators. Otlier j^eiitleiiuu wlio had no hriei's to
show, cari'icd under tlieir {uiiis goodly octavos, with a red
label behind, an<l that iindcrdone-])ie-crnst-colored cover
which is technically known as "law calf" Others, who
had neither briefs nor books, thrust their hands into their
pockets, and looked as wise as they conveniently conld ;
others, again, moved here and there with great restless-
ness and earnestness of manner, content to awaken thei-c-
by the admiiation and astonishment of the uninitiated
strangers. The whole, to the great won<ler of Mr. Pick-
wick, were dividend into little groups, who were chatting
and discussing the news of the day in the most unfeeling
manner possible, — ;just as if no trial at all Avereconn'ngon.
A bow from Mr. Phunky, as he entered, and took his
seat behind the row ap])ro])riated to the King's Counsel,
attracted Mr. Pickwiek's attention ; and he had scarcely
returned it when ]\lr. Serjeant Snubbin appeared, followed
by Mr. Mallard, who half hid the Seijeant behind a large
Qrimson bag, which he j)laccd on his table, and after shak-
ing hands with Perker, withdrew. Then there entered
two or three more Serjeants ; and among them, one with
a fat body and a red face, who nodded in a friendly man-
ner to Mr. Serjeant Snubbin, and said it was a fine morn-

" Who's that red-fficed man, who said it was a fine
morning, and nodded to our counsel T whispered Mr.
Pickwick.

"Mr. Serjeant Buzfuz," replied Perker. "He's opposed
to us ; he leads on the other side. That gentleman behind
him is Mr. Skimpin, his junior."

Mr. Pickwick was on the point of enquiring, with great
abhorrence of the man's cold-blooded villany, how Mr.
Seijeant Buzfuz, who was counsel for the o])posite pai'ty,
dared to presume to tell Mr. Seijeant Snubbin, who was
counsel for kim, that it Avas a fine morning, when he was
interrupted by a general rising of the barristers, and a
loud cry of '' Silence !" from the officers of the coui't.

CHARLES DICKENS.

105

crcwitli
ition f)f
)i'ii'ls to
til a red
d cover
rs, wlio
ito tlicir

could ;
rcstless-
n tlierc-
iiitiated
r. Pick-
L'liatting
nfeoliiiLj
luinii^on.
book bis
Counsel,
scarcely
followed
. a large
er shak-

entered
ne with
ly niaii-

e morii-

a fine
;ed Mr.

o|)posed
behind

th great
ow Mr.

party,
ho was
he was

and a
J COUl't.

Lookinpr round, he found that this was caused by the en-
trance of the judL;-e.

Ml". Justice Stareloigh (who sat in the absence of the
Chief Justice, occasioned by iiidisj)o,siiion,) was a most
particularly short man, and so fat» that he seemed ad face
and waistcoat. He rolled in u]U)n two little turned leo;s,
and having bobbed gravely to the bar, who bobbed grave-
ly to him, ])ut his little legs underneath his table, and his
little thi'ee-cornered hat upon it; and when Mr. Justice
Stareleigh had done this, all you could see of him was
two queer little eyes, one broad pink face, and somewhere
about half of a big and very comical-looking wig.

The judge had no sooner taken his seat, than the officer
on the floor of the court called out " Silence !" in a com-
manding tone, u}K)n which another ofHcer in the gallery
cried " Silence !" in an angry manner, whereu])on three or
four more ushers shouted " Silence !" in a voice of indig-
nant remonstrance. This being done, a gentleman in
black who sat behjw the judge, })roceeded to call over the
names of the jury ; and after a great deal of bawding, it
was discovered that only ten s])ecial jurymen were pre-
sent. Upon this, Mr. Serjeant Buzfuz prayed a talcs : the
gentleman in black then })roceeded to press into the spe-
cial jury two* of the common jurymen ; and a green-grocer
and a chemist were caught directly.

" Answer to your names, gentlemen, that you may be
sworn," said the gentleman in black. " Richard Upwitch."

'* Here," said the green-grocer.

"Thomas Grofhn."

" Here," said the chemist.

" Take the book, gentlemen. You shall w^ell and truly

try-"

" I beg this court's pardon," said the chemist, who was
a tall, thin, yellow^-visaged man, " but I hope this court
will excuse my attendance."

" On what grounds, sir ?" said Mr. Justice Starleigh.

'' I have no assistant, my Lord," said the chemist.

" I can't help that, sir," replied Mr. Justice Stareleigh;
*' You should hire one."

'l I

■If! ".'K

106

LIFE AND WRITIXGS OF

((

I can't afr(n"d it, iny Lord," rojoinod the clic.nist.
Tlicn you ou'-lit to l)c altlc to nH'ord it, sir," snid tlie

« rv

((

judge, n'(]d(,>iiiti<4' ; for Mr. Ju.ticMi Starclei^'li's temper bor-
dered on the iirit'iMe, and hrookv.Ml not contradietion.

1 know I oiij/lif to (h), if I [;'ot on as well as I deserved,
but I <h)n't my Lord,' answered tlie eliemist.

'' Swear tl;e ^'entleman," said tlie jU(lL;;e, ])er<}m])toi'ily.
The olHcei" liad i^ot no further tlian the " Vou sliall well
and truly try," wiien he was again interrupted by tlie
chemist.

I am to be sworn, mv Lord, am I ?" said tlie eliemist.

Certainly, sir," I'eplicMl thi' testy little judge.

Very well, my Lord," re[)lied the chemist, in a re-

signed nmnner. " Then there'll l)e murder before this
trial's over; that's all. Swear me if you please, sir;" and
sworn the chemist was, before the judge could find woi'd.s
to utter.

"I merely wanted to obsei've, my Lord," said the
chemist, taking his seat Avith great deliberation, " that
I've left nobody but an errand-boy in my slio}). He is a
very nice boy, my Lord, but he is not accpiainted with
drugs ; and 1 know that the prevailing im})ression on
his mind is, that K|)soni salts means oxalic acid; ana
syrup of seinia, laudanum. That's all, my Lord." With
this, the tall chemist com])osed himselt into a comfortable
attitude, and, assuming a pleasant expression '^■f counten-
ance, appeared to have [)repared himself i'ov the woi'st.

Mr. Pickwick was regarding the chemist Avith feelings
of the deepest horror, when a slight sensation v/as percep-
tible in the l)ody of the court ; and immediately after-
wards, ]\h's. Bardell, su])])orted by j\h"s. Cluppins, was l<'d
in, and placed, in a drooping state, at the other end of the
seat on which Mr. Pickwick sjit. An extra sized nml)rella
was then handed in by i\[r. Dodson, and a {)air of })attens
by Mr. Pogg, each of whom had ])repared a mostsym])a-
thising and melancholy face for the occasion. Mis.
Sanders then a])peared, leading in Master Bardell. At
sight of her child, Mrs. Bardell started ; suddenly recol-
lecting herself, she kissed him in a frantic manner ; then

CIIAHLES DICKEXS.

107

)ii,

clicnist.
snid tlio
I per Ijor-
tioii.
Icscrvccl,

n])torilv.
,lmll \v(-ll
I by tlie

cliemlst.

ill a ve-
'fure this
sir; and
lid word?)

said tlic
tliat
Ho is a-
:ed witli
ssion on
cid ; and
With
iifortahlc
counten-
worst.
feelings

s ])ercel)-
ly aftey-
6, was ]t'd
nd of the
umbrella
)f pattt'ns
t synijta-
)ii. ^h'^-
lell. At
ly recol-
er ; then

relapsinnf into a state of liysterieal imbecility, the good
lady re(|uested to V)e infoi-nied u'herc she was. In reply
to this, iMrs. Cliip]>ins and Mrs. Sanders turned their heads
away and wept, while Messrs. Dodson and Fog<^ intreated
the plaintiff to compose herself Serjeant Jhizfuz rubbed
his eyes very hard with a laro'c M'liite handkerchief, and
o-ave an appealing* look towards tlie jury, while thejudgo
was visibly affect(!(b «'nid several of the beholders tried to
cough down tbeir enKjtioiis.

" Vvvy good notion that, indeed," "\vhis])ered Perker to
Mr. Pickwick, " Capital fellows those Dodson and Fogg ;
excellent ideas of effect, my (h^ar sir, excellent."

As Perker spoke, Mrs. Bardell began to recover by slow
degrees, ^vhile Mi's. Cluppins, after a careful survey of
blaster Bardell's buttons and the button-holes to which
they severally belonged, ])laced him on the floor of the
court in front of his motlier, — a commanding })osition in
which he could not fiil to awaken the full commiseration
and sympathy of both judge and jury This was not done
without considerable op])osition, and many tears, on the
part of the young gentleman himself, who had certain in-
ward misi^ivinofs that the i)lacin<i; him within the full grlare
of the judge's eye w^as only a formal prelude to his being
immediately ordered away for instant execution, or for
transportation beyond the seas, during the wOiole term of
his natural life, at tlie very least.

" Bardell and Pickwdck," cried the gentleman in black,
callino: on the case, wdiicli stood first on the list.

'* I am for the jdaintilf, my Lord," said Mr. Serjeant
Buzfuz.

" Who is with you, brother Buzfuz ?" said the judge.
My. Skimpin boAved, to intimate that he was.

" I appear for the defendant, my Lord," said Mr. Ser-
jeant Snubbin.

" Anybody with you, brother Snubbin T inq^iired the
court.

" Mr. Pliunky, my Lord," replied Serjeant Snubbin.

" Serjeant Buzfuz and Mr. Skimpin tor the plaintiff,"
said the judge, writing down the names in his note-book,

108

LIFE AND WIIITINGS OF

yi'

If if. :

and rearling «ns he wrote ; " for the defendant, Serjeant
Siuibbin and Mr. M(jnkoy."

" }^o^f youi' Loid.sljip's ])nrd()n, Phunky."

" Oil, very ^ood," said tlie jndi^e ; " I never had the
phiasurc of hearing tlie gentleman's n ime before." Hero
Mr. riiunky bowed and smiled, and the judge bowed and
smiled too, and then Mr. Phuid<y, blushing into the vciy
wliites of his eyes, ti'ied to look as if he didn't know that
everybody was gazing at him : a thing whieh no man
ever sueeeeded in doing yet, or in all reasonable pi'oba-
bility, ever will.

" (Jo on," said the judge.

The ushers again called silence, and Mr. Skimpin pro-
ceeded to " o))en the ease ;" and the ease appeared to have
very little inside it when he had opened it, for he kej)t
sucli particulars as he knew, completely to himself, and
sat down, after a lapse of three minutes, leaving the jury
in precisely the same advanced stage of wisdom as they
were in before.

Serjeant Buzfuz then rose with all the majesty and
dignity whieh tlie grave nature of the proceedings de-
manded, and having whispered to Dodson, and conferred
brieiiy with Fog, pulled his gown over his shoulders,
settled his wig, and addressed the jury.

Serjeant Buzfuz began by saying, that ''never, in the
whole coiu^se of his professional experience — never, from
the very first moment of his applying himself to the study
and practice of the law — had he approached a case with
feelings of such deep emotion, or with such a heavy sense
of the responsibility imposed upon him — a responsibility,
he would say, which he could never have supported, were
he not buoyed up and sustained by a conviction so strong
that it amounted to positive certainty that the cause of
truth and justice, or, in other words, the cause of his much-
injured and most oppressed client, must prevail with the
high-minded and intelligent dozen of men whom he now
saw in that box before him."

Counsel usually begin in this way, because it puts the
jury on the very best terms with-- themselves, and makes

CHARLES DICKENS.

109

Serjeant

r lincl the
•e." Hero
)owe(l and
D the very
knuw that
h no man
ble proLa-

imy)in pro-
}(1 to have
or lie kej)t
inself, and
g the jury
»m as they

jesty and

Bdings de-

conferred

shoulders,

er, in the
ever, from
the study
case with
iavy sense
onsibility,
rted, were

so strong
e cause of
his niuch-

with the
m he now

t puts the
.nd makes

them think what sharp fellows thoy must be. A visible
effect was produced immediately ; several jurymen begin-
ning to take voluminous notes witli tlie utmost, eagerness.

" Vou have heard from my learned fiiond, gentlemen,"
continued Serjeant Buzfuz, well knowing that, from the
learned friend alluded to, the gentleman of the jury had
heard just notliing at all — "you have heard from my
learned friend, gentlemen, that this is an action for a
licach of promise of marriage, in which the damages
are laid at £1,500. But you have not heard from my
learned friend, inasmuch as it did not come within my
learned friend's province to tell you, what are the facta
and circumstances of the case. Those facts and circum-
stances, gentlemen, you shall hear detailed by me, and
proved by the unimpeachable female whom I will place in
that box before you."

Here Mr. Serjeant Buzfuz, with a tremendous emphasis
on the word "box," smote his table with a mighty sound,
and glanced at Dodson and Fogg, who nodded admiration
of the Serjeant, and indignant defiance of the defendant.

" The plaintiff, gentlemen," continued Serjeant Buzfuz,
in a soft and melancholy voice, " the plain tifi' is a widow ;
yes, gentlemen, a widow. The late Mr. Bardell, after en-
joying for many ars, the esteem and confidence of his
sovereign, as one c . the guardians of his royal revenues,
glided almost imperceptibly from the world, to seek else-
where for that repose and peace which a custom-house
can never afford."

At this pathetic descri];)tion of the decease of Mr. Bar-
dell, who had been knocked on the head with a f[uart-pot
in a public-house cellar, the learned Serjeant's voice faltered
and he proceeded with emotion :

" Some time before his death, he had stamped his like-
ness upon a little boy. With this little boy, the only
pledge of her departed exciseman, Mrs. Bai'dell shrunk
from the world, and courted the retirement and traiupiillity
of Goswell-street ; and here she placed in her front ])arlor-
window a written placard, bearing this inscription —
' Apartments furnished for a single gentleman. Inquire

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

, «ii i!'

11 tt

I? ;i

within,* " Hero Scijoant Buzfnz paused, while several
gentlemen of tlio jury took n note of tlic (locunient.

"There is no date to tliat, is tliere, sir'r iiKpiired a
juror.

" There is no date, <:,^entlenien," replied Sei jcant Buzfu^;
but I am instructe(l to s.'iy tliat it was jnit in the plaintift's
parlor-window just tliis time tliree years. 1 entreat the at-
tention of the juiy to thewordiui^^of thisdoeument. 'Apart-
ments furni.slied for a single ovnth'man' ! Mrs. Bardell's
oi)inions of tlie op])osite sex, gentlemen, were derived from
a long eontemplatiou of the inestimable (pialities of her
lost husband. She liad no fcai-, slie had no distrust, slie
had no suspieion, all was eonlicU'iiee and relianee. 'Mr.
Bardell,' said tlie widow; 'Mi*. Ijardell was a man of
honor, Mr. Bardell was a man of his word, Mr. Bardell
was no deceiver, Mr. Bardell was onee a single gentleman
himself; to single gentlemen I look for protection, for
assistance, for eondbrt, and for consolation ; i}i single
gentlemen I shall perpetually see something to remind me
of what Mr. Bardell was, Avhen he first won my young and
untried affections ; to a single gentleman, then, shall my
lodging be let.' Actuated by this beautiful and touching
impulse (among the best impulses of our im])erfect nature,
gentlemen,) the lonely and desolate widow dried her tears,
furnished her first floor, cauglit the innocent boy to her
maternal bosom, and ])ut the bill u]) in her parlor-window.
Did it remain there long ? No. The serpent was on the
watch, the train was laid, the mine was jireparing, the
sapper and miner was at work. Before the bill had been
in the parlor-window three days — tliree days — gentle-
men — a Being, erect upon two legs, and bearing all the
outward semblance of a man, and not of a monster,
knocked at the door of Mrs. Bardell's liouse. He inquired
within ; he took the lodgings ; and on the very next day
he entered into possession of them. This man was Pick-
wick — Pickwick, the defendant."

Serjeant Buzfuz, who had proceeded with such volu-
bility that his face was perfectly crimson, here paused for
breath. The silence awoke Mr. Justice Stareleigh. who

imm
nnv

tlir
det'li

CHARLES DICKENS.

Ill

several
it.
i([uirefl a

Buzf u^ ;
•laiiitift's
t tlio at-
'Apart-
BardoU's
ved from
!S of Ijcr
I'ust, hIic
e. ' Mr.
man of
Bardell
jiitleinaii
tion, for
li single
Tiind me
)iing and
sliall my
touching
t nature,
er tears,
V to lier
window.
s on the
•ing, the
lad Leen
-gentle-
1 all the
n ouster,
nquired
ext day
as Pick-

;h volu-
ised for
h. who

immediately wrote down something with a pen without
nny ink in it, and lookf^l unusually profound, to ini])ress
tlic iury with tin* holicf that ho always thought niost
deeply with his eyes shut. Sci-jennt l>u/fuz proercdi'd.

"Of this man rickwick \ will say little; the suhjcet
presents hut few attractions ; and I, gentlemen, am not
the man, nor are you, gentlemen, the men. to delight in
tlie contemplation of revolting heartlessness, and of sys-
tematic villany."

Here Ml. Pickwick, who had heen writing in silence
for some time, gave a violent start, as if some vague idea
of assaulting Serjeant Ihi/.fuz, in the august presence of
justice and law, suggested itself to his mind. An admoni-
tory gesture iVom Perker restrained him, and he listened
to the learn(M.l gentleman's contiiuiation with a look of in-
dignation, which contrasted foreihly with the admiring
faces of Mrs. Cluppins and Mrs. Sanders.

"I say systematic villany, gentlemen," said Serjeant
Biizfuz, looking through Mr. Pickwick and talking at
him ; " and when I say systematic villany, let me tell the
defendant Pickwick, if he 1)0 in coui't, as I am informed
he is, that it would have been more decent in him, move
hecoming, in bettor judgment, and in better taste, if he
had stopped away. Let me tell him, gentlemen, that any
gestures of dissent or disai>|)robation in which he may in-
dulge hi this court will not go down with you ; that you
well know how to value and how to ap])reciato them ; and
lot mo tell him iurther, as my lord will toll you, gentle-
men, that a counsel, in the discharge of his duty to his
client, is neither to bo intimidated nor Ijullied, nor put
down; and that any attempt to do either the one or the
oilier, or the lirst, or the last, will recoil on the head of
the attempter, bo he plaintiff or be he defendant, be his
name Pickwick, or Noakes, or Stoakes,orStiles, or Brown,
or Thompson."

This little divergence from the sulject in hand, had of
course the intended otfect of turning all eyes to LIr. Pick-
wick. Serjeant Buzfuz, having partially recovered from
the state of moral elevation into which he had lashed him-
self, resumed :

112

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

1 1

"I shnll show you, f,'ontloiiian, tlmt for two ycnrs Pick-
wi(;k. cont/miKMl to rcsido constantly, and without intiuiup-
tioii or iiitrnnissioii, at Mi's. Uardi'll's liniisc. f sliall • 'm>w
you that Mrs, JJarddl, duriiiL; tht» wliolr of that time,
waited on liim, attended to his cnnd'orts, cooked hisnioals,
h)()ked out liis linen Inr tlie waslierwoniaii whi'ii it went
abroad, darned, aired, and prepared it lor weai* wlien it
canio lionie, and, in slmrt, mjoyed liis t'ulli'st trust and
contidenee. 1 sliall sliow you that, on many occasions, he
gave halfpence, and on soint! occasions oven sixpences, to
her little boy ; and J sliall prove to you, by a witness
wljoso testimony it will be imj»ossiljle for my learne(l
fi'iend to weaken or controvert, that (►n one occasion he
patted the }»oy on the head, and after incpiii-ini; whether
he had won any nlh'n fors or coiu-nionci/s lately (both of
which I undei'stand to Ix^ a ])articular s})ecies of marble
much ])rized l»y the youth of this town), made use of this
remarkable expression: ' Mow should you like to have
another father ? ' I shall ])rove to you, gentlemen, that
about a year ago, Pickwick suddenly began to absent him-
self from honie, durimr lonu* intei'vals, as if with the in-
tention of gradually breaking ulf from my client ; but I
shall show you also, that his resolution was not at that
time sufhcientlv stronu", or that his better feelings con-
quered, if better feelings he has, or that the charms and
accomplishments ot my client prevailed against his un-
manly intentions ; by proving to you that, on one occasion,
when he returned from the country, he distinctly and in
terms, offered hei marriage : previously however, taking
special care that there should be no witness to their sol-
emn contract ; and I am in a situation to prove to you, on
the testimony of tliree of his own friends, — most imwil-
\\\\<l witnesses, L*'eutlemen — most unwilling witnesses —
that on that morning he was discovered by them holding
the plaintiif iu liis wxwx^, r.nd soutliing her agitation by his
caresses and endearments."

A visible impression was j^roduccil upon tlie auditors by
this part of the learned Serjeant's address. Drawing forth
two very small scraps of paper, he proceeded :

nig

be a

CnAHLES DICKENS.

113

•s Pick-
itorrup-

it tinu',
is mollis,

it WL'llt

wIk'U it
list nil' I
sions, lu;

JIK'OS, to

witness
k'iirih'd
ision ho
wliotlior
(l)()th of
t' marltlt^
so of til is
to linvo
lun, that
;('nt hiin-
i tlic in-
t ; hut I
at that
iigs con-
I'His and
his iin-
occasion,
y juid in
takini,'
heir sol-
o you, on
t unwil-
tuesses —
holdiui,^

,U l)y illri

clitovs by
diiLT forth

" And now, rfontlomen, hut ono word more. Two lettcrg
have ])assod hotvvoon those parties, letters wliieh are ad-
mitted to bo ill tlio Iwuid-writin;^ of the (h'fendant, and
which speak volumes indeed. U'hese letters, too, bespeak
the chai'acter of the num. They are not open, fervent
elo((Ucnt epistles, breathin<^ nothing but tlie hmguago of
jitlectionate attachment. They arc covert, sly, underhand-
ed communications, but, fortunately, far more conclusive
than if couched in the moet glowing language and the
most ])oetic imagery — letters that must bo viewed with
a cautious and suspicious eye — letters that were evidently
intended at the time, by Pickwick, to mislead and delude
any third ])arties into whose hands they might fall. Let
nie read the first : — ' Garraway's, twelve o'clock. Dear
Uyh. B. — Chops and Tomato sauce. Yours, Pickwick.'
Gentlemen, what does this mean? 'Chops and Tomato
sauce. Yours, Pickwick !' Choi)s ! Gracious heavens ! and
Tomato sauce! Gentlemen, is the hai)piness of a sensi-
tive and confiding female to be trifled away, by such shal-
low artifices as these ? The next has no date whatever,
which is in itself suspicious. ' Dear Mrs. B., I shall not
ho at home till to-morrow. Slow coach.' And then fol-
lows this very remarkable exi)rcssion. 'Don't trouble
yourself about the warming-pan.' The warming-pan!
Why, gentlemen, who does trouble himself about a warm-
ing pan ! When was the poace of mind of man or wo-
man broken or disturbed by a warming-pan, which is in
itself a harmless, a u;. Tul, and I will add, gentlemen, a com-
forting article of domestic furniture ? Why is Mrs. liardell
so earnestly entreated not to agitate herself about this
warming-pan, unless (as is no doubt the case) it is a mere
cover for hidden fire — a mere substitute for some endearing
woid or promise, agreeably to a preconcerted system of
correspondence, artfully contrived by Pickwick, with a
view to his contemplated desertion, and which I am not
in a condition to explain ? And what does this allusion
to the slow coach mean ? For aught 1 know, it may
be a reference to Pickwick hiniself, who has most unques-
tionably been a criminally slow coach during the whole of
8

114

LIFE AND WRITINGS 01*

this transaction, but whose speed will now be very unex-
pectedly accelerated, and whose wheels, gentlemen, as
he will find to liis cost, will very soon be greased by
yon!"

Mr. Serjeant Buzfuz paused in this place, to see whether
the jury smiled at liis joke; but as nobody took it b\it the
green-grocer, whose sensitiveness on the suljject was very
])vobably occasioned by his having subjected a chaise-cait
to the process in question on that identical morning, tlio
learned seijeant considered it advisable to undergo a slight
rela])se into the dismals before he concluded.

"But enough of this, gentlemen," said Mr. Serjeant
Buzfuz, "it is difficult to smile with an aching heart ; it
is ill jesting when our deepest sym[)athies are awakened.
My client's hopes and prospects are ruined, and it is no
figure of speech to say that her occupation is gone indeed.
The bill is down — but there is no tenant. Eligible single
gentlemen pass and repass — but there is no invitation for
them to inquire within or without. All is gloom and si-
lence in ^hc house ; even the voice of the child is hushed ;
his infant sports are disregarded when his mother weeps ;
his ' alley tors' and his 'commoneys,' are alike neglected;
he forgets the long familiar cry of 'knuckle dow^n,' and at
tip-cheese, or odd and even, his hand is out. But Pick-
wick, gentlemen, Pickwick, the ruthless destroyer of this
domestic oasis in the desert of Goswell street — Pickwick,
who has choked up the well, and thrown ashes on tlie
sword — Pickwick, who comes before you to-day with his
heartless Tomata sauce and warming-pans — Pickwick still
rears his head with unblushing effrontery, and gazes with-
out a si'^'h on the ruin he has made. Damau'es, (gentlemen
— heavy damages — is the only punishment with which
you can visit him ; the only i-ecom]:)ense you can award
to my client. And foi those damages she now appeals to
an enlightc'ied, a high-minded, a right-feeling, a conscien-
tious, a dispassionate, a sympathising, a contemplative
jury of her civilized countrymen." With this beautiful
peroration, Mr. Serjeant Buzfuz sat down, and Mr. Justice
Stareleigh woke up.

CHARLES DICKENS.

115

y unex-
iinen, fis
ased by

wlietlicT
b but tbo
kvas very
laise-cart
ling, tliG
a.sliglit

Serjeant
heart ; it
wakened,
it is no
le indeed,
ble single
tation for
n and si-
> husbed ;
3r weeps ;
eu'lceted ;
n/ and at
lit Pick-
tr of this
ickwick,
OS on the
with his
wick still
zes witli-
entlenien
,h which
lin award
ppeals to
conscien-
?niplative
beautiful
r. Justice

'' Call Elizabeth Cluppins," said Serjeant Buzfuz, rising
a minute afterwards, with renewed vigor.

The nearest usher called for Elizabeth Tuppins ; another
one, at a little distance off, demanded Elizabeth Jupkins;
and a third rushed in a breathless state into King street,
and screamed for Elizabeth Muffins until he was hoarse.

Meanwhile Mrs. Cluppins, with the combined assistance
of Mrs. Bardell, Mrs. Sanders, Mr. Dodson, and Mr. Fogg,,
was hoisted into the witness-box ; and when she was
safely perched on the top step, Mrs. Bardell stood on the
bottom one, with the pocket-handkerchief and pattens
in one hand, and a glass bottle that might hold about a,
quarter of a pint of smelling salts in the other, ready for
any emergency. Mrs. Sanders, whose eyes w re intently
fixed on the judge's face, planted herself close by, with
the large umt3rella : keeping her right thumb pressed on.
the spring with an earnest countenance, as if she were
fully prepared to put it up at a moment's notice.

" Mrs. Cluppins," said Serjeant Buzfuz, "pray compose
yourself, ma'am." Of course, directly Mrs. Cluppins was
desired to compose herself she sobbed with increasing
vehemence, and gave divers alarming manifestations of an
approaching fainting fit, or, as she afterwards said, of her
feelings being too many for her.

" Do you recollect, Mrs. Cluppins ?" said Serjeant Buz-
fuz, after a few unimportant questions, " do you recollect
being in Mrs. Bardell's back one-pair of stairs, on one par-
ticular morning in July last, when she was dusting Pick-
wick's apartment ?"

" Yes, my Lord and Jury, I do," replied Mrs. Cluppins.

*' Mr. Pickwick's sitting-room was the first-floor front, I
believe?"

" Yes, it were, sir," replied Mrs. Cluppins.

*' What were you doing in the back room, ma'am ? " in-
quired the little judge.

" My Lord and Jury," said Mrs. Cluppins, with interest-
ing agitation, " I will not deceive you."

" You had better not, ma'am," said the little judge.

" I was there/' resumed Mns, Cluppins, " unbeknown to

116

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

II ::

Mrs. Bardell ; I had been out with a little basket, gentle-
men, to buy three pound of red kidney purtaties, which
was three pound tup] )ense ha'penny, when I see Mrs. Bar-
dell's street door on the jar."

"On the what?" exclaimed the little judge.

*' Partly open, my Lord," said Seijeant Snubbin.

*' She said on the jar," said the little judge, with a cun-
ninc^ look.

"It's all the same my Lord," said Serjeant Snubl)in. The
little judge looked doubtful, and said he'd make a note of
it. Mrs. Clu[)pins then resumed.

" 1 walked in, gentlemen, just to sa_y good mornin', and
went, in a permiscuous manner, ui)-stairs, and into tlie
back room. Grentlemen, tliere was the sound of voices in
the front room, and "

"And you listened, I believe, Mrs. Cluppins ?" said Ser-
jeant Buzfuz.

" Beggin' your paixlon, sir," replied Mrs. Cluppins, in a
majestic manner, " I would scorn the liaction. The voices
was very loud, sir, and forced themselves upon my ear."

" Well, Mrs. Clup])ins, you Avere not listening, but you
heard the voices. AVas one of those voices Pickwick's 1 "

" Yes, it were, sir."

And Mrs. Clu[)])ins, after distinctly stating that Mr.
Pickwick addressed himself to Mrs, Bardell, repeated by
slow degrees, and by dint of many questions, the conver-
sation with which our roiidcrs are already ac(]uaintcd.

The jury looked sus[)icious, and Mr. Serjeant Buzfuz
smiled and sat down. They looked positively awful when
Serjeant Snubbin intimated tliat he should not cross-ex-
amine the witness, for Mr. Pickwick wished it to be dis-
tinctly stated that it was due to her to say, that her ac-
count was in substance correct.

Mrs. Cluppins having once broken the ice, thought it a
favorable opportunity for entering into a short disserta-
tion on her own domestic atfaii's ; so she straightway pro-
ceeded to inform tlie court that she was the mother of
eight children at that present speaking, and that she en-
tertained coniident expectations of presenting Mr. Chip-

CHARLES DICKENS.

117

gentlc-
^, which
Sh'n. Bar-

:h a cun-

l)in. TliG
a note of

nin', and
into the
voices in

said Ser-
ins, in a
he voices
y ear."
but you
kvick's ? "

that Ml",
eated by
! conver-
nted,
t Buzfuz
ful when
cross-ex-
) be dis-
) lier ac-

vAit it a
disserta-
way pro-
lothcr of
, she cn-
Ir. Clup-

pins with a ninth, samewhere about that day six months.
At this interesting point, the little judge interposed most
irascibly ; and the etlect of the intcr])o,sition was, that
Itoth the worthy lady and Mrs. SanikTS were politely
taken out of court under the escort of Mr. Jackson, with-
out furCher parley.

"Nathaniel Winkle!" said Mr. Skimpin. ^

"Here!" replied a feeble voice. Mr. Winkle entered
the witness box, and having l)een duly sworn, bowed to
the judge with considcral)k! deference.

" Don't look at me, sir," said the judge sharply, in
acknowledgment of the sahitc; "look at the jury."

Mr. Winkle obeyed the mandate, and looked at the Y)lac6
where he thought it most probaljle the jury might l)e ;
for seeing anything in his then state of intellectual com-
plication was wholly out of the question.

^Fr. Winkle was then examined by Mr. Skimpin, who,
being a promising young man of two or three and forty,
was of course anxious to confuse a witness who w\as notor-
iously predisposed in favor of the other side, as much as
he could.

"Now, sir," said Mr. Skimpin, "have the goodness to
let liis Lordship and the jury know what your name is,
will you ?" and Mr. Skimpin inclined his head on one side
to listen vritli great sharpness to the answer, and glanced
at the jury meanwhile, as if to im])ly that he rather ex-
pected Mr. Winkle's natural taste for perjury would in-
duce him to give some name wdiicli did not belong to him.

" Winkle," replied the Avitness.

" What's your Christian name, sir ?" angrily inquired,
the little judge.

" Nathkniel, sir."

" Daniel — any other name V

" Nathaniel, sir — my Lord, I mean."

" Nathaniel Daniel, or Daniel Nathaniel ?"

"No, my Lord, only Nathaniel; not Daniel at all."

" What did you tell me it was Daniel for, theii, sir ^'*
inquired the judge.

H didn't, my Lord," replied Mr. Winkle,

113

LIFE AND WRITINGS OP

K'. rif' r

h (*

'4^ ■:'!

'* 'v

" You did, sir," replied the judge with a severe frown.
*' How could I have got Daniel on my notes unless you
told me so, sir ?"

This argument was, of course, unanswerable.

" Mr. Winkle has rather a short memory, my Lord," in-
terposed Mr. Skimpin, with another glance at the jury.
** We shall find means to refresh it before wo have quite
done with him, I dare say."

*' You had better be careful, sir," said the little judge,
with a sinister look at the witness.

Poor Mr. Winkle bowed, and endeavoured to feign an
easiness of manner, which, in his then state of confusion,
gave him rather the air of a disconcerted pickpocket.

" Now, Mr. Winkle," said Mr. Skimpin, " attend to me,
if you please, sir ; and let mo recommend you, for your
own sake, to bear in mind his Lordship's injunction to be
-careful. I believe you are a particular friend of Pickwick,
ihe defendant, are you not ?"

" I have known Mr. Pickwick now, as well as I recollect
xit this moment, nearly "

" Pray Mr. Winkle do not evade the question. Are you,
or are you not a friend of the defendant's ?"

'* I was just about to say that "

" Will you, or will you not, answer my question, sir ?"

" If you don't answer the question you'll be committed,
sir," interposed the little judge, looking over his note-
book.

" Come, sir," said Mr. Skimpin, "yea or no, if you
please."

" Yes I am," replied Mr. Winkle.

'* Yes, you are. And why couldn't you say that at once,
sir ? Perhaps you know the plaintiff*, too ? Eh, Mr.
Winkle ?"

" I don't know her ; I've seen her."

" Oh, you don't know her, but you've seen her 1 Now,
have the goodness to tell the gentlemen of the jury what
you mean by that, Mr. Winkle."

J* I mean that I am ftot ii^tin^ate with her, but I have

re frown,
iless you

Lord," in-
the jury,
ave quite

:le judge,

feign an
confusion,
)cket.
nd to me,

for your
tion to be
Pickwick,

I recollect

Are you,

ion, sir ?
)mmittecj,
his note-

0, if you

it at once,
Eh, Mr.

? Now,
ury what

it I have

CHARLES DICKENS.

119

seen her when I went to call on Mr. Pickwick in Goswell
street."

" How often have you seen her, sir ?" '

" How often V

''Yes, Mr. Winkle, how often ? I'll repeat the question
for you a dozen times, if you require it, sir." And tli©
learned gentleman, with a firm and steady frown, placed
his bands on his hips, and smiled sus])iciously at the jury.

On this question there arose the edifying brow-beating,
customary on such pinnts. First of all, Mr. Winkle said
it was quite impossible for him to say how many times he
luid seen Mrs. Bardcll. Then he was asked if he had seen
her twenty times, to which he replied, ' Certainly — more
than that." Then he was asked whet: er he had'nt seen
her a hundred times — whether he co ..d'nt swear that he
had seen her more than fifty times — whether he didn't
know that he had seen her at least seventy-five times —
and so forth ; the satisfactory conclusion which was
arrived at, at last, being, that he had better take care of
himself, and mind what he was about. The witness hav-
ing been by these means reduced to the requisite ebb of
nervous perplexity, the examination was continued as
follows :

" Pray, Mr. Winkle, do you remember calling on the de-
fendant Pickwick at these apartments in the plaintiff's
house in Goswell street, on one particular morning, in the
month of July last ?"

" Yes, I do."

" Were you accompanied on that occasion by a friend
of the name of Tupman, and another of the name of Snod-
grass r

'' Yes, I was."

" Are they here ?"

" Yes, they are," replied Mr. Winkle, looking very
earnestly towards the spot where his friends were
stationed.

" Pray, attend to me, Mr. Winkle, and never mind your
friends," said Mr. Skimpin, with another expressive look
at the jury. " They must tell their stories without an^

X20

LIFE AND WRITINGS OP

I' '1-

previous consultation with you, if nono has yot taken
place (another look at the jury.) Now, sir, tell the gentle-
men of the jury what you saw on entering the defendant's
room, on this ])articular morning. Come, out with it, sir ;
we mustliave it, sooner or later."

" The defendant, Mr. Pickwick, was holding the plain-
tiff in his arms, with his hands clasping her waist," re|)licd
Mr. Winkle, with natural hesitation, " and the plaintitt*
appeared to have fainted away."

^* Did you hear the defendant say anything?"

" I heard him call Mrs. Bardell a good creature, and I
heard liim ask her to compose herself, for what a situation
\t was, if anybody should come, or words to that effect."

" Now, Mr. Winkle, I have only one more question to
ask you, and I beg you to bear in mind liis lordship's cau-
tion. Will you undertake to swear that Pick\^d(,*k, the
defendant, did not say on the occasion in question, * My
dear Mrs. Bardell, you're a good creature ; compose your-
self to this situation, for to this situation you nuist come,'
or words to that effect ?"

"I — I didn't understand him so, certainly," said Mr.
Winkle, astounded at this ingenious dove-tailing of tlio
few words he had heard. " I was on the staircase, and
couldn't hear distinctly. The impression on my mind is

"The gentlemen of the jury want none of the impres-
sions on your mind, Mr. Winkle, which I fear would be of
little service to honest, straightforward men," interposed
Mr. Skimpin. " You were on the staircase, and didn't dis-
tinctly hear; but you will not swear that Pickwick did
not make use of the expressions I have quoted ? Do I
understand that ?" " No, I will not," replied Mr. Winkle ;
and down sat Mr. Skimpin with a triumphant counten-
ance.

Mr. Pickwick's case had not gone off in so particularly
happy manner, up to this point, that it could very well
afford to have any additional suspicion cast upon it. But
as it could aftbrd to be placed in a rather better light, if
possible, Mr. Phunky rose for the purpose of getting some-

CHARLES DICKENS,

121

et taken

3 gentlc-
endant's
li it, sir ;

le plain-
" replied
plaintitt'

re, and I
"iituation
t etrect."
estion to
ii])'seaii-
v'utk, tlio
on, ' My
•se youi'-
st come,'

baid Mr.

g of the

lase, and

mind i.s

impres-
Id be of
erposcd
In't dis-
ick did
Do I
kV inkle ;
ounten-

icularly
ry well
But
light, if
g some-

thing important ont of Mr. Wiidvle in cross-examination.
Whether he did get anything important out of him will
iunnediately ap])ea]\

'^ believe, ]\lr Winkle," said Mr. Phunky, " that Mr,
Pickwick is not a youug man ?"

" Oh no," replied Mr. Winkle ; *'old cnongh to bo my
fother."

" You have told my learned friend that you have known
Mr. Pickwick a long time. Had you ever any reason to
su})pose or believe that he was about to bo mnrried ?"

" Oh no ; certainl}^ not," re[)lied I\Ir. Winkle with so
much eagerness, that Mr. Phurd^y ought to hnve got him
out of the box with all possible dispatch. Lawyers hold
that there are two kinds of particularly bad witnesses ; a
reluctant witness, and a too-willing witness ; it was Mr.
Winkle's fate to lio'ure in both characters.

" T will even go further than this, Mr. Winkle," con-
tinued Mr. Phunky, in a most smooth and complacent
manner. " Did you ever see anything in Mr. Pickwick's
manner and conduct towards the op})()sito sex, to induce
you to believe that he ever ccmtem plated matrimony of
late years, in any case ?"

" Oh no ; certainly not," replied Mr. Winkle.

" Has his behavior, when females have been in the case,
always been that of a man, who, having attained a pretty
advanced period of life, content with his own occupation
and amusements, treats them only as a father might his
daughter ?"

"Not the least doubt of it," replied Mr. Winkle, in tho
fulness of his heart. " That is — yea — oh yes — certainly."

" You have never known anj^thing in his behavior to-
wards Mrs.Bardell, or any other female, in the least degree
suspicious ?" said Mr. Phunky, preparing to sit down; for
Serjeant Snubbin was winking at lum.

" N — n — no," replied Mr. Winkle, " except on one tri-
fling occasion, which I have no doubt, might be easily
explained."

Now, if the unfortunate Mr. Phunky had sat down when
Serjeant Snubbin winked at him, or if Serjeant Buzfuz

.,{•?»

122

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

had stoppofl this irrofijiilar cross-examination at the ouisct
(wliich ho knew hotter than to (h> : ohscrving Afr.
Winkle's anxiety, and well knowln^n't would, in all proha-
l)ility, lead to somethinL,^ servieeahle to him), this unfoi*-
tunatc admission Avould not have heen elicited. The
moment the words fell from Mr. Winkle's lips, .Mr.
Phnnky sat down, and Serj(^ant Snnhl)in rather hastily
told him ho mi(^ht leave the l)Ox, which iMr. Winkle ))re-
pared to do with great readiness, when Serjeant Buzfuz
stopped him.

"Stay, Mr. Winkle, stay :" s-iid Sei'jeant Buzfuz, "will
your lordship have the goodness to ask him, what this one
instance of suspicious behavior towards females on the
part of this gentleman, who is old enough to be his father,
was?"

"You hear what the learned counsel says, sir," observed
the judge, turning to the miseral)]e and agonized Mr.
Winkle. " Describe the occasion to which you refer."

" My lord," said Mr. Winkle, trembling w4th anxiety, " I
— I'd rather not."

" Perha])S so," said the little judge ; " but you must."

Amid the ]irofound silence of the whole court, Mr.
Winkle faltered out, that the triHing circun^stance of sus-
picion was Mr. Pickwick's being fovnid in a lady's sleei)ing
apartment at midnight ; which had terminated, he be-
lieved, in the breaking off of the projected marriage of the
lady in question, and had led, he knew, to the whole party
being foi'cibly carried before George Nupkins, Esq., magis-
trate and justice of the peace, for the borough of Ipswich !

" You may leave the box, sir," said Serjeant Snubbin.
Mr. Winkle did leave the box, and rushed with delirious
haste to the George and Vulture, where he was discovered
some hours after, by the w^aiter, groaning in a hollow and
dismal manner, wdth his head buried beneath the sofa
cushions.

Tracy Tupman, and Augustus Snodgrass, were severally
called into the box ; both corroborated the testimony of
their unhappy friend; and each was driven to the verge
of desperation by excessive badgering.

he outset

ill pro! ta-
lis iinl( tr-
od. The
li])s, .Mr.
sr hastily
iiklo pre-
.t Buzfuz

iz, " will

this one

s oil tlui

is father,

observed
izcd Mr.
rer.
xiety, " I

mist."
)iu't, Mr.

of SllS-

slee})iiig
, he he-
^e of the
)le party
magis-
-pswich !
Miubbiii.
delirious
iicovered
low and
the sofa

leverally
mony of
le verge

CHARLI!S DICKENS.

123

Susannah Sanders was then called, and examined by
Serjeant Buzfuz and cross-exainincMl by Serjeant Simbbin.
Had alwaj's said and believiMl that Pickwick would marry
Mrs. Bardell ; knew that Mrs. Bardell's bcin<'- eiiLca^ed to
Pickwicdc was the current to[)ie of conversation in the
neighborhood, after the fainting in July ; luul been told
it herself by Mrs. ^ludbcrry which kept a mangle, and
Mrs. Bunkin Avhich clear-starc]ied, but did not see either
Mrs. Mudberry or ^Irs. Bunkin in court. Had heard
Pickwick ask the little boy how he should like to have
another father. Did not know that Mrs. Banlell was at
that time keeping company with the baker, but did know
that the baker was then a single man and is now married.
Couldn't swear that Mrs. Bardell was not very fond of the
baker, but should think that the baker was not very fond
of Mrs. Bardell, or he wouldn't have married somebody
else. Thought Mrs. Bardell fainted away on the morning
in July, because Pickwick asked her to name the day ;
knew that she (witness) fainted away stone dead when
Mr. Sanders asked her to name the day, and believed that
everybody as called herself a lady would do the same, un-
der similar circumstances. Heard Pickwick ask the boy
the question about the marbles, but u[)on her oath did not
know the difference between an alley tor and a corn-
money.

By the Court. — During the period of her keeping com-
pany with Mr. Sanders, had received love letters, like
other ladies. In the course of their corres])ondence, Mr.
Sanders had often called her a "duck," but never "chops,"
nor yet "tomato sauce." Ho was particularly fond of
ducks. Perhaps if he had been as fond of chops and to-
mato sauce, he might have called her that, as a term of
affection.

Serjeant Buzfuz now rose with more importance than
he had yet exhibited, if that were possible, and vocifer-
ated : " Call Samuel Weller."

It was quite unnecessary to call Samuel Weller ; for
Samuel Weller stepped briskly into the box the instant
his name was pronounced ; and placing his hat on the

5 M

< *

l^'^

m it

I24i

LIFE AND WMTINQS OF

floor, and liIs arms on the rail, took a Llrd's-oyo view of
tlic bar, and a comprolK^nsivc survey of the bench, with a

•kablv c'lieerfiU and livel'

•t.

reninrkai)iy cneernu and lively aspeei

" WhatV; your name, sir T iii(|uired tlie judi^^o.

" Siini Weller, niy lord," re|)li<Ml tlie n'cntleiiian.

" Do you s[)ell it Avitli a * V or a 'W'lf'" incjuired tho
judge.

** That depends upon the taste and fancy of the speller,
my lord," replied Sam. " I never had occasion to spell it
more than once or twice in niy life,l)ut l spoil it with a ' V.' "

Here a voice in the gallery exclninied aloud, " Quite
right, too, Sandvel, cjuite right. Put it down a we, my
lord, ])ut it down a w(\"

" Who is that, who dares to address the court ?" said
the little judge, looking up. "Usher."

" Yes, liiy iord."

*' Bring that person here instantly."

"Yes, my lord."

But as the usher di(hi't find the person, he didn't bring
him; and, after a great comjiioti(jn, all th(3 ])eo|)le who
had got up to look for the culprit, sat down again. The
little judge turned to the witness as soon as his indigna-
tion would allow him to s[)eak, and said,

'' Do you know who that was, sir ?"

" I rayther sus})ect it was my father, my loi-d," replied
Sam.

"Do you see him here now T' said the judge.

" No, I don't, my lord," replied Sam, staling right up
into the lantern in the roof of tho court.

"If you could have pointed him out, Ivrould have com-
mitted him instantly," said the judge.

Sam bowed his acknowledgmerits, and turned, with un-
impaired cheerfulness of countenance, towards Serjeant
Buzfuz.

" Now, Mr. Weller," said Serjeant Buzfuz.

" Now, sir," replied Sam,

" I believe you are in the service of Mr. Pickwick, the
defendant in thia case. Speak up, if you jilease, Mr. Wel-
ler."

CnARLES mCKENS.

125

ricw of
, with a

reel tho

speller,
spell it

I a ' v; "

'' Quito
^ve, iny

?" said

't bring
le who
1. Tho
uligna-

replied

ht up

^e com-

th un-
ijeant

:k, the
•. Wel-

"I moau to spcnk uj), sir," replied Sam ; " I am in tho

service u' that 'ere gt'iii'man, and a wery good servico it
• >>

IS.

" Little to do, and plenty to get, I suppose," said Seijcant
Luztuz, with jocndnrity.

" Oh, (piite enouL;h to get, sir, as the soldier said ven
they ordered him three hundred and lifty lashes," replied
Sam.

"You must not tell us what the soldier, or any other
man s}ii<l, sir," interjxised the judge; "it's not evidence."

" Wery good, my lord," re])lied Sam.

"Do you I'eeolleet anything ])articular hapjK'ning on
the morning when you were iirst engaged by the defen-
dant ; ell, Mr. WellerT said Serjeant iJuzfuz.

" Yes, I do, sir," replied Sum.

"Have the goodness to tell the jury what it was."

" 1 had a reg'lar new tit out o' clothes that mornin',
genTuK^i of the jury," said Sam, "and that was a wery
})artiekler and uncommon circumstance vith me in those
days."

Hereupon there was a general laugh ; and the little
judge, looking with sin angry countenance over his desk,
said, "You had better be careful, sir."

" So Mr. Pickwick said at the time, my lord," replied
Sam ; " and I was wery careful o' that 'ere suit o' clothes j
wery careful, indeed, my lord."

'J'he judge looked sternly at Sam for full two minutes,
l>ut Sam's features Avere so peifectly calm and serene that
the judge said nothing, and motioned Seijeant Buzfuz to
l)roceed.

'•' Do you mean to tell me, Mr. Weller," said Serjeant
BuzFuz, folding his arms em[)hatically ; and tnrning half
round to the jury, as if in mute assurance that he would
r>other the witness yet : " D(j y(ju mean to tell me, Mr.
AVeller, that you saw nothing of this fainting on the part
of the plaintitf in the arms of the defendant, which you
have heard describ(3d l\y the witnesses ?"

" Certainly not," replied Sam. " 1 was in the passage 'till
they called me up, and then the old lady was not there."

\ ' ^■'

126

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

"Now, attend, Mr. AVellcr," said Sorjnant Biizfuz, dip-
ping a lai'«,^o j)on into the inkstand ))or(>re liiin, for the pur-
pose of irii;lit('nini,r S;mi with a show of takin;^' down liis
answer. *' Y^)u were in tlie |)assM<,'e, and yet saw notliin;^'
of what was going forward. Have yoi. a i)air of eyes, Mr.
Weller V

•* Yes, 1 liavc a pair of eyes," replied Sam, "and that's
just it. If tliey was a ])air o' jiatent douUle million niag-
nifyin' gas niieroscopes of hoxtra power, p'raps 1 might l)e
able to see through a flight o' stairs and a deal door; but
Lein' only eyes, yon see, my wision's limited."

At this answer, whieh was delivered withont the slight-
est ajjpearanee of initation, and with the most eom[)leto
bimpiieity and equanimity of manner, the spectators tit-
tered, the little judge smiled, and Serjeant Buzfuz lookeil
particularly foolish. After a short consultation with
Dodson and Fogg, the learned Serjeant again turned to-
wards Sam, and said, with a jmniful efibrt to conceal his
vexation, "Now, Mr. Weller, I'll ask you a question on an-
other point, if yt)u please."

"If you please, sir," rejoined Sam, with the utmost
good-humor.

" Do you remcml)er going up to Mrs. BardeU's house,
one night in November last ?"

" Oh yes, wcry Avell."

" Oh, you do remember that, Mr. Weller," said Serjeant
Buzfuz, recovering his spirits ; " I thought we should get
at sometliing at last."

" I ray ther thought that too, sir," replied Sam ; and at
this the spectators tittered again.

" Well ; I suppose you went up to have a little talk
about this trial — eh, Mr. Weller ?" said Serjeant Buzfuz,
looking knowingly at the jury.

" I went up to pay the rent ; but we did get a talkin
about the trial," renlicd Sam.

'• Oh, you did get a talking about the trial," said Ser-
jeant Buzfuz, brightening up with the anticipation of
some important discovery. " Now, what passed about the
trial ; will you have the goodness to tell us, Mr. Weller f

CHARLES DICKENS.

127

" Vitli nil the ])l('asuro in lifV, sir," ropliiMl Sam. " Artcr
n fow iininniort.'Uit obsorwatiniis fVoiii tlic two wirtiious
f't'iiialcs as lias been oxamiiiod \\v]v t(>-<lay, tlic ladios ^^cts
into a very ^reat state o' admiration at the lionoi'al»lo
conduct of ^Ir. J)(id,son and Koiri: — tlicm two mMi'l'mcn as
is settin' near you now." Tlds, of course, drew ^^'Ucral
attention to J)odson and Fo;:i'-, who looked as virtuous as
jtossihle.

"Tiie attorneys for the ])laintifr," said Mr. Serjeant
Thizfuz. "Well ! They spoke in hii^li |nais(; of the hon-
orable conduct of M(\ssrs. Dodson and b'og-g-, the attorneys
lor the plaintiff, did tliey ?"

"Yes," said Sam, "they said wliat a wery f;i'n'i'ous
tliiuf^ it was o' tliem to have taken u[) the ease on spec,
and to char<^a^ nothin^^ at all for costs unless they got 'em
out of J\lr. rick wick."

At this very unexpected re])ly, the spectators tittered
ai,niin, and Dodson and Foii'iX, tuniinu' very red, leant over
to Serjeant JJuzfuz, and in a hurried manner whispered
something* in his ear.

" You are (piite right," said Serjeant Buzfuz aloud, with
affected composure. " It's perfectly useless, my lord, at-
teinj)ting to get at any evidence through the impenetrable
stupidity of this witness. I will not trouble the court by
asking him any more questions. Stand down, sir."

" Would any other gen'l'man like to ask me anythin' ?"
inquired Sam, taking up his hat, and locjking round most
delil)erately.

" Not I, Mr. Weller, thank you," said Sei'jeant Snubbin,
laughing.

" You may go down, sir," said Serjeant Buzfuz, waving
his hand impatiently^ Sam went down accordingly, after
doing Messrs. Dodson and Ff)gg's case as much harm as
he conveniently could, and saying just as little respecting
]\Ir, Pickwick as might bo, which ^\'as ])rccisely the object
he had had in view all along.

"I have no objection to admit, my lord," said Serjeant
SmdDbin, " if it Avill save the examination of another wit-
ness, that Mr. Pickwick has retii-ed from business, and is
a gentleman of considerable independent property."

128

LIFE AND WKITINGS OF

S#fV',^ V.I

W" '

" Very well," said Serjeant Buzfuz, i)utt]ng in the two
letters to be read, " Then that's my case, my lord."

Serjeant Snubhm tlien addressed the jury on behalf of
the defendant, and a very long and a very emphatic ad-
dress he delivered, in which he bestowed the highest pos-
sible eulogiums on the conduct and character of Mr. Pick-
wick ; but inasmucli as our readers are far better able to
form a correct estimate of that gentleman's merits and de-
serts than Soijeant Snubbin could possibly be, we do not
feel called upon to enter at any length into the learned
gentleman's observations. He attempted to show that the
letters which had been exhibited, merely related to My.
Pickwick's dinner, or to the prejiarations for receiving him
in his apartments on his return from some country excur-
sion. It is sufficient to add in general terms, that he did
the best he could for Mr. Pickwick ; and the best, as every-
body knows, on the infallible authority of the old adage,
could do no more.

Mr. Justice Starelcigh summed up in the old-established
and most approved form. He read as much of his notes
to the jury as he could decipher on so short a notice, and
made running comments on the evidence as he went along.
If Mrs. Bardell were right, it w^as perfectly clear that Mr.
Pickwick was wrong, and if they thought the evidence of
Mrs. Clu])})ins worthy of c..-?dence they would believe it,
and, if they didn't, why they woiddn't. If they were
satisfied that a breach of promise of marriage had been
committed, they would find for the plaintiS with such
damages as they thought proper; and if, on the other
hand, it appeai'ed to them that no j)roniise of marriage
had ever been given, they w^ould find for the defendant
with no damages at all. The jury then retired to their
private room to talk the matter over, and the judge retir-
ed to his private room, to refresh himself with a mutton
chop and a glass of sherry.

An anxious quartei' of an hour elapsed; tht jury can^o
back; the judge was fetched in. Mr. Pickwick put on
his spectacles, and gazed at the foreman with an agitated
countenance and a quickly beating heart.

the two
I."

behalf of
hatic ad-
;liest pos-
Mr. Pick-
r able to
}s and de-
^e do not
; learned
7 that the
1 to ]\Ir.
Lving him
ly excur-
iit he did
as overy-
Id adage,

itablished
his notes
)tice, and
int along,
that Mr.
idence of
elieve it,
ley were
lad been
ith such
he other
marriage
efendant
. to their
Ige retir-
\ mutton

iry caipo

: put on

agitated

CHABLES DICKENS.

129

" Gentlemen," said the individual in black, '' are you all
agreed upon your verdict ?"

" We are," replied the foreman.

" Do you find for the plaintiff, gentlemen, or for the de-
fendant V*

" For the plaintiff."

" With what damages, gentleixien ?"

" Seven hundred and fifty pounds."

Mr. Pickwick took off his spectacles, carefully wiped the
glasses, folded them into their case, and put them into his
pocket ; then having drawn on his gloves with great
nicety, and stared at the foreman all the while, he
mechanically followed Mr. Perker and the blue bag out of
court.

They stopped in a side room while Perker paid the
court fees ; and here, Mr. Pickwick was joined by his
friends. Here, too, he encountered Messrs. Dodson and
Fogg, rubbing their hands with every token of outward
satisfaction.

" Well, gentlemen," said Mr. Pickwick,

" Well, sir," said Dodson : for self and partner.

" You imagine you'll get your costs, don't you, gentle-
men ?" said Mr. Pickwick.

Fogg said they thought it rather probable. Dodson
smiled, and said they'd try.

" You may try, and try, and try again, Messrs. Dodson
and Fogg," said Mr. Pickwick vehemently, " but not one
farthing of costs or damages do you ever get from me, if I
spend the rest of my existence in a debtor's prison."

"Ha, hr !" laughed Dodson. "You'll think better of
that, before next term, Mr. Pickwick."

" He, he, he !" We'll soon see about that, Mr. Pickwick,"
grinned Fogg.

Speechless with indignation, Mr. Pickwick allowed
himself to be led by his solicitor and friends to the door,
and there assisted into a hacknoy-coacli, which had been
fetched for the purpose, by the ever watchful Sam Welier.

Sam had put up the steps, and was preparing to jump
upon the box, when he felt himself gently touched oft tk©

i ■)

hi;

.1 '■: 'i \

130

LIFE AND WRITINGS OP

slioulder ; and looking round, his father stood hefore him.
The old gentleman's countenance wore a mournful expres-
sion, as he shook his head gravely, and said, in v aruiDg
accents :

"I know'd what 'ud come 'o this here mode 'o doin'
bisness. Sammy, Sammy, vy worn't there a alleybi !"

I* . ■

.%'f

Sf^ h

CHARLES DICKENS.

131

CHAPTER IV

CONCLUSION OF "PICKWICK." — "BENTLEY's MISCELLANY"
STARTED. — MR, DICKENS ENGAGKD AS EDITOR. — BRIL-
LIANT STAFF. — HIS OWN CONTRIBUTIONS. — FATHER
PROUT's POEM TO ''BOZ." — ''OLIVER TWIST" COMMENCED.
— GREAT SUCCESS OF " BENTLEY'S." — DESCRIPTION OF
JACOB'S ISLAND. — COMMENTS OF THE PRESS ON MR.
dickens' WRITINGS. — THE REVIEWS. — WASHINGTON
IRVING.

"Oh ! lead me oftentimes to huta

WTiere poor men lie ; that I may learn the stuff
Which life is made of, its true good and ills ;
What things are daily bringing grief and joy,
Unto the hearts of millions of our race,"

[JR author had now (1837) reached his twenty-
sixth year. The Sketcltcs and The Piokiuick
Palmers, which were now nearly conpleted,
had given him a considerable reputation as
a writer, and had attracted the notice of Mr. Richard
Bentley of New Brirlington street, London, a pub-
lisher. This gentleman was about to establish a new
periodical under the title of Bentleijs Miscellany, but had
experienced considerable difficulty in finding an editor
capable of managing it. The success of Tlie Pickivivk
Paiiers induced him to make so liberal an offer to Mr.
Dickens, that it was promtiy acce[)ted by him. The first
number appeared on the first of January, 1837, under the
editorship of " Boz." The Magazine was powerful and well
conducted Among the contributors appeared the names

132

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

of J. Fenimore Cooper, Samuel Lover, the early chapters
of whose Handy Andy enlivened its pages, the witty-
Hook, Sheridan Knowlcs, and many others of consider-
able note. The illustrations were by George Cruikshank,
H. K. Browne and others. Mr. Dickens, himself, contri-
buted several short sketches, amongst which are the
P'Mic Life of Mr. Tubrumhle, mayor of Mudfog ; The
Pantomime of Life; and the Reports of. the Proceed-
ings of the Mudfog Association, a burlesque upon the
sittings of the " British Association for the Advance-
ment of Science," then newly established. In the address
at the close of the first year, he says, in relation to the
future, that he is " hoping to make many changes for the
better, and none for the worse ; and to show that, while
we have one grateful eye to past patronage, we have
another wary one to future favors ; in that, thus;- like the
heroine of the sweet poem, descriptive of the faithless-
ness and perjury of Mr. John Oakham, of the Royal
Navy, we look two ways at once." He closes : " These,
and a hundred other great designs, preparations, and sur-
prises are in contemplation, for the fulfilment of which
we are already bound in two volumes cloth, and ^lave no
objection, if it be any additional security to the publiq,
to stand b^und in twenty more."

In the number for January, 1838, occurs the following
poem addressed by Fatlier Prout to " Boz :"

POETICAL EPISTLE FilOM FATHER PROUT TO BOZ.

A rhyme ! a rhyme ! frum a distant clime, — from the giilf of the Genoese^
O'er the ragged scalps of the Julian Alps, dear Boz ! I send you these,
To light the Wick your oaudleatick holds up, or, should you list,
To usher in the yarn ^ou spiu couccruing Oliver Twist.

CHARLES DICKENS.

133

[chapters
e witty
onsider-
kehank,

contri-
are the
jg; The
?roceed-
pon tlie
dvance-
address

to the

for the
[>, wliile
e have
ike the
dthless-
'■ Royal
'^ These,
ad sur-
* which
lave no

piibliq,

Uowing

Immense applause you've pained, oh, Boz ! through continental Europe;
You'll make Pickwick cccumenic^ ; of fame you have a sure liope :
For here your hooks are found, }j;adz(Miks I in greater /?uv than any
That have issued yet, hotpress'd or wet, from the types of OALioNAXf,

oese.

III.

But neither when yo»i sport your pen, oh, potent mirth-conipeller I

Winninp our hearts " in monthly parts," can Pickwick or Sam Wcller

Cause us to weep with pathos deep, or shake with huiph Hi)asniodical *

As when you drain your copious vein from Bcntley's periodical.

IV.

Folks all enjoy your Parish Boy— so truly you depict him :
But 1 alack ! while thus you track your stinted poor-law's victim,
Must think of some poor nearer home,— poor who, unheeded perish.
By cquires despoiled, by " patriots " gulled,— 1 mean the starving Irish,

Yet there's no dearth of Irish mirth, which, to a mind of feelinp,
Seemeth to be the Helot's glee before the Spartan reclinp ;
Such gloomy thought o'ercometh not the glow of I-^ngland's humor,
Thrice happy isle ! long may the smile of genuine joy illume her !

VI.

Write on, young page ! still o'er the page pour forth the flood of fancy ;
Wax still more droll, wave o'er the soul Wit's wand of necromancy.
Behold ! e'en now around your brow th' immortal laurel thickens ;
Yea, Swtrr or Stkrni: might gladly learn a thing or two from Dicke^ns.

vn.

A rhyme ! a rhyme ! from a distant clime,— a song from the sunny south !
A goodly theme, so Boz but deem the measure not uncouth.
Would, for thy sake, that " Proit" could make his bow in fashion finer,
" Partant " (from thee) " pour la Syrio," for Greece and Asia Minor.

Gi7ioa, nth Deceniber, 1837,

But it was in February, 1837, that the leading and
most attractive story which graced the pages of that
magazine was commenced. This was from the pen of our
author, and was entitled Oliver Twist, or the Parish
Boy's Progress, a tale now so widely known. It narrates
the adventures and sufferings of the little boy Oliver,
who had the misfortune to be born in an English work-
house. Half starved here, he drew down on himself the
special vindictiveness of the authorities, matron, beadle,
and all, by having tha audacity, on a certain occasion, to

f I'll I '

■'•1

S-if

134!

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

i . J'

ask for "more" soup for his comrades and himself Such
a piece of temerity had never heen known before in the
whcle annals of workhouse history^ After a time, Oliver
is taken to London where he is kidnapped hy a gang of
tliieves. The man Sikes, here de[)icted, is the very incar-
nation of a fiend. Twice rescued from this den of infamy
hy new found friends, Oliver, at length, finds the first
happiness that life has in store for him.

The self seeking and stupidity of the town beadle are
well shown ; and the scenes in his courtship of the matron
are amongst the richest in literature. After his marriage
he is reduced to complete submissiveness by the strong-
minded matron, and on a certain occasion, he remarks, as
the summary of his experience, that if the law imagines
the husband to be the head of the wife, "the law's ah'ass,
that's all." The story is well told, the characters managed
by the liand of a master, and strikingly contrasted.
Pathos and humor are uppermost by turns. It is in the
thieves' den, however, that Dickens put forth his great
power, and exhibited such a Rembrandt-like skill in the
contrast of liohts and shadows. Notwithstandinof the
place, we are spell bound. We perceive that though
brought amongst a low and villainous gang, we are there
with a purpose in view.

The story is quite a contrast to the other work of our
author.

Pichivlch began to appear March 1st, 183G. Oliver
T'ivist was commenced in Bcntleys Mlscelhtny, February
1, 1837, and w^as published in book form toward the end
of 1838. Durii:ig much of this time the two stories were

CHARLES DICKENS.

135

written together, part by part, just fast enough to satisfy
the requh'cments of the press. Plckwlch had earned
the workl by storm with its inexhaustible laughter.
Oliver Tivist, reversing the process, set the world in
tears. It was a second unexpected revelation, and showed
that the great master of fun was at least as great a mas-
ter of pathos ; that he could also deal with the terrible.
Instead of a mere comedian, he stood forth an irresistible
governor of three of the strongest elements of humanity,
stirring at his will the depths of laughter, of sympathy, of
horror. The death-bed of the pauper mother ; the suffer-
ings and perils of Oliver ; the infamies of the criminal life
of London; the inexpressible brutality of Bumble and
the poor-house, of Noah Claypole, of Mr. William Sikes,
and Fang, the scoundrelly police magistrate; the still
deeper abomination of Fagan and his thief-school; the
murder of Nancy, pursuit and death of Sikes ; the horrors
of Fagan's last hours — were a series of pictures so utterly
frightful, yet so blazing with the terrible light of their
perfect truthfulness — and, moreover, were so astonishingly
disclosed, as it were from close beneath the very feet of
the readers, as if a trap-door into Tophet had been opened
in their very parlor-floor — that the public was actually
both frightened and put to a stand on the question of the
morality of such disclosures. It was no wonder. In
society, if not in the individual, the exposure of its defects
is pretty certain to arouse what a wit has called " the
virtuous indignation of a guilty conscience ;" and the first
effort of this particular faculty is pretty likely to be an
attempt to divert the charge of evil doing to the person

136

LIFE AND WniTINGS OF

l|i

K .?. ■

•who reveals it, as tlie Artful Dodger and Cliarley Bates,
having stolen a handkerchief, cried "Stop thief!" with
pai-ticiilar zeal. In his Preface to a later edition of Olih'er
Ttvht, Mr. Dickens has very squarely and forcibly an-
swered liis critics of this sort. After observing, with
satirical emphasis, that the story had been "objected to on
high moral grounds in some high moral quarters," he
Bays :

*' It was, it seemed, a coarse and shocking circumstance,
that some of the characters in these pages are chosen from
the most criminal and degraded of London's population ;
that Sikes is a thief, and Fagan a receiver of stolen goods;
that the boys are pickpockets, and the girl is a prostitute."

Mr. Dickens' justification of the means and end of his
story is indignant, powerful, and conclusive, equally in
justifying the direct and plain-spoken way in vrhich he
exhibited criminal England to res})ectable England, and
in reproving the squeamish, selfish cowardice that would
fain ignore the evils it was too indolent or careless to try
to cure :

" I have yet to learn," he says, with abroad philosophy
as true as it is bold, " that a lesson of the purest good
may not be drawn from the vilest evil. I have always
believed this to be a recognized and established truth, laid
down by the greatest men the world has ever seen, con-
stantly acted upon by the best and wisest natures, and
confirmed by the reason and experience of every thinking
mind. I saw no reason, when I wrote this book, why the
dregs of life, so long as their speech did not offend the ear,
should not serve the purpose of a moral, at least, as well
as its froth and cream. Nor did I doubt that there lay
festering in Saint Giles's as good materials toward the
truth as any to be found in St. James's.

CHIRLES DICKE!ig»

137

ley Bcates,
ef!" with
of Oliver
•cibly an-
ing, with
jted to on
rters," he

imstance,
)sen from
pulation ;
m goods ;
ostitute."

nd of his
:iually in
which he
and, and
at would
(ss to try

ilosophy
est good
3 always
uth, laid
3 en, con-
ires, and
thinking
why the
the ear,
, as well
here lay
i^ard the

" In this spirit, when I washed to show, in little Oliver,
the principle of Good surviving through every adverse
circumstance, and triumphing at last ; and wlien I con-
sidered among what com])ani()ns I could try him best,
having regard to that kind of men into whose hands he
would most naturally fall, I bethought myself of those
who figure in these volumes. When I came to discuss
the subject more maturely with myself, I saw many
strong reasons for pursuing the course to which I was in-
clined. I had read of thieves by scores — seductive fel-
lows (amiable for the most part), faultless in dress, plump
in pocket, choice in horse-flesh, bold in bearing, fortunate
in gallantry, great at a song, a bottle, pack of cards, or
dice-box, and fit companions for the bravest. But I had
never met (except in Hogarth) with the miserable re-
ality. It appeared to me that to draw a knot of such as-
sociates in crime as really do exist ; to paint them in all
their deformity, in all their wretchedness, in all the squalid
poverty of their lives ; to show them as they really are,
for ever skulking uneasily through the dirtiest paths of
life, with the great, black, ghastly gallows closing up their
prospect, turn them where they may ; it appeared to me
that to do this would be to attempt a something which
was greatly needed, and which would be a service to so-
ciety. And therefore I did it as I best could."

This line of argument is followed at some length, and
with some very apt illustrations and contrasts. These
point out that when stories of criminal life do harm, it is
not because they are stories of criminal life, but because
they tell lies about it, and represent it as good, and not
as bad. The truth about crime will exhibit it as the roost
utterly forlorn and miserable of human conditions. In
discussing the subject, Mr. Dickens does skilful justice
to the motives of the Beggars Opera and of Paul Clif-
ford, whose real object, fanciful treatment, and unpracti-
cal atmosphere, as he shows, prevent them from working

! I

138

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

t ;.(

%iV

any gront positive evil. He could- not gracefully, nor in-
deed properly, make a direct attack on Mr. Ainsworth, wlio,
in Januarj^, 1839, succeeded liini as editor of Bentley's M'ls-
celhnif/, and whose infamous devil's gospel of Jack SliPp-
pard was then printed in tliat magazine. But the very
silence of the preface to Oliver Twist on that really
scoundrelly book — which might very well be reckoned the
reply of the Fagin school to Oliver Twist's indictment —
and the solicitous specification of the two other most pro-
minent English belles-lettres compositions based on crim-
inal life, constitute a very intelligible definition of opin-
ion. Mr. Dickens totally disapproved of the Ainsworth
school — the thief-breeding school — of liter.nture. Abun-
dance of cases are on record, and proved l)y legally valid
testimony, where the reading of Jack Sheppard, or pre-
sence at its dramatized representation, has turned reason-
ably decent boys into tliieves and burglars. But nobody,
young or old, ever felt or could feel any temptation to a
life of crime from readinc^ Oliver Twist Even the rol-
licking, artificial merriment of the Artful Dodger and his
chums, does not hide the nastiness of their physical con-
dition, nor the hardshij) of their slavery to Fagin on one
hand, and to the police on the other. And if any man has
been inspired to imitate the way of living and dying of
Fagin or of Sikes, or any woman the career of Nancy, it
has not been heard of, and would not be believed if it
had.

The debtors' prison scenes in Flckivlck were describ-
ed because the description was naturally part of the story
as it grew under its writer's hands ; and the misery of

CHARLES DICKENS.

139

, nor in-
rth,Avho,

:h Shep-
lio very
it really
oncd the
t merit —
lost i)ro-
011 crini-
of opin-
iisworth
Abim-
ly valid
, or pre-

reason-
nobody,
oil to a

the rol-
and his
cal con-

ou one
man has
lying of
ancy, it
ed if it

describ-
lie story
Lsery of

Jingle and Job Trotter, the ruin of the fortui ate legatee
■svho was defendant in a proeeiMling for contempt, and the
death of the twenty years' cliMneery pi'isoner, were paint-
ed in as i)athetic accessories only, and with no other pur-
pose, just as the relapse into good sense of Mrs. Weller, on
her death-bed, and the ready kindness of her iiusband,
were used in like manner. But there is a detail, a
streugth, a directness, a distinct feeling of purpose about
the ])ictures of poor-house life in Oliver Twist, that un-
avoidably suggests iixdignation, and the intention to ex-
pose and reform.

Oliver Twist had the honor of l)eing thrice intro-
duced to the public. First, in the preface to the edition
of 1839 ; next, in A})ril, 1841, when the next edition was
])ublished ; and finally in the edition of March, 1850. The
third preface has not latterly been reprinted, It was a
defence of the author against Sir Peter Laurie, a thick-
lieaded alderman of London. In one of the closing chap-
ters, which narrated, in a most effective manner, the well -
merited fate of Sikes, that tragedy was located in a place
called Jacob's Island, near that part of the Thames on
which the church of Kotherhithe abuts, beyond Dock-
hear!, in the Borough of South wark, and Dickens described
it as the filthiest, the strangest, the most extraordinary of
the many localities that are trodden in London, wholly
unknown by name to the great mass of its inhabitants.
The view of this foul den, he thus presented :

" To reach this place, the visitor has to penetrate
through a maze of close, narrow, and muddy streets,
thronged by the roughest and poorest of water-side people,
and devoted to the trajfic that may be supposed to occas-

140

LIFE AND WHITINGS OP

f:..;t f

ion. TliG clienpest and least delicate provisions are
heaped in the .sli()j)s, the coarsest and commonest articles
of \vearin«^ apparel danj^dc at the salesman's door, nnd
stream from the house j)arnf)et and windows. Jostlino;
with unem])loye(l laborers of the lowest class, hallast-
lieavers, coal-wliippers, hrazen women, ragju'ed children,
and the very raff and refuse of the river, he makes his way
with difticulty along, assailed hy offensive sights and
smells from the narrow alleys which branch oft* on the right
and left, and deafened by the clash of ponderous wagons
that bear great piles of merchandise from the stacks of
warehouses that rise from every corner. Arriving at
length in streets remoter and less frequented than those
through which he had passed, he walks beneath tottering
house-fronts projecting over the pavement, dismantled
walls that seem to totter as he passes, chimneys, half
crushed, half hesitating to fall, windows guarded by rusty
iron bars^ that time and dust have almost eaten away, and
every imaginable sign of desolation and neglect.

"In such a neighborhood, beyond Dockhead, in the
Borough of South wark, stands Jacob's Island, surrounded
by a muddy ditch, six or eight feet deep, and fifteen or
twenty wide, when the tide is in, once called Mill Pond,
but known in these days as Folly Ditch. It is a creek or
inlet from the Thames, and can always Ic filled up at high
water by opening the sluices at the head mills, from which
it took its old name. At such times, a stranger, looking
from one of the wooden bridges thrown across it at Mill
Lane, will see the inhabitants of the houses on either side
lowering from their back doors and window^s, buckets, jars,
domestic utensils of all kinds, in which to haul the water
up; and when his eye is turned from these operations to
the houses themselves, his utmost astonishment will be ex-
cited by the scene before him. Crazy wooden galleries,
common to the backs of half-a-dozen houses, with holes
from which to look upon the sluice beneath ; windows
broken and patched, with poles thrust out on which to
dry linen that is never there ; rooms so small, so filthy,
BO confined, that the air ■would seem too tainted even for

the

CHARLES DICKENS.

141

iHions aro
^t artii'lcs
Joor, and

.Jostlinu;
, Itallast-

cliildron,
s ] lis way
Lilits and

the riglit
3 wagons
stacks of
riving at
lan those
totterinfj
smantlod
leys, half
by rusty
way, and

I, in tlie
rroiinded
iftecn or
Lill Pond,
creek or
p at high
>m whicli
, looking
t at Mill
ther side
cets, jars,
:ie water
itions to
ill be ex-
galleries,
ith holes
windows
which to
50 filthy,
even for

the dirt and squallor which they sheltei* ; wooden cham-
beis thrusting themselves out above the mud, and threat-
ening to fall into it — as some have done ; ilirt-besmeared
walls and decaying foundations ; every repulsive linea-
ment of poverty," every loatlisonie indication of fdth, rot,
and garbage — all these ornament the banks of Folly Ditch,
"in Jacob's Island the warehouses are rootless and
empty, the walls are crumbling down, the windows are
windows no more, the doors are falling into the street, the
chimneys are blackened, but they yield no smoke. Thirty
or forty years ago, befoi'e losses and chancery suits came
upon it, it was a thriving place ; but now it is a desolate
island indeed. The houses have no owners ; they are
broken open and entered upon by those who have the
courage, and there they live and there they die. The^^
must have powerful motives for a secret residence, or be
reduced to a destitute condition indeed, who seek a refuge
in Jacob's Island."

This was written in the fall of 183S. Twelve years
later, in 1850, at a public meeting called to discuss Social
Reforms, the Bishop of London presiding, and at which
Mr. Dickens was present, the discussion turned upon the
condition of Jacob's Island. At a subsequent meeting, a few
days later. Sir Poter Laurie, before mentioned, undertook
to deny the existence of any such locality, asserting that
it only existed in a work of fiction by Mr. Dickens. This
drew from the latter the following comments :

" When I came to read this, I was so much struck by the
honesty, by the truth, and by the wisdom of this logic, as
well as by the fact of the sagacious vestry, including mem-
bers of parliament, magistrates, ofiicers, clieniists, and I
know not who else listening to it meekly (as "become them),
that I resolved to record the fact here, as a certain means of
making it known to, and causing it to be reverenced by,
many thousands of people. Reflecting upon this logic,

142

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

and its universal application ; remembering that when
Fielding described Newgate, the prison immediately ceasod
to exist ; that wlien Smollett took Roderick Randolph to
Bath, that city instantly sank into the earth ; that when
Scott exercised his genius on Wliitefriars, io mcontinently
glided into the Thames ; that an anci mt place called
Windsor was entirely destroyed in the reign of Elizabeth
by two Merry Wives of that town, acting under the direc-
tion of a person of the name of Shakespeare; and that Mr.
Pope, after having, at a great ex])ense, completed his
grotto at Twickenham, incautiously reduced it to ashes by
writing a poem npon it ; — I say, when I came to consider
these things, I was inclined to make this preface the
vehicla of my humble tribute of admiration to Sn* Peter
Laurie. But, I am restrained by very p;)inful considera-
tion — by no less r consideration than the impossibility of
Jiis existence. For Sir Peter Laurie having been himself
described m a book (as I understand he was, one Christ-
mas time, for his conduct on the seat of Justice), it is but
too clear thai' there can be no such man 1"

The popularity of the new story gave great assistance
to Beyitleijs, and its circulation was greatly increased.
It at once took a leading position amongst the magazines.
The story itself was completed in 1838, and was published
in book form towards the close of that year. It has since
been sev^eral times dramatized, with greater or less success ;
and still claims a place upon the stage.

It is interesting and instructive to look back to the old
magazines of those times, and compare the utterances of
the various supposed organs, or rather directors, of literary
opinion — for the critics of thirty years ago were much
more lordly and lofty in their deliverances than now.
Moreover, this very claim of superiority has become funny
by age, if we only stop to consider the relative weight to-

CHARLES DICKENS.

143

it when
y ceas^HJ
:U)lph to
at when
tiiiently
!e called
llizaljcth
lie dircc-
thatMr.
eted his
ashes ])y
consider
face the
*yn' Peter
)nsidera-
ibility of
L himself
s Christ-
it is but

sistance
icreased.
igazines.
ublished
as since
success ;

the old
ances of
literary
e much
m now.
e funnv
jio^ht to-

day of these nameless scribblers or their yellow, old " back
numbers," -^.nd of the modern Anglo-Saxon classic whom
they dealt with so patronizingly or so cavalierly. And
still further, the agreeable jostling and even internecine
contradiotoriness of tlnir various verdicts is a [)r()fitable
spectacle — for they vetoed, or denied, or reversed, or dis-
solved, or annihilated — whatever the correct technic may
be — the judgments of their contemporaries, like so many
judges nullifying each other's motions in an important
railroad case. However, the voice of the people settled
the matter with small heed to the gentlemen of the quill.
Pichivick became a " rage." Everybody bought it, laugh-
ed at it, cried over it, thought it, talked it. It per-
meated and tinged the whole reading mind of the United
States and England with a penetrating and positive
power, like the magic of a strong chemical re-agent ; in
six months a whole new chapter was opened in English
literature. Though often copied, there is a graphic passage
from the Quarterly Review of October, 1837, which must
be quoted here ; for the sake both of the facts it gives and
the good sense with which it interprets them. The re-
viewer says :

" The popularity of this writer is one of the most re-
markable literary phenomena of recent times, for it has been
fairly earned without resorting to any of the means by
which most other writers have succeeded in attracting the
attention of their contemporaries. He has flattered no pop-
ular prejudice, and profited by no passing folly ; he has at-
tempted no caricature sketches of the manners or conver-
sation of the aristocracy ; and there f^.'e very few political
or personal allusions in his works. Moreover, his class of
subjects are such as to expose him at the outset to the

144«

LIFE AND WRITINGS OP

is-

fatal objection of vulgarity ; and with the exception of
occasional extracts in the newspapers, he received little or
no assistance from thu |)ress. Yet, in less than six months
from the appearance of the first number of the Pickivich
Papers, the whole reading public were talking about them;
the names of Winkle, Wardle, Weller, Snodgrass, Dodson
and Fogg, had become familiar in our mouths as household
words, and Mr. Dickens was the grand object of interest
to the whole tribe of ' Leo Hunters,' male and female, of
the metropolis. Nay, Pickwick chintzes figured in linen-
drapers' windows, and Weller corduroys in breeches-
makers' advertisements ; Boz cabs might be seen rattling
through the streets, and th-^j portrait of the author of
Pelharti, or Crichtoii, was scraped down or pasted over,
to make room for that of the new popular favorite, in the
omnibusses. This is only to be accounted for on the sup-
position that a fresh vein of humor had betn opened ;
that a new and decidedly original genius had sprung up ;
and the mc-st cursory reference to preceding English
writers of the comic order will show that, in his own
peculiar walk, Mr. Dickens is not simply the most distin-
guished, but the first."

The Eclectic Hevieiv for March, 1837, testifies uncon-
sciously to the perfect originality of the new phenomenon,
by the innocent perplexity of almost its first words. After
complimenting the Sketches, and saying that " the pre-
sent work will certainly not diminish in reputation —
we are much mistaken if it do not rdd to it," it saj^s,
comically enough, " It would be somewhat difficult to
determine tlat precise species of the very extensive genua
of fictitious publications to which ' The Posthumous Pa-
pers of the Pickwick Club ' ought to be referred." Natu-
rally, if the ornithologist discovers a new bird specifically
different from any old bird, he will find it hard to assign it
to a genus, until he makes the necessary new one for it.

CHARLES DICKENS.

145

>lion of
little or
months
icJcwich
it them;
Dodson
usehold
interest
male, of
linen-
reeches-
rattling
ithor of
)d over,
J, in the
:he sup-
opened ;
ling up ;
English
lis own
distin-

uncon-
)menon,

After
he pre-
ation —
it says,
cult to
e genus
ous Pa-

Natu-
cifically
.ssign it
e for it.

Tichwich would not range with an^ known species,
because it was an unknown spcclos, not yet classified,
This writer goes wandering on in a good-natured, helpless
way, but still entii'cly aiul amusingly at sea about his
genera, and about as nuicli at home as a hen with a brood
of 3'oung ducks. He c()nn)lains that there is no plot, or
if there is, tliat it is not adhered to; he says he "pre-
sumes " it must be considered a work of fiction, " notwith-
standing the gravity with wdiich the title-page assures us
that it is a faithful record ;" and he gets through with
his task by means of a kind uf subdued enumeration, as
if he was afraid of the creature, of such good and bad
qualities as he can perceive. He has seized upon the
great central quality of all — the transcendent power and
truth of Dickens in seeing and reproducing individualities.
" His personages impress us w^itli all the force and vivid-
ness of reality. They are not described — they are ex-
hibited," he says. Sundry extracts are added, which are
judiciousl}^ selected ; and to conclude there is a grave
admonition — though a very cautious one — more timidly
phrased than ever, about the " few instances of profanity,"
and the " making sport of fanaticism and hypocrisy,"
which the reviewer terms a " dangerous task," and inti-
mates, very gingerly indeed, that it had better be let
alone. The Eclectic was a Dissenting magazine, and it
was natural enou'di that it sliould dislike the pictures of
Mr. Stiii-oins and his brethren and sisters of the Brick
Lane Branch ; but the reviewer had to be very careful
not to put his head into that cap.
Blackwood's Ma(jazln0 maintained a perfect silenco
10

^, ^

y ,11

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

about the new novelist for a number of years. This was
no doubt in consequence of the decidedly Liberal politics
of Mr. Dickens, and the still more decided Toryism of the
great Scotch periodical, which was always unscrupulously
injected into all its dealings with literature, without much
regard to truth, justice, or decency. However, it was a
matter of no consequence, and when, at last, it spoke, it is
really of no consequence what it said. An opinion de-
layed from such motives, and at last expressed from such
motives, must necessarily be worthless in itself The
mere ftict of any expression of it becomes the strongest
testimony at once to the importance of the subject, and
the foolishness of the critic.

Not much attention was paid by the critics to the
Sketches until the appearance of PickivlcJc, when they
were frequently noticed together, sometimes with the
addition of Oliver Twist, as in the case of the West-
minster xlcvieiu, which, in July, 1837, devoted an article
to the new literary luminary. By this time Mr. Bentley,
the publisher, sharply on the watch for whatever might
promote the prosperity of his Miscellany, then just pro-
jected, had offered Mr. Dickens its editorship, which he had
accepted. Tlic first number of it appeared January 1st,
1837, and in its second number had been commenced
Oliver T'wist.

The first paragraph of the Westminster Review does
justice to the intrinsic merits of the author. The modesty
which had decided him to use an incognito at his first ap-
pearance had been deservedly rewarded by the overpower-
ing success, not of a name, of a prestige, or of an influence

CHARLES DICKENS.

147

— for no new author could have been more utterly desti-
tute cf these helps — but of the most genuine excellence,
and of excellence most genuinely alone. And this triumph
was all the greater in a society so bathed, soaked, ingrain-
ec with social prejudice and pride of rank, with regard
for influence, and distrust of newcomers, and where even
yet literary lords and ladies found that their titles on their
title-pages visibly enhanced the mercantile value of their
books.

It is true, however, that, as in other cases of such an-
onymous risks, the mystery which, in case of failure,
would sim])ly have made the obscurity of the disappear-
ing a."".pirant darker and more silent, made the celebrity
of his success noisier and brighter. All exclaimed, "What
a great romancer 1 " as loudly as if they had known who
it was ; and all exclaimed, too, " Who is this great roman-
cer ?'' so that the excitement was at least doubled, curiosity
and wonder being superadded to admiiation and enjoy-
ment.

The Westminster Review begins thus : '

" Our readers will not, we imagine, be surprised at find-
ing that the general popularity of the P'lchivlck Papers
induces us to enter on a criticism of their author, more
serious than is generally accorded to the anonymous
writers of productions given to the world in so very fugi-
tive a form as that in which the whole of them have ap-
peared. Ihat popularity is so extensive, that it would be
impossible to give an accurate idea either of the most re-
markable writers of the day, or of the taste of the read-
ing public of this country, without noticing works which
have perhaps elicited more general and warmer admiration
than any works of fiction which have been published for
several years past. It must be observed, too, that thia

i\ I:

'pi?

■. ..si

If if

148

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

great reputation has been acquired without the aid of any
interest excited by the personal notoriety of the author."

E(j[ually friendly and just is the following conclusion,
at the close of the discussion:

" The great and extensive popularity of 'Boz' is the re-
sult, not of })opular capiice, or of po[)idar bad taste, but of
great intrinsic powers of mind, from which we augur con-
siderable future excellence, etc."

The ^pcdatov said, very aptly putting a number of
shrewd points :

"The secret of this extraordinary success is, that he ex-
actly hits the level of the capacity and taste of the mass
of readers. He furnishes, too, that commodity Avhich man-
kind in all ages and countries most eagerly seek f(>r and
readily appreciate — amusement. He skims lightly over
the surface of men an<l manners, and takes rapid glances
at life in city and suburb, indicating the most striking and
obvious characteristics with a ready and spirited pencil,
giving a few strokes of comic humor and satire, and a
touch of the patlietic, with equal effect, and introducing
episodical incidents and tales to add life and intej'est to
the picture. 'Boz' is the Cruikshank of writers."

Frascrs Magazine iov April, 1840, began an article on
Dichens and his Works thus:

"Few writers have risen so rapidly into extensive popu-
larity as Dickens, and tliat by no mean or unjiistiliable
pandering to public favor, or the use of low arts of trick-
ery, puffery, or pvetenc#^ Four years ago his name was
almost unknown, exco[)t in some narroAv newspaper circles,
and hi.s com|)Ositions had not extended beyond e])hemeral
sketches and essays, which, though shrewd, clever, and
amusing, would never have been collected, as i\iey now
are, into volumes, but for the speedily-acquired and far
diffused fame of Pickwiclc. [This is an error, for at
least one series of the Sketches had been issued in two

CHABLES DICKENS.

149

I of any
lutlior."

elusion.

tlio re-
, but of
ur con-

iber of

he ex-
le mass
li man-
or and
y over
glances
ng and
pencil,

and a
diicing
rest to

cle on

popu-
itiable
trick-
3 was
lircles,
ineral
', and
now
id far
or at
1 two

volumes before PIchrick was suggested.] Before we pass
from these Sketch cf^, we nuist say that they contain germs
of almost every character ' Buz' has since depicted, as
well as of his incidents and stoi-ies;, an<l that tliey display
the quaint peculiarities of his style. Sonn^ of them, iu-
died, are, we think, better than anything wliich he has
written in his more celebrated perfurmances,"

The Edinhuiyh Bcvlew, a liberal p\d)lication — at least
as able and influential a periodical as its Tory townfellow
find adversarj^ BlacJavood, and certainly more respectable
in manners and morals, and a more trustworthy literary
tribunal, — in its issue for October, 1838, put f(n'th a some-
what elaborate estimate of Mr. Dickens, from which arc
extracted the following passages, which refer to the au-
thor's first four works collectively, and which judge him
from them :

"He has put them [viz., Sl-etcJifs, Plchvich, Xicholcifi
Klcldehy, Ollrer Twi-sf] fortli in a form attractive,
it is true, to that vast majority, the idle readers, but
not one indicative of high literary pretension, or cal-
culated to inspire a belief of pro]>able permanence of
reputation. They seem, at first sight, to be ainong tho
most evanescent of the literary epJtemerce of their day —
mere humorous specimens of the lightest kind of light
reading, expi'essly calculated to be much sought and soon
forgotten; tit companions for the portfelio of caricatures ;
good nonsense ; and nothing more. This is the view
which many persons will take of Mr. Dickens' writings ;
hut this is not our deliberate view of them. We think
hiui a very original writer — well entitled to his popular-
ity, and not likely to lose it — and the truest and most
spirited delineator of English life, amongst the middle and
lower classes, since the days of Smollett and Fielding. He
lias remarkable })owers of observation, and great skill in
communicating what ho has observed j a keeneeuse of the

150

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

I . I

m '

'■ \

'x:'^^

•h

'?V'^

■5

■ n.

i'ii'ti

ludicrous ; exuberant humor ; and that mastery in the
pathetic which, though it seems opposed to the gift of hv-
mor, is often found in conjunction with io. Add to these
qualities an unafi'ected style, fluent, easy, spirited, and
terse, a good deal of dramatic power, and great truthful-
ness and ability in descri[tion. We know no other Eng-
lish writer to whom he bears a marked resemblance. He
sometimes imitates other writers, such as Fielding, in his
introductions, and Washington Irving, in his detached
i.des ; and this exhibits his skill as a parodist. But his
own manner is vary distinct, and comparison with any
other would not serve to illustrate and describe it. We
would compare lu'm rather with the painter Hogarth.
. . . Like Hogarth, he takes a keen and practical view
of life — is an able satii'ist — very successful in depicting
the ludicrous side of human nature, and rendering its fol-
lies more apparent by humorous exaggeration — peculiarly

skilful in its mauagoment of details It is fair, in

making this comparison, to add, that it does not hold good
throughout, and that Mr. Dickens is exempt from two of
Hogarth's least agreeal)le fjualities — his cynicism and his
coarseness. There is no misanthropy in his satire, and no
coarseness in his descriptions — a merit enhanced by the
nature of his subjects. His woi-ks are cliietiy pictures of
humble life — frequently of the humblest. The reader is
led through scenes of poverty and crime, and all the char-
at^'jrs are made to discourse in the a])propriate language
of cheir respective classes : and yet we recollect no pas-
sage which ought to cruse pain to the most sensitive deli-
cacy, if I'ead aloud in female society.

" We have said that his satire was not misanthropic.
This is eminently tme. One of the qualities we the most
admire in him is his comprehensive spirit of humanity,
the tendency of his writings to make us practically ben-
evolent — to excite our sympathy in behalf of the aggrieved
and suffering in all classes, and especially to those who
are most removed from observation. He especially directs
our attention to the helpless victims of untoward circum-
^tfinces, or a vicious system — to tlie imprisoned debtor-^

■^'1

tr..

n--.'.^

CHARLES DICKENS.

151

' in the
ft of h'J^
to these
eel, and
ruthful-
ler Encr-
ce. He
in liis
etaclied
But liis
th any
ifc. We
logartli,
ca] view
epicting
: its fol-
culiarly
! fair, in
)Id good
two of
and his
, and no
by the
ures of
iader is
le char-
nguage
10 pas-
VQ deli-

hropic.
le most
lanity,
y ben-
rieved
3 who
:lirects
rcum-

the orphan pauper — the parish apprentice — the juvenile
criminal — and to the tyranny which, under tlie combina-
tion of parental neglect with the mercenary brutality of a
])edagogue, may be exercised witli impunity in schools.
His humanity is plain, jmictical, and manly. It is (piito
antainted with sentimentality. There is no mawkish
wailing for ideal distresses — no morbid exaggerati(jn of
the evils incident to our lot — no disposition to excite un-
availing discontent, or to turn our attention from remedi-
able grievances to those which do not admit a remedy.
Though he appeals much to our feelings, we Cfin detect no
instance in which he has employed the verbiage of spuri-
ous philanthropy.

" He is equally exempt from the meretricious cant of
spurious philosophy. He never endeavors to mislead our
sympathies — to ])ervert plain notions of right and wrong
— to make vice interesting in our eyes, and shake our
confidence in those whose conduct is irreproachable, by
dwelling on the hollowness of seeming virtue. His vicious
characters are just what experience shows the average to
be, and what the natural operation of those circumstan-
ces to which they have been exposed would lead us to ex-
pect. ...

" Good feeling and sound sense are shown in his appli-
cation of ridicule. It is never levelled at poverty or mis-
fortune ; or at circumstances which can l)e rendered ludic-
rous only by their deviation from artificial forms ; or by
regarding them through the medium of a conventional
standard." ....

These extracts are none too numerous nor too full for
illustrating the force of the impression which Dickens
made upon his time, nor for showing what manner of im-
pression, it was.

A small addition, moreover, is necessary, to show some-

,thing of the other side, and also for the not uninteresting

purpose of affording means for a judgment upon criticism

i i

AjL,

•I ■■"!

it:

Um '

152

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

itself. Thus far the sum of the; npinious has heen, with
small reservations, favorahle. It was la\'orable, liowcvor,
" the clay .after tlie fair." Tlio critical ))aii(l did not dis-
cover anytliiuo' ; it was tlw.' readini'' puhlic wdio discovered.
The popularity of tlic SL'dchcs was hardly recognized
at all by the high a id mighty gentlemen of tlie maga-
zines. But when the Sh'tchcti had heen prosperous in
an evening newspajjer, then in a morning newspaper,
then in a fnagazine, and tlien in a hook ; when thirty
thousand copies of Fidii'id' had heen sold; when not
one, but several, dramatized versions of it had been ])ut
on the London stage, and the new writer had actually in-
stilled a new color into actual English lifc^ — after all that,
it was no very surprising discernment which stimulated
one reviewer and another reviewer to earn a few guineas
by returning to the public, through a magazine article, the
opinions which the public had already formed and given
to the writer. The fact is, however, that it is this veiy
quality — their mere reflection of public opinion, their very
lack of any intrinsic utteran(^e of tlieir own — which makes
these articles available now more tlian a whole generation
after their first ap])earance, as a means of explaining the
nature of the advent Avhich occasioned thom. Except the
invidious silence of Blachvood, little or nothini; is visible
of any outside motive in this collection of verdicts.

There were some varieties of opinion, of course. Some
of these are both instructive and ainusing ; for they both
illustrate tlie important doctrine of the differences of
taste, and show, in a suificiently entertaining way, ho"v^%
\insafe it is to pin one's faith upon the utterances of a

se
ca
e(

CO
SI

n, with
owever,
Hot (lis-
overed.
o^Tiized

I'oiis in
spa per,
tliiriy
eii not
'<'M put
iilly i ri-
ll tluit,
iiilatod
jH linens
c'le, the
given
is veiy
ir very
makes
n'ation
ng the
>pt the
^'isiblo

Some
' both
3es of

ho"\\%

of a

CIIARLES DICKENS.

153

reviewer. Tlie "Reverend Mr. Wilbur has recorded his
sensations u])on perusing tlie review, in a certain periodic
(ill, of a scvinon which the worthy clergyman had pri'par-
ed with much labor, and published with some pardonable
confidence. The review was an unfavorabk? one; but
such was the weighty gravity and old exi)erience in its
tone, that tlu» mortified })ai'son judged it to have been
\'ritten l)y a sage of not less than three hundred years
old. It turned out, however, that the writer was in fact
a student in college, who had thus revenged himself upon
Mr. Wilbur for correcting a certain false (piantity in tho
l)oy's examination in Latin. There is no trace of any such
personal enmity among the reviews of Dickens' works,
either now or at any other i)eriod ; for it is not merely
liis good fortune, bu*: his merit, to liavo lived almost or
altogether without any properly literary enemies.

The effort to classify tho new phenomenon has been
already mentioned. Some thought he was most like Field-
ino- ; some like Irving ; and some with a wider general-
ization, conceded him at once a i)lace of his own among
the masters, and sought to describe him by analogies with
other departments of creative genius — calling him a
Cruik shank, a Hogarth, a Teniers. In one instance, an
effort was made to prove him an actual plagiarist. The
Qaaderhj Review for October, 1837, devotes a number of
pages to the laudable purpose of convicting Mr. Dickens
of having substantially co})ied his description of Mr.
Weller, senior, from Irving's delineation of the English
stage-coachman in the Sketclt Bool'. The pineal gland
of this similarity is a single sentence. In Irving it is
this ;

154

LTFK AND WRITINaS OP

at''

tf 'ff

" Ho has commonly a broad full face, curiously mottliKl
with rod, as if tho blood had boon forced, by hard fooling
into every vossol of the skin."

In Dickens it is this :

" . . . . and his complexion exhibited that peculiarly
mottled combination of colors, which is only to be seen
in gontlomon of his j)rofession, and underdone roast beef."

It is probable that if Mr. Dickens had omitted the word
"mottled," the Quarterli/ would not have italicised those
two sentences for identity. And to so italicise them and
condemn him, because, being a very accurate observer, he
applied to a mottled surface the only proi)er word to de-
scribe it, after another very accurate observer had done
the same, is hyper-critical. It would never have been
done if each had said the face in question was red. It
may, however, be granted that Mr. Dickens admired Ir-
ving, and it is perfectly safe to admit further that lie may
have read Irving's description not long before writing his
own ; and still further, that Mr. Irving's description did
in fact give even tone and color to Mr. Dickens' descrip-
tion. But all this will not establish any charge of plag-
iarism, on any just principle of criticism nor of evidence,
nor on any principle at all, except the undeniable one that
he is to be found guilty who cannot prove himselt innocent.
Such charges have often been made ; and other cases where,
as in this case, there was certainly a coincidence and prob-
ably an unconscious reproduction, have often l^een given
as cases of actual ' literary dishonesty. But charity in
judging and presumptions in favor of good character and
intentions, not against them, are exactly as indispensable,
for justice in literary criticism as they are in a court of

]>ar
bcc;
for

CHARLES DICKENS.

•I w t^

loo

law, or in the Cliriatian religion. The question has a
sufliciently broad interest to justify the citation of ono
parallel case where the coincidence is far more strikinf^,
because the re|)roducti()n is so much more nearly word
for word, and so identical in thought and form, but where
nobody ever thought of charging the dishonesty of pui*-
])ose which constitutes plagiarism, and nobody ever will.
Poe, in his liavcn, wrote :

*' And the silken, sad, inicvrtdiu rustling of each purple cnrtdiii
Thrilled me, filled mo with fantastic terrors never felt before."

Mrs. Browning, in Lad)/ Genddhie's Courtahip, wrote :

**With a mnrmiiroiis stir uncertain, in the air, the purple cnrtain
Swelleth in and swelleth out around her motionless pale brows."

Here, instead of one single epithet almost as unavoid-
able under the circumstances as if two different persona
had separately described four to be the result of adding
two and two, we have identical, 1, metre; 2, rhythm ; 3,
rhyme ; 4, choice of thing described (for the curtain was
not necessary) ; 5, choice of the same two epithets, one of
color and the other of metaphorical qualitj' . And in spite,
of all this concentrated, cumulative, and indeed irresisti-
ble evidence, the proof if honestly estimated, simply shows
reminiacence, not plagiarism. And in the case of Dickens
and Irving, even the reminiscence is less distinct, as any
one will see who will take the trouble to read the context
of the two passages concerned. The truth is, lastly, that
most of the charges of plagiarism which have often been
made, with supposed proof in specified sentences, are re-
solvable into either accidental coincidence or unintentional

^It'-i::

.»::*•■ 75

;.-r-

156

LIFE AND WAITINGS OF

reminiscence. The same is true of co-incident musical
strains and phrases ; and if the fundamental bass of a
composition were to be recognized as its radical tliought,
somewhat as critics have sometimes made abstraction of
the diferentia of two passages in order to get at their
real fabric or foundation, the number of original musical
compositions would not be very great ; hundreds and
thousands of them, indeed, would come down to this one
succession : the first of the key, the fourth, the fifth, a
dominant seventh, and the tonic again. But both artists
and authors, like people in general, are a good deal better
than some people think. And the critics as a body will
^lever be numbered collect! v^ely, a priori on the optimist
side.

Besides this actual imputation of wrong-doing, there
were of course such merely depreciatory expressions of
opinion as resulted from variations of taste or belief The
chief of these were such as came from the organs of the
Dissenting religious body. Throughout the whole range
of his works, and in the earlier ones quite as distinct-
ly as in the latter, Mr. Dickens has discharged the sharpest
of his satire upon unworthy ministers of the gospel. In
this discrimixiation he is perfectly right ; since in propor-
tion as a profession is more sacred, its abuse is more de-
serving of exposure and punishment. But the exponents
of clerical vices and pretences in his books have usually
been of denominations other than tlie Church of England.
The Dissenting -nagazines were thus the likeliest to object
to such characters as Stiggins, and to the whole range of
PlckeUfS' pretenders to religion^ and they did so accordingly.

• '/ '

CHARLES DICKENS.

157

musical
•a.ss of a
til ought,
ction of
at their

nuLsieal
eels and
this one

fifth, a
I artists
il better
'dy will
)ptiniist

?, there

iions of
Tlu
of the

3 raiij^o
istinct-
harpest
el. In
propor-
3re de-
)onents
isually
igland.
object
mge of
lingly.

The North British Revmv re-enforces the opposition, but
on a different line of attack. It has riothing to say about
any danger of irreverent dealings with what is holy, but it
charges him with vulgarity, the absence of real religious
principle, and of real moral principle too, mere kind and
good impulses being, it is asserted, the only substitutes
used for them. As a North Briton should do (though it be
praising a Cavalier at the expense of the Puritans), the
llevieiu instances Scott as a bright contrast to Dickens in
these particulars. The paragraphs in question are these;

" The mention (^f the Waverlrjj Novels, and their broad
Scottish dialect, leads unavoidably to the remark that, un-
like the luthor of these matchless productions, Mr. Dic-
kens makes his h)W characters almost always val[/ar. . . .

" In the next place, the good characters of Mr. Dickens'
novels do not seem to have a wholesome moral tendency.
The reason is, that many of them — all the author's
flivorites — exhibit an excellence flowing from constitution
r.nd temperament, and not from the influence of moral
or religious motive. They act from impulse, not from
])rinci})le. They j^resent no struggle of contending pas-
sions ; they are instinctively inca[)able of evil ; they are,
therefore, not constituted like other human beings, and
do not feel the force of temptation as it assails our less
perfect hearts. It is this that makes them unreal —

* Faultless monsters tluat the world ne'er saw !'

This is the true meaning of ' the simple heart ' which Mr.
Dickens so per})etually eulogizes. Indeed, they often de-
generate into simpletons, sometimes into mere idiots. . . .
Another error is the undue prominence given to good
temper and kindness, which are constantly made substi-
tutes for all other virtues, and an atonement for the want
of them ; while a defect in these good qualities is the
signal for instant condemnation and the charge of hypo-
crisy. It is unfortunate, also, that Mr. Dickens so frc*

uXii -ik^ifl

ifi'^ii

X. :! ■w:

■'i.-4

158

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

quently represents persons with pretensions to virtue and
piety as mere rogues and hypocrites, and never depicts
any whose station as clergymen, or reputation for piety,
is consistently adorned a»*d verified. . . . We cannot but
sometimes contrast the tone of Mr. Dickens' purely senti-
mental passages with that of Sir Walter Scott on similar
occasions, and the stilted pomp with which the former
often parades a flaunting rag of threadbare morality, wdth
the quiet and graceful ease with which the latter points
out and enforces a useful lesson."

If it be the question whether Sir Walter Scott be an ideal
standard of ethical instruction, ten times as many pious
Scotchmen will be found on record against him as for him.
If this criterion of moral teachings be applied to novels,
what will follow ? They must represent, according to it,
good characters ; and those characters must be orthodox
in their goodness ; in a word, such as would, on examina-
tion, be accepted into the membership of [my] church.
With the odium theolor/lcum thus crossed upon the
odhton criticum, the race of reviewers would become a
band of indescribable miscreants. Mr. Lowell has, with
a most bitter sarcasm, represented the critic as a peculiarly
oftensive kind of bug. liie improved breed, however,
would combine the :nere malodorous disgustfulness of the
noxious insect with the venom of a cobra di capello, and
the reckless wrath of a hornet. Inquisitors would be
mere wet-nurses in comparison to such devilish beings.

All such discussions as these of the Eclectic and North
British are entirely beside the mark. They do not touch
the real question. That question is this: Are there such
people as the novelist draws ? and has he drawn them
well ? Both these questions have been answered in the

noi

poj

niil

chj

soil

nol

CHARLES DICKENS.

159

irtue and
r depicts
for piety,
^nnot but
sly sen ti-
ll similar
le former
ity, with
er points

an ideal
ny i:)ious
for him.
3 novels,
tig to it,
•rthodox
samina-
church.
on the
Bcome a
IS, with
3uliarly
Dwever,
3 of the
Ho, and
aild be
ngs.
North
b touch
I'e such
L them
in the

affirmative by the civilized world for thirty years, so far
as Mr. Dickens is concerned. It is not the office of a
novel to teach orthodox denominational views, nor even
to diffuse true religion, any more than it is the office of a
pocket-handkerchief Handkerchiefs with the Thirty-
nine Articles printed on each, or with the Shorter Cate-
chism run serially through each dozen, might perhaps be
sold ; yet the diffusion of such symbols in such goods is
not the business, and would not have built the fortune of
Mr. A. T. Stewart.

It is not necessary, however, to argue the question here
in full, interesting as it is. It is part of the present plan,
however, to do briefly something that will serve quite as
well as a refutation inform, both to set Mr. Dickens right
and to show wliat is the real si^^nificance of a body of ex
cathedra criticism. This something is, to present one or
two instances, out of many that might be given, of mutual
extinction among the critics ; who in various points ma^y
fairly enough be taken to nullify each other, no matter
how brilliant they were singly ; as, according to opticians,
two equal bea\ns of perfect sunlight may be, as it were,
fired into each other, so as to extinguish each other and
produce a darkness.

"Mr. Dickens' faults," says the North Britii^h, "are vul-
garity, nnnaturalness in his personages, and a non-mor-
ality that amounts substantially to immorality." "Among
Mr. Dickens' characteristic virtues," says the Westminster,
"are great closeness to nature, and absence of coarseness."
"And," adds the Edinburgh, " besides that there is no pas-
sage which should cause pain to the most sensitive female

160

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

delicacy, one of the qualities we most admire in him is
(surely not an immoral one, at least, if there is any truth
in the New Testament) his comprehensive spirit of hu-
manity, his tendency to make us practically benevolent."

Again (on the point of mere artistic truth and skill, and
leaving out the questions of minor or major morals) : "Mr.
Jingle," says the Westminster, "is absurd and impossible
{because we never saw him I); and Mr. Pott, is the best
character in the book." "Mr. Jingle," says Fraser, "is the
best preserved character in the book. Dr. Slammer, too,"
he adds, "and other incidental characters, are probable, he-
cause, again, we have such people ; but the * standing
characters' — that is, of course, most of all, Mr. Pickwick and
Sam Weller — are absurd." "The two Wellers, in particu-
lar," says the Westminster, "are admirable representatives
of classes." "And," observes tho Edinburgh, "there are
many characters truly excellent. First stand Pickwick
and his man Weller."

Even if we dared advance far into such a battle of
giants, we need not. Like the little boy at the peep-
show, we can pay our penny and please ourselves. The
difficulty is obviously — as it will probably always be
where any considerable number of these wise men are
compared — to choose which charmer we will be happy
with. It is true, to be sure, that an argument may be
made in favor of the method of forming an independent
opinion and neglecting the critics ; though tliis method
involves the waste of a great quantity of fine writing, and
the labor of careful thinking.

This assortment of judgments would not be complete

CHARLES DICKENS.

IGX

I him is
ny truth
t of hu-
volent."
kill, and
s): "Mr.
ipossible
the best
r, "is the
:ier, too,"
jaljle, ht!-
standiiig
wick and
particLi-
jntativcs
here are
'ickwick

battle of
le peep-
es. The
ways be
nen are
J happy
may be
pendent
method
ing, and

:omplete

without that of the London Athenceum, which greeted
P'icJiivick at its first appearance with a characteristic
assertion. This paper, giving the only or almost the only
wholly contemptuous opinion put forth by any periodical
of any pretentions to standing, allowed Mr. Dickens only
" cleverness." It said :

" The writer of the periodical wliich is now before us
has great cleverness, but he I'uns closely on some leading
hounds in the humorous pack, and when he gives tongue
(perchance a vulgar tongue) he reminds you of the bay-
ing of several deep dogs who have gone before. The Pa-
pers of the ' Pickwick Club,' in fact, are made up of two
pounds of Smollett, three ounces of Sterne, a handful of
Hook, a dash of grammatical Pierce £gan — incidents at
pleasure, served up with an original sauce piquant."

In the mass of contemporary criticism on Pichivich
there is one curiou, omission — that is, it wojldbe curious
if the book were first published in 1870. This is, tho
omission of any objection to the tippling and actual drunk-
enness which dribbles all over the story. This is certainly
one of its letiou ct^. . /^.ble traits; but it does not seem to
have been so much as obsei'ved in its day. Even the carp-
ing critics do not say a word about the pineapple rum
wliich was Mr. Stiggins' "particular wanity." The truth
is, of cou^-^'i''^, that tippling was simply universal in Eng-
Lind in those days ; although the heavy swilling, so usual
in good society in the time of the Regency, had in a gi-eat
nii^'Hsure gone by. In the year 188."), the Rev. Heman
Humphrey, D.D., President of Andierst Co] lege, m'lde a
tour in Great Britain, France, and Belgium, of which his
account was published hi two volumes, 12mo, 1338 ; and
U

itl-?

I^f^^i

' i,
'J )

ill

■#••

162

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

a decidedly intelligent and readable book it is, besides
affording many contemporary hints about society, man-
ners, etc., which illustrate points in Pickivich in par-
ticular. As to tMs very question of temperance, the good
Doctor, who carried credentials from the American Tem-
perance Society to the British and Foreign Temperance
Society, devotes thirty-nine horrified pages of mingled
moans and mathematics to a detailed ex})osition of the
frightful prevalence of alcoholism amongst all ranks and
conditions of men in Great Britain.

This is the proper place to note one other similar piece
of accidental testimony to the truthfulness of the descrip-
tions in Pichivtck It amounts only to this: that the
fearful strings of verbal outrage hurled at each other by
Messrs. Pott and Slurk, the rival editors of Eatanswill,
are probably as little caricature as anything in the book —
or, for that matter, in any book. To a reader of this
generation, those virulent invectives seem extravagant.
But Dr. Humphrey, in his Tour, while he admits that
the English newspapers are edited with much ability,
says, in substance, that the British press is even licentious
in its freedom of utterance ; that it would be out of the
question to coin a term of denunciation more bitter than
those which are constantly used with perfect impunity ;
and that practically there is no restraint to keep the press
even within the bounds of reason and public safety. It
must have been a pretty free-spoken company of editors
who could wear sucii an appearance to an American. But
it is 01 the newspapers of that very year that Anderson
(History of British Joxmudism^ ii., 221, et seq.) speaks,

CHARLES DICKENS.

163

lesides

man-
1 par-
3 good

Tern-
erance
lingled
of the
ks and

r piece
lescrip-
lat the
lier by
answill,
book —
of this
Ivagant.
ts that
ability,
entious

of the
er than
hunity ;

le press
jty. It

editors
But

iderson

[speaks,

when he says that their style, " although vastly improved
upon that of former times, would startle those who are
accustomed to the more subdued tone, and calmer lan-
guage of modern newspaper controversy." The London
Times, in 1835, called Mr. Macaulay "Mr. Babbletongue
Macaulay ;" and said that another member of Parliament
borrowed his second name from a gin-shop, which his father
must have kept; and it always called the great Irish orator,
O'Connell, " the big beggarman." Mr. Disraeli, in answer-
ing the Globe (in the Times) said, that that paper " tosses
its head with all the fluttering indignation and affected
scorn of an enraged and supercilious waiting-woman ;"
and another letter in the Times calls an obnoxious editor
" an obscure animal," and " the thing who ccacocts the
meagre sentences and drivels out the rheumy rhetoric of
the Globe." Another letter in the Times, a little afterward,
contained the following fine specimen of stercoraceous
literature: *' It is not, then, my passion for notoriety that has
induced me to tweak the editor of the Globe by the nose,
and to inflict sundry kicks on the baser part of his base
person — to make him eat dirt, and his own words fouler
than any filth ; but because I wished to show to the woild
what a miserable poltroon — what a craven dullard — what
a literary scarecrow — what a mere thing stufted with
straw and rubbish," etc. These letters, it should be re-
membered, were part of the regular political controversies
of the paper, and were semi-editorial therefore, and sub-
stantially the utterances of the paper — not mere casual
contributions. Once more : Mr. Disraeli, in his Letters
of Munnym^de, afterward published in a volume, called

1 ;;

iill

i-'i

Al *!

: i

LIFE AND yv^RITlITGS OF

Lord John Russell "an infinitely small scaramouch — an in-
sect ;" Palmerston and Grant, "twofioek and long- tail* d
rats;" and William Bentinck, "one • • those mere lees of
debilitated humanity and exhausted nature, which the
winds periodically waft to the hoji( .ess breezes of their
native cliffs," an<l " a dilN elimg nabob of woa.'v and per-
plexed mind an<l grovelling s[)irit." Wliere the foremost
newspaper in the world, and the future Prime Minister
of the British Empire, dealt in audi gardy-loo rhetoric as
that, it is not likely that two enraged, vulgar countr}^ edi-
tors would fall behind tliem in desperation or in dirt.
Dickens himself was a newspaper man too, and quite as
slangy and fluent as was necessary. But he did not exceed
the reality in Pott and Shirk — nor even he could carica-
ture the controversial editorials of that period. As easily
make a black mark on charcoal.

The extent and variety of the foregoing citations and
comments was for the sake of depicting, with some degree
of fulness, the kind and quantity of excitement produced
by the advent into literature of this powerful new lumin-
ary. Beyond the Atlantic, the welcome was at least as
hearty, and the admiration at least as enthusiastic. In
this case, as in abundance of otlier similar ones, remote-
ness of situation and consequent freedom from Englisli lo-
cal prejudi(.'es and conventional habits, enabled the Am-
erican public to rival and often to surpass the English
public in appreciating the Avork of English minds.

The Xorth A)nerlcan, Review for January, 1843, says :
". . . . the name of Charles Dickens started into a cele-
brity, which, for extent and intensity, for its extraordin-

CHARLES DICKENS.

165

—an in-
nr-tail»;d
> lees of
icli the
of their
iid per-
b re 11 lost
Minister
3toric as
itiy edi-
in dirt,
quite as
•t exceed
I canca-
ns easily

ons and
le degree
u'oduceJ
luniin-
least as
tic. In
remote-
o'lisli lo-
he Aiii-
Eiiglish

8, says :
,0 a cele-
xaordin-

ary influence upon social feelings and even political insti-
tutions, and for the strength of f ^orahle regard and even
^varlll ])ersoiial attachineiit l>y ^•') cli it has heen accoin-
T)anied all over the world, wv h( ''vc is without a pai'alkd
in the history of letters The deinand for the Pickn^ick
Papers grew greater and gn^ater with every succeeding
number. English gontlenieji, tra\ oiling on the ( \)ntincnt,
left orders to have them forwarded to their address. At
' home, everyl.ody who could aiibid his monthly shilling
hurried to pay it on the morning of the piiMishing day ;
and with an a(^''oitness for money-making, commonly sup-
posed to mark ^lu American only, hoys let out their cop-
ies to those V ho lid not afford to buy, at a penny an
hour.

''Among rej. icT's in the United States, the eagerness to
get these }> i)evs was to the full as general and intense.
They were .Ojaiblished in every form of news})apcr, week-
ly and monthly journal, and close-])rinted volume ; the
incessant industry of the metropolitan ])resses ])roved
hardly equal to suj)plying the countiy demand ; and long
before the adventures of Mr. Pickwick w^ere brought to a
conclusion, the name of Charles Dickens was not only a
classical name in English literature, but one ever after to
be spoken with an affectionate warmth of higher value
than the widest lettered renown. . . .

" We had heard intelligent Englishmen express much
surprise at the Americanpopularity of Mr. Dickens. They
supposed his works were too national in s])irit and ten-
dency, too local in their wit and allusions, to be fully en-
joyed anywhere out of England ; and when they found
that his American readers far outnumbered his English,
because his works were more widely and cheaply circu-
lated here than at home, they were astonished at so start-
ling and unexpected a fact. The truth is, that Mr. Dick-
ens' peculiar genius is nearly as well understood here a3
it is in London." ....

Another periodi^pal, not perhaps so widely circulated, nor
ofso high reputation as a critical authority, but certainly not

IJt^y :

;-^l

mm.

if.,: ^

1G6

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

at all inferior to the North Americanin point of ability and
trustworthiness — the Christian Examiner, in its issue of
November, 1839, has an article tvv^elve pages long, remark-
ably careful and well thought out, whi(;h is in form a
review of Oliver Tiuid, and which powerfully though
indirectly testifies to the depth and extent of Dickens*
popularity, by assuming its universality and intensity,
and going into an elaborate examination of the reasons of
it. This paper is signed "J. S. D.," and is no doubt by that
competent and careful scholar John S. D wight. It is be-
yond comparison the best single view of Mr. Dickens'
abilities and character as a writer, which had appeared
up to that time, and it is doubtful whether it has been
surpassed since.

The reviewer recognized, first of all, the two chief and
greatest of all Mr. Dickens' qualities, his power of vision
and of representation ; and along with these, the sympathy
with what is good and the enmity for what is bad, which
gave him so sure a hold on the heart :

" As we road along, pleasant amusement deepened into
intense and ])ure emotion; and after these were gone,
there remained a substantial product in our hands. Our
ftiith as well as our knowledge of the world, had grown.
We had been seeing worse ideas of human life exposed
than had ever entered our thought before, and exposed in
such a way that we could still see the evil subordinated
to the good, and that there is yet more to be hoped,
than to be feared, for man. We had been led through
the labyrinths of a great city by a true and wise
observer, — one who goes everywhere into the midst of
facts, and does not get lost among them ; one who dares
to look into the rotten parts of the world, and yet forgets
not its beauty as a whole, but still has faith enough to

chahles dickeks.

167

love this human nature, whose manners ho knows so

well."

" In seeking now what qualities go to the making up
of such a work, the first thing that suggests itself is, the
writer's astonishing power of observation and description.
.... This writer's great power, which lies not so much in
any ideal invention, as in strong and accurate perception
of things as they are, hetokens a rare tendency, and one
still more rarely favoied by our UKjdes of education. . . .
lie is a genius in his way. He sees things with his own
eyes. There is fine integrity and healthfadncss in his
perceptions. Objects make their full impression upon his
o])en senses ; he accepts the whole without evasion, and
trusts it, inasmuch as it is real; and he paints it to us
again in([uick, bold, expressive strokes, with a free manner,
marred by no misgivings, yet modest. He is as objective
as Goethe could desire. It is the thing which he gives us,
and not himself. He is neither egotist nor imitator. Not
from works of poetry or romance, from the classics, or
critical codes founded upon them, does he take his sug-
gestion and his model, but from his own vivid observa-
tions, from what he has seen and lived, and this, too,
keeping his own personality in the back ground, thereby
escaping the ftiult of many of the most genuine writers of
the day, the stamp of genius upon whose pages is not
enough to reconcile us to their morbid self-consciousness.
He has the health and many of the best qualities of Scott,
only not his learning and fondness for the past."

The reviewer further specifies as the ofliice of the new
romancer, " describing low life in great cities, and hitting
off" the conventionalisms and pretensions of all classes."
He adverts to the wonderful abundance of his personages,
and to their equally wonderful individuality ; to the simi-
larly striking distinctness of hi.^ descriptions of things and
places; to his abounding and never-failing humor; to
his great power in the pathetic; to his genial satire,

^^ yi '1

i< '.:

Si!

!'/..^!.Ul £ ^

lG8

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

healthy in tone, nnd jnst in purpose mid direction ; and to
his vivid synipatliy with wliat is licst in tlie spirit of tlie
age in which he lives. Thus, altlion,L,di only discussinrr
directly (jnc or two of his woiks, the clear analysis and
accurate jud*(nientof this critic has evolved a (piite com-
plete and detailed portrait of his suhjcct.

This discussion of the hiilliant opening scene of Mr.
Dickens' career needs a few furtlier observations. These
refer to a featui-e in Pickwid', which has often been
comriK iited on, and about which the author himself seems
to have, for some reason, a\t)ided any very (dear explana-
tion. Tliis is the gradufd development within the book
itself, from the mere string of comic sketches which was
its character at iirst, to an actual novel, with a framewoik
of events, if not a regulai' }»l()t, character, and a moral. A
number of the early reviews of the book animadvert upon
this inconsistency, and with nuich gravity and kindness
show how incorrect it is, and how the author might have
done better. Mr. Dickens, himself, a little sophistically,
in his Preface to Fkknlcli', thus deals with the charge :

" It has been observed of Mr. Pickwick that there is a
decided change in his character as these pages proceed,
and that he becomes more good and more sensible. I do
not thirdv this change will appear forced or unnatui.il to
my readers, if they will rcHcct that in real life the pet ili-
arities and oddities of a nian who has anything whimsical
about him, generally im})resses us first, and that it is not
until we are better acquainted with him that we us\ially
begin to look l)elow the superficial traits, and to know the '
better part of him." i

That is all very well, but assuredly it is an after-
thought. Of all Mr. Dickens' novels; Pickwick is in-

CHARLES DICKENS.

169

1 ; ftiul to
lit of the

lisciissinir
lysis iuul
lite cum-

e of Mr.
. Tliese
:eri been
-ilf seems
explana-
:lie book
lich Avas
uiework
oral, A
'rt upon
:ini]ness
ht have
stically,

arge ;

ere is a
proceed,
. I do
ui.il to
pec'di-
inisical
b is not
usually
ow the

after-
is in-

comparnbly the most s])ontanoous, the mo.st unconscious,

tlie most unsophisticated. No one who is familiar with

his works can fail to observe that Pick d' id' was not

written with a pur^tose, whereas most of the others were.

When Pici'V'iik was begun, the fact is, tliat M/ Dickens

did not yet know that he was a novel-writer. Pickwick

formed of itself as he went on with it; and yielding to liis

own inspiration with the infallible tact of genius, he let it

form. It was this influence — the free working of his own

creative power — that developed Mr. Pickwick into a real

character, instead of the empty caricature of a sciolist, as

it also shaped the whole story round him. It has often

been intimated that the book was meant to attack the

system of the English courts of law an<l imprisonment for

debt. The internal evidence is to the conti'ary ; as was

Just said, the book was not wi'itten with any purposo

except to wiite the book. It is as absolutely clear of

secondary motives as the story of David and Jonathan.

It is exactly this perfectly spontaneous, fresh, open,

frank, pictorial, unpremeditated, unconscious quality

which renders Pickwick irt some respects the best of

all Mr. Dickens' publications, and even yet the prime

favorite of many of his admirers. A certain zealous lover

of this joyous, fun-bubbling book has even been heard to

assert that it grows yet ; that every time he reads it he

finds in it not irvirely something he had not seen before,

but something that was not lit it before.

Tlf '-.<«?*'..

[•70

LiFJS And writings of

CHAPTER V.

EbTABLTSHED EEPUTATION.^CRUIKSHANK, THE ATITIST. —
EDITOR OF VARIOUS MAGAZINES. — '' MEMOIRS OF JOSEPH
GRIMALDI." — *' PIC-NIC PAPERS." — AS A DRAMATIST. —
THE " VILLAGE COQUETTES." — HIS MARRIAGE. — THE
HOGARTH FAMILY. — RESIGNS THE EDITORSHIP OF " BENT-

LEY S

NICHOLAS NICKLEBY. — YORKSHIRE SCHOOLS.-

MR. LESTER S OPINION OF DICKENS.

"An elegant snfficicncy, content,
Retirement, rural quiet, friendship, books,
Ease and alternate labor, useful life.
Progressive virtue and approving Heaven." — Thompson.

iFTER tlic completion of Oliver Tivlst, in Bent-
ley's Miscellany, the reputation of Mr. Dickens
was fairly established. When the Sketches were
completed a few years before, the publishers,
Messrs. Chapman k Hall, had been extremely doubtful
whether it would prove a remunerative speculation to print
and bind an edition of seven hundred copies. Now the call
was for thousands, and the green covers of Pickivich and
Oliver Twist were seen all over the country. His name
w^as publicly announced as the author of PicJcivick, when
the com})l<3ted volume was issued in 1838. The same
artist who had been engaged to illustrate the Sketches,
George Cruikslianl', lent the attraction of his pencil to
Oliver Twist; anu some of the finest etchings that ever
left his studio were contributed to that work. The pub-
lishers of the early works of Dickens, doubtful of their

CHAKLES DtCKENS.

success, did well to secure the services of an artist who
knew more of London and London people, probably, than
any living man, and whose genius was as great as the
author's he was illustrating, though developing itself in a
different field. He had caricatuied Bonaparte, and made
himself a thorn in the side of the Prince Regent ; and his
etchings to Life in Lonrloii had established his fame.
His illustrations to the /S7.:cfc7/r.s were admirable; but he
surpassed himself on Oliver Tivist.

Who does not recollect the tragic force of Sikes attempt-
ing to destroy his dog — with that wondrous view of dis-
tant London in the background ? Who has not felt a
shuddering horror creep over him ^at the sight of Fagin
in the condenmed cell ?

Tempted by the liberal offers which were made, Mr.
Dickens was in the habit of lending his name and patron-
age to a number of magazines ; and various attempts are
made to saddle upon him tales and articles of dubious
merit which w^ere not acknowledged by him and are not
included in his various editions. This is the work, of de-
signing editors, with a view to the increased sale of their
wares. The safest plan is to credit nothing to Dickens,
except what he himself acknowledged ; since, like other
successful authors, he finds a host of imitators.

It was during his connection with Benthys Miscdhniy
that Mr. Dickens undertook to edit the Memoirs of Josci)li
Grimaldi, dated Feburary, 1838. Tliis Grimaldi was a
celebrated clown, whose father, an Italian by birth, came
to London in 1758, and was ballet master at Drury Lane
Theatre. It was this ingenious gentleman, who, during

i • M...

^M'^i^mt^- J

172

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

Vv'

J'' ■■■

r?t ■'

K . i

. ■ . ■ »>

the Riots of 1780, (afterwards so graphically described in
Barnahy Rudfje,) when some of his terrified neighbors
chalked "No Popery" upon their doors, to conciliate the
furious anti-Catholic mob, wrote '' No religion at all" up-
on Jits, in the expectation, which was realized, that all
parties would leave him alone ! His son acted in various
positions as a clown during his life, devoting, however,
his leisure hours to the composition of his 2Ieinoirs. In
relation to his connection with them, Mr. Dickens says :

" My own share in them is stated in a few words. Being
much struck by several incidents in the manuscript — such
as the desci'iption of Grimaldi's infancy, the burglary,
the brother's return from sea undar the extraordinary cir-
cumstances detailed, the adventure of the man with the
two finirers on his left hand, the account of Mackintosh
and his friends, and many other passages — and thinking
that they might be related in a more attractive manner
(they were at that time told in the first person, as if by
Grimaldi himself, although they had necessarily lost any
original manner which his recital might have imparted to
them, he acce})ted a proposal from the publisher to edit
the book, and ha,'^ edited it to the best of his ability, al-
tering its form throughout, and making such alterations
as he conceived would improve tho narration of the facts,
without any departure from the facts themselves. The ac-
count of Grimaldi's first courtshij) may appear lengthy
in its present form : but it has undergone a double and
most comprehensive process of abridgment. The old man
"Was garrulous upon a subject on which the youth had felt
so keenly ; and as the feeJing did him honor in both stages
of life, the editor has not had the heart to reduce it fur-
ther."

The truth is, however, that throughout the whole, there
is no one sentence that could be mistaken for the writings
of Charles Dickens, ar^d it is not included in his own edi-

CHARLES DICKENS.

173

tions. He probably received remuneration for the use of
liis nai/i*^, and loaned it. The Memoirs were illustrated
with eight sketches by Cruikshank.

By this time, Mr. George Macrone, the original pub-
Usher of the Sketches, and who had befriended our author
at a time when lie sorely needed it, ar..! when to under-
take to publish his writings w^as attended with great
pecuniary risk, had died, leaving his family in indigent
circumstances. For their benefit Mr. Dickens suggested
and undertook to edit two volumes to be called, The Flc^
Klc Papers. He himself contributed to this publication a
lively sketch, entitled, The Lam pJi<jhtev's Story. Amongst
the other contributors were Thomas Moore, Talfourd,
Ainsworth and Maxwell. To fill up, a hundred pages or
so of Charcoal Sketches, by Joseph C. Neal, of Philadel-
phia, were " borrowed ;" but acknowledgment w^as after-
wards made. It may be remarked here, however, that
the publication did not prove very successful.

Mr. Dickens was fond of the stage, and about this time
produced two farces, entitled tiie Strange Gentleman, and
Is Site His Wife, or Something Singular, and an opera
called. The Village Coquettes — in the latter of which, two
country girls are introduced, who leave their village lovers
fur the greater attractions of two city swells. They see
their error, however, in time, and the termination is ha]jpy.
Th(j nuisic to the opera "was fair, and the piece had a short
run. This is the exter't of his dramatic })roductions, in
Avliich line he cannot claim to have been successful, any
more than his contemporary, Thomas Moore, whose il/.P.,
or The Blue fStocking fell flat upon the public ear, and is

Ir*

mmm>»

I i

mmcm^MTvm^'mmmmm

>■■

^.i

' t1

^I^

mi]

! I

h 1

174

LIFE AND WRITINGS OP

never included in his works. To the Coquettes^ Mr.
Dickens prefixed the following dedication :

"To J. P. Harley, Esq. — My Dear Sir, — My dramatic
bantlings are no sooner born than you fatlier them. You
have my Strauf/e Gentlemaii exclusively your own ; you
have adopted Martin Stakes with equal readiness ; and
you still profess your willingness t<> do the same kind
office for all future scions of the same stock.

" I dedicate to you the first play 1 ever published ; and
you made for me the first play I ever produced : — the
baLince is in your favor, and I am afiaid it will remain so.

" That you may long contribute to the amusement of
the public, and long be spared to shed a lustre, by the
honor and integrity of your private life, on the profession
which for many years you liave done so mucli to uphold,
is the since d and earnest wish of, my dear sir, yours most
faithfully,

*' Charles Dickens."

'' December loth, 1836."

And also this prelude :

" ' Either the honorable gentleman is in the right, or he
is not,' is a phrase in very common use within the walls
of Parliament. This drama may have a plot, or it may
not : and the songs may be poetry, or they may not ; and
the whole affair from beginning to end may be great non-
sense, or it may not, just as the honorable gentleman or
lady who reads it may happen to think. So retaining his
own private and particular opinion upon the subject (an
opinion which he formed u})wards of a year ago, when he
wrote the i)iece), the author leaves ever^^ such gentleman
or lady to form his or hers, as he or she may think pro-
per, without saying one word to influence or conciliate
them.

" All he wishes to say is this — that he hopes Mr. Bra-
ham and all the performers who assisted in the representa-
tion of tills opera will accept his warmest thanks for the
interest they evinced in it, from its fu'st rehearsal, and

CHARLES DICKENS.

175

for their zealous eifoits in his behalf — efforts which have
cro^vned it with a degree of success far exceeding his most
sanguine anticipations ; and of wliich no form of words
could speak his acknowledgment.

" It is needless to add that the libretto of an opera must
be, to a certain extent, a mere vehicle for the .Tiusic ; and
that it is scarcely fair or reasonable to judge it by those,
strict rales of criticism which would be justly aj)plicable
to a live-act tragedy or a finished comedy."

It was during Mr. Dickens' connection with Bentleya
Miscellany as editor, that he was married to a daughter
of Mr. George Hogarth, who has already been mentioned
as having been attached to the staff of various magazines
as a sort of musioal criti(;. Mr. Hogarth was able to boast
that he had been the adviser and assistant of Walter Scott,
during that dark hour for the Scottish novelist in 182G,
when both his London and Edinburgh publishers were
forced to suspo.id. The sister of Mr. Hogarth was the
wife of Mr. Ballantine, a publisher, and steadfast friend of
Scott, and up to the time of her decease, Mr. Hogarth
had resided in -dinburgh. But stricken by the loss of
his relative, he ietermined to quit Scotland, and took up
his abode in London, where he resided with his family at
the time of th advent of Charles Dickens to the world of
letters. Mr. i'ickens was naturally thrown into very-
close connection with him during their common engage-
ment with Be alley s, and was also a welcome visitor in
the family circle of his future father-in-law. This led to
his intimacy 'n'ith Miss Hogarth, wdi<jm, after a short
acquaintance, he espoused, and also with her two younger
sisters, Fanny and Georgina. Fanny, who was engaged
to Daaiel Maclise, the artist, died very suddeixly of heart

"'■"l

.1.

"^ : I

V' I

r J.

176

LIFE AND WRITINaS OF

disease during a family entertainment, at which Mr.
Dickens was present. This sad family bereavement caused
the temporary suspension of the Ficl'wick Papcn^ then
publishing, and occasioned the following remark in the
preface : —

" The following pages have been written from time to
time, almost as the periodical occasion arose. Having
been written for the most part in the society of a very
dear young friend who is now no more, they are connected
in the author's mind at once with the hap})iest pei'iod of
his life, and with its saddest and most severe atHiction."

The youngest sister, Georgina, was devotedly attached
to him, and acted during the latter part of his life as his
housekeeper. Mr. Hogarth was the author of one or two
musical works. He died quite recently. Further men-
tion of him is made in Lockharfs Life of Scott

Up to the year 1838, Mr. Dickens had continued to re-
side in very mod^'st "apartments" at Furnival's Inn.
During the year mentioned, however, his circumstances
being now materially improved, and his ambition, pro-
bably, increasing in like ratio, and preparatory possibly
to his marriage, he rented a house at Number 48 jjouglity
street, near the Foundling Hospital, and east of Russell
square, a section peopled mostly with professional persons.

In the latter part of this year, Mr. Dickens' connection
with Bentli'i/s ceased at his own desire. He was succeed-
ed in his editorial capacity by W. H. Ainsworth, the
author of several novels of gross immorality. Mr. Dickens
closed his labors on that mao^azine with a humorous vale-
dictory about an old coachman introducing the new one.
He was now left free, for the first time, to devote his at-

CHARLES DICKENS.

177

Mr.

lused

then

1 the

aviiig

very

iect(id

iod of

tontion to the composition of more artistic and connected
stories. Nichohffi Niclddnj was his next creation. Tliis
work is dated from the residence above menticmcd, in
])mio-]ity street. His re})utati()n had now become fully
estahlished, and his characters liad t)eena(hnitted as meni-
hcrs of tlie great family of fiction. It was acknowledged
that an author of great genius, of hi'illiant parts, and of
uncommon ])Owers of analysis and .lescription had sud-
denly loomed up into the literary world. Pickwick and
Ham VVeller were upon every tongue, and quotations fro?;i
Dickens were universally in vogue when it was required
"to point a moral or adorn a tale." As a natural conse-
quence hi : forthcoming work was looked for with great
eagerness iijui anticipation.

As Pichwlch had assailed imprisonment for debt, and
the broad license of English legal practise, and Oliver
Twist the inhumanity and gross mismanagement of the
workhouse, so Nicholas Nichlehy was likewise to be used
as a mighty engine for the overturning of evils so great
and wide spread as to have become national in their im-
portance. Some recollections of ill-ti'eatment during his
own school-Vjoy days, and reports of boarding-school
tyranny received from his youtliful comrades, had made a
deep impression on his mind at the time, and the remem-
brance of it was not wholly obliterated, even twenty
years after. He himself says, in relation to these schools:
" My first impressions of tliem were picked up at that
time, and they were, somehow or other, connected with a
suppurated abscess that .some boy had come home with,
ill consti(piencc of his Yorkshire guide, philosopher, and
12

fl"

I r

178

LIFE AND WmTTNGS OF

friend, having vi]^»pod it open with an inky penknife. The
impression made upon me, however made, never left me.
I was always curious abmit them — fell, long* afterwards,
and at sundry times, into the way of heariup^ more uhout
them — at last, having an audience, 1 resolved to write
about them."

Dickens was ns careful and painstaking in wiiting
novels as Scott was in the same field, or as Prescott in
history. This led him to inquire more searchingly into
the manner of conducting these establishments, and in
1839, he went down to Yorkshire to study them on the
spot. He says :

" With that intent, I went down into Yorkshire before
I began this book, in very severe winter-time, which is
pretty faithfully described herein. As I wanted to see a
school-master or two, and was forewarned that those gen-
tlemen might, in their modesty, be shy of rect;iving a visit
from me, 1 consulted with a professional friend here, who
had a Yorkshire connection, and Avith whom I concerted
a pious fraud. He gave me some letters of introduction,
in the name, I think, of my traveling comjjanion ; they
bore reference to a suppositious little boy who had been
left with a wid )wed mother who didn't know what to do
with him ; the ] oor lady had thought, as a means of thaw-
ing the tardy compassion of her relations in his behalf, of
sending him to a Yorkshire school ; I was the poor ladys
friend, traveling that way ; and if the recipient of the
letter could inform me of a school in his neighborhood,
the writer would be very much obliged.

*' I went to several places in tliat part of the country
where I understood these schools to be plentifully sprink-
led, and had no occasion to deliver a letter until i came to
a certain town which shall l^-j nameless. The person to
whom it was addressed, was not at home; but, he came
down at night, through the snow, to the inn where i was

CHABLES DICKENS.

179

. Tho
ft mo.

al)()nt
write

writing
icott in
;1y into
and iu
on the

before
^hich is
() see a
:).se gen-
o- a visit
vc, who
)ncerted
Idiietion,
; they

d been
,at to do

.f thaw-
Ichalf, of

•r hidy's
of the

lorhood,

I country

sprink-

came to

lerson to

lie c:uiie

;e 1 was

staying. It was after dinner ; and he needed little pei'-
suasion to sit down by the fire in a warm corner, and talvo
his sliare of tlie wine that was on the tahk\

" I am afraid he is dead now. I recollect he was a jo-
vial, ru(hly, broad-faced man ; that we got {ic(in;diitcd di-
rectly ; and tliat we talked on all kinds ol snhjects except
tlie school, which he showed a great anxiety to avoid.
' Was there any large school near V 1 asked him in re-
ference to the hitter. H)h, yes,' he said; 'there was a
])ratty hig'un.' ' Was it a good one ?' I asked. ' Ey ! '
he said, 'it was as good as anoother; that was a' a niatther of
opinion : ' and fell to looking at the fire, staring round the
rv)()m, and whistling a little. On my reverting to some
other topic that we had l)een discussing, he re(;overed im-
mediately ; bnt, though I tried him {igain and again, I
never apjn'oached the question of the school, even if he were
in the middle of a laugh, without observing that his coun-
tenance fell, and that he became uncomfortable. At last,
when we had passed a cou})le of hours or so, agi'eeably, '
he suddenly took up his hat, and leaning over tlie ta])le
and looking me full in the face, said, in a low voice : 'AVeel,
Misther, we've been very pleasant toogether, and {ir'Jl spak'
my moind tiv'ee. Dinnot let the weedur send hei lattie
hoy to yan o' our school-measthers, while there's a harse
to hoold in a' Lunnun, or a goother to lie asleep in. Ar
wouldn't mak' ill w^ords amang my neeburs, and ar s])oak
tiv'ee quiet loike. But I'm dom'd if ar can gang to bed
and not tellee, for weedur's sak', to keep the hittle boy
from a 'sike scoondrels while tliere's a harse to hoold in a'
Lunnim, or a goother to lie asleep in!' Repeating these
words with great heartiness, and with a solenniity on his
jolly face that made it look twice as large as before, he
slujok hands and W"ent away. I never saw him afterwards,
hut I souKitimes imagine that I descry a faint refiection
of him in John Browdie.

" Mr. Squeers is the ve])reRentative of a class, and not of
{in individual. Where imposture, ignorance, and brutal
cupidity, are the stock in trade of a small body of men,
and one is described by those characteristics, all his fellow^s

iMMH

m
m

mi
II

180

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

will recognize sometliing belonging to themselves, and
each will have a misgiving that the portrait is bis own.
My oV)joct in calling public attention to the system would
be very imperfectly fultilled, if 1 did not state now in my
own person, eni[)]iatically and (earnestly, that Mr. Squecrs
and his school are faint and feeble ])ictures of an existiiii:
reality, pur|)oscly subdued and kept down lest they sliouM
be deemed impossibh; — that there are upon record trials
at law in which damages have been sought as a poor i-e-
com})ense for lasting agonies and disfigurements inilicted
nj)on children by tlie ti'eatment of the master in these
places, involving such olfensive and foul details of neglert,
cruelty and disease, as no wi-iter of tiction would have the
boldness to imagine — and that.since Ilia ve been engaged uji-
on these 'Adventures,' I have received fr(nn private quarters
far beyond the reach jf suspicion or distrust, accounts of
atrocities, in the per[)etration of which upon neglected or
repudiated children these schools have been the main in-
struments, very far exceeding any that appear in these
pages."

It will thus be seen that he himself, prepared as he w.is
for some startling exhibits, was rather taken aback at tlio
result of his inquiries. The amount of ])ersecution and
suffering endured by the poor boys, whose ill-fortune con-
fided them to the tender mercies of i\w [JCvligogues, who
acted as petty tyrants mi these institutloiii, surpassed all
his previous conjecture. Whoever has read Kldiolas
Nicklehy, and seen the virtuous Seducers starving lii'^
pupils on treacle, and teaching practical morality in lil^
own peculiar way, has a pretty good noti'jn of a York-
shire boarding-school in those days. This fellow clainiud
by his card tliat at his famous establishment, " Youth
were boarded, clothed, l)ooked, furnished with pocket
money, provided with all necessaries, instructed in all

CHARLES DICKEI^S.

181

s, and

i own.

would

ill my

xistiii;^
should
I trials
oov re-
lilicU'd
I these

IL'gk'rt,
avo the
oe(lu|)-
uartt.'vs
unts t)t*
.'cted oi"
lain in-
n these

; he w:is
at tlic
ion and

me con-
es, who
isschI uU
if h alas
mg hi^
in his
York-
cbihiit'd
'' Youth
pocket
\ in all

lanfipin^cs, living and dead, kc, «S:c.," all for the snin of
twenty guineas a year. What they were actually fur-
nislied witli at such }tlaces, and how they were treated,
may be readily imagined. On this continent we cannot
realize the extent and enormity of this foul system, since
no where would it he allowed to exist for a moment'
Striving for humanity {ind liberality in all things, espe-
cially do we require it in the treatment and education of
our \'outh.

Happily for the lads of this generation in England, the
horrors described in XicJiohfs Kick/chu are in a great
nieasur(! things of the i)ast ; and no small share of the
]>rai (3 for tlieir abolition is due to this work of our author.
There can be no doubt of the reformatory purpose in view
in the writing of Xlcloh' ' Nlchlchy. This story did what
few novels have ever done ; it substantially destroyed {in
abominable abuse — the cheap Yorkshire schools, of which
Dotheboy's Hall was a representation. There are vario\is
])leasures in successful authorship : the consciousness of
exerting rare and high ])owers of mind ; of affording plea-
sure to othei's ; of wielding ])ower over others ; of being
admired; of being beloved; but veiy few have been the
romancers who have done all those things, and have at
the same time advanced the interests of humanity by
actually working the destruction of an evil or the estab-
lishment of a ':;ood. It is often said that Cervantes
"laughed away the chivalry of Sjmin ;" although it is
ijuostionable wdiether Don Quixote was not the expression,
rather than the guide, of the spirit of its age. But
there can be no doubt about the influence of Nicholas

IMAGE EVALUATION
TEST TARGET (MT-S)

1.0

I.I

l^|2^ |2.5

1.8

IIIIIL25 1.4 III ,.6

►

»..• /,y

Hiotographic

Sciences
Corporation

4^ ^ \ '^^

^^^'

23 WEST M4IN STREET

WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580

(716) 872-4503

182

tfFE AND WRITINGS OF

Nicklehy on the Yorkshire schools. Tn his preface to
the recent editions of the book, Mr. Dickens expresses his
belief thcat it was his work that exterminated them. The
Bchoolmasters themselves thought so too, for divers of
them threatened lawsuits, proposed assault and battery,
and even jirctended to remember interviews with the
author while he was, under false pretences, gathering
materials. Kono, however, of the threatened revenges
were inflicted. Now-a-days, no man need be afraid to
expose, in good faith and in a proper manner, any abuse.
It is centuries since Voltaire was beaten and Sir John
Coventry's nose &jlit, in return for satire too true to be
answered with either reason or wit. These threats wei'c
made during the pr(»gress of tlie book ; and in the prefa(!e
issued at its final })ublication in book -form, tlie author
quietly but boldly affirmed all his charges, and defied all
and sundry who might attempt to prove them false. No
such attempt was made.

Quite a variety of characters are introduced into this
story, first amongst whom may be mentioned Mrs. Nickleby,
who is said to exhibit some points of resemblance to Mr.
Dickens' own mother, and who is a fair sample of the gar-
rulous, good hearted, easy going English matron. Nicholas,
the hero of the story, is a good natured young man of
ordinary parts, of whom the author says : — " If Nicholas
be not always found to be blameless or agreeable, he is
not always intended to api)ear so. He is a young man of
an impetuous temper, and of little or no experience ; and
I saw no reason w*hy such a hero should be lifted out of
nature." Ralph, the uncle, is a close-fisted miser, hating

preface to
presses his
lem. The

clivers of
id battery,

with tlic

gathering
I revenges
} afraid to
any abuse,
d Sir John

true to be
ireats wei'C
the prefa{.'e
tlie author
1 defied all

false. No

d into this
.Nickleby,
:ince to Mr.
of the gar-
. Nicholas,
ing man of
If Nicholas
cable, he is
no: man of
I'lence ; and
ifted out of
iser, hating

CHARLES DICKENS.

183

the world, and espceijdly the good there is in it. Squcers
is tlic one-eyed sdujoluKistor, whom llalph uses as a tool.
Poor Siiiike, his victim, shows a rare devotion to his new
found friend, Nicholas, and verifies tlie assertion of the
])oet, that in tlie bosoms of the poor and neglected and
des})ised, and in haunts where we might least expect to
find such attributes, there exists

Many a good

And useful (juality, and virtue too,
Karoly ext-niplitiod aniong.st the prinul ;
Attachment never to be weaned or ehani^ed
I5y any change of fortune ; proof alike
Against unkindness, al)>senee or neglect ;
Fidelity that neither bribe nor threat
Can move or war[) ; and ijratitude for small
Or trivial favors ; lasting as the life,
And glistening even in the dying eye."

The Cheery ble Brothers present a marked contrast to the
demon, llalph, in their Christian character and generosity.
Of tlie other characters introduced, there must not be for-
gotten the eccentric Newsman Noggs, honest, rough old
John Browdie, little Miss La Creevy, the theatrical
Crummies Family, and Mantilini, with his "d^mnition
total."

Kicldeby was completed in the year 1840. Just before
its conclusion, it was seized upon as a good subject for
dramatizing. A denouement was framed for it, anticipat-
ing that of the author, and it was at once put upon the
stage, at the Adelidii.

A French version of the play was also introduced,
wliich took great liberties with the original, and introduc-
ed many immoral scenes to suit a peculiarly French taste.
In this translation Dotheboy's Hall became the " Paradis

184

LIFE AND WRITINGS Of

dcs Enfans," and "Neckolass" is an usher in the seminary.
A gang of thieves were also introduced. Tlie immorality
of the play drew out a savage criticism from Jules Janm,
in the Journal des Drhtfis, who charged it all to Dickens.

It is stated, but with what degree of truth we sluill
probably now never know, that the early dramatization
of the play and the denouement appended by the play-
wright, caused Dickens to change tlie ])lan of his story,
and to provide a new conclusion. This, however, is pro-
bably little more than a surmise.

When completed, Xicholas XtcJdehy was published in
a guinea volume, uriifn'm with Plckiv'icl', and had an
engi'aving of the author on steel, taken from a })ortrait by
Maclise, which hung in the dining-room at Gads Hill,
and which was recently sold with the author's other effects.
The portrait of Mr. Dickens was now for the first time
placed before the public. Though long since known as
the author of the works of Boz by his own immediate
literary circle and personal friends, this engraving fur-
nished the first means which the general public had for
identifying him. A facsimile of his peculiar signature
was also appended.

Mr. Charles Edward Lester, late United States Consul,
at Genoa, saw Mr. Dickens in July, 1840, at his new home
in Devonshire terrace, and thus records his impressions of
the great novelist while in the j'iurpurea juvcntus of his
fame. He says he found him with the early sheets of
Master Ihunphreys Clocl', (the work which followed
Nicholas NicJdehy), before him j and after describing his
welcome, proceeds :

CHABLES DICKEXS.

185

iCminary.
imonility
It's Jfiiim,
I Dickens,
we slicill
ijitization
the play-
liis story,
er, is pro-

blislied in
d had an
ortrait by
lads Hill,
|ier effects,
first time
nown as
mmediate
ing fur-
had for
signature

Consul,
lew home
issions of
us of his
sheets of
followed
ibing his

;

I inquired if, in portraying his characters, he had not,
in every instance, his eye upon some ])aiticular ]x-rson he
liad known, since I could not conceive it possible for an
author to present such gra])hic and natural ]>ictures except
from real life. "Allow me to ask, sir," I said, "if the
one-eyed S(|uecrs, coarse but goo(l John Dowdie, ihabeait-
ii/iil Sally Jhass, clever Dick Swivdler, the demoniac and
intri.i^niing Quilp, the good CluMMyble Brothers, the avar-
icious Fagin, nnd dear little Nellie, are mere fancies ?"

" No, sir, they are not," he replied; "they are copies.
You will not understand me to say, of course, that they
are true histories iu all respects, but they are real like-
nesses; nor have I in any of my works attempted anything
more than to arrange my stoiy as well as I could, and
give a true picture of scenes I have witnessed. My past
history and pui'suits have led me to a frmiliar acquaint-
ance with numerous instances of extreme wretch(Mlness
and of deep-laid villany. In the haunts of squalid pov-
erty I have found many a broken heart too goo<l for this
world. Many such ])ersons now in the most abject con-
dition, have seen better days. Once they moved in circles
of friendship and aftiuence, from which they have been
hurled by misfortune to tlie lowest depth of want and
sorrow. This class of persons is very large.

" Then there are thousands in our parish workhouses
and in the lanes of London, born in the world without a
friend excei)t God and a dying mother. Many, too, who
in circumstances of trial have yielded to impulses of pas-
sion, and by one ffital step fallen beyond recovery. London
is crowded, and, indeed, so is all England, with the poor, the
unfortunate, and the guilty. This description of persons
has been generally overlooked by authors. They have had
none to care for them, and have Hed from the ])ublic gaze
to some dark habitation of this great city, to curse the
cold charities of a seltish world and die. There are more
broken hearts in London than in any other place in the
world. The amount of crime, starvation, nakedness, and
misery of every sort in the metroi)olis surpasses all calcu-
lation. I thought I could render some service to human-
ity by bringing these scenes before the minds of those

I i

fi . \l

186

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

who, from never liavinrf witnessed them, suppose they
cannot exist. In this t'flnrt 1 liavc not V>een wholly nn-
successfiil ; and th(.'re is nothiiiL,^ makes me happier than
to think that, by some of my r('i)resentations, 1 have in-
creased th(3 stock of liuman (rheerfulness, and, l)y othci's,
the stock of linman sym])atl'.y. 1 think it makes the
lieart better to seek out the suffering and relieve tliem.
I liave spent many days and nights in the most wretched
districts of the metroj)olis, studying tlie history of the
human heart. There we nuist iro to find it. In hi<j'h
circles we see everything hut the heart, and learn every-
tliing l)ut the real character. We nmst go to the hovels of
the poor and the unfortunate, when trial brings out the
character. I l:ave in these randdes seen n)any exhibi-
tions of generous aliection and heroic endurance, which
would do honor to any sphere. Uften have I discovered
minds that only wanted a little of the sunshine of })ros-
})erity to develop the choicest endowments of Heaven.
I think I never returne<l to my home after these adven-
tures without Ijcing made a sadder and a bettei' man. In
describing these cliaracters I aim no higher than to feel in
writing as they seem to feel themselves. I am persuaded
that I have succeeded just in ])ropoiti(m as I have culti-
vated a faniiliarity with the trials and sorrows of the poor,
and told their story as they would have related it them-
selves."

I spoke of the immense popularity of his works, and re-
marked that I believed he had ten readers in America
where he had one in England.

" Why, sir, the popuhirity of my works has surprised
me. For some reason or other, I believe they are some-
what extensively read ; nor is it the least gratifying cir-
cumstance to me, that they have been so favorably received
in your country. I am trying to enjoy my fame while it
lasts, f(n' I believe I am not so vain as to suppose that my
books will be read by any but the men of my own times."

I remarked that he might consider himself alone in that
opinion, and, it would probably be no easy matter to make
the world coincide with him. He answered with a smile,

CHARLES DICKENS.

187

" I shall probably not make any very serious efforts to

do it !"

As regards his personal appearance at that time, he

savs :

"I think Dickens incoinjiarably the finest-look iii!^ man
I ever saw. TJie j)ortrait of* him in the Pliiladelphia
edition of his works is a <]jood one ;* but no picture can
do justice to his ex])ression wlien he is en^'a<^'cd in an in-
teresting conversation. There is something about his eyes
at such times which cannot be copied. In person he is
])eiliaps a little above the standard licight ; but his bear-
ing is noble, and lie appears talk'r than he really is. His
figure is very graceful, neither too slight nor too stout.
The face is handsome. His complexion is delicate — rather
})a]e generally ; but when his feelings are kindled, his
coinitenance is overspread with a rich glow. I presume
he is somewhat vain of his hair, and he can be pardoned
for it too. It reminded me of words in Sidney's Arcadia:
* His fair auburn hair, which he wore in great length, gave
h^m at that time a most deliglitful show.' His forehead,
a phrenologist would say (es[)ecially if he knew his char-
acter beforehand), indicates a clear and beautiful intellect,
in which the organs of 'perception, mirthfulness, ideality,
and comparison, predominate. I should think his nose
had once been almost determined to be Roman, but hesi-
tiited just long enough to settle into the classic Grecian
outline.

" But the charm of his person is in his full, soft, beaming
eyes, which catch an expression from every passing object;
and you can always see wit half sleeping in ambush around
them, when it is not shooting its wonted fires. Dickers
has almost made us feel that

'* Wit is the pupil of the soul's clear eye,
And in nitan's world, the only shining star."

" The jiortrait which illustrates thi.s volume, wtus entp-aved uii steel, in London, Eng-
land, from a photograph, for which Mr. Dickens sat a short time prior to his death, and
V'hich was s])ecially commended by him as a very faithful and accurate likeness. The
one referred to iu the text was eugpraved when the author was about 28 years cf age.

188

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

And yet I tlilnk his conversation, exce|)t in ])ei*fect ahin-
don anion*^ liis friends, presents but few striking exhibi-
tions of wit. Still there is a rieli vein of liumor and good
feeling in all he says.

"I ]iassed two houi's at his house, and when I left was
more impressed than ever with the goodness of his lienrt.
I should mention that during my visit I handed him (\imp-
bell's letter: it })ro(]uced not the slightest ehange -in his
manner. T expressed, on leaving, the ho])e that little
Nelly (in whose fate I confessed I felt a deeper interest
than in that of most real characters) might, after all her
wanderings, find a quiet and happy home. * The same
hope,' he re})lied, ' has been exjn'esscd to me by others ;
and T hardly know what to do. But if you ever hear of
her death in a future number of the Clod', you shall say
that she died as she lived.' "

Early in the year 1 84-0, Mr. Dickens vacated his resi-
dence in Doughty street, and took the house numbeied
one in Devonshire place, and many letters written by him

at that time are still in existence, dated with his custum-

ary explicitness, " Number 1, Devonshire TeiTace, York
Gate, Regent's Park, London." He was extremly me-
thodical in all his habits, and paid great attention to little
things — a notable illustration of the aphorism that Genius
is oidy the perfection of Common Sense. "A place for
everything, and everything in its place," was the maxim of
ills life. His habitual exactness in dating all his corres-
pondence is but the result of his methodical ideas, and the
careful business-like habits which he preserved through
Ufe. •

CHARLES DICKEXS.

189

CHAPTER VI.

"MASTER Humphrey's clock." — pickwick revived. —
"old curiosity shop." — little nell. — dick swivel-
ler. — Jeffrey's opinion. — " barnaby rudue." — no

POPERY riots. — "(iRIP," THE RAVEN. — PURLIC DINNER
TO DICKENS — VISITS THE UNITED STATES. — OVATION IN
BOSTON. — BANQUET — JOSIAH QUINCY. — SPEECH OF DICK-
ENS. — NEW YORK. — WASHINGTON IRVING AND DICKENS. —
OPINION OF PHILADELPHIA. — IN WASHINGTON. — RECEP-
TIONS. — JOURNEY WESTWARD. — MINT JULEP. — ON THE
CANAL BOAT. — RETURN TO LONDON.— GOSSIP.

** The author's soul of more hath need

Than meets him in this common life of ours :

Fair shapes and symbols must his fancy feed,
And give suggestion to his waking powers ;

And that he may from things external win

The deeper sight that is to genius kin,

The beautiful must all around him lie,

And train to finer senses ear and eye ." — Landor.

*R. DICKENS' next great undertaking was tho
puLlication of a serial in weekly parts, to bo
sold at three -pence each, to be called Master
Humphrey's Clock. The intention of the
author, as explained by himself in the preface to the re-
vised edition, was as follows :

"In April, 1840, I issued the first number of a new
weekly publication, price three-pence, called Master
Humphrey s Clocl\ It was intended to coM:^.ist, for
the most part, of detached papers, but was to include
one continuous story, to be resumed from time to
time, witii such indefinite intervals between each yieriod
of resumption as might best accord with the exigencies

190

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

and capabilities of the proposed Miscellany." The original
preluce, dated Septeiiil»er, liS-tO, says :

"When the author eonimencod this work, he proposed
to hinisulf three ohjeets :

"FlliST. To estaldish a periodical, which shoidd « nahlo
him to present, \indL'r nne j^eiieral iiead, and not as sep-
arate and distinct puhlications, certain fictions whicli he
had it in contemplation to wiite.

"SkcoNDLY To ])roduce these tales in weekly num-
hers ; hopinp; that to shorten the intervals of conniiunica-
tion between himself and his readers, would he to knit
more closely the pleasant relations they had held for Forty
Months.

"Tjiikdlv. In the execution of this weekly task, to
have as nnu*h re^^^ard as its exigencies woul<l pennit, to
each story as a whole, and to the ])ossihility of its publi-
cation at some distant day, apart from the UMchinery in
"whi<'h it had its origin.

" The characters of Master Hum])hrey and his three
friends, and the little fancy of the Clock, were the result
of these considerations. When he sought to interest his
rejiders in those who talked, and read, and listened, he
revived Mr. Pickwick and his luunble friends ; not with
any intention of reopening an exhausted and abandoned
mine, but to connect them in the thoughts of those whose
favorites they had been, with the tranquil enjoyment of
Master Humphrey.

" It was never the author's intention to make the Mem-
bers of Muster llti rnpltreys Clock, active agents in the
stories they are supposed to relate. Having brought
himself in the commencement of his undertakinor to feel
an interest in these quiet creatures, and to imagine them
in their old chamber of meeting, eager listeners to all he
had to tell, the author hoped — as authors will — to suc-
ceed in awakening some of his own emotions in the
bosoms of his readers. Imagining Master Humphrey in
his chimney-corner, resuming, night after night, the nar-
rative, — say, of the Old Curiosity Shop — picturing to him-

CHARLES DICKEXS.

191

self the various sensations of his hearers — thinkinf]^ how
Jack ll(Mll)urn nii^'ht incline to poor Kit, and perhaps h'an
too tavorahly even to\var<ls th(» lii^'hti'r vices (»(' Mr. Uicliard
Swivcllcr — how tht; deaf ^^^cntlciiian would have his favor-
ite, niul Mr. Miles his — ;ind how all these <:,'t*ntle spirits
wonl<l trace some faint reflection of their past lives in the
viirviTi*' current of tlie tale — lie lins insensihly fallen into
the helief that they an; present to Ids read(M's as they are
to him, and has forgotten that like one whose vision is
disordered he may he c(»inurin«.j up hri«dit li<'iires where
thei'c is nothing hut empty space.

''The sliort ]>apers winch are to he found at the he;:]fin-
nini,' of this volume were indispensahle to the form of puh-
lication and tht; limited ext«'nt of each numher, as no
story of lengthened interest could ])e hegun until Tlie
Clock was wound up and fairly goini^."

As we have seen, the machinery of tlie new story was
to be a sort of a cluh, as in the rick trick r(ij)crM, with
this difierence, that in the latter the niend)ers of tlie club
were the personal actors in the adventures which form the
subject of the records of the club; while in the present
tale the genial gatliCring, consisting of old Master Humj)h-
rey, and his three friends, merely assemble once a week
in their qu int old room in Master Hum})hrey's house, in
a suburb of London, for the pur[)()se of enjoying them-
selves during the long winter evenings, by listening to
tales of wondrous adventures in the lives of the members,
or of incidents which they had gathered in their experi-
ence with the world : the aliility to tell an enjoyable story
being a sine qua non, an indis])ensable — essential to Mas-
ter Humphrey's friendshij). There were six chairs pro-
vided, but only four of them were filled. The club met
in full hearing of the constant tick of the venerable
" Clock," wliicli gives the name to the story. It occupied

192

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

ti, I

[,i
[1

a prominent place on the stairway, where it had .stood for
nigh sixty years. Files of musty papers, the records of
the vhih, filled its parent oaken case. It was known to all
the nL'iirh});»rlu)od ; and the h.irhcr went so far as to dc;-
clare that he " woidd sooner hclieve it than the sun." It
was contidently as.sertc«l that there were legends connect-
ed with that old timepiece, which, could it have spoken
them, wouM have startled the neighborhood.

" We are men of seclu<led hahits," Master Humphrey
says, "with something of a cloud U])on our earthly for-
tunes, whose enthusiasm nevertheless has not cooled
with age, whose s})irit of romance is not yet (pienched,
who are content to ramble through the world in a pleas-
ant dream, rather than ever waken again to its harsh re-
alties. We are alchemists who would extract the essence
of perpetual youth from dust and ashes, tem[)t coy Truth
in many light and airy forms from the bottom of her well,
and discover one crumb of comfort or one gi'ain of good
in the commonest and least regarded matter that passes
through our crucible. S^^irits of past times, creatures of
imagination, and people of to-day, are alike the objects of
our seeking, and, unlike the objects of search with most
philosophers, we can ensure their coming at our command."

An attempt is made in this story to revive Mr. Pick-
wick and the Wellers, but it is scarcely more than the
ghost of our old friends. Master Humplirey and
his associates are on the look-out to till up the two
vacant chairs, when they find incumbents for them
to their minds. Mr. Pickwick a])pears as a candidate,
with a witch story for (jualilication, and is unani-
mously accepted by the club. Very likely it was

CIIAllLES DICKENS.

193

frratifyinfj to the public to have their old acquaintances
ro-iiitroduccd to thoin, and it proUahly added to the suc-
cess of the Work ; heyond this, it cannot he said that the
r('suscitati(»n of 7^^7»v'7V/.' was happy. It generally pnjvea
as (litHcult to restore the dead of tietion as of actual exist-
It is not to he wondered at that even Mr. Dickens

once.

failed to reanimate ins dead. Shakespeare failed to do it.
It could he d(^ne if the writer could return backward
along the years, and replace hunself where ho was before;
nut otherwise.

The Clock opens with several detached stories as told
Ity various members cf the club; among wddch are, TAe
Giant Ckruiiicli's, The Murderous Coufet^sioii, d'C; each
tale generally occupying one of the weekly issues. This
l)lun, however, soon failed to give satisfaction. The
machinery was too cumbersome, and the public demanded,
moreover, something of a more extended and complete
nature than these disjointed fragments afforded. They
very quickly showed their im})atience for another whole
work. They exi)erienced a dissatisfaction, almost as dis-
tinct, though not as intense, as that of the Highland chief-
tain in Gleti/iulds, whose companion had gone out from
the solitary hut in bad company, and, instead of coming
back wdiole, was Hung down the chimney, one bleeding
limb at a time. In compliance with this popular desire,
Mr. Dickens allowed the club to drop quietly out of sight
by putting into the mouth of the chairman of the club a
mure pretentious story, entitled, Tkd Old Curiosity Shop,
being the personal adventures of Master Humphiey ^ and
with this the Clock continues.
13

^1 Vu'l

194

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

It "^

I !

In relation to this subject, Mr. Dickens tells us : " Tlie
first chapter of this tale appeared in the fourth num-
ber of Mader ' HmnpUrcys Clock, when I had already
been made uneasy by the desultory character of that
work, and wlicn, I believe, my readers had thoroughly
participated in the feeling. The commencement of a
story was a great satisfaction to me, and I had rea-
sons to believe that my readers participated in this
feeling too. Hence, being pledged to some interruptions
and some pursuit of the original design, I cheerfully
set abouo disentangling myself from those impediments
as fast as I could; and — that done — from that time
until its completion, Tlte Old Curiosity Shop Avas writ-
ten and published froPi week to week, in weekly joarts.
When the story was finished, in order that it might be
freed from the incumbrance of associations and interrup-
tions with which it had no kind of concern, I caused tlie
few sheets of Master Humphrey s Clock, which had been
printed in connection with it, to be cancelled ; and, like
the unfinished tale of the windy night and the notary in
the Sentimental Journey, they became the property of
the trunkmaker and the butterman. I was especially un-
willing, I confcos, to enrich those respectable trades with
the opening paper of the abandoned design, in which
Master Ilumj^hrey descvihed himself aiid his manner of
life. Though I noAv afiect to make the (confession philoso-
phically, as referring to a by -gone emotion, I am conscious
that my pen winces a little even while I write these
words. But it was done, and wisely done, and Madcr
Uamphreys Clocks as originally constructed, became one

i. I

CHARLES DICKENS.

195

of the lost books of the earth — which, we all know, are
far more precious than any that can be read for love or
money."

The Old Ciiviosiiy Shop is remarkable for the tendernes(4
and pathos it exhibits. In no other of our author's works
does he breathe tho same feeling and heart-touching sym-
pathy as here. Humor for once gives way to absorbing
pathos. Here we have examples of devoted attachment,
and exhibitions of true affection, which might be adopted
as models. In the intercourse of social life, it is by little
acts of watchful kindness, recurring daily and hourl}% antl
opportunities of doing kindnesses, if sought for, that are
forever starting up — it is by words, by tones, by gestures,
by looks — that affection is won and preserved. He who
neglects these trifles, yet boasts that whenever a great
sacrifice is called for he shall be ready to make it, will
be loved. The likelihood is, that he will not make it ; and,
if ho does, it will be much rather for his own sake than
for his neighbor's.

Little Nell is the sweetest, and most lovely and loving
of all the children of our author's creative imanfination.
More perfect than the Mignon of Goethe. She is a pic-
ture of youth and beauty, and i)erfeLb innocence, and
truth. The type of a clasi-' of which we hope there may
be many in this troubled world of ours, but seem to find
but few. Dying in her youth, too good for earth, and yet
too good to spare. Her devotion to her aged relative savor-
ed of heavenly constancy. Her eyes mirrored a soul as
unsullied as newly-fallen snow, and her heart was as con-
fitant as the northern star —

190

LIFE AND WRITINGS ot

" Of whose true-fixed 'and vesting quality,
There is no fellow in the firmament."

Her sufferings and her self-sacrifice have drawn forth
many a tear for they are true to life. Of this tale, Mr.
Dickens feelingly says :

" The many friends it won me, and the many hearts it
turned to me when they were full of private sorrow, invest
it with an interest in my mind which is not a public one,
and the rightful place of which appears to be * a more re-
moved ground.' I will merely observe therefore, that in
writing the book, I had it always in my fancy to sur-
round the lonely figure of the child with grotesque and
wild but not impossible companions, and to gather about
her innocent face and pure intentions, associates as strange
and uncongenial as the grim objects that are about her
bed when her history is firat foreshadowed. I have a
mournful pride in one recollection associated with Little
Nell. While she was yet upon her wanderings, not then
concluded, there appeared in a literary journal, an essay of
which she was the principal theme, so earnestly, so elo-
quently, and tenderly appreciative and of all her shadowy
kith and kin, that it would have been insensibility in mc,
if I could have read it without an unusual glow of plea-
sure and encouragement. Long afterwards, and when I
had come to know him well, and to see him stout of heart
going slowly down into his grave, I knew the author of
that essay to be Thomas Hood."

The following lettrr, written by Mr. Dickens when
in the United States, has also a bearing on this sub-
ject :

I tiidB

iglummmmtmtmm.

CHARLES DICKENS.

197

*' Carleton House, New York,

''February 12, 1842.

" My Dear Sir, — Let me say in answer to your letter,
that the wanderings, history and death of Little Nell
arc quite imaginary and wholly fictitious. That many of
the feelings which grow out of this little story, and are
suggested by it, are familiar to mo, I need scarcely say.
The grave has closed over very deep affection, and strong
love of mine. So far, and no fjirther there is truth in it.
I do not usually answer questions having this reference
so freely. But 3^ours is an honest letter, I believe. There-
fore I give you an honest answer.

" Your friend,

'•Charles Dickens.
"Mr. J. Stanley Smith,

"Albany, NY."

The character drawing in this tale is not so varied as
in some of the others, but still exhibits marked traits.
The Garlands are excellent people ; and Kit, Nubles and
his mother and Barbara are examples of homely goodness.
Dick Swiveller is the ^im Weller of this story. True at
the core, he is jaunty and careless in outside appearance.
In his needy condition he finds the streets gradually be-
coming shut up to him one after another as the stores
multiply at which he has procured credit, and he must
needs go round about to avoid any unpleasantness ; not
a rare thing in London we imagine. After he recovers
from the fever which the little Marchioness brings him
out of so carefully, and he finds that he has become heir
to one hundred and fifty guineas a year, then his true

198

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

nature breaks through the surface and he cries, "Please
God, we'll make a scholar of the Marchioness yet ! and
she shall walk in silk attire, and siller have to spare, or
may I never rise from this bed again?" And he fulfils
the boast, for Mr. Swiveller kei)t the Marchioness at
this establishment until she was, at a moderate guess, full
nineteen years of age — good-looking, clever, and good-
humored ; when he began to consider 'seriously what was
to bo done next. On one of his periodical visits, while
he was revolving this question in his mind, the March-
ioness came down to him, alone, looking more smiling
:and more fresh than ever. Then it occurred to him, but
not for the first time, that if she would marry him, how
comfortable they might be ! So Richard asked her ;
whatever she said, it wasn't no ; and they were married
in good earnest that day week, which gave Mr. Swiveller
frequent occasion to remark at divers subsequent periods
that there had been a young lady saving up for him after
all.

Sampson Brass, the lawyer, his sister Sally, and the
Dwarf, Quilp, are the odious characters in the stoiy. The
narrative takes us to several of the English public shows
and races, and touches off, "Punch and Judy" exhibi-
tions ;. and Mrs. Jarley is there also to introduce us to
her famous wax work collection, which rivals that of
Artennis Ward.

Lord Jeffrey, erst so formidable, as editor of the Ed-
inburgh Review, and a great reader and admirer of Dick-
ens, wrote to him some years after The Old Curiosity Shop
"^as published, saying: '' How funny that hesoiii of yours

CHARLES DICKENS.

199

for midniglit rambling on city streets, and liow curious

that Macaulay should have the same taste or fancy

I wish I had time to discuss the grounds and extent of
my preference of your soft and tender characters to his
humorous and grotesque ; hut I can only say now, that I
am as far as i)0ssible from undervaluing the merit, and
even the charm of the latter ; onl}" it is a lower and moro
imitable style. I have always thought Quilj) and Swi\'el-
ler great marvels of art ; and yet I should have admired
tlie last far less, had it not been for his redeeming grati-
tude to the Marchioness, and that inimitable convalescent
repast, with his hand locked in hers, and her tecrs of
delight. If you will only own that you are prouder of
that scene than of any of his antecedent fantastic;ds, I
sliall be satisfied with the conformity of our judgments."
In a subsequent letter he wrote : "I do not consider Quilp
or Dick Svviveller as at all out of nature."

So great was our author's reputation at this period that
tlie proprietors of tlie Clock commenced its publication with
an issue of forty thousand copies, to which they were
speedily compelled to add a further edition of twenty
thousand. This was a gratifying testimonial to Mr. Dick-
ens. It liberally rewarded his labors and showed hfm
the great popular esteem in which he was held.

Innnediately on the conclusion of Tlte Old Curiof^ity
Shop, Mr. Dickens commenced Barnahy Riulge, which
was given as a continuation of the Clock series, and in the
same form. This story is, however, of a very different
character from the previous one, and is, perhaps, the most
liistorical of all his tales. It is a true story in many of

200

LIFE AND WHITINOS OF

its details, but these, of course, are interwoven with the
fiction of the novelist to suit his purpose. It is undoubt-
edly the most studied and highly wrought of all his works.
It deals with the "No-Popery Riots" of 1780, a dark
period in London's history. It shows the absurdity of
attempting to inculcate lessons of moral reform, and to
disseminate religious truth by bigotry and intolerance.
What is required to civilize mankind, to elevate them, to
enlighten what is dark in them, and to eradicate every
trace of superstition and slavery from their minds, is wide
spread education, teaching the masses of the population,
and increasing intelligence. Persecution never did it, and
never will. Flaunting sectarian banners in the faces of
opponents never spread religious truth, nor eradicated
error. It is the resort of the bigoted, the narrow-minded
and the tyi*annical. The school-house is a better prosely-
tizer than the bludgeon. Mr. Dickens would show " tliat
what we f.dsely call a religious cry is easily raised by
men who have no religion, and who in their daily practice
set at naught the commonest principles of right and
wrong ; that it is begotten of intolerance and persecution;
that it is senseless, besotted, inveterate, and unmerciful;
all History teaches us. But perhaps we do not know it
in our hearts too well, to profit by even so humble and
familiar an example as the ' No-Popery' riots of seventeen
hundred and eighty."

The story was also directed against capital punishment,
the excess of which was notorious in those days. We
ha,ve in it a graphic description of London for weeks in
the hands of a mob, overpowering all law and order, and

CHARLES DICKENS.

201

rioting in robbery and murder. Fanaticism, raising a
devil it could not lay, urged on an ignorant and bigoted
po])ulace to anarchy and destruction.

The tale, as we have said, is powerfully written. Tho
author's wonderful ability for describing and contrasting
characters is here fully exhibited. INIr. Chester is the in-
carnation of selfishness. Simon Tappertit of emptiness
and vanity. We cannot help admiring the pluck of Var-
den, defying the .mob and unwaveringly firm in the dis-
charge of his duty. Miss Miggs, too, is rpiite a character
in her way ; and we follow the fortunes of poor Bamaby
and his indispensal)le raven, Grip, with intense interest.
Without his bird, Barnaby would have been like a ship
without a rudder, helpless and forlorn. Grip was evidently
of more than passing interest to Mr. Dickens, for in his
last preface he recurs to him in these words :

" The raven in thi.^ story is a compound of two great
originals, of whom I have been, at diticrent times, the
proud possessor. The first was in the bloom of his youth,
when he was discovered in a modest retirement in London,
by a friend of mine, and given to me. He had from tho
first, as Sir Hugh Evans says of Anne Page, * good gifts/
which he improved by study and attention in a most
exemplary manner. He slept in a stable — generally on
horseback — and so terrified a Newfoundland dog by his
})reternatural saga(;ity, that he has been known, by the
more su[)eriority of his genius, to walk ofi* unmolested
Avith the dock's dinner, from before his face He was
rapidly rising in ac({uirumcnts and virtues, when, in an
evil hour, his stable was newly painted. He observed
the workmen closely, saw that they were careful of tho
paint, and immediately burned to possess it. Oa their
going to dinner, he ate up all they had left behind, con-
sisting of a pound or two of white lead ; and this youth-
ful indiscretion terminated in death.

202

LIFi:: AND WRITINGS OP

is l!

"While I was yet inconsolable for his loss, another friend
of mine in Yorkshire cliscoveied an oldor and more gifted
raven at a villa<:je ])uhlie Ikjusc, which he j)rev'ailed upon
the landlord to part with for a considei'ation, and sent up
to me. The first act of this Sage, was, to administer to
the effects of his predecessor, by disinterring all the cheese
and halfpen(;e he had buried in tlie garch'U — a work of
immense labor and research, to which lie devoted all the
energies of his mind. When he had achieved this task,
he a])plied himself t(j the ac(piisition of stable language,
in which he soon became such an adept, that he W(juld
perch outside my window, and drive imaginary horses
with gi'eat skill, all day ; perhaps even I never saw him
at his best, for his former master sc^nt his duty with him,
'and if I wished the bird to come out very strong, would
I be so good as show him a drunken man' — which I never
did, having (unfortunately) none but sober people at hand.
Bu^ I could hardly have respected him more, whatever
the stimulating influences of his si<rht might have been.
He had not the least respect, I am sorry to say, for me in
return, or for anybody but the cook ; to whom he was
attached — but only, T fear, as a i)olicem;in might have
been. Once I met him unex})cctedly, about half-a-mile
off, walking down the middle of the public streejt-, attend-
ed by a pretty large crowd, and spontaneously exhibiting
the whole of his accomidishments. His gravity, luider
those trying circumstances, I never can forget, nor the
extraordinary gallantry with which, refusing to be brought
home, he defended himself behind a pump, until over-
powered by numbers. It may have been that he was too
bright a genius to live long, or it may have been that he
took some pernicious substance into his bill, and thence
into his maw — which is not improbable, seeing that he
new-pointed the greater part of the garden-waJl by dig-
ging out the mortar, broke countless squares of glass by
scraping away the putty all round the frames, and tore u})
and swallowed, in splinters, the greater part of a wooden
staircase of six steps and a landing — but after some three
years he too was taken ill, and died before the kitchen

CHARLES DICKENS.

203

fire. Ho kept his eye to the last upon the meat as it
roasted, and suddenly turned over on his l)ack with a
sej)ul('liral cry of ' Cuckoo !'

" After tills mournful deprivation, T was, for a lon^^
time, ravcnless. The kinchiess of anotlier friend at length
provided me with another raven ; but he is not a genius.
JTe leads thi' lif(^ of a hermit, in my little orchard, on tjie
sunmiit of Shakkspkahk's (Jads Hill ; he has no relish
f(ir society ; he gives no c/idence of ever cultivating his
mind ; and he has ]>icked up nothing hut meat since I
have known him — excei)t the faculty of barking like a
.log."

Barnahn Riuh/e was completed in 1S41, and was dedi-
cated to Samuel Rogers, tho author of 21ie .Pleasirres of

MCTIIOI'IJ.

A public compliment was tendered to Mr. Dic^kens in
tlie sunnner of this year, the beginning of a long series of
honors, as a tribute to his genius and a testimonial of the
esteem in which he was held. It took the form of a
public dinner, which came off on the 2.')th June, with
Christopher North as chairman. Mr. r''^''ens was de-
scijbed by one who was present on that occasion as "alittle,
slender, pale-faced, boyish-looking individual, and perhaps
the very last man in the room whom a stranger to his
portrait would have picked on as being the author of
Fkhwich :" and the same writer remarks, " I really was
quite in pain for him ; I felt as if the tremendous cheering
which accompanied his entrance would overwhelm him."

Professor Wilson, the chairman, pronounced a generous
eulogium on the ability of their talented guest, in the course
of which he remarked, "He is also a satirist. He satirizes
human life ; but he does not satirize it to degrade it. He
does not wish to pull down what is high, into the neighbor-

204

LIFE AND WRITINGS OP

hood of what is low. He does not seek to represent all
virtue as a hollow thing in which no confidence can be
pl'icod. He satirizes only the selfish and the hard-hearted
and the cruel ; he exposes, in a hedious light, the principle
which, when acted upon, gives a power to men in the
lowest grades to cany on a more terrific tyranny than
if placed upon thrones."

After the toast had l)cen duly honored, Mr. Dickens
rose to return thanks. Then there was silence deep as in
the tomb — not a breath stirred, or a muscle moved in that
crowded room — every eye was riveted on that wonderful
man — every ear painfully on the alert to catch the first
tones of the voice of that mighty magician ; and soft were
those tones, and calm that voice, as though he were dic-
tating to an amanuensis the next number of IIumphrei/*st
Clock. He is as happy in pul)lic speaking as in writing —
nothing studied, nothing artistical ; his were no written
speeches, conned and got by heart, but every sentence
seemed to be suggested on the impulse of the moment.
Before concluding his address he made a few observations
respecting the untimely death of his little heroine (Nelly).
He said : " When I first conceived the idea of conducting
that simple story to its termination, I determined rigidly
to adhere to it, and never to forsake the end I had in view.
I thought what a good thing it would be if, in my little
work of pleasant amusement, I could substitute a garland
of fresh flowers for the sculptured horrors which disgrace
the tomb. If I have put in mv book anything which can
fill the young mind with better thoughts of death, or
soften the grief of older hearts ; if I have written one

CHARLES DICKENS.

205

word which can afford pleasure or consolation to old or
young, in time of trial, I shall conssider it as something
achieved, which I shall be glad to look back upon in after
life." He made a very long speech, and from the com-
mencement to the end never hesitated a moment, or mis-
placed a word. In the coiu'se of the evening ho had to
propose several toasts, and, of course, preface them with
appropriate remarks, all of which were in the same happy
manner, and received with an enthusiasm approaching to
idolatry. One of his toasts was the health of " Christo-
pher North, the old man of the lion-heart and sceptre-
crutch." It is singular enough that, during Wilson's long
connection with Blackivootis Mar/aziae, he scarcely ever
mentioned the name of Dickens. It is probable that the
strong Tory bias of that magazine controlled his utterances
and prevented him from giving vent to his own private
feelings.

It was remarked at the great Dickens' dinner, the first
of many similar entertainments, that the two best speak-
ers were the chairman and the guest. The latter, then
in his thirtieth year, was known by his intimate friends
to possess remarkable readiness and ability as a speaker,
but this was the first occasion of his publicly exhibiting
these gifts. He possessed to an eminent degree that
faculty of " thinking on one's legs," which, with presence
of mind, and the intuitive talent fur putting the best words
in the proper places, constitutes good oratory if not true
eloquence. Mr. Thackeray, on the other hand, was a poor
speaker, who prepared a great deal beforehand, took pains
to commit it to memory, delivered it with a certain fear,

ioo

LIFE AXD WRITINGS OF

probably forgetting half of vvli.it ho had to say when the
time for speaking came, and would confusedly blunder
and stammer to his own mortification and that of his
friends. Mr. Dickens, for one year before he died, had
the reputation of being the best after-dinner speaker in
England.

Great as was our author's reputation in the land of his
nativity, he was still more j)opular in the New World.
The number of his readers on tliis continent, as coJiiparcd
witli those in Great Britain, has been estimated as high
as five to one. 80 large a number of readers of course
implied a correspondingly large number of buyers of his
productions, and it scemijd but natural that an author
should desire to gather up some share of the rich harvest
which this market aflbrded. In the United States it was
impossible to render the payment of any tribute to an
author compulsory, in consequence of the lack of any in-
ternational copyright law between the United States and
Great Britain. With a view to making enrpiiries on this
subject, and of using whatever intlaence he could bring
to bear, to obtain the passage of a co[)yright law in the
United States, ^[r. Dickens deternuned to visit this conti-
nent; and with that view sailed from Liverpool by steamer,
on the 3rd of January, 1842, and arrived at Boston on
the 22nd of the same month.

The reception of Mr. Dickens at Boston amounted to an
ovation. The enthusiasm pervaded the entire people, and
must have been astonishing proof to the great author,
how widely he was known and read in America, and how
much he was admired. Public and private generosity vied

chahles dickens.

207

M'itli ench other to do liini honor. The desire to see the
veritable ** Hoz " was inniicn.se. The Boston Tvcoiscript
in one of its ishucs in January, annonneed liini as follows :

"We are ror{neste<l to state that Charles Dickens, Esq.,
"will V)e at the Treinont Theatre this evenin;]^. The desiro
to see this popular author will, no douht, attract a large au-
dience. W(; liad an hour's conversation with him last
evening, and found him one of the most frank, sociable,
iiohlc-licartcd gentleman we ever n\ct with, perfectly free
from all haughtiness or apparent self-importance. His
lady, too, is most beautiful and accomj)lished, and appears
worthy to be the ])artncr and companion of her distin-
guished husband. In fact, he is just such a person as we
had su[)posed him to be, judging from his writings, which
have ac(|uired a [)()pularity almost unprecedented in this
country."

The consequence, was, that the theatre was filled to re-
})letion, and the a[)pearancc of Dickens was the signal for
the most hearty ai)plause.

On the 1st of February, a banrpiet was arranged by
some of the leading literary men in the Union, to pub-
licly receive the nation's guest. Josiah Quin.y, jr., pre-
sided. Many and able were the speeches on that occasion,
and cordial was the welcome. Mr. Dickens, in acknow-
ledging the toast in his honor, made a happy etibrt, and
amongst other things, remarked :

" There is one other point connected with the labors (if
I may call them so) that you hold in such generous esteem,
to which I cannot help adverting. I cannot help express-
ing the delight, the more than happiness, it was to me to

if] I

-J .lit

. r

208

LIFE AND WRITINGS Oi^

find so strong an interest awakened on this side of the
water in favor of that little heroine of mine to whom
your President has made allusion, who died in her youth.
I had letters about that child, in England, from the dwel-
lers in log-huts, among the morasses and swamps and den-
sest forests and deep solitudes of the Far West. Many
a sturdy hand, hard with the axe and spade, and browned
by the summer's sun, has taken up tlic pen and written
to mo a little history of domestic joy or sorrow, always
coupled, I am ])roud to say, with something of interest in
that little tale, or some comfort or happiness derived from
it ; and the writer has always addressed me, not as a
writer of books for sale, resident some four or five thou-
sand miles away, but as a friend to whom he might freely
impart the joys and sorrows of his own fireside. Many
a mother — I could reckon them by do/^ns, not by units
— has done the like ; and has told me how she lost such a
child at such a time, and where she lay buried, and how
good she was, and how, in this or that respect, she resem-
bled Nell. I do assure you that no circumstance of my
life has given me one-hundredth part of the gr-ttification
I have derived from this source. I was wavering at the time
whether or not to wind up my Clock and come and see
this country ; and this decided me. I felt as if it were a
positive duty, as if I were bound to pack up my clothes
and come and see my friends ; and even now I have such
an odd sensation in connection with these things that, you
have no chance of spoiling me. I feel as tliough we were
agreeing —as indeed we are, if we subsitute for fictitious
characters the classes from which they are di'awn — about

CHARLES DICKENS.

209

third i)arties, in whom avc had a common interest. At
every new act of kindness on your part, I say it to my-
self: Tliat's for Oliver — I sliouhl not wonder if tl.at was
meant for Smiive — I have no doubt that it Avas intended
for Nell ; and so became a much hap})ier, certainly, hut a
more sober and retiring man than ever I was before."

Shortly after tliis ban(j[uet, Mr. DicKcns left for New
York. Here, too, he was most cordially welcomed, and
abundantly feted. Dickens' balls, and Dickens' dinners,
all the rage. Here, too, ^Ir. Dickens first met Washing-
ton Irving, the great author, with whose writings he was
familiar, and whom he had adopted in some respects as
his model. Some months before this, Irving had written
to Mr. Dickens, expressing the delight he took in Little
Kell, and his appreciation of Dickens as a writer. To this
letter, Mr. Dickens replied in a characteristic vein : —
" There is no man in the world could have given me
the heartfelt i)leasure you have, by your kind note of the
13th of last month, [184:^.] There is no living writer,
and there are very few among the dead, whose approba-
tion I shoidd feel so proud to earn. And with everything
you have written upon my shelves, and in my thoughts,
and in my heart of hearts, I may honestly and truly say
so. If you could know how earnestly I write this, you
would be glad to read it — as I hope you will Ije, faintly
guessing at the warmth of the hand I autobiogra}>hically

hold out to you over the broad Atlantic I

have been so accustomed to associate y(ju with my plea-
santest and happiest thoughts, and with my leisure hours,
that I rush at once into full confidence with }'ou, and fall^
U

2iO

LIFE AND WHITINGS Ot

as it v/crc naturally, and by the very laws of gravity, in-
to your open arms. ... I cannot thank you enough
for your cordial and generous praise, or tell you what deep
and histing gratification it has given nie." After some
allusion to Irving's works, he continues, " I should love
to go with you, as I have gone, God knows how often —
into Little Britain, and Eastchea]), and Green Arbor Court,
and Westminster Abby. I should like to travel with
you, astride the last of the coaches, down to Bracebridge
Hall. It would make my heart glad to compare notes
with you about that shabby gentleman in the oilcloth
hat and red nose, v.ho sat in the nine-cornered back-par-
lor of the Mason's Arms; and al)out Robert iVeston, and
the tidlow-chandler's widow, whose sitting-room is second
nature to me ; and about all those delightful places and
people that I used to walk about and dream of in the da^'-
time, when a very small and not over-particularly-taken-
care-of-boy. . . . Diedrich Knickerbocker I have worn
to death in my i)Ocket, and yet I should show you his mu-
tilated carcass witli a joy past all expression." The clos-
-ing sentence is characteristic. "Do you suppose the post
ofHce clerks care to receive letters ? A postman, I im-
agine, is (piite callous. Conceiv^e his delivering one to him-
self, without being startled by a preliminary double
knock."

Mr. Dickens sjient a few weeks at Sunnyside, the well-
known residence of Irving, and during his short stay in
the United States, they were much in each others com-
pany. Professor C. C. Fulton, in his remarks on the death
of Mr. L'ving, before the Historical Society of Massachu-

■ . ^i«|*^>WH^ < i M MWiii Lt Wi pi'

CHARLES DICKEN9.

211

setts, gave us some interesting recollections of this winter
in New York. Among other things, he sjiid : " I passed
much of the time with Mr. Irving and Mr. Dickens ; and
it was delightful to witness the cordial intercourse of the
yuung man, in the flush and ghjry of his fervent genius,
find his elder compeer, then in the assured possession of
immortal renown. Dickens said in his frank, hearty man-
ner, that from his childhood he had known the works of
Irving; and that before he thought of coming to this
country, he had received a letter from liim, ex})ressing the
delight he felt in reading the story of Little Nell."

But the crowning event of this period was the great
dinner given to Mr. Dickens by his many admirers at the
City Hotel. Irving was present, and made the speech of
welcome. One marked difference between the two great
authors was here made manifest. Irving was no after-
dinner speaker. Professor Felton says of him, " Great
and varied as was the genius of Mr. Irving, there was one
tiling he shrank with a comical terror from attempting,
and that was a dinner speech." Mr. Dickens, on the
other hand, specially excelled in this feature. Irving
had prepared an address but forgot or abandoned it, and
with a graceful allusion to the tournament, and to troops
of knights better armed than he and eager for the fray,
he gave the leading toast, " Charles Dickens, the guest of
the evening." Mr. Dickens' re[)ly M'as in the happiest
strain and full of eloquence.

Irving had been appointed Minister to Spain and official
business called him to Washington. Mr. Dickens accom-
panied him. On the way they halted for a time at Phil-

t '!*

i •;

I) I

212

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

adelpliia. The Londoner, accustomed to the devious lanes
of his own city, was surprised at the rcguhirity of the
streets of the Qual^er city. He afterwards wrote of it :
" It is a handsome city but distractingly regular. After
walking about for an hour or two, I felt that I would
have given the world for a crooked street. The collar of
my coat appeared to sti tfen and the rim of my hat to ex-
pand, beneath its Quakerly influence. My hair shrunk
into a sleek, short crop, my hands folded themselves upon
my breast of their own calm accord, and thoughts of taking
lodgings in Mark Lane, over against the Marketplace, and
of making a large fortune by s[)ecidations in corn, came
over me involuntarily." He praised the w^ater works,
the hospital, the quiet, (juaint old library, named after
Franklin, what he saw of our society, and paid particular
attention to the Eastern Penitentiary and its system of
solitary confinement, which, in comi)any with iiifiny other
humane persons, he strongly condemned.

From Philadelphia they journeyed by steamljoat to
Washington. Here they attended the President's recep-
tions, chatted with Webster, Clay and Calhoun, visited
the capital, listened to the debates in Congress, and wei'C
lionized generally. Kegarding the greeting accorded to
Irving at Washington, Mr. Dickens says in the Xoies : " I
sincerely believe that in all the madness of American
politics, few i)ublic men would have been so earnestly,
devotedly and affectionately caressed as this most charm-
ing writer ; and I have seldom respected a public assem-
bly more than I did this eager throng when I saw them
turning with one mind from noisy orators and officers of

CHARLES DICKENS.

213

state, and flocking with a generous and honest impulse,
round the man of quiet pursuits ; proud in his promotion
as reflecting back upon their country, and grateful to him
with tlieir whole hearts for the store of graceful fancies
he has poured out among them."

In Washington, also, Mr. Dickens was the recipient of
the honor of a han(|uet. Among the guests were such
men as John Quincy Adams, CVleb Gushing, (General Van
Ness, and a host of celebrities. Wit, humor and eloquence
enlivened the hours until midnight. One who was pre-
sent says: " Mr. Dickens, by his modesty, his social powers
and his eloquence, has added to the high esteem in which
he is held by everybody. I believe every person present
was delighted." In reply to the toast in his honor, ho
said : — " That if this were a public dinner, he supposed ho
would be expected to make a speech ; as it was but a
social party, surely no such effort would be expected of
him ; and when he looked aljout the table, and saw gen-
tlemen whose positions in public life rendered it unavoid-
able that they should either speak themselves or listen to
the speeches of others every day, his refraining npon this
occasion must be for more acceptable, and surely possess
more novelty than any remarks he might make — and he
must be allowed to presume that here, in the enjoyment
of a social hour, they will be ha})i)y to give their ears some
rest, and he should, therefore, consider himself relieved
from making a speech. He would, however, say, that
like the Prince in the Arabian Tales, he had been doomed,
since he arrived in this hospitable country, to make new
friendships every night, and cut their heads off on the

214

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

following morning. But the recollection of this night —
wherever he might go — should accompany him, and like
the briglit smiles of his better angel, he treasured in his
mind as long as memory remains,"

Mr. Gushing responded to the toast, " Our country and
our Guest. Both in the first vigor of their youth, and
both made great by the might of mind," and proposed,
"The Health of Ur. Pickwick." Finally, Mr. Dickens
rose and said, " I have to propose to you one more senti-
ment; it must be my last; it consists of two words —
' Good night !' Since I have been seated at this table I
have received the welcome intelligence that the news from
the dear ones has come at last — that the long expected
letters have arrived. Among them are certain scrawls
from little beings across the ocean, of great interest to me,
and I thought of them for many days past, in connection
with drowned men and a noble ship, broken up and lying
in fragments upon the bottom of the ocean.* But they
are here, and you will ai)preciate the anxiety I feel to
read them. Permit me, in allusion to some remarks made
by a gentleman near me, to say, that every effort of my
pen has been intended to elevate the masses of society ;
to give them the station they deserve among mankind.
With that intention I commenced writing, and I assure
you, as long as I write at all, that shall be the principal
motive of my efforts. Gentlemen, since I arrived on your
hos})itable shore, and in my flight over your land, you
have given me everytliing I can ask but time — that you
cannot give me, and you are aware that I must devote

* The Caledonia was driven back to England by tempestuous weather, and fears were
entertftiued that she was lost,

C'TTARLKS DICKENS.

215

some of it to myself; tlierefure, with the assnvanec that
tliis has been the most pleasant evening I liave passed in
tlio United States, I must l)id you farewell, and once more
repeat the words, Good Night 1"

After a sliort trip to Riehmond Mr. Dickons visited
]]{dtimore. From here lie wrote to Irving, rc( [nesting him
to join him there, and adding, " What pleasure T have had
in seeing and talking with you I will not attempt to say.
I shall never forget it as long as I live. What ii'oahl I
give if we could have l)ut a quiet week together. Spain
is a lazy jdace, and its climate an indolent one. But if
you ever have leizure under its sunny skies to think of a
man who loves you, and holds communion with your
spirit oftener, perhaps, than any other person alive — leizure
from listlessness I mean — and will write to me in London,
you will give me an inex{)ressible amount of y)leasure.'*
Irving met him in Baltimore as requested, and tliere bade
him farewell, preparatory to his journey to Spain. The
parting between the two authors was very afiecting, and
would doubtless have been still more so, could either of
them have read the future and spoken to the otlier tho
sad words,

"It is tlie cliime, tlie hours draw near,
The time when you ami I must sever ;

Alas ! it must bo many a year,
And it may be for ever,"

It was destined so to be, foi* it was their last meeting on
earth. Twenty-six years after Mr. Dickens wTote, "Your
reference to my dear friend W^ashington Irving, renew^s
the vivid impressions re-awaksned in my mind at Balti-
more but the other day. I saw his fine face for the last

21G

LIFE AND ^VRTTINfJS OF

time in that city. IFc c;nno tliere from New York to p^iss
a day or two with mo before I went wevstwp.rd ; and tliey
"were made among tlie most memorable of my life by bis
deli<^litfid fancy and •^•enial liumor. Some unknown ad-
mirer of his Itooks and mint; sent to the liotel a most
enormous mint-jule}), Avreatlied witli ilowers. We sat, one
on either side of it, witli great solemnity (it tilled a re-
spectable-sized round table), but tlic solenniity was of
very short duration. It was (juiti; an enchanted jule[),
and carried us among innumerable i)eople and places that
we both knew. The julep held out far into the night,
and my memory never saw him afterwards otherwise than
as bonding over it with his straw with an attempted air
of gravity (after some anecdote involving some wonder-
fully droll and delicate observaticni of character), and then,
as his eye caught mine, melting* into that captivating
laugh of his, which was the brightest and best I ever
heard."

Possibly this was the identical sort of julep which
Milton describes the sons of Bacchus as

" Offering to every weary traveler,
His orient licnior in a crystal ^'lass,
To (ineneli the (Irouirlitof Pbielms.

And first Leliold this cordial julep here,
That llanies and dances in his crystal lionnds,
With spirits of balm and fra;:^rant syrups Uiixed ;
Kot that Ne))'jnthes, which the Avife of Thone,
In Egypt gave to Jove-born Helena,
Is of such power to stir up joy as this,
To life so friendly, or so cool to thirst."

Mr. Dickens was not accustomicd to mixed drinks in
Jiis own country, and the julep seems to have had a won-

hj O^ i'' ^*^ '^' *-^ . ^.^ g

CnARLES DirTvEXS.

217

(Icifiil iTifluonce over liim, for lio -Nvntos to tlie proprietor
of Guy's Hotel, Baltimore :

"BaPvNUm's Hotel,

"i>3r(l Mnreh, 1842.

"^Tv Dear Stk : — T am truly oljli^ed to you for tlic l>eau-
tiful and (lelieious luint-juh^p you have so kindly sent me.
It's quite a mercy that I knew what it was. I have tasted
it, hut .'iwait further proceedings until the arrival of Wash-
ington Irving, whom I expect to dine with me, fcte-a-tete;
and who will help me to drink your health. With many
thanks to you,

'' Dear sir,
*' Faithfully yours,

" Cfiakles Dickens."

After le;iving Baltimore, ^Ir. Dickens journeyed to Har-
rishurg hy stage coach. Westward of that city to Pitts-
hurgh, the mode of conveyance at that time was hy canal
hoat, and these conveniences come in for their share of
notice in the America n Xotcs of our author. Chief
Justice Lewis, who ha])pened to be a passenger upon the
same boat which bore ^Ir. Dickens and his lady, says of
them :

"T found, in the cabin of the boat, my old friend,
Samuel R. Wood, a Quaker gentleman of Philadelphia, in
com])any with a lady and gentleman. To these latter,
my friend Wood honored me by an introduction. They
were Mr. and Mrs. Charles Dickens, who had come on
hoard the packet boat, with the same object which brought
me there — to avoid the crowd and the intended display of

IT' 'I

21 S

tjft: Axn wrtttnos op

attention. I need not say that T was much gratified witli
my now ac([uaintan(;es.

"One circumstance made a deep impression upon my
mind. It liappencd dui'ing our intercourse on board tlie
Canal Packet IJoat. I was much i)l('ascd witli tlie social
and genial disposition of Mr. Dickens, and was imja'cssed
with the great difference which ap])eared to exist, at that
early time, in their lives, between the husband and wife.
She was good looking, plain and courteous in her manners,
but rather taciturn, leaving the Iturthen of the conver-
sation to fall upon her gifted husband. In ihe course of
conversation, I told him that I bad a little daughter at
home who would l)e delighted if I could present her witli
his autogra])h, written expressly for her. He consented
to give it. Our mutual friend, the good Quaker Warden
of tbe Eastern Penitentiary, Samuel R. Wood, inunedi-
ately bustled about, and prepared a sheet of foolscap, with
pen and ink. Mr. Dickens took u]) the pen, and com-
mencing very close to the fop of the sheet, wrote :

' Yours faithfully, Charles Dickens.'

Mr. Wood remarked, ' Thee begins very close to the top
of the sheet.' ' Yes,' said Mr. D., 'if I left a large blank
over my name somebody might write a note or a bond
over it.' ' Does thee suppose that a Judge of the Court
would do such a thing ?' said Mr. Wood. Mr D. replied,
* I did not intimate any thing of that kind. The paper
might soon pass out of the Judge's possession, and be
made use of by others. But I do not suppose that Judges
of Courts in America are any better men than the Judges
in England.'"

acaau

CnAHLES DTCKENS.

219

Tills aiito^'apli was obtained by the jikIlco for bis
(laughter Juliet, afterwards wife of Jaines H Cami)bell,
fornierly Amcriean Minister to Sweden.

Leavin<jj Pitts! )nr<^di, Mr. Dlekens sailed down tbe Ohio
to Ciiieimiati, and llicnceto Louisville. Turn in;;,' eastward
lie visited Niagara, sailcil down the St. l^awrenee to Mon-
treal and Quebec, and retui-ne*! to New Yoik l»y way of
Lake Cham[jlain. From New York be sailed on the 7th
June for homo. During bis stay in ( 'ineinnati a young
lady made some notes relating to him in a gossiping .sort
of style, with whieb we will close tliis cha[)ter.

" I went last evening to a party at Judge Walker's, given
to the hero of the day, Mr. Charles Dickens, and, with

ethers, bad tbe honor of an introduction to him. M

had gone to a concert, and we awaited her return, which
made us late. Mr. Dickens bad left the crowded rooms,
nn<l was in the hall, with bis wife, about taking bis de-
parture when we entered tbe door. AVe were introduced
to them in our wrapping. Hastening down stairs after
arranging our toilets, we found him with Mrs. Dickens, seat-
ed upon a sofa, surrounded by a group of ladies. Judge
Walker having requested him to delay bis departure for a
few moments, for tbe gratification of some tardy friends
who liad just arrived, ourselves among the nund)er. In
compliance with this request, be seated himself in the
hall. Ho is young and handsome, has a mellow, Ijcaiitiful
eye, fine brow, and abundant hair. His mouth is large,
and his smile so bright it seemed to shed light and happi-
ness all about him. His manner is ea.sy — negligent — •
but not elegant. His dress was foppish ; in fact he was

if' •

220

LTFK AND WRTTINaS OF

over-dressed, yet his garments were worn so easily tlioy
appeared to be a necessary part of liini. He had a dark
coat, with ligliter pantaloons ; a black waistcoat, embroid-
ered with colored flowers ; and about his no(!k, covering
his shirt-front, was a black neckcloth, alsocnibroidcrc<l iu
colors, in which wore })laced two lari^^j diamond pins con-
nected by a chain ; a gold watch-chain, and a large rod
rose in his button-hole, completed his toilet. Mrs. Dick-
ens is a large woman, having a great deal of color, and is
rather coarse ; but she has a good face and looks amiable.
She seenied to think that Mr. Dickens was the attraction,
and was perfectly satisfied to play second, happy in the
knowledge that she was his wife. She wore a pink silk
dress, trimmed with a white blond flounce, and a pink
cord and tassel wound about her head. She spoke but
little, yet smiled jdeasantly at all that was said. He ap-
peared a little weary, but answered the remarks made to
him — for he originated none — in an nrrrceable manner.
Mr. Beard's i)ortrait of Fagin was so placed in the room
that we could see it from where we stood surrounding,'
him. One of the ladies jisked him if it was his idea of
the Jew. He replied, ' Very nearly.' Another, laugh-
ingly, requested that he would give her the rose he wore,
as a memento. He shook his head and said: ' That will
not do ; he could not give it to one ; the others would he
jealous.' A half dozen then insisted on having it, where-
upon he proposed to divide the leaves among them. In
taking the rose from his coat, either by design or acci-
dent, the leaves loosened and fell upon the floor, and amid
considerable laughter, the ladies stooped and gathered

CHARLES DICKENS.

221

them. He remained some twenty or thirty minutes in
tlie li.'ill, and thru took his leave. I nnist confi^ss to con-
si(ltMiil>lo (lisappointnioiit in the personal of my idol. T
lit that his throne was shaken, altliough it never could
he destroyed." *

222

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

CHAPTER VII.

The "American Notes." — Opinions on Slavery.—
Copyright. — Hawthorne. — " Martin Chuzzlewit."
— Pecksniff. — Sarah Gamp. — "Christmas Carol."—
"Cricket on the Hearth."—" The Chimes."~Criti-
cisMS. — Exhaustion. — Visit to Italy. — Genoa.—
Palace of the Fish-Ponds.

" And for these words, these artless tales of mine,
It may l>e that tliey are a harmless wile, —
The coloring of the scenes which fleet along,
AVhich I would seize in passing to beguile
My Ijreast, or tliat of others, for a while.
Fame is the thirst of youth, — but I am not
So young as to regard men's frown or smile,
As loss or guertlon of a glorious lot ;
I stood and stand alone, — remembered or forgot."

— Childe Hakold.

jHORTLY after his retip:n to England, our au-
thor wrote and puLlishedtwo volumes oi\imci'i-
ccui Kotes, purporting to be a record of Ij"'^
experiences and opinions during his late toui*.
The work was not equal to his previous productions, and the
sale of it was extremely small, limited at the time to three
or four thousand co})ies. In fact, no great circulation being
anticipated foi* it, it was not published in the usual serial
form. It was written witii more rai)idity than judgmen j,
and shows the author to have been far less versed in
American habits, and American character, than long ex-
perience had rendered him in those of his native land.
The work, as critics asserted, told nothing new or origi-
nal about the United States. It seized upon certain as-

mj m fm*' " ■-***

CHAULES DICKENS.

223

-DE HaKOLD.

sumed and trite traits, supposed to })e characteristic of
tlie Americans, and which for generations had been im-
puted to them, and taken for g-rantcd as correct, by super-
cilious Europeans, and gave to these one more 'ehasli ;
rather than deveh)ped by careful study any new and actual
national features, or exliibited any keen insight into the
social or business habits of that enterprising people. It
was pali)able that the book might have been written in
the author's library, in Devonshire Terrace, without sub-
jecting him to the inconveniences of an ocean voyage, as
the material coukl have been found ready at hand. That
there should be rough traveling in the wilds of a new
country before the era of railroads is certainly not strange,
and the anther might have found it paralleled in his own
country, had he looked over the pages of Macaulay's liis-
tory. And poor accommodation for travelers is surely
not characteristic of a people who have a world-vide repu-
tation for " knowing how to keep a hotel," and who, as
Mr. Dickens, a little later learned, could accommodate him
at a " Fifth Avenue," a " Grand," or a " St. Nicholas."
Intemperance is hardly a national failing in a country
Avhere whole States, peopled mostly by natives, can pass
total abstinence laws ; statutes which could not be carried
in a siuii'le small town in the author's native land. But
it is useless to criticize this woi*k further, since the author,
after a subsequent visit, made a very full and candid cm'-
rection of many of his former aspersions, as having been
hasty and inconsiderate. So far as this writ'^r, or any
other, attacks the failings and bad laws of a country,
whether his own or another, and does it in the spirit of

m I

224

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

reproof, and with a view to correction, we have much to
thank him for ; it is a powerful agency lie brings to bear
against wrong-doing and besetting sins. But we require
of the writer in such cases, whether novelist or historian,
a "round uuv^amished tale," with —

" Nothing extenuate,
Nor aught set down in malice."

His outsjioken language on the subject of slavery and
its enormities, must meet the ai)provai of every lover of
freedom ; though on this topic also, he must have written
hearsay or accepted notions, since he never proceeded fur-
ther south than Richmond, and stopped there for only a
day or two. Scores of English writers have dealt with
the subject of American slavery with various degrees of
bitterness ; yet it is a surprising fact that when tlie ter-
rible hour came for the abolition of the blot on the na-
tion's honor, the English Goverinnent and the bulk of the
English people were found ranged on the side of slavery^
and the slaveholder. It was durino- a fieice stru^ofle ou
this question of slavey, extended over many years, that
Mr. Dickens' visit to tiie United States took place. John
Quincy Adams was then battling with the hosts of sbue-
drivers in the Senate, in favor of the abolishionist's rigiit
of petition. Even then the tide was setting iii with gig-
antic force and fury, which broke over unhai)py Kansas
in her territorial days, and which dashed itself to pieces
and succumbed in the " Great Rebellion." It is not sur-
prising then, that this question made a marked impression
on the mind of Mi\ Dickens, thrown as he was into the

•'•W"*'*"*T^

CHARLES DICKENS.

225

society of Adams, Clay, Callioun, Wclxstcr, Benton, and
tlie otlier great actors in the drama.

One great >bject of Mr. Dickens in making liLs visit to
America, was, as we have ah'eady stated, to procure, if
possible, the passage of an international copyright law in
the United States. In this work he signally failed ; and
his mind may have been somewhat emldttered to see that
millions of readers were availing themselves of his fictions,
far more than in his native land, and that his onlv re-
muneration was such as publishers voluntarily bestowed.
When we consider, however, the insignificant sums which
writers of the first merit, Milton, Goldsmith, and others,
have obtained as an equivalent for their productions, we
cannot but consider that the £30,000 or so, which Mr.
Dickens picked up in the United States alone, as gifts
from publishers, entirely voluntary on their part, and from
the proceeds of his readings, was a very satisfactory re-
turn. In the absence of any copyright law, and with the
well-known rivalry of publishei's, Mr. Dickens could
hardly have denied that he had been renmnerated far
beyond anything he could have reasonably expected.
As a matter of princi})le, he was estopped from complain-
ing of the free use of his works by publishers, for he had
himself been guilty of a like otienue, if any it was, in in-
corporating the whole of Mr. Neal's amusing and spirited
Chai'co'd Sh'tche.s in his Flc-Xtc I\(j>erft, not only with-
out any leave asked, or [)ecuniary acknowledgment to the
author, but even of any reference to its authorship, except
niuicly a statement that the said sketches, by an American
writer, had been indu hjd in the collection. So diliicult
15

22G

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

* ii

is it, even with the best intentions, to be alvv<ays consis-
tent.

On tbe wliole, liowevcr, tlie Xot.es were friendly to tlie
Americans; colored distinctly tliroughout,notwitli enmity,
but with liking and good-nature; and the book was in most
respects modest, reticent, and well-mannered. "Prejudiced,
I am not," said Mr. Dickens, "otherwise than in favor of tlie
United States." The author had fallen into the habit of
looking at the grotesque and comical side of human affairs,
of searching out the buiiesque, like the wit who endeavors
to make a pun out of whatever is said or done. This
habit inclined him habitually to overdraw and exag-
gerate the subjects he touched upon, and we must make a
proper discount on all his delineations whenever we wish
to reduce them to an absolute standard of value. English
critics said of the present work, that he had taken advice
from Mr. Weller, to Pickwick to " have a passage ready
taken. for 'Merriker ; and then-let him come back and write a
book about the 'Merrikins, as '11 [)ay all his expenses and
more, if he blows 'em up enough." Some of his facetious
passages are very passable, but when he makes an evi-
dent attempt to become didactical and philosophical, he
shows at once that he is not in liis forte. There is assur-
edly nothing in the Sketches, to compare with the terrible
exposures in the author's other works, of English crimi-
nals, workhouses, cheap schools, and prisons. Indeed, it
must have been a powerful hand that could have rivalled
his gloomy and dreadful pictures of the shortcomings of
his own nation, a hundred and a thousand fold more un-
sparing, more sarcastic, more stinging, than his utterances

CHARLES DICKENS.

227

rays cousis-

alioiit America. At a later period, the thoughtful and
finoly-toned minds of Emerson and Hawtliorue — not to
si)ccify any ctliers — have ] dared on record a sufficient
quantity of delicate and deliberately accurate animadver-
sion ui)on English traits and English society, to consti-
tute a suftieient answer to or retaliation for the indict-
ment of Mr. Dickens, if such were needed. But those
jjhilosophical and clean-hearted students of humanity
were as free fi'om intention to make out a case as Mr.
Dickens himself A passage in the dedication or preilice
to Mr. Hawthorne's work, Oar Old Home, furnishes a
])arallel to the case of Mr. Dickens that is worth tran-
scribing. Having set down his deliberate opinions al)Out
\\\(i English, he w^as, it appears, found fr.ult with very
much as Dickens was, fur he says :

" To return to these poor sketches ; some of my friends
have told me that they evince an asperity of sentiment
towards the English people tliat T ought not to fjel, and
which it is highly inexpedient to express. The clu'irge
surprises me, Ijecause, if it ])e true, I have written f]-om a
shallower mood tlian I supposed. I seMom come into [per-
sonal relations with an En-dislniKin without be;:inninf>- to
like him, and feeling my fivorable impression A\;ixstrjn(»'-
er will) the [U'ogress of the acrpiaintance. I never stood
in an English crowd without being conscious of heredi-
taiy S3'm])athies. Nevertheless, it is undeniable tluit an
American is contiimally thrown upon his national anta'^-
ouism by some acrid quality in the moral atmosphere
of England. These people think so loftily of themselves,
and so contemptuously of everybody else, that it requires

i '

■:i' i ■•

228

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

more generosity than T possess to keep always in perfect-
ly good humor with them It is very possible

that I may have said tilings which a profound observer
of national character would hesitate to sanction, thou<^h
never any, I verily believe, that had not more or less of
truth. If tliey be true, there is no reason in the world
why they should not be said. Not an Englishman of
them all ever spared America for courtesy's sake or kind-
ness.

It is impossible not to transcribe further a single sen-
tence of the truthful judgments thus reasserted, for tlie
sake of comparison. In speaking of the ante-revolutioii-
ary conduct of England towards the colonies, Mr. Haw-
thorne thus summed up the English : '' It has requirt'il
nothing less than the boorishness, the stolidity, the self-
sufficiency, the contemptuous jealousy, the half-sagacity
invariably blind of one eye and often distorted of the
other, that characterize this strange people, to compel us
to be a great nation in our own right."

In the concluding remarks of the Xotes, Mr. Dickens
gives the following as his judgment upon the real charac-
ter of the Americans : " 'J'hey are by nature frank, brave,

cordial, hospitable, and affectionate These

qualities are natural, I implicitly believe, to the whole
people." ^

The unfavorable conclusions are in the natiu*e of quali-
fications of this summary. Really, the " Britisher" is at
least as lenient as the American, if these two sweeping
generalizations may be taken as specimens ; and in fact,
unless the politics of 1842 be taken into the account, it

CHARLES DICKENS.

229

«ike or kind-

is out of the question to imderstaiid wliy the American
Xofffi were so angrily received.

This work of our autlior neither diniinisliL'd nor added
to Ids fame. It lailed to give any complete satisfaction
anywhere. For while tlie Americans claimed that it was
exnggeratcd and unjust, English critics found fault with
it for furnishing little information. There was no statis-
tical matter, no arithmetic, no political econtmiy. This,
pci'liaps, was a good deal like blaming a Horist for not
furnishing his customers with a good article of shaving
soap.

^Ir. Dickens' next gi'eat undertaking was entitled, The
Life and Adventures oj Martin C%uzzlevjlt. This was
begun in a serial form in 1843, and completed in the fol-
lowing year. It was dedicated to Miss Burdett Coutts.
Like his previous efforts it had an object in view, which
was to expose selfishness in the manifold forms, and to ex-
liihit its vices. The author says in the preface : — "I set
out, on this journey which is now concluded, with the de-
sign of exhibiting, in various aspects, the commonest of
all the vices. It is almost needless to add, that the com-
moner the folly or the crime which an author endeavors
to illustrate, the greater is the risk he runs of being charg-
ed with exaggeration ; for, as no man ever yet recognized
an imitation of himself, no man will admit the correctness
of a sketch in which his own character is delineated, how-
ever faithfully."

The hero of the work, young Chuzzlewit, is undoubt-
edly a masterly and well sustained character throughout,
having many good qualities, and strong in friendship, but

230

LIFE AND WHITINGS OP

afflicted witli siicli an overweei)in£r selfisliiioss, that liis
sacriliccs are the result of a constant study of Ids own
comfort, and not of a desire for the happiness of otlu is.
Mark Tapley, liis coni[)anion, on the otiier hind, is as near
as possihle Ids moral anti[)0(le. lie is a model of cheuv-
fuhiess under ndsfortune and disai)pointment. lie is a
Icsscm of fortitude to the Christian ])ili;'rim. Tie would
teich you always to rej^^ard your i)resent condition as a
state of pilgrini;',.'j;e ; never to view it as anj^thing more.
This will regulate your desires, and moderate your wislies
for earthly things. This will keep 3'ou from heing too
much elated when you meet with prosperous scenes. Not
that you wdll disparage the bounties of Providence — you
will even he t!i:iidvful for them, as conveniences by tho
way — but you will consider them onJij as accommodations,
and not mist;dve them for the advantaires and Horics of
home. You will not, tlu^refore, sit down, but still press
forward. This will enable you to endure, with fortitutlc
and resignation, the hardships you may encounter. You
will say, " As the traveller, I expect such things ; they are
only the inconveniences of a journey ; it will soon he
over," — and, " I reckon the sufferings and the inconven-
iences of this jn-esent are not worthy to be compared wdth
the glory which will be revealed in us."

It is in this story that the well-known Pecksniff is de-
veloped, the incarnation of falsity, conceit and selfishness.
Opposite to him in character as could well be arc Tom and
Ruth Pinch, two diamonds. Jonas Chuzzlewit is the
chief villain in this tale. He believes he has poisoned his
father, which he has not done, and commits an actual

^hEassaSwiriailiii

CHARLES DICKENS.

231

miirdor to cover up the tracks of a supposed one. The
wlidlo description of tliis fatal deeil to its dark endin<^ in
Ills detection and suicide, is [)o\VL'rfnlly wrought and unsur-
])assed in fiction. Rogues, as a rule, are paradoxical fel-
lows. They often plan cunuMigly, and execute their plans
dexterously ; hut whatever in;^-enuity they may jtossess
seems to abandon them when their ohjects are accom-
plished. In reading the accounts of frauds and robberies,
])ublished in the ncwspapei's, we are sometimes astonished
at the keen appieciation of the weaknesses of human
nature displayed by the perpetrators; but by and by
comes the story of their arrest, and we are still more sur-
prised at the lack of strategy, and even of common sense,
they liave betrayed in attem[)ting to esca])e the pursuit of
justice. They walk into the traps set for them by the
police with a confiding simplicity that could only be ex-
pected of the most unsophisticated innocence, and in a
majority of instances with the proofs of their guilt, or
some clue to it, on their })ersons. There is a remarkable
sameness in the history of forgers, and swindlers, and
thieves. Few of them make any wise preparation in
advance for evading the hue and cry which they know
must follow the discovery of their misdeeds. It is well
that it is so ; for were their plans of escape as skilfully
concocted as their schemes of dei)redation, the detective
service would be less fre(piently complimented ])y the
press on its sagacity, and the examples which the law
makes of rascality would be few and far between.

Sairey Gamp, Betsy Prig, and that myth, Mrs. Harris,
arc old acquaintances of all our author's readers, and Mrs.

232

LIFK AND WIUTINTJS OB'

T()(l<'L'i''s bojinliiK^-lioMsc is not fomottcii. To in;»iiy iiuiids,
Mrs. (iamp is SI c "ation as oujnyahlu as any one of Mi-.
Dickons' creations. Slie achieved a tremendous success,
and her va;^0'iries caused i)eals of lau-htcr wherever t]io
language was spoken.

In the preface to a subsequent edition, tlie autlior says:
— "In all the tales C()ni])rised in this clieap series, and in nil
my writings, I hope I have taken every possible o])por-
tunity of showing the want of sanitary improvements in
the neglected dwellings of the pooi*. Mrs. Sarah Oani]) is
a representation of the hired atten(h\nt on the [)oor in sick-
ness. The liospitals of London are, in many ivspects^
noble institutions ; in others, veiy defective. I thiidc it
not tlic least aniono* the instances of their niismanaiiv-
luent, that Mrs. Betsy Prig is a fair specimen of a Hos])i-
tal Nurse; and that the hospitals, with their means and
funds, shouhl have left it to private humanity and enter-
prise, in the year Eighteen Hundred and Forty-nine, to
enter on an attempt to improve that class of persons."

And in relation to the earlier portion of the book : —
" The American portion of this book is in no other a cari-
cature than as it is an exhibition, for the most part, oi the
ludicrous side of the American character — of that side
which is, from its very nature, the most obtrusive, and tlie
most likely to be seen by such travelers as Young Martin
and Mark Tapley. As I have never, in writing fiction^
had any disposition to soften what is ridiculous or wrong
at home, I hope (and believe) that the good-humored peo-
ple of the United States are not generally disposed to
quarrel with me for cairying the same usage abroad."

CHARLES DICKENS.

233

<l<Ml.S Sllfccs.s

Kiforc! tlio complr'tlou of M"i'tni Chuzzlnrlt^ Mr.
Dickens jtultlisluMl in I)('('»'in1»(r. IMJ}, w sliort jiicco of* a
(lillriTnt lint lire, l)L'in«^ a Imlidny ntK rin_L,^ ciititli*!, A
Cli ris(mii>i Curol, in prose — licinn' •» <4'liost story of
Clii'istnia.s. ^J'lie (^oro/ is n 1)t'autifiil little L;(nn, and was
inunenselv successful. It is a sliort tale of tlu^ afiections,
simple and trutliful, and simple as one of Wordsworth's
pf*ems. Thei"e is a fivslmess and sim[)li(Mty a1»out it wliich
is mentally vefl•esllinl^^ and a i^'onuino goodness sluning
out in eveiy line. Tlio Craeliitt Family would cnnoblo
any story, and Tiny Tim is almost a counterpart of Little
Nell in tenderness and truth.

The story was issued in a lOmo. volume, at five shil-
lini,^s for the (luistmas oi' 1.S4.3, and v\'as followed by a
similar story for the holidnys of each of the four succeed-
ing years. These were enttled respectively. The Chimes:
a Goblin Story of some Bells tliMt rang an Old Year out
;md a New Year in ; 1 hr Cricket 0)1 tlie Hearth : a Fairy
Tale of Home; TJte Ihittle of Life : a Love Story ; and
The Ilaunteel M((n mul the Ghost^s Ihi/nju'nL. These tales
were intended to be approjtriate to the occasion which be-
got them. Their object was to foster a s})irit of good-will
and cheerfulness, and thankfulness becoming the Christ-
mas anniversary, and to make that season one of greater
happiness and rejoicing than a too utilitarian age suffers
it to become. And the motive was a good one. We do
not make enough of our holidays, especially for the young.
It is one of the hap|)iest and most grateful recollections of
after life to look back on ^he holidays of our youth. Hopes
destroyed may loom up mournfully through the mists of

:'i!i

II I

234

LIFE AND WTlTTINflS OP

the pnsfc ; multitudos of diNid pleasures niny He strewn on
the rearward track ; but tlu' lestivals uf our boyhood and
our youth sliine out clieerily in the distance ; and the
white stones wherewitli wi; niarke<l them are as free IVoiii
mildew as if some " OM Moi tality" had kept tlieni sj)ot-
Jess. Better stiH, W(; !u;ro\vn-np jKiople can renew our
]ioli(hiy-joys by partieijtatiu^^ in those of tlie rising' and
rompin;^ ^'enei-ation. Old boys, vvitli tlie requisite amount
of hihirity in ilieir composition, ar(! (h'li_i;]ited to shal^e
hands witli their nu>iry juniors at Christmas. On tliat
occasion the genial veteran asks nothing better tlian to be
comrade to tlic young recruit. Jiy a species of jovial
family metem})syc]iosis, Grandfather Whitehead renews
Ids youth in the persons of his grandsons and grand-
daughters. It is said to be more blessed to give than to
receive; Jind it may well be doubted whether the Ijovisli
rapture with which we emptlL-d the tradition;d stocking
in the days of "auld lang s}ne" is not fairly balanced by
the pleasure we take in tilling it for the urchins who ai"C
to fill our places wdien they shall " know us no more."

The supernatural ran through the whole of these tales —
a very difficult agency to deal with. Only the first and
third of these can be said to luive had any very marked
success. TliQ Cricket o)i the Hearth has been repeatedly
dramatized, and the others furnish fine material for the
play-wright.

In relation to the object of these stories, Mr. Dickens
says : — "The narrow space within which it was necessary
to confine these Christmas stories wdien they were origin-
ally pubKshed, rendered their construction a matter of

CtlATlI.ES DICKENS.

23.1

sonio (liniculty, nnd almost necessitated what is pofiillar
ill tlu ir macliiiuay. I never attoniptecl peat elal)()ratioii
of (It'tail in tlie workini;* out of ehai*aeters witliin such
limits, bellev in;^ tliat it would not succeed. My purpose
was, ill a wldmsical kind of mas(|ue wliich tlio <,^(^od-hum()r
(if th(^ season jusiilled, to awaken some lovini^ and foster-
iic thou^lit, never out of season in a (christian land."

A review in the 7'/'/yv'.s', jifter passin;^- a liii;h eulogiuni
on tlie Ciifof, connuents rather severely on the C/timeH.
( onsiderinLT tlie liijht nature of stories and tlieir ol)iect, as
set I'orth hy tlie author, wu cannot hut consider that the
commentary of the Ti lues is unwarrantal)ly severe and
misplaced. It says: — it may ])e a painful task to ]>ro-
nounce a verdict of condemnation u[)on tlie lal)ors of one
wlu), in his time, lias afforded the pul)lic veiy much amuse-
ment; hut it is also a necessary task to warn the })uhlic
of the fa\;lts and eriors of a teacher universally listened
to — of a writer whom poj)ularity has invested with the
(.njilities of a model and a guide. It is the litt^rary ten-
dency of the present age to write doivnintnh rather than
V innu'ds — to ada})t art to the calihre of the lowest capaci-
ties, rather than to elevate the intellect by accustoming it *
to nervous, healthy exercise, liie class of books which
formed the recreation of the leisure hours of our fathers —
the light reading of their time — is to-day the mind's sole
occupation. Our lightest reading is the S(;lidest ; the
amusement of the mind is its business ; ethics are taught
hy illustration and caricature; knowledge is conveyed in
a joke ; conversation is carried on in slang ; the drama
undertakes to purify the heart and understanding by bur-

23G

LIFE AND WIIITIXGS 01'

Icsque, whilst the modern {i\nc positively refuses ovcry
hero that is not di-awn from the perlieus of the workhouse
or tlic prison. Unrivalled as is the ])Ower possessed hy
Mr. Die-kens of delineating,^ the eliaraccers and imitatinir
the language of the humblest section of humble life, it
cannot be denied by his warmest admirers that the diiec-
tion given to the public taste, ami the unhealthy character
of our current literature, arc mainly owing to a vicious,
though brilliant example, rewarded wdth extreme success,
and sustained by mor1)id appetite." Above all, the repeti-
tion of the fiiiry machinery was objected to, because of
" the lamentable result that attends alb the repetitions of
the writer. That which was at first nasy and to the pur-
pose became monstrous, overchaiged, and oi;t of place."

This smacks of purse-] nide sneering over his Tlmci^ at
any mention of the poor, the suffering and the lowly. A
principal defect in the tale is more fairly hit : — " This
amiable gentleman [Tackluton] fascinated the blind daugh-
ter of his journeyman [Oalel) Plumer] and almost breaks
her heart by courting somebody else. The journeyman is
an extraordinary fellow in his way, and has bi'ought up
his child to think Tackleton a saint, and the den in which
they live a palace. So, Mr. Dickens, are not the ^>lind
misled ! Exquisite are the spared senses, mercifully
strengthened by Providence to make amends for the one
tremendous dejtrivation. The fiiu/ers of the blind read
the Bible ; the ea I's of the blind — the figure is a bold one —
see the friendly visitor long before you or I, even whilst
his foot is lingering at the threshold. Woidd you have
us believe that touch, feeling, hearing, reuiaiued for twenty

CHARLES DTCKENS.

237

veal's torpid and dead in the sensitive creature whom you
have spoiled by your perversion ? Yt'e tell you, and not
without good warrant for the assertion, that no man living,
journeyman or master, has p^wor to stop up the avenues
tlirough which knowledge rushes to the soul of a }/Oor in-
nocent deprived of sight. Bertha, by your own account,
had mixed in the worhl; she talked wisely and even pro-
foinidly on abstruse matters ; she worked with her father;
slie knew every toy in the room, and where to seek it,
and hov/ to make it ; she was in daily intercourse with
those who knew the character of Tackleton, and who
spoke of iiim with freedom. And yet you ask us to bo-
lieve that this young lass, all feeling and })erception, never
knew ' ^}.&.t walls were blotched and bare of plaster here
and there; that iron was rusting, wooil rotting, paper
peeling off; that sorrow and faint-lieartedness were in the
house ; thf;o they had a master cold, exacting and in-
terested.' "

The assaults of critics, whether disguising their dislike
under a cloak of pretended regard for the public improve-
nieni, as in the above extract, or of his more open and
avowed opponents, could never sensibly detract from the
deserved popularity of the writings of ]\[r. Dickens. They
breathe a spirit so Christian-like ; there is such an evident
enjoyment of and admiraiiim for the homely joys, the
purity and truth, and worth tliat make this world endur-
able and enjoyable, manifest in every page; such a fond-
ness for child-like gentleness, simplicity and faith ; and so
nuich hatred for treachery, pretence and deceit ; and all
so well told, as to give the author a firm hold on the minds

238

LIFE AND WRITINaS OF

i'i

and affections of liis readers. Then it must be a crabbed
misantliropy, or an austere morality, tliat cannot find I'c-
laxation and mental pleasure in tlie constant humor,
sprightliness and gaiety which pervades his i)ages. It
should not be a cause of sur[)rise that gaiety and liveli-
ness of spirits are objects of universal encouragement and
commendation ; they are, as we may perceive from daily
experience, absolutely necessary for the maintenance of
good-will among men ; nay, we may assert that the very
existence of society would be questioned, if those incite-
ments to mutual converse weie wanting in the human
heart, to say nothing of their contributing to bodily health.
The mind of every man is by nature inclined to cheerful-
ness, and swayed by a desire to indulge in pursuits which
will gj'atiiy this natural propensity. Even the gloomy
misanthrope will find it an arduous task to restrain this
eagerness of the soul for objects which call f )rth pleasure,
or awaken vivid sensations of delii^^ht. Cold indeed must
be the philosophy of him wdio would subdue the gladden-
ing temperament of his nature, and substitute an austere
severity and a rigid indiiference to the innocent amuse-
ments of the world. It would be absurd to imagine that
melancholy could be consonant Avith the feolirgs of man
as a gregarious creature. Few or none of the tender sensi-
bilities which at present unite him with his fellow-men
could exist, if each individual were inliuenccd by a selfish
thouf}:htfulness, and an utter distaste for what mio-ht excite
animation or sprightliness : each would be a morose Timon,
and the very links of social intercourse would be dis-
severed, But the mysterious sensitiveness which per-

^' V,' 4,

CHARLES DICKENS.

239

I crabhed
t find re-
t humor,
ages. It
id liveli-
neiit and
oin daily
nance of
the very
5e incite-
3 human
y health,
eheerful-
ts which
gdoomy
min this
)lea.sure,
cd must
]^lad den-
austere
amu.se-
ine that
of man
er sensi-
ow-men
1 selMsh
it excite
Timon,
be dis-
ih per-

vades the heart, and the vibration of the ligaments of
which it is composed, manifestly denote that wo were
created for friendly union and social enjoyment. We
need not, then, frustrate or endeavour to stiHe our in-
cHnation to vivacity ; but, by a seasonable moderation,
temper it so that it degenerate not into extravagant mirth,
The last is to be avoided, as the former should be sup-
ported and countenanced. But though liveliness and
cheerfulness are deserving of encouragement, and qualities
much to be desired, it is requisite that the heart be at
times open to serious reflections. It is reciuisite that we
should at times feel sated — tliat we should participate in
the sadness of disapjioiutuient, and be taught by dejiiction
to ponder on the littleness and vanity of the world, the
almost incredible inconsistency of man, and the unaccount-
able varyings of the ccmdition of the human family.

The arduous labors of Mr. Dickens had by this time
begun to tell their tale even upon his more than ordin-
arily vigorous and enduring frame. The gi-eat writer had
become sensibly fiitigued and prostrated. No wonder.
In years of constant labor he had fully established a new
department of romance, erecting a reputation which would
have remained a lastirif^ one Avithout another word or
volume ; and had proved himself, besides his unquestioned
su))remacy as a novelist, a la1)orious aiid able workman in
tln-ee other depai-^-rxients of literary labor — re})orting, edit-
ing, and biography. The exertion thus invested Avas in-
tense as Avell as enjoyable ; for no quality of genius is
more invariable than the intensitv which marks its activ-
ity. No human standard of measurement can estimate

240

LIFE AND WRTTiyOS OF

.i n

[ I

the total of labor represented by the twenty volumes or
thereabouts which tlie young man of twenty-two liad
produced in eight years. The very penmanshij) of so
many pages is no inconsiderable accumulation of labor.
The contrivance of all these stories, the adaptation to thoin
of the charactci-s and groups sup[)lied l)y the mind, tliu
shaping out of plot and dialogue, situation and catastro-
phe — constitute another far higher and immeasurably
greater body of labor ; and behind all these was that vast
mass of seeing, understanding, and remembering, which
may be called the professional training and experience of
the author, and which was really the whole of his past
life, including both the circumstances of his own home
and social position, and the extraordinary series of re-
searches and studies that he was always making into the
actualities of the humanity around him.

The mare quantity of labor involved in all this, leaving
its quality out of the question, and treating it merely as
an enterprise in acquiring and recording knowledge, is
something tremendous. The higher mental operations
are not less exhausting, but more so than the lower ; and
it is not wonderful, but natural, that by this time a va-
cation was necessary even to an organization so robust,
and a temperament so enduring as his own. Complying
with the evident need of his over-taxed system, Mr. Dick-
ens determined to visit Italy with his family, consisting
of his wife and four children, two boys and two girls, and
seek a year's relaxation from his labors in that famous
clime, loved of Childe Harold, where,

CHARLES DICKENS.

241

*' Filled with the face of Heaven, which, from afar,

Comes down upon her waters ; al) its hues,
From the rich sunset to the rising s^-'r,

Their magical variety diffuse : —
Devel()})ing the mountiinis, leaves, and flowers,

And shining in the brawling l)ro()k, wl)erel)y,
Clear as its current, glide tlie sauntering hours

^Vitll a calm languor, which, though to the eye
Idlesse it seem, hath its morality.

If from society we learn to live,
'Tis solitude should teach us how to die ;

It hath no flatterers, vanity can give
No hollow aid ; alone — man with his God must strive.

"The rippling rills chant music ; the green hills

Are clothed with early blossoms, through the grass
The quick-eyed lizard rustles, and the throats

Of summer birds make welcome as ye i)ass ;
Flowers fresh in hue and many in their class

Implore the pausing step, and with their dyes
Dance in the soft breeze in a fairy mass ;

The sweetness of the violet's deep blue eyes
Kissed by the breath of Heaven, seems colored by its skies.

** Italia ! oh, Italia ! thou who hast

The fatal gift of beauty, which became
A funeral dower of present woes and past,

On thy sweet brow is sorrow ploughed by shame,
And annals graved in characters of flame.

Oh God ! that thou wert in thy nakedness
Less lovely or more powerful, and couldst claim

Thy right, and awe the roljbers back who press
To shed thy blood, and drink the tears of thy distress. "

Mr. Dickens departed for Italy by the way of Paris, in
the summer of 1844, and remained there one year, durino*
which time he visited Genoa, where he remained some
months, and then journeyed on to Rome, Venice, Nai)les
Milan and other places usually visited by tourists. Ve-
suvius happened at t}iat time to be in a state of erruption,
so that he was enabled to witness that ftxmous s})ectacle.
He viewed, and was no doubt measurably affected by the
sight of those ruins with wliich Italy is so replete, and
in which so many memories of the past are shrouded.
IG

242

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

He gazed with awe upon those buried cities, Herculanenm
and Pompeii. But his mind was cast in a different mould
from that of B^^ron, whose dreamy and reflecting nature
gloated over the crumbling and half buried relics of a
by-gone civilization, his morbid sentimentality growing
by what it fed on. The sympathies of Dickens on the
other hand were all with the present and the future;
with the progress of mankind ; and with all that is bright
and sunshiny in life. Italy's hills and vales, the flowers
and birds, the beautiful bay of Naples, the sculpture and
statuary, the cottagers and townspeople, the travelers
with all their oddities and peculiarities, these were what
chiefly attracted his notice, these Avere the food for which
his mind was in quest. Living men and women, living
ways and habits, were more in his line than musty folios
or crumbling columns. He published in 184G a sort of
note-book of his experiences, entitled Pictures from
Italy. His description of the " Palace of the Fish-ponds,"
his Genoese residence, is very entertaining, and the "Italian
Dream " very impressive. Of his beautiful home in Italy,
two sketches of which graced his residence at Gads Hill,
he speaks as follows :

" There is not in Italy, they say (and I believe them), a
lovelier residence than the Palazzo Peschiere, or Palace of
the Fish-ponds, whither we removed as soon as our three
months' tenancy of the Pink Jail at Albaro had ceased.
It stands on a height within the walls of Genoa, but
aloof from the town ; surrounded by beautiful gardens of
its own, adorned with statues, vases, fountains, marble
basins, terraces, walks of orange trees and lemon trees,

iMliiiiiii

CHAHLES DICKENS.

243

groves of roses and camelias. All its apartments are
beautiful in their proportions and decorations ; but the
great hall, some fifty feet in height, with three large win-
dows at the end, overlooking the whole town of Genoa,
the harbor and the neighboring sea, affords one of the
most fascinating and delightful prospects in the world.
Any house more cheerful and habitable than the great
rooms are within, it would be difficult to conceive ; and
certainly nothing more delicious than the scene without,
in sunshine or in moonlight, could be imagined. It is
more like an enchanted palace in an Eastern story than a
grave and sober lodging.

" How you may wander on, from room to room, and
never tire of the wild fancies on the walls and ceilings, as
bright in their fresh coloring as if they had l)ecn painted
but yesterday ; or how one fioor, or even the great hall
which opens on eight other rooms, is a s|)acious promen-
ade ; or how there are eight corridors and bed-cham-
bers above which we never use and rarely visit, and
scarcely know the way through ; or how there is a view
of a perfectly different character on each of the four sides
of the building, matters little. But that prospect from
tlie hall is like a vision to me. I go back to it in fancy,
as I have done in calm reality a hunJi'ed times a day ;
and stand there, looking out, with the sweet scents from
the garden rising up about me, in a perfect dream of hap-
piness.

" There lies all Genoa, in beautiful confusion, with its
many churches, monasteries and convents, pointing up into
the sunny sky; and down below me, just where the roofjj

244

LIFE AND WRITINGS OP

M ii

begin, a solitary convent parapet, fashioned like a gallery,
with an iron cross at the end, where sometimes, early in
the morning, I liMve seen a little group of dark -veiled
nims gliding sorrowfully to and fro, and stopping now
and then to peep down upon the waking world in which
they have no pai't. Old Mont Faccio, brightest of hills
in good weather, but sulkiest Avhen storms are coming on,
is here^ upon the left. The fort within the walls (the
fifood KiiL<{ built it to connnand the town, and beat the
houses of the Genoese about their ears, in case they should
be discontented,) connnands tluit liight upon the ri^lit.
The broad sea lies beyond, iu fr(<nt there ; and that lino
of coast, beginning by the light-house, and tapering away,
a mere Sj eck in the rosy distance, is th(i beautiful coast
read that lea<ls to Nice. The o-aidcn near at hand, amonir
the roofs and houses, all red with roses and fresh with
little fountains, is the Aqua Sola — a public promenade,
where the military band plays gaily, and the white veils
cluster thick, and the Genoese nobility ride r(jund, and
round, and round, in state-clothes and coaches at least, if
not in absolute wisdom. Wlchin a stone's-throw, as it
seems, the audience of the Day-Theatre sit; tliei- taces
turned this way. But as the stage is hidden, it is vcjy
odd, without a knowdedge of the cause, to see their faces
change so suddenly from earnestness to laughter ; and
odder still to hear +he rounds upon rounds of a[)plause,
rattlino: in the ev^enino- air, to which the curtain falls.
But, being Sunday night, they act their best and most
attractive plays. And now, the sun is going down in sucli
a magnificent array of red, and gTeen, and golden light,
as neither pen nor_ pencil coiild depict; and to the ringing

CHARLES DICKEXS.

245

of tlic vesper bells, daikness sets in at once, witliout a
twilight. Then lights hegin to shine in Genoa, and on
the country road ; and the revolving lant(*rn out at sea
there, Hashing, for an instant, on this [>alace front and
portico, illuminates it as if there were a bright moon
bursting from behind a cloud; then, merges it in deep
ohsc'urity. And tliis, so far as I know, is tlie only reason
why tlie Genoese avoid it after dark, and think it liaunted.
" My memory will haunt it, many nights in time to
come ; but nothing Avorse, I will engage. The same Ghost
Avill occasionally sail away, as I did one pleasant Autumn
evening, into the l)right prospect, and snuff the morning
air at Marseilles."

The following extracts from his letters to Mr. Douglas
Jerrold furnish us with some fragments of an autobio-
graphical character, and give us in addition a little insight
into the manner in which he em})loyed his time in Italy.

" Come," he whites to his friend, in his usually good
liumored style, "come and see me in Italy — let us smoke a
pipe among the vines. J have taken a little house sur-
rounded by them, and no man in the w^orld should be more
welcome to it than you."

From Cremona, he sends his thanks for a kindly notice
of his latest Christmas Story : — " It was very hearty and
good of you, Jerrold, to make that affectionate mention of
the Carol in Pancli ; and I assure you, it Avas not lost upon
the distant olgect of your manly regard, but touched him
as you washed and meant it si ould. I wish we had not
lost so much time in improving our personal knowledge of
each other. But I have so steadily read you and so self"

246

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

ishly gratified myself in always expressing the admiration
with which your gallant truths inspired me, that I must
not call it lost time either."

Again lie writes from the same place in November, ear-
nestly renewing his invitation to Jerrold to vis't him at
his southern home:

" You rather entertained the idea once of coming to sec
me at Genoa. I shall return straight on the 0th of De-
cember, limiting my stay in town to one week. Now,
couldn't you come back with me ? The journey that way
is very cheap, costing little more than £12, and I am quite
sure the gratification to you would be high. I am lodged
in quite a wonderful place, and would put you in a paint-
ed room as big as a church and much more comfortable.
There are pens and ink upon the premises ; orange-trees,
gardens, battledores and shuttlecocks, rousing wood fires
for the evenings, and a welcome worth having.
Come ! Letter from a gentleman in Italy to Bradbury &
Evans in London. Letter from a gentleman in a country
gone to sleep, to a gentleman in a county that would go
to sleep too, and never wake again if some people had their
way. You can work in Genoa — the house is used to it :
it is exactly a week's post. Have that portmanteau looked
to ; and when w^e meet, say, * I am coming !' "

He used tc tell how, travelling in Italy, he visited a
certain monastery, and was conducted over the building
by a young Monk, who, though a native of the country,
spoke remarkably fluent English. There was, however,
one peculiarity about his pronunciation. He frequently
misplaced his v's and w's. " Have you been in England T

CHARLES DICKENS.

247

asked Mr. Dickens. " No," re|)lie(l the monk, " I liavo
learnt my Englisli from this hook," pro(hicing Plckvyick ;
and it further np|)eared that lie had soleeted Mr. Samuel
Wellur as the henii idenl of elegant [>ri)nunc'iation.

A letter, written by ^Ir. Diekens from Milan to a friend
in England, dated Noveml)er, liS44, gives us some further
ac'([uaintance with that beautiful little Christmas tale, tho

Chimes :

*' Since I heard from D'Orsay, T have been beset in I
don't know how many ways. First of all, I wcTit to Mar-
seilles, and came back to Genoa. Then I went to the Pes-
cliiere. Then some people who had been present at the
Scientific Congress here, made a sudden inroad on tliat es-
tablishment, and overran it. Then they went away, and
I shut myself up for one month, close and tight, over my
little Christmas book, The Chiracs. All my affections and
passions got twined and knotted in it, and I became as hag-
gard as a murderer long before I had written 'The End.'
When I had done that, like ' The man of Thessaly,' who,
having scratched his eyes out in a cpiickset hedge, plunged
into a bramble-bush to scratch them in again, I fled to
Venice, to recover the composure I had disturbed. From
thence I Avent to Verona and to Mantua. And now I am
here — just come up from underground, and earthy all over,
from seeing that extraordinary tomb in which the Dead
Saint lies in an alabaster case, with sparkling jewels all
about him to mock his dusty eyes, not to mention
the twenty franc pieces which devout votaries were
ringing down upon a sort of skylight in the Cathe-
dral pavement above, as if it were the counter of his heav-

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

01(1

is a trifle Uf;lior tlmii

248

cnly shop.

■when I first arrived. Ho lias periodical parties, at ^vhidi
there are a great many flower-pots and a few ices — no
other refreshments, lie goes ahoiit continually with ex-
temporaneous poetry ; and is always ready, like tavern-
dinners, on the shortest notice and the most reasonahlo
terms. He keeps a gigantic harp in his bedroom, together
with \)v\), ink, and |)npci*, for fixing his ideas as they How
— a kind of profane King David, truly good-natured an<l
very hanuless. Pi-ay say to D'Orsay every thing that is
cordial and loving from me. The traveling-purse he gave
me has been of immense service. It has been constantly
opened. All Italy seems to yearn to jmt its hand into it.
I think of hanging it, when 1 come back to England, on a
nail, as a troi)hy, and of gashing the brim like the l)lado
of an old swoi'd, and saying to my son and heir, as tlicy
do ui)on the stage : 'You see this notch, boy ? Fixe hun-
dred francs were laid low on that day for jwst-horses.
Where this gap is, a waiter charged your flither treble the
correct amount — and got it. This end, worn into teeth
like the rasped edge of an old. file, is sacred to the Custom
Houses, boy, the passports, and the shabby soldiers at
town gates, who put an oi)en hand and a dirty coat-cuff
into the windows of all Forestieri. Take it, boy. Thy
father has nothing else to give !' My desk is cooling it-
self in a mail-coach, somewhere down at the back of the
cathedral, and the pens and ink in this house are so detes-
table, that 1 have no hope of your ever getting to this por-
tion of my letter. But I have the less misery in this state
of mind, from knowing that it has nothing in it to repay
you for the trouble of perusal."

CHARLES DICKENS.

249

CHAPTKR VII r.

KK'rniX TO LONDON. — POLITICS. — Till-: " D.VILY NKWS." —
(UARLKS ])I( KKNS AS KDITOR. — POOH Sl'CCKSS. — HIS
FOKTK. — "IMCTUIIES FHOM ITALY." — "DoMMKY AND SON."
— DOUCJLAS .IKUHOLI). — LIITLK PAl'L. -~ TLoilKNCK. —
SCHOOLMASTKHS. — " DAVID COrr^:HFI KLD." — AUTOHIO-
(JUAPHK'AL KIvVTrKLS. — MU'AWUKU. — IK )FKMAN. — ES-
TAIUJSHKS " HOUSKHOLD WORDS." — KDIToR ONCK MORE.
— " ALL TIIK YEAR ROrND." — " BLEAK lloCSE." — CHAN-
CERY COURTS. — SKEMPOLE. — LEIGH HUNT. — LANDOR.

••Forvfciuty, frcetlom, (hioncy of th(»ni,'lit,
Jrlanuony, Htrength, words exijuisitcly nought ;
Fancy, that from the Ixnv, that spans tho sky,
Brings colors, (li])|)C(l in Heaven, that never die ;
A soul exalted ahove earth, a mind
Skilled in the characters that form mankind ;
And, as the sun in rising heauty dressed,
Looks to the westward from the (ia))j»le<l east,
And marks, whatever clouds niay interpose,
'Ere yet his race hegins, its glorious close ;
An eye like his to catch the distant goal ;
Or, ere the wings of verse ])eginto roll,
Like his to shed illuminating rays
On every scene and subject it surveys :
Thus graced, the man asserts an author's name,
And the world cheerfully admits the claim. " — Cowper.

^^Ic"i

[ETURNING to London in the fall of 1845, Mr.
Dickens found quite an agitation in that
glg/\w city for the estahlishnient of a new daily ])a-
per, to become the organ of the Liberal party,
recently deserted by the T trues. Messrs. BradVjury &
Evans, who had become quite successful as the publishers
of Piuic'/ij and built up a large and profitable business,

250

iJFE AND WRITINGS 01*

were willing to undertake the pecuniary risk connected
with the enterprise, and proposed tu Mr. Dickens that he
should become the editor-in-chief. Arrangements were
made, and on the 21st of January, 1846, the ifirot num-
ber was offered to the public under the title of the Daihj
Netvs.

This was in the stirring times, when Robert Peel wns
about abolishing the corn tax. The Liberals were strongly
in favor of the abolition of all duties on cereals, while
the Tory party as bitterly opposed it. The Times was, at
that date, even more than now, the leading paper in Great
Britain. Paying liberally for all work performed in its
service, it had gathered around it a brilliant stall of edi-
tors and writers ; and its foreign cori-espondence being
selected from high literary circles — all conspired to give
it a place far above its English contemporaries. It was
not, however, a satisfactory party paper on either side,
since it habitually trimmed its sails to the wind, and fol-
lowed, rather than led, ])ublic opinion. Of the other
dailies, those that were Whig in politics were either mere
advertising mediums, or not influential enough to become
leading party organs.

Mr. Dickens determined to gather around himself a bril-
liant corps of assistants, and by enterprise and liberality to
establish, if possible, a journal that m.ight fairly rival the
Times. The paper was of full size, and well printed. Mr.
Dickens was announced as the literary editor, as well as
manager, and Mi John Foster, who hai established his
reputation by his political and literary efforts in the Ex-
aminer, assumed chai'ge of the political department. The

CHARLES DICKENS.

251

publication of the Pictures from Italy w a^ begun in the
first number, and about one column a day was given, un-
til the conclusion of the story. There also appeared as
emanations from his pen, some very powerful letters on
social subjects, in discussing which he was somewhat in
liis element; notably, one on Capital Punishment, in which
he advocated the establishment of the system of private
executions, which was adopted by the Government twenty-
four years later.

But this eraployment was little suited to Mr. Pickens'
temperament and habits. The work was confining, con-
stant, and irksome. It wearied both mind and body, and
left no compensating result in reputation. It debarred
him from the more congenial labor of story- writing. He
had in view, moreover, the publication of a new serial
tale. He was not "a. success, " as Artemus Ward would
say, as a newspapv^' man. The speculation promised to
l)ecome a failure. So true is it that mere literary ability,
liowever great, will never insure success in the manage-
ment of a daily paper. The talents requisite in these two
departments are of an essentially different nature. Mr.
Dickens could no more have achieved the success of the
Xew York Tribune, than Horace Greely could have writ-
ten Barnaby Rudge.

Mr. Dickens was not lon<? in realizinsr this fact, and he
at once resigned the editorship of the paper, which was
assumed by Mr. Foster, and the literary department by
Mr. Charles Wentworth Dilke, late editor of the Athenceuvi,
It is understood that Mr. Dickens was a loser to a consid-
erable extent by his connection with it. In the History

252

LIFE AND WRITINGS 01^

of British Journalism, we find a reference to the infancy
of this paper, as follows : — " The Daily Keics got a gDod
start in these troublous times. Founded just as the rail-
way mania was on the wane, with Mr. Charles Dickons
for its editor, it had passed safely, though not witliout
great danger, through all the incidents of a newspaper
infancy — it liad been discovered that the brilliant skcteli-
ing pen ol Dickens was not yet blunted enough to h
steeped in the gall of political writing — that the steel was
too true and too highly tempered to carry the envenom-
ed Huid, which ran off it like limpid water, and made the
leading articles simply wishy-washy ; so the editor liad
turned his attention to amusino- his readers witli the
Sketches from Italy, of which he gave them a column a
day. But the new speculation drooped, and its best
friends feared for its existence. It was then passed into
the hands of Mr. Charles Wentworth Dilke."

Here we discover one of the reasons for the ill success
of Mr. Dickens' experiment in newspaper editing, ^'o
doubt he was deficient in the animosity then recpiired for
a newspaper writer ; but a fi\r more important disal »ility
was that of his vocation as a novelist, and the unfitness
which that vocation entadled upon him for the sort of
writing required in a daily newspaper. As a novelist, lie
knew how to make pictures ; and painting them at his
will, all the English-reading world was sure to be delight-
ed. But the daily leader writer must make, not pictures,
but points. He must deal wiUi things, not as he sees
them, but as his readers see them. He nuist speak, not
whenever he is ready, but to order, at the moment when

CHARLES DICKENS.

253

the facts are ready. He must not complete a representa-
tion, with numerous accessory touches and a free discur-
sive addition of whatever thouglits group and gather in
his own mind, but must seize a single idea, state it with
exclusive clearness and sharpness, weighit with a few sen-
tences directly apro])os, and tling it out. For the novelist,
hinnan beings are his centres of interest, and political and
])olitico-economical phenomena are only backgr-ound or
still-life. For the editor, on the contrary, these phenome-
na are the centres of interest, and if he made use of per-
sons, it was, in those days, more as the cannibals use them
— to sprinkle with the blood of his victi)ns the daily ban-
quet which he sot for his fevocious customers. It is prob-
al)le that the genial romancer may have aspired to exem-
plify a higher style of news})ai)er work ; for assuredly,
however sharp and skilful he was in ai)plying lancet and
seal pel to social vices, he was not the man to do the blud-
geon and brass-knuckle work of London political jour-
nalism thirty years ago, and cannot i.c^ve meant to do it.
And besides that he was thus luilitted both by mind and
manners for the post, there w^as the addition; d considera-
tion that the drudgery of a daily editor's life must neces-
sarily exhaust the whole vitality of any human being
"U'hatover; and that conseipu'ntl}', whenever it occurred to
the chief editor of the Dallij Neivn to write a new novel,
or even to sketch a new character, he could not ; he had
neither time nor strength. Like Sampson among the Phil-
istines, he must grind at the mill. Fortunately it was
unnecessary fur the i)resent giant to carry on the parallel
hy destroying himself and the edifice of his inimitable

tJ:\

■■ «

•i!A ill! It I i

in ''M

254

LIFE AND WRITIXaS OF

exhibitions together, in order to escape from his servitude.
Under the better technical skill of its new managers the
Ifeivs became successful, influential, and profitable ; and
continued to reflect the advanced liberal opinions of its
early editor-in-chief It was found necessary, however,
to raise the price of the paper, originally twopence-half-
penny, as the large expenses incurred rendered it unprofit-
able at that price. It was therefore increased at first to
three-pence, and subsequently to the price of the Times.
An evening paper was started as an offshoot, called the
Express, and sold at a lower price than either the Sun,
Globe or Standard, then the only evening papers in Lon-
don. Not long since the price of the Neius was reduced,
following the example of the Telegraj)h and Standard,
to a penny, and it now has a large circulation, a high cha-
racter, and wields an immense influence as a consistent,
high-toned organ of Liberal opinion.

The Pictures from Italy, though severely criticised,
met with a warm reception from the public, who were
glad to hear from an old friend once more, after a year of
exile. They were collected and published for him in May,
184G, by Messrs. Bradbury & Evans, being the only work,
saving the Cricket on the Hearth, which he published
on his own account. "I have likened these Picf^/vrs,"
says Mr. Dickens, in one of those brief prefaces of his,
which abound in confidential reminiscences, and which
are so interesting, as phenomena of the author's experience,
and so eftective in winning the reader to a sense of real
personal acquaintance with the writer, " I have likened
these Pictures to shadows in the water, and would fain
that I have, nowhere, stirred the wate.'^ so roughly, as to

fit '%Ji

CHARLES DICKENS.

255

mar the shadows. T could never desire to be on better
terms with all my friends than now, when distant moun-
tains rise, once more, in my path. For 1 need nf)t hesi-
tate to avow, that, bent on correcting a brief mistake I
made, not long ago, in disturbing the old relations between
myself and readers, and departing for a moment from my
old pursuits, I am about to resume them joyfully, in
Switzerland ; where, during another year of absence, I
can at once work out the theme* I have now in my mind,
without interruption ; and while I keep my English au-
dience within speaking distance, ei.tend my knowledge
of a noble country, inexpressiVjly dear to me."

The " mistake " to which he so feelingly alludes, was
in becoming editor of a daily paper, and the new work
promised was Domhey and Son, the publication of which
was commenced on the 1st October, 1847, in the old
monthly serial form, with the familiar green cover. Writ-
ing to a friend, some months previous to this, in relation
to this story, he says : — " Vague thoughts of a new book
are I'ife within me just now ; and I go wandein.g, about
at night into the strangest places, according to my usual
propensity at such a time, seeking rest, and finding none.
A3 an addition to my composure, I. ran over a little dog
in the Regent's Park, yesterday (killin- him on the spot),
and gave his little mistress such exquisite distress as I
never saw the like of I lust have some talk with you
about those American singers.* Tboy must never go
back to their own country without your having lieard
them sing Hood's ' Bridge of Sighs,' My God ! how sor-
rowful and pitiful it is ! "

^^" I ^^^^M^^M^— — ■■ ■ . II. ' ...■■■I- ■ M U M w I I nmamt^^mmmm^mm^m'm^tm^t^a^K^m^^^mm

* Th» Hutcbiusou family probably.

':-:J.M^

I t •1

! il 'lii I

ti'ih

256

LIFE AND WRITINGS OP

Writin/^ to Jerrold, also, before his departure to Swit-
zerland, lie incidentally speaks of the work he is engaged
upon :

" I wish you would seriously consider ihe expediency
and feasibility of coming to Lausanne in the summer or
early autumn. I must be at work myself during a cer-
tain part of every day almost, and you could do twice as
much there as here. It is a v^onderful })lace to see ; and
what sort of welcome you will find I will say nothing
about, for I have vanity enough to believe that you avouLI
be willing to feel yourself as much at home in my house-
hold as in any man's." Arriving at Lausanne, he writes
that he will be ready to accommodate him in June, and
goes on: "We are established here, in a perfect doll's
liouse, which could be put bodily into the hall of our Ital-
ian palazzo ; but it is the most lovely and delicious situa-
tion imaginable, and there is a spare bedroom, wherein
we could make you as comfortable as need be. Bowers
of roses for cigar smoking, arbors for cool punch-drink-
ing, mountain and Tyrolean countries close at hand, piled-
up Alps before the windows, etc., etc., etc."

Early in 1847, in a letter to a friend, Dickens wrote :
" I begin to doubt whether I had anything to do with a
book called Doinhey, or ever sat over number five (not
finished a fortnight yet), day after day, until I half began,
like the monk in poor Wilkie's story, to think it the only
reality in life, r.nd to mistake all the realities for short-
lived shadows."*

In the prefixce, on the completion of the work in the fol-

* It may Vic remombored how this same beautiful story of Wilkie's was differently aii-
plied by Mr, Diglvcns, in tli<j last spe^jeh he ever made at the Kuyal Academy dinner,

m 1 i '

CHARLES DICKENS.

257

to Swit-
s engaged

spediency
.1 miner or
ng a cer-
) twice as
see; and
T notliiiK'
^ou would
ny house-
he writes
June, and
feet doll's
i" our Ital-
ous situa-
, wherein
Bowers
ich-di'ink-
md, piled-

tis wrote ;
do with a
r five (not
alf began,
t the only
for short-

n the fol-

ditlerently ap-
iiuy diiiiKT,

lowing year, he bade farewell to its readers, saying : " If
any of them have felt a sorrow iu one of the i)rinci[)al in- '
cideiits on which this fiction turns, I hope it may be a
sorrow of that sort which endears the sharers in it, one
to another. This is not unseltish in me. I may claim to
have felt it, at least as much as anybody else, and I would
fain be remembered kindly for my part in the experience."
This is dated, at London, on the 24th of March, 1848. In
the Peophi's Edition, a little later, he says : " I began this
book by the lake of Geneva, and went on with it for some
months in France. The association between the writing
and the place of writing is so curiously strong in my mind,
that at this day, although I know every stair in the little
Midshipman's house, and could swear to every pew in the
church in which Florence was married, or to every young
gentleman's bedstead in Doctor Blimbei-'s establishment,
I yet confusedly imagine Captain Cuttle as secluding him-
self from Mrs. Macstinger among the mountains of
Switzerland. Similarly, when I am reminded by any
chance of what it was that the waves wx^re always say-
ing, I wander in my fancy for a whole winter night about
the street "1 of Paris — as I really did, with a heavy heart,
on the night when my little friend and I parted company
for evcx."*

'Tlie I'iiilaflelphia Morniruf Post says : -Dickens, while iw this city, was very anxious
to luirchiisc Mr. James Ilaiiiiitun's pai'ntiii'j: ontitletl "What are the Wild Waves Say-
ins: ■'" iJut as this beautiful work, one nf the artist's best, was already sold, Mr. Diok-
eii> requested that he iiuj;ht see tlie orij^inal sketch, with which he was so {;reatly plea»s*
ed tliat in iii>isted ujion huyinj,^ it. Mr. Ilaniiit >n refused to sell the picture, but
pi'cscnteii it to Mr. Dickens. Afterward the artist r> v'eived from Mr. Dickens an ex-
quisite edition of his novels, accompanied by tin; foilowinu' autoyraph : — " Gad's-hill
Place, Hi;,diam by Rochester, Kent, .Monday," Twcnty-iM'th May, IHi'iil, to Mr. Jauies
Hamilton, this .set of my books, with thanks and rei^arl. — CharlVs Dickens." It is cer-
tain that Charles Dickens' genius never suy;j:ested a more inia<,Mnative picture than this
iiKusterpiece, and liis appreciation of Hamilton could not have been more delicately
(shown.

258

LIFE AND WRITINGS Of

-p.

li '

,JIV

Next to the flcpartiire, or ratlicr of the transhition of
Little Nell, nothhig touched the public mind, with as ten-
der symi)athy and pathetic sorrow, as the death of Little
Paul Dondicy. Jettiey, the most critical of readers, avIio
used to apply the scalpel, with terrible efiect even to his
own perform ices. ' nu wroto, under date 3 1st January,
1847, auoat tiii-; v.r ^n'nlul, but not unexpected, event:

" Oh, my dear, dea. 'Sickens 1 what a number 5 you
luive now given us I I liave so cried and sobbed over it
last night, and again this morning ; and felt my heart
purified by those tears, and blessed and loved you for mak-
ing me shed them ; and I never can bless and love yon
enough. Since that divine Nelly was found dead on her
humble couch, beneath the snow and the ivy, there has
been nothing like the aetual dying of that sweet Paul, in
the summer sunshine of that lofty room. And the long
vista that leads us so gently and sadly, and yet so grace-
fully and winningly, to that plain consummation! Every
trait so true, and so toucliing — and yet lightened by that
fearless innocence which goes i^lay fully to the brink of
the grave, and that }>ure affection which bears the un-
stained spirit on its soft and lambent flesh, at once to its
source in eternity. In reading these delightful children,
how deeply do Ave feel that ' of such is the kingdom of
Heaven;' and how ashamed of the contaminations which
our niJinhood has received from the contact of the earth,
and wonder how you. shoidd have been admitted into that
pure communion, and so 'presumed, an earthly guest,
and drawn Empyreal air,' though for our benefit and in-
struction. Well, I did not mean to say all this 3 but this

■ mm*A ivm9ifmm

CHARLES DICKENS.

259

I must say, and you will believe it, that of the many
tlious,'irl hearts tiiat will melt and swell over these pages,
tiiere can be few that will f el their chain so deeply as mine,
an ' scarcely any so ijyotcfnJhj. Uut ai'tei- reachin'^- this
climax in th^* fifth minibcr, what are you to <lo with tho
fifteen that are to follow? 'The wini; of life is drawn,
and nothing left but the dull drugs of this poor world to
liiag of.' So I shall say, and fear for an}^ other adventurer.
But I have unbounded trust in your resource i^ ourrji I
have a feeling that you will have nothing ii th secpiel,
ii" indeed in your whole life, cfpial to the i)at' .. >< -id poetry,
the truth and the tenderness, of the f(jur last p^gcs of thi^
number, for those, at least who feel and j udgv. i i -vO me. I am
most anxious and impatient, however, to sec how you get
on, and begin already to conceive how you may fuliil your
formerly inci'edible prediction, that I should come to tako
an interest in Dombey himself. Now that yini have got
liis stony heart into the terrible crucible of affliction,
tliough I still I'etain my incredulity as to Miss Tox an -I
the Major, I feel that I (as well as they) am but clay in
tlic hands of the potter, and may l)e moulded at your
will."

In Domhri) and Son is again exhibited the wonderful
power of o\u' author in the delineation of characters, and
.Driving to each one of them a sei>arate, distinct, and well
maintained individuality. In this respect he has never
l>ccn excelled, and but rarely eipialiod. As Martin Chuz-
zlewit's hobby was selfishness, so that of Dombey is pride.
But never could Chuzzlewit be mistaken for Dombey or
vice versa, any more than if they were real, living per-

:if

u III

200

LIFE AND WRITTNGS OB*

sonages. In the creations of the ordinary story-writer,
with the exception of some leading traits of habit or
thought attached to the more important actors of the
drama, the characters merge into one another, and even
these diverse attributes might be conceived as being Ijut
the exhibitions of one mind in its changeable moods and
various manifestations ; while the minor actors have no
distinct individualities of their own to boast of, tlioy
arc creations, distinguished only by their various names.
But it is never thus with the characters of Dickens
The individuality of each and every of them stands
out distinct and anta^^onistic to all the others ; accom-
panying them even into the minor business of their lives.
Domheij and So7i, like Mart hi Ckuzzleivit, has what
may be called a distinct moral unity, resulting from the
shaping of the characters and the story so as to teach a
definite moral lesson. As in Chuzzlewit the long disinter-
estedness of some of the characters lends double force by
its contrast to the selfishness of others, so in Domhei/, the
self-forgetful love of Florence, of Harriet Carker, of Cap-
tain Cuttle, of Mr. Toots, and of Susan Nipper, who.se
sharp tongue and fearless deportment did not hinder her
from being every whit as loving and as true as Florence
herself — these sweet, bright characters most powerfully
throw out in the picture the darkness and misery of hearts
and lives like those of Mr. Dombey and Edith. Dombey
is a man thoroughly to be detested — cruel, stern, and un-
bending. Little Paul and Captain Cuttle are the two
best characters in the book, which contains many otliers
excessively diverting. Mr. Toots, with his mania for

CHARLES r>TCTCEN«».

201

writing confidential letters to himself from pfroat and
eminent men, and his pcnchdnt for Messrs. Burgess &: Co.,
the celebrated tailors ; Perch, tlie messenger, and father of
a large family ; the awful Mrs. Macstinger, Susan Nipper,
Miror Joe Bagstock, Miss Floy, etc.

In Domhey Dickens has evidently endeavored to descril)o
a certain phase of " high life," and he has done so with
much success. The character of the aristocratic Cousin
Feenix is finished and natural.

A high medical authority assures us, although it will
not probably suffice to convict Mr. Dickens of any know-
ledge of clinics, that in the author's description of the last
illness of Mrs. Skewton, he actually anticipated the clin-
ical researches of M. Dax Broca, and Hughlings Jackson,
on the connection of I'ight hemiplegia with asphasia.

The story was cleverly dramatized and well represented
at the Marylebone Theatre, in June, 1849, and its success
was in proportion to its merits.

Domheij cannot be ranked as high as Cluzzhvnf, either
in construction, humor, characterization, or variety. But
the pathetic picture of Little Paul is not matched nor ap-
proached by anything in the other story, nor by anything
in all the other works of the author, save only Little Nell.
The two children might have been spiritual twins, so aliko
were they in childish sweetness, in loveliness, in the sad-
ness of early death. Yet there is no imitation in Paul ;
his shrewd, unconscious intellect, the vague, deep thought-
fulness of his little questionings and philosophies, appro-
priately mark him as the child of parents of great intel-
lectual power, whatever their defects ; while the prepond-

-J I

202

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

, !■

ff '

1! if'. 1

eriii^^ nfTectionaU'iiosH of Little Nell's cliarnctor cfpially
beloii'g'H to her ms the ^nandchild oi'jiii old man vtM'y hniii;"-
in his nature, whatever his weaknesses.

C^'irker is the villain in this tale, and a subtle ono he is
The chapter descrihiiiLj his flight from Dijon, after his dis-
conditure l»v Kdith, amlhisrai)id tliiiht fi'ou) theaven<:iii<'
Nemesis of a wroni^ed husband, is one of the most power-
fully told narrations in tietion. ]Iis death, so sudden and
violent, is in keeping with his deserts. iJomljey, though
thoi'oughly ])i'oud is not a ])ositi\('ly had eharaeter. Wo
feel a pity and friendliness towai'ds him at the close,
when he comes out of his terrible trials broken and ])uri-
fied. Long afterwards, Mr. Dickens in reviewing and
conmienting upon this charjictar says : " ^Ir. Dombey un-
derfjoes no violent internal chanire, either in this book or
in life. A sense of his injustice is within him all alon:/.
The more he expresses it, the more unjust he necessarily
is. Internal shame and external circumstances may bring
the contest to the surface in a Aveek, or a day ; l»ut, it has
been a contest for years, and is oi.ly fou^iit out after a
long balance of victory. Years have elapsed since I dis-
missed Mr. Dombey. I have not been impatient to oti'er
this critical remark upon him, and I otfei* it with some
confidence." Florence is the finest and most pleasing of
all his impersonations of budding womanhood. Mrs.
Skewton may be seen at any time at an English watering
place, hand carriage, page and all. Captain E(hvard Cuttle,
mariner, was a noble hearted fellow, and his friend John
Bunsby, master of the " Cautious Clara," a side-sj^littinf
original. The Scholastic Blimbers is a great improve

CHARLES DICKENS.

208

mont on the Scjucors of Dothoboy's TFall notoriety. Mr.
Dickens ha.s told us that he entertaintMl a sincere esteem
f(»r liis old selioohnastor, Mr. Giles, of Rochester; had it
not i)cen for this we should have inferred tluit there liad
been something in Ids own ex|>ei"ienco which led to his
t'(>ntenii)t for the English middle-class schools and schoid-
nmsters; for he exhibits in his works a ])i(>ft»und aversion
for them. 8(|U0crs is a monster of cruelty, rapacity and
meanness. Crinkle in Jhtcid Coitpcrfieltl is a ferocicms
and dastardly tyrant ; Bradley, the national schoolmaster
in Old' Mutual Friend, begins as a misanthrope and ends
as a virtual murderer; and even Dr. Blimbcr, although
he does not torture his boys, crams them to death. If
the account of Ou/r OH School in one of the early mmi-
hers of Ilousihold ^Vo)\h, and manifestly from the pen
of Charles Dickens, was drawn from personal experience,
that school could scarcely have been the one at Rochester.
There is a good schoolmaster in the Sh'etchcs hj Boz, a
better one in the Old Curlosltfj Shop, a (^harming one
(although he dotes) in Copperfield: not Crinkle, but tho
good old Dominie at Canterbury. To schoolmistresses
Charles Dickens was kinder ; for governesses and their
sorrows he a' vays evinced intense sympathy ; but for tho
genus pedagogue, he seemed to have an intense abhor-
rence ; differing in this respect very widely from Thack-
eray, who bears no more malice to the real Dr. Ri>J no,
than he does to the imaginary Dr. Birch ; anJ who is
never tired of dwelling on the learning, the coriviviality,
and the fundamental kindness of heart of his Orbilius, all
plucjosus, as he may have been in early days to little boys
Avho stumbled in their Greek verbs.

2C4

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

In a letccr to Jorrold, while Domhrn/ Wc^s in progros?;,
M"'. Dickens ^'^rites, " This day week I finished my little
Christinas hook, the He f tie of Life, (writing towards tlio
close the exact words of a |)assage in your affectioiiattj
letter,* received this mori iiig ; to wit, 'After all, life has
somethirio' serious in it') ; a tid ran over here lor n week's rest'
I cannot, tell you how much true gratification I have had
in your most hearty letter. Foster told me that the same
spirit hreatii^'d through a notice of Domhcij in your paper;
and I have been saying since to K. and G., that there is
no such good way of testing the worth of a literary friend-
ship as by comparing its intluence on one's mind with
any that literary animosity can })roduce. Mr. W. will
throw me into a violent fit of anger for the moment, it is
true ; but his acts and deeds ])ass into the death of all
bad things next day, and rot out of my memory ; whereas
a generous sympathy like yours is ever present to me —
ever fresh and new to me, always stimulating, cheerful,
and delightful. The pain of unjust malice is lost in an
hour. The pleasure of a generous friendship is the stead-
iest joy in the world. What a glonous and comfortaldo
thing that is to think of!

" No, I don't get the paperi* regularly. To the best of
my recollection, I have not had more than three numbers
— certainly not more than four. But I knew how busy

■' Jerrnld, in the letter referred to by Dickens, had said (in deprocatinjc Gilbert
A'Peckett's dnni' Ulftoni of Ennhoid): •' After all, life has scnietliintr serious in it.
It cannon 1)0 ail a' eia.iie history of huuinnity. Some men would, 1 ' -jiieve, wri\e the
Comic Sermon on the Mtiunt. Think of ;, Comic Uistory of lluuhuM, ; the drolKry of
Alfred; the fu.i of Thomas Moore in the Tower; the farce of hisdai vhter hefrKJn^'' the
dead head, and claspip;^ it in her cotfin, on her bosom. Surely the v,< rid will ho sick of
this blasphemy."

t Douglas Jerrold's " Weel;ly Ne\vsi)aper,"

yoil

\nit|
ploi
trul

CHARLES DICKENS.

265

you must be, and had no expectation of hearing from you
until T wrote from Paris (as I intended doing), and im-
plored you to come and make merry with us there. I am
truly pleased to receive your good account of that enter-
prise. ... I have had great success in magnetism.

E , who has been with us for a week or so, holds my

magnetic powers in great veneration, and T really think
they are, by some conjunction of chances, strong. Let
them, or something else, hold you to me by the heart."

After the usual short rest from his laV)ors, Mr. Dickens
commenced, in May, 1849, the work which has very gen-
erally and correctly been assumed to have been his favor-
ite, as it certainly is one of his finest and most popular
productions. This story was entitled The Personal His-
tory of David Copperjiehl, and extended to the usual
twenty numbers. It has been asserted of this tale that
it possessed some autobiographical features, so far as the
early history of its hero was concerned. This, however,
if the case at all, is so to only a very slight extent. The
author never had a stej)father who ill-treated him ; never
ran away from home, to be bi'ought up by an eccentric
aunt ; never groaned under the sway of a brutal flogging
schoolmaster like Crinkle ; was never employed to wash
bottles in a wine merchant's cellai" ; and was never articled
to a proctor in Doctors Conimcms. Possibly, however, the
experiences of Wilkins Micawber in making both ends
meet may have been paralleled in the case of the father
of Dickens, whose means must at times liave been very
closely trenched upon, and who must have been very sorely
pressed to provide food and raiment for a large family on

266

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

* ,

a very scanty allowance. To this extent, with perhaps a
further draft upon some of his mother's oddities and gar-
rulousness to furnisli material for Mrs. Micawljer, and some
of his own trials in his progress to literature, it is very
probable that Mr. Dickens borrowed from home mjiterial
and family experience, but not further.

Tliat Mr. Dickens should have taken a livelv interest
in this story is not surprising; he did so indeed with all
his works. He habitually attached himself with a living
interest to his stories, as may be seen by reference to the
passages quoted from his preface to Domhey. To this, in
a great measure, their success is due. He mingled, as it
were, personally with the characters he formed, entered
into their circumstances, suffered their losses and experi-
enced their joys and grief He dealt with them as living
realities, loving friends and hating foes. It is said that
Hoffman, the f anous German writer of fantastic stories,
was sensitive and so subject to what may be called the
objective imagination, th it he habitually saw the fanciful
beings of whom he wrote, as actual objects, sporting about
him, moving among the articles on his table and upon the
furniture in the rooms. This intense projecting of the
conceptions of the brain was in fact unhealthy, and doubt-
less foreshadowed the nervous ailment which terminated
Hoffman's life. The very unusual health and once elastic
strenojth of muscle and brain-fibre which belon<:ced to LIr.
Dickens prevented any of his notions from becoming de-
lusions, or even illusions ; and yet he evidently lived
among the creations of his brain with a sense of com-
panionship and a feeling of affection far stronger th?.n tlie

CHARLES DICKENS.

2C7

mere visioning of tlie German pLanta.^^t. The intensity
of this feeling in regard to Coj)j)('rj!pI<l is evick'nt, not
from its ex[)ressi()n, ]jut from tlie resf.raait of its expres-
sion. In the prefaee wliere tlie author says : " I remark-
ed in the original ])refaee to this Moik, that I did not find
it easy to get suffieiently far away from it, in the first
SL'iisatioiis of having finished it, to refer to it with the
composure whieh thi.5 formal heading ^\'ould seem to re-
(|uire. ^ly interest in it was so reeent and strong, and
my mind was so divdded hetween pleasure and regret —
'^^■•asure in the aehievement ot a lom^c desiufii, reixret
in the separation from uiany com])anions — that I was in
danger of wearying the reader, whom I loved, with per-
sonal eonfidences and private emotions. Besides wh.ieh,
all that I could say of the story, to any purpose, I had
endeavored to say in it. It Avould concern the reader
httle, perhaps, to know how s(nTowfully the pen is laid
down at the close of a two years' imaginative task ; or
how an author feels as if he were dismissing sonic portion
of himself into the shad(jwy woiid, Avdien a crowd of the
creatures of his brain are ^'oinj^ from him forever. Yet,
I had nothing else to tell ; unless, indeed, I were to con-
fess (which might be of less moment still), that no one
can ever believe this narrative, in the reading more than
I had believed it in the writing. So true are these avow-
als at the present day, that I can only now take the reader
into one confidence more. Of all my ])Ooks, I like this the
best. It will easily be believed that I am a fond p.. rent
of evejy child of my fancy, and that no one can love them
as dearly as I love them; but, like many fond parents, I

2G8

LIFE AND WRITINGS OP

«i

have, in my heart of hearts, a favorite child, and his name
is David CoppevfieldP

The criticisms of Mr. Dickens' successive novels luad
by this time ceased to welcome him as a hopeful tyro, to
instruct him as a well-meaning but ill-trained aspirant, or
to anathenaeumatize him (as some verbal humorist called
the process) as an imitator ; and had become simply ob-
servations — most frequently by means of comparing the
last book with the previous ones — upon a recognized
master in literature. It is needless to exemplify tliis mode
of treatment ; a single extract from Fvasev's Magazine
for December, 1S50, will show how prompt and definitely
the autobiographic nature of David Coj^perjiehl \V[iii taken
for granted by all :

" This, the last, is, in our opinion, the best of all the
author's fictions. The plot is better contrived, and the
interest more sustained, than in any other. Here there
is no sickly sentiment, no prolix description, and scarcely
a trace of exaggerated passion. The author's taste has
become gradually more and more refined ; his style has
got to be more easy, graceful, and natural. The principal
groups are delineated as carefully as ever ; but instead of
the elaborate Dutch painting to which we had been accus-
tomed in his backgrounds and accessories, we have now
f\ single vigorous touch here and there, which is far more
aitir'i')'' and far more effective. His winds do not howl,
nor his '^'eas ■»*oar, through whole chapters, as formerly;
noh^s become bettv.r acquainted wi'/h his readers, and
ventvies io leave nice to their imagination. This is the
li-rst ujii c ^hat the hero has been made to tell hi,^ own

I '4

CHARLES DICKENS.

269

gtory — a plan whichx generally ensures something like epic
unity for the tale. We have several reasons for suggest-
iiig that here and tliere, under the name of David Cop-
2)erjield, we have been favored with passages from the
])crso'ial history, adventures, and experiences of Charles
Dickens. Indeed, this conclusion is in a manner forced
upon us by the peculiar professions selected for the ideal
character, who is first a newspaper reporter and then a
famous novelist. There is, moreover, an air of reality
pervading the whole book, to a degree never attained in
any of his previous works, and which cannnot be entirely

attriljuted to the mere form of narration

David Copperfield the Younger was Born at Blunderstone,
near Yarmouth — tliere is reallv a village of that name.
AVe do not know whether Charles Dickens w^h born there
too ; at all events, the number and minuteness of the local
details indicate an iiitimate knowledge of, and fondness
for, Yai mouth and its neighborhood."

Whatever classification and gradation ma; be adopted
for the works of Dickens, Copperfield must je reckoned
at least among the best. Both the humo . )us and the
pathetic parts of the book possess the higl ntensity, sus-
tained power, psychological truthfulness "ii I keeping, that
characterize the best works of the mast( The hero is as
good as any hero, except that the appropriate modesty of
a gentleman relating his experiences in the first person
makes him necessarily more of a lay figure than otlier-
Avise. At least this rule holds good until v;e come down
to those wonderful sensational personages, Oiarles O'Malley
and Major Goliath O'Grady Gahagan. David Copperfield,

"■ gi ffifl— Lw ap j i

• % 1

m M

270

LIFE AND WRITINGS Ol*

however, is at least as good as Nicholas Nicklcby or ^Far-
tin Cliuzzlowit. A^^nies is as good a heroine as Floronco
Doinbey or jMary Graham or jMadeliiie Bray or K.-ite
Nicklehy. Steerfortli and Hccj) and Littimar are niisur-
passed as gentlemanly and vnlgar villains. Miss Trot\V( xxl
is as mneh like Susan Nip})er a little matured by ex[)(>
rience, as it was i)ossil>le for Dickens to have two charac-
ters alike ; Barkis is at least as good as Bunsby ; the
pathetic interest of the story of Emily is fully as deep as
that of Alice in Dornhfy, tlie terrors of the storm and
shijnvreck are as great as those of the death of Carker or
of Quilp, if not e(pial to the tremendous, sustained, in-
tense horror of the liiMit and death of the buriihir Sikos;
and above all, the wondrous qualities of Wilkins Micaw-
ber are only equalled — tlicy are not surpassed — ly that
otherwise incomparable creature, Sairey Gamp.

The whole Micawber family, indeed, form -> group as
original as anything in all our author's works, and no
family is better sustained, excepting possibly the Wellers.
In his final redemption in Australia, after something has
"turned uj) " every reader must rejoice. The story of
Peggotty; the child wife, and her death; and David's fhial
love for Agnes will recur to every reader with pleasure.
There is not so much broad fun in this tale as in others
by the same author, but there is more wit and intense
passion. The old carrier's words, " Barkis is williii;:, '
have become a })oi)ular saying, and Micawber's hopeful
** waiting for something to turn up" is as vrell known and
as often repeated as a proverb. The })Ow^erful descriptiou
of the tempest and wreck at Yarmouth is in Dickens' bust

«l.'?.-'lW<'?;--ajver-a^«eaatr»ga»QjaKS^%"-SN'iiT;'X'-

CitARLES DICKEXS.

271

vein ; and throughout the work there is exhibited the
inollow strength and mature vigor of style of the ripe
noveU.st in the prime of his power.

The work as we hav^e pieviously remarked, is a great
favorite and such it deserves to he, for to our mind it is
the liappiest of all his ficti(jns. It was the first that we
read and well do we remember the exquisite delight with
which we eagerly devoured its i)ages, and boy-like, a]>pre-
ciated and sym})at]iized with David and hii youthful
struggles.

The book is written in a delightfully easy, earnest, yet
most graceful manner; the plot is well contrived, and
never forced. It has often been hinted ^bat in many ways
it is partly auto-biographical — the hci' -.eginning at the
law, turning parliamentary reporter, ;ind finally winding
up as a successful novelist, all of which the world knows
have been Mr. Dickens' experiences. In fact it is gene-
rally believed to occupy the same position to Dickens as
Feudenms does to Thackeray.

The peculiar commencement and description of Blunder-
stone Rook:ry; the birth of the posthumous child; the
second marriage of David's mother to Murdstone ; hi!; early
days, aufl the wonderful crocodile book ; Peggott}' and the
courtship of Barkis the carrier, leaving his offerings be-
hind the door; Mrs. Gummidge, Steerforth, the famous
Micawbers, Betsy Trotwood the kin<l-hearted aunt, and
her aversion to donkeys ; Mr. Dick and his memorial, and
his inability to keep Charles I. out of it ; David's love for
d;irling Dora Spenlow, their marriage, an<l the dreadful
troubles encountered in house-keeping, her death, and his

1^'

'Kli.l

'111

Rii

''Mil

.'ill

272

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

consequent journey to Switzerland and coming home and
marrying Agnes Wickfield ; the villainies of Uriah Heep;
the eccentricities of Miss Mowcher, the corn extractor ;
Emily, the poor seduced girl ; the magnificent desci-iptioii
of the storm at Yarmouth, in which Steerforth the be-
trayer meets his death, while Ham, seeking to save liim,
meets tlie same fate ; the love of Daniel Peggotty for his
niece, and his i)atient search after her ; Traddles and his
ultimate success and the starting off to the antipodes of
the Mic'^.';\'b^^'y, Peggotty, Martha, Emily and Mrs. Gum-
midge, their life in the bush and how they prospered, are
each and all described in such glowing language, destitute
of exageration, and bearing so strongly the impress of
truth and reality that they cannot fail to charm and de-
light the reader. It would bo impertinent further to
point out — to our mind — the best points in the book, and
one can i)ut Miank God that such a writer has penned a
work that never can be too much read or admired.

This story was speedily dramatized and has been brought
out upon almost every stage in America anl Britain.

Mr. Dickens concluded Coiiperjield as usi,al, by hinting
at another work. "I cannot close this volu.ne," he said,
" more agi-eeably to myself than Avith a hopeful glance
towards the time when I shall again put forth my two
green leaves once a month, and with a faithful rememl)er •
ance of the genial sun and showers that have fallen on
these leaves of David Copperjield, Siud made me happy."

The new work thus announced, however, was not so
speedily forthcoming as was anticipated. Before Copper-
jidd was finished, the solicitatioas of publishers and the

CHARLES DICKEN!^<.

273

manifest opening for such a magnzino, led Mr. Dickens to
eshiltlish in 1(S5() a weekly periodical at n low price, with a
view to ohtaiiiing a large circulation. Not at all worn out
witli his arduous labors, nor dismayed at his former ill-
success in managing a news])ap(M', Mr. Dickens became the
cilitor of a new magazine, whicli he entitled Jlousehold
Wonh, a name which was more or less familiar to the
public through a line in Shakespeare's Henry V. — "Fa-
miliar in their moutlis as ' Household Words.' " It is just
worth while, in passing to say that this motto was a favor-
ite with Mr. Dickens. He often used it in conversation,
long l)efore a periodical of the kind was dreamed of. As
far back as his first visit to America, when he was address-
ing the young men of Boston, and Washington Irving,
Holmes, and other celebrities were present, he said , " You
have in America great writers — gi'cat writers — who will
live in all time, and are as familiar to our lips as house-
hold words." And afterwards in his speeches the motto
was not uncommon.

On Saturday, March 30th, I80O, was issued the first
number of Hoasehold Words, price 2d., conducted by
Charles Di(;kens.

This time there was no failure; the weekly literary
pa[)er became one of the most successful periodicals in the
English language ; and it was evident that whatever his
unfitness for mere political leader wriing, Mr. Dickens
was abundantly competent to superintend a periodical
with regularity and efficiency ; to write, select and edit
with practical and workmanlike skill, and to select judi-

:18

.MMl

it"

vf'-

'I I

in* )i

274.

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

ciously and control with kindness and decision the neces-
sary stafl* of subordinates.

Connected with Household Worch, at the end of eadi
month appeared the Household Narratlre, coiitainin<,f ji
history of the preceding montli. It began in April of tliis
year, and involved Mr. Didvcns in a dispute with tlio
Stamp Oftice. An information was laid against the Xarra-
tivc, it being contended that, under the Stamp Duty Act,
it was a newspaper ; but on ap])eal to the Court of Ex-
chequer, the barons decided in IVlr. Dickens' favor, and
thus the first step to the lepeal of the newspaper stainj)
was given. The publication was not a success, people pre-
ferring to pay for amusement and information combined,
rather than for the latter in a purely statistical form. It
stopped at about the 70th number, and sets are now rare.

Besides the ordinary tales and articles upon popular
topics, there appeared in Household Words in good time
for the festive season, and during the first year, a collec-
tion of stories connected entirely with Christmas, viz. :
"A Christmas Tree" and "A Christmas Pudding," ''Christ-
mas in the Navy, in Lodgings, in India, in the Frozen
Regions, in the Bush, and among the Sick and Poor of
London," and " Household Christmas Carols."

In 1859, owing to a disagreement with Messrs. Brad-
bury & Evans, Household Words was discontinued. Mr.
Dickens purchased their interest in that periodical, and at
once established All the Year Round instead, a journal
similar in character, size and style, the publishers being
his own old friends Messrs. Chapman & Hall. Mr. W. H.
"Wills, who had been employed with Dickens on the Daily

CHAKLES DICKENS.

0*7 K

Xcv'^, and wlio was one of the ori<jjinatovs of tlio London
Punch, was for a, loncj tinu' tlu^ cliicf assistant of Mr-
Dickons in tlio periodical, liavin;:,^ only Ihtu succt'i'dod a
littl'^ before Mr. Diekens' death, by tlie eldest son of the
latter, Mr. Charles Diekens, junior, who is at present the
eihtor and proprietor of A(f the Ycni' Rtniiul, eonduetin^
it, as lie tells us, strictly on the ** old lines " laid down hy
his father. Besi(h's Ids own contributions, the (Jhief Kdi-
tei' bestowed an ininiense aiuotuit of time, thought and
laljor (ju his periodical, f<.>r in whatever savored of detail
or drudgery — in the mechanical part of what he was con-
cerried with, Mr. Dickens was as laboiious, thorough work-
manlike, and remdar as thouGjh 1 > had been nothini: but
a head book-keeper. The following particulars of hi.s
editorial habits are interesting. They are from a cnni-
munication only a day or two after his death in the Dalltj
Xeit's, which he founded :

"Although his intimate friend and partner, ^Ii*. \V. IT.
Wills, tilled the post of acting edit(jr until twelve or eigh-
teen months ago (when he \\ igned the position to Mr.
Charles Dickens the younger), and saved Mr. Dickens
much of the labor of selection, wq believe that we are
correct in stating that every article in JfuKscliuld Wofds
and All tJt.G Year Rov il passed under the conductor's eye,
and tliat every proof was read and corrected by him. It
was at one time the fashion to assume that ' 'onducted by
CliiU'les Di(dvens ' meant little more than a slee[)iug part-
nership, as it Dickens could liavc been a sleeping partner
in any urdertaking under the sun ; but those behind
the scenes knew better, and the readers of All the Year

IMAGE EVALUATION
TEST TARGET (MT-S)

J^'^
S ^

1.0

I.I

Hi 1^

2.0

IL25 i 1.4

Photographic

Sciences
Corporation

23 WEST MAIN STPEET

WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580

(716) 872-4503

•1>^

^ ^

^ »

ci^

^
^

'<?)

'if -J- ■':

! 'i

f V f

If. I ill

276

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

Round may assure themselves that every word in it was
up to this date read before publication by the great mas-
ter whose name it bears. At this moment the ' Particulars
for next number/ in the neat yet bold handwriting which
it is impossible to mistake, hang by the side of the empty
office desk."

His editorship of this periodical was no nominal post.
Papers sent in for approval invariably went througli a
preliminary 'testing* by the acting editor (Mr. W. H.
Wills); but all those which survived this ordeal, were
conscientiously read and judged by Mr. Dickens, wliu
again read all the accepted contributions in proof, an<l
made numerous valuable alterations in them.

His editorial position, moreover, afforded him many op-
portunities of aiding authors of all kinds — and very gladly
and generously he used them. The rule of contributing
anonymously of course had its disagreeable side, and it
prevented (for instance) Douglas Jerrold from writing for
the weekly. " But the periodical is anonymous through-
out," remonstrated Dickens one day, when he had been
suggesting to Mr- Jerrold to write for it. " Yes," replied
the caustic wit, opening a number and reading the title :
" ' Conducted by Charles Dickens.* I see it is monony-
mous throughout." There was some reason for this, for
Jorrold's name was worth money. But the practice was
fair enough with most writers, and it is always easy enough
to make one's name known after one has written some-
thing so good as to make people want to know it, as Mr.
Dickens had himself proved. To young writers, the gi'cat
novelist was as accessible and kind as his exacting em-

CHARLES DICKENS.

277

ployments rendered it possible for him to be ; and very
many are the papers to which he gave many a grace by
tlie judicious touches of his magical pen. It was the
great delight of the " Conductor " to draw around him
the rising talent — the new men who gave evidence of
literary ability ; and many a mark have they made in the
pages of Household Wonh !

The staff of these magazines comprehend a goodly
array of talented names, amongst which we may name, the
assistant editor Wills, Wilkie and Charles Collins, Charles
Knight, George Augustus Sala, Miss Martineau, Dr. Charles
Mackay, Edmund Yates, John Foster, R. H. Home, author
of Orion, William Jerrold, Mrs. Gaskell and many other
writers of note. Of the Christmas numbers he was always
tlie deviser, and to them he generally contributed one or
two original stories.

The labors incident to starting this periodical delayed
the completion of Mr. Dickens' next production entitled
Bleak House, until 1853. It is not generally known, we
believe, that the name " Bleak House " was taken from
that tall, solitary brick house which stands away from the
others, and rising far above them at Broad^tairs — the
house where for one if not for two seasons, Mr. Dickens
resided. This charming little town was for many years Mr.
Dickens' favorite sea-side resort — in fact, " Our Watering-
place," as he called it in an article in Household Words
some years since. The house in question is a square sullen
structure — hard and bleak, and of course it is now one of
the lions of the place, the guide-books and local photo-
gi-aphers setting great store by it. Just below Bleak

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

if » -r ,:

;

f 1 M

1 ' ' "'

1 -, 1 j

1 ii' * ^

ijl S ?i t i

1 H

House, on the point that runs out to form the harbor, is
the Tartar Frigate, the cosiest little sailors' inn, selling the
strongest tobacco, and the strongest-smelling rum that is
to be met with around the coast. Close by is a rope-house
decorated with wonderful tigure-heads, each having a wild
story of shipwreck to tell. As you pass the little Tartar
Frigate, with its red blinds and little door, you know what
are the sounds that are to be heard there any night during
the winter. Tiic very walls must have long ago learnt
*' Tom Bowling'' and the ''Bay of Biscay " by heart, and
would now be very thankful for a fresh song. Dickens
knew the little inn very well, and under the title of " The
Tartar Frigate," he gave in HoitseJtold Wonh, some years
since, an admirable description of this little town with a
tiny harbor. The great novelist was fond of genuine
sailors — the hardy good-tempered fellows of Deal and
Broadstairs — brave as lions, and guileless as children ; and
it was to his being so much in their company that he
doubtless owed liis sailor look, a peculiarity frequently re-
marked ui)on.

Bleak House appeared in monthly parts, as usual,
prior to its publication as a completed volume. It was
then dedicated by Mr. Dickens " as a remembrance of our
friendly union, to my companions in the guild of literature
and art." This work deals with

"The law's delay,

The ingolence of office, and the spurns

That patieut merit of the unworthy takes," —

And has for its object to expose the dilatory practice of
the old fogey Chancery Courts, not yet abolished, as well

CHARLES t)tCKEM

279

as the red-tape-ism of the goveniment departments gener-
ally. Lawyers and others were loud in their complaints
at the way in which their favorite court had been assailed ;
hut the majority of legal readers, whether then or even
now practising, or connected in any shape or way with
the court in question — or even only as unfortunate suitors
— can testify as to the enormous waste of time, and the
costly procedure therein. Matters have of late years some-
what improved, but a great deal yet remains to be reme-
died.

The author, in his preface, took the opportunity of de-
fending himself from the remarks made upon the suppo-
sitious suit of Jarndyce vs. Jarndyce.* He there says :

" A Chancery Judge once had the kindness to inform
me, as one of a company of some hundred and fifty m^n
.and women not laboring under any suspicions of lunacy,
that the Court of Chancery, though the shining subject of
much popular prejudice (at which point I thought the
Judge's eye had a cast in my direction), was almost im-
maculate. There had been, he admitted, a trivial blemish
or so in its rate of progress, but this was exaggerated, and
had been entirely owing to the ' parsimony of the public ;*
which guilty public, it appeared, had been until lately
bent in the most determined manner on by no means en-
larging the number of Chancery Judges appointed — I be-
heve by Richard the Second, but any other King will do
as well."

In plain contradiction of which Mr. Dickens continues :

" I mention here that everything set forth in these

*Sugg€st€d| it ia belicycd, by the celebrated case of the JouuiDgs property.

280

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

M III

pages concerning the Court of Cliancery is snlistantially
true, and within tlie truth. Tlie c.ise of Gridley is in no
essential altered from one of actual occurrence, made [)ul>
lic by a disinterested person, who w^as professionally ac-
quainted with the wliole of the monstrous wrong from be-
ginning to end. At the present moment there is a suit
before the Court which was commenced nearly twenty
years ago ; in which fnjni thirty to forty counsel have
been known to ap])ear at one time ; in which costs huvo
been incurred to the amount of seventy thousand i)oun(ls;
which is SifrLeudlu suit ; and which is (I am assured) no
nearer its termination now than when it was begun.
There is another well known suit in Chancery, not yet
decided, which was commenced before the close of the last
century, and in which more than double the amount of
seventy thousand pounds has been swallowed up in costs.
If I wanted other authority for Jarndyce and Jarndyce, I
could rain them on these pages, to the shame of — a parsi-
monious public."

The story is very earnestly told. Lady Dedlock is an-
other Lady Macbeth in a small way, though Mademoiselle
Hortense is the tool. Mf. Turveydrop is, like Micawber,
a type of a distinct class, with his own peculiar attributes,
whose original was supposed to be the stupid George the
Fourth. Boythorn and Skimpole are effective characters,
whose counterpart we find everywhere. Mrs. Jelleby is
not the only woman who has a mission to provide colored
pocket handkerchiefs for little Timbuctoo-ites, to the ne-
glect of her own. family. Poor Joe, the crossing-sweeper,

CHARLES DICKENS.

281

is a sad illustration of London civilization. The character
of Bucket, the detective, is also well drawn to life.

Boythorn was confidently aftiniied to be Walter Sav-
a;;o Laudor, under a new name ; and Skinipole was still
more earnestly asserted to have been di'awn from the
character of Leigh Hunt. The latter sup])Osition led to
quite a controversy, which led to a remonstrance from the
eldest son and biogi-a})her of the poet, Mr. Thornton
Hunt. To which Mr. Dickens replied in All the Year
Round, under the heading, "Leigh Hunt — a Remons-
trance" : —

" Four or five years ago, the writer of these lines was
iimch ])ained by accidentally encountering a printed state-
ment, 'that Mr. Leigh Hunt was the original of Harold
Skimpole, in Bleak House.' The writer of these lines is
the author of that book. The statement came from Am-
erica. It is no disrespect to that country, in which the
writer has, jierhaps, as many friends and as true an inter-
est as any man that lives, good-humoredly to state the
fact that he has now and then been the subject of para-
[ifra[)hs in transatlantic newspapers more surprisingly des-
titute of all foundation in truth than the wildest delu-
sions of the wildest lunatics. For reasons born of this ex-
perience, he let the thing go by.

" But since Mr. Leigh Hunt's death, the statement has
been revived in England. The delicacy and generosity
evinced in its revival are for the rather late consideration
of its revivers. The ffict is this : Exactly those graces and
charms of manner which are remembered in the words we
have quoted, were remembered by the author of the work

282

LIFE! AND WRITINaS OP

of fiction in question when he drew the character in ques-
tion. Above all other things, that ' sort of gay and osten-
tatious willfulness' in the humoring of a subject, which
had many times delighted him, and impressed him as be-
ing unspeakably whimsical and attractive, was the airy
quality he wanted for the man he invented. Partly fnr
this reason, and partly (he has since often grieved to think)
for the pleasure it afforded him to find that delightful
manner reproducing itself under his hand, he yielded to
the temptation of too often making the character speak
like his old friend. He no more thought, God forgive
him ! tliat the admired original would ever be chaiged
with the imaginary vices of the fictitious creature than he
has himself ever thought of charging the blood of Desdc-
mona and Othello on the innocent academy model who
sat for lago's leg in the picture. Even as to the mere oc-
casional manner, he meant to be so cautious and conscien-
tious that he privately referred the proof-sheets of the first
number of that book to two intimate literary friends of
Leigh Hunt (both still living), and altered the whole of
that part of the text on their discovering too strong a re-
semblance to his 'way.'

" He can not see the son lay this wreath on the father's
tomb, and leave him to the possibility of ever thinking
that the present words might have righted the father's
memory, and were left unwritten. He can nc-c know that
his own son may have to explain his father when folly or
malice can wound his heart no more, and leave this task
undone."

Mr, Thornton Hunt, alluding to his father's incapacity

CHARLES DICKENS.

283

»n the father's

to understand figures, frankly admitted, " His so-called
iniprovddence resulted partly from actual disappointment,
in professional undertakings, partly from a real incapacity
to imderstand any ol>jects when they were reduced to fig-
ures, and partly from a readiness of self-sacrifice, which
was the less to be guessed by any one who knew him
sinc^e he seldom alluded to it, and never, except in the
vaguest and most unintelligible terms, hinted at its real
nature or extent."

Leigh Hunt himself, in confessing his inability at school
to master the multiplication-table, naively adds, " Nor do
1 know it to this day !" And again : " I equally disliked
Dr. Franklin, author of ' Poor Richard's Almanac,* a heap,
as it appeared to me, of 'scoundrel maxims.' I think I can
now appieciate Dr. Franklin as I ought ; and I can sec the
utility of such publications as his almanac for a rising com-
mercial state, and hold it useful as a memorandum to un-
calculating persons like myself"

And again, in his "Journal," a few years ago, that gen-
tleman, after narrating several agreeable hardships inflict-
ed upon him, says : " A little before this, a friend in a
manufacturing town was informed that I was a terrible
speculator in the money markets ! I who was never in a
market of any kind but to buy an apple or a flower, and
who could not dabble in money business if I would, from
>sheer iofnorance of their lan'^acje !"

Miss Martineau came forward in her own person to take
the cap of Mrs. Jellaby, and to scold Mr. Dickens for his
allusions to "blue-stockingism" and "Borioboola Gha."
Whether there was any foundation for these parallels be-^

'{ ■■<»■

^ li i

9 %

is i

I >a S' ?' ■ .■t

. il is ;. „ - ^.
if' 'li

i '■■ t

284

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

twecn living individuals and the characters in Bleak
House, it is not now likely the world will ever know ; hut
there can be no doubt about one of tlie characters in tliat
book — the French lady's-maid. Mr. Dickens made no se-
cret about her representing Mrs. Manning, the murderess.
Indeed he attended at her examination at the police court,
and was present at her trial and her execution. Her bro-
ken English, her impatient gestures, and her volubility,
are imitated in the novel with marvellous exactness.

Krook's death, by spontaneous combustion, was also the
subject of much comment, and excited a great deal of
controversy at tlie time, Mr. G. H. Lewes opposing tlie
idea strongly ; but Dickens maintained his ground, and
referred to several well-authenticated cases in support of
the theory.

CHAKLES DICKENS.

285

CHAPTER IX.

PECUNIARY SUCCESS. — " LITTLE DORRIT." — THE CIRCUMLO-
CUTION OFFICE. — "OUR MUTt:AL FRIEND." — SOUTH EY. —
"A child's HISTORY OF ENGLAND." — "HARD TIMES." — "A
TALE OF TWO CITIES." — THE FRENCH REVOLUTION. —
CARLYLE. — " UNCOMMERCIAL TRAVELER." — " GREAT
EXPECTATIONS." — MINOR PIECES. — "THE HOLLY TREE
INN." — " somebody's luggage." — " MRS. LIRRIPER'S
LODGINGS." — "MUGBY JUNCTION." — "HUNTED DOWN." —
" EDWIN DROOD." — ARTISTS. — THACKERAY.

** Hore various tales we read of love and strife,
Of peace and war, health, sickness, death and life,
Of loss and gain, of famine, and of store.
Of storms at sea, and travels on the shore ;
Of various tongues, the mingled sounds we hear,
In various garbs pnjmiscuous throngs appear ;
Millions of suppliant crowds the shrine attend,
And all degrees before this victor bend ;
The poor, the rich, the valiant, and the sage.
And boasting youth, and garrulous old age." — Pope.

OTHINC, perhaps, could more forcibly show the
popularity which our author had at this stage
of his life achieved than the eagerness with
which competing publishers strove for his
works, and the prices which they were willing to pay for
tlie privilege of issuing them. As we have seen, Mr.
Dickens in his youthful days, while still " to fortune and
to fame unknown," had found considerable difficulty in
obtaining sufficient remuneration for his manuscript, to
afford him a tolerable support, and had disposed of the
entii'e copyright of the Sketches, in their completed form.

.1 ■* if I >

''•• 'ji i i

iOrrf

•r .,

\'\

!;i

111

286

LIFE AND WnmNGS OF

to Mr. Macrone, for the pitiful sum of £7'3. Now nil. wn^
clmiiged. Pul>lisli('r.s sou^^'lit liim, and paid liis own priro
for Ids sliccts. Some yeai's since, Mr. J)ickens desired to
buy back the interest which Mr. HiMith^y had ac(piirc(l in
Oliirr Twist. Not being able to agrcii upon the jtiico,
they decided to leave it to arbitration. The valuers select-
ed were John Foster and Mr. Jerdan, of the Llti'mt'ij
Gazette, and the price fixed upon as the value of his in-
terest in the copyri<^dit was tlie «^'oodly sum of £2,2')()
sterling. This amount Mr. Dickens paid, and received in
return a written surrender of all ownership in the work,
and the steel plates on which Geoige Cruikshank hud
etched his admirable illustrations. This sum added to
enormous previous profits, rendered Mr. Dickens' works
decidedly profitable to Bentley. On this side of the At-
lantic there was a great rivalry to obtain the early sheets
of his productions. IlarjKvs* Monthly, the International,
and many other magazines and newspapers, com])eted.
Prior to the publication of Bleak House, the two jour-
nals named, sent agents across the ocean to negotiate with
Mr. Dickens for his next work. Harpers obtained the
start, and induced him to commence a new story at once.
This story was Bleak House, for the advance sheets of
which, alone, they paid to the author the sum of $2,000.
It is authoritatively stated that Mr. Dickens received up-
wards of one hundred thousand dollars from the sale of
his works in the United States alone, wholly exclusive of
the proceeds of his various readings.

Little Dorr it followed Bleak House, and was completed
in the year 1857. It w^s dedicated to Clarkson Stanfield,

CHARLES DICKENS.

287

the eminent landsoapo painter, and attackc<l the how-not-
to-do-it system of the British Government, as shown in
the manner of transaotin<^ hnsinoss in ilic " Circumldcn-
tion Oflice," and tiic supciciliousiiess of ollici.Mls ns exem-
plified in the Tito Barnacle family. Soon after it was
published, Lytton unwittingly furnished a s[te'-'imen of
the mode in wluch the dispatch of public business is con-
ducted. Receiving an important deputation at the (Vd-
onial ^Office (wlien he was Minister), it appeared that,
though a memorial had been sent in, and due notice given,
ho had heard nothing of the matter till five minutes be-
fore, if indeed he had heard of it at all ; in explanation
of which ho somewhat naively remarked that in such
offices " papers of importance passed through several de-
partments, and required time for inspection — first they
were sent to the Emigration Board, then to another oflice,
and then to the Secretary of 6tate, who might refer it to
some other department." One can not fail to observe the
extreme vagueness of the final resting-place of the unfor-
tunate document : " some other department." What other
department ? This is what Mr. Clennam and his mechani-
cal partner were always " wanting to know."

The gross evil of the laws of imprisonment for debt,
doubly obnoxious in the case of persons utterly unable to
dischaige the claims against them, comes in for its share
of attention. It makes manifest the great superiority of
the legislation of this continent, where the laws are made
ill the interest of the people and not of aristocratic cliques ;
and where we change our statutes readily to adapt them
to advancing civilization, and to the needs of the hour,

p. n

288

LIFE AND WRITINGS OP

unhampered by all the clogging precedents, and absolute
usages of the past, and the old fogyism generally, wliich
retards advancement in older countries. No strictures od
imprisonment for debt would be applicable on this side of
the Atlantic ; and our homestead and exemption laws af-
ford every protection and security to the fjimily of the
hopeless bankrupt. Little Dorrit proves herself a most
devoted daughter throughout the affliction of her parent,
the mendicant prisoner of the Marshalsea. This story can-
not be classed among our author's most successful efforts.
His next novel, published in his favorite style, in twenty
monthly parts, and his last completed one, was entitled Om'
Mutual Friend, which began to appear in May, 18G4, and
was finished in November, 18G5. The object of the tale
was to exhibit in the gradually developed character of
Bella Wilfer, the change, by love, from selfishness to self-
sacrifice; and of improvement by trial and sufiering.
Great griefs, Shakespeare tells us, are as medicines for our
lesser sorrows. The remedy, it may be thought, is worse
than the disease. And yet it is not so altogether ; for the
overwhelming anguish which swallows up the minor tri-
bulations disciplines the mind ; and when it has felt the
shock of real calamity, it is less likely to be disturbed by
petty annoyances. Of all schools, that of misfortune is
the best for a grumbler. If anything can make a quiet,
considerate, dignified man of him, it is affliction. It soft-
ens the hardest natures, and teaches the selfish to sympa-
thise with all who suffer. " He jests at scars who never
felt a wound ;" but, should a bullet cripple him, he will
jest at scars no more. A haughty, capricious, self-adorn-

CttARLES DICKENS.

^89

ing beauty, if smitten by the small-pox, and thereby
rendered " a perfect fright," would be considered by her
friends an object of commiseration. And yet, perhaps,
she would be a happier, because a humbler, woman than
she could ever have been as a fascinating coquette. When
we pray to be exempted from disaster, we often pray un-
wisely ; and when Heaven, turning a deaf ear to our shal-
low petitions, visits us with great sorrows, they are often,
in reality, blessings in disguise.

The plot is most ingeniously constructed, and each
character an elaborate and highly executed portrait,
although, perhaps, occasionally verging on caricature.
Miss Jenny Wren, the entertaining dolls' dressmaker ;
her drunken father ; " Fascination " Fledgeby ; Riah, the
kind-hear oed Jew ; Silas Wegg, the wooden-legged indi-
vidual, a parasite and selfish imposter, literary man to
Boffin, employed at the rate of twopence -halfpenny an
hour to read and expound the Decline and Fall of Moosh-
ian Empire, otherwise Moman Empire ; John Harman ;
Lizzie Hexam ; Venus, the anatomical artist ; and Bella
Wih"er, daughter of the Cherub, are the best remembered
characters in the book. The story is somewhat improb-
able, and contains many scenes of horror and crime. Ta-
ken as a specimen of literary workmanship, it is, perhaps,
his best production since David Copperjleld, but it is not
popular with readers.

Apropos to the falling off in the later works, and to

preserve njeii d' esprit, we m?y mention here, that Southey,

the poet, had written his autograph in an album for Mrs.

S. C. Hall, on the opposite page of which were the signo*

m i'i \r;:'.

iv:\

J '' ii

i\ i

290

LIFE AND WRITINQS Of

tures of Joseph Bonaparte and Daniel O'Connell, and
accompanied it with this verse :

'* Birds of a feather flock together,
But vide the opposite page,

And thence you may gather I'm not of a feather
With some of the birds in this cage."

PvOBERT iSouTfrEY, 22nd October, 183G.

• Under which Dickens, some years afterwards, referring
to Southey's change of opinion, wrote :

" Now, if I don't make

The completest mistake
That ever put man in a rage,

This Inrd of two weathers

Has moulted his feathers,
And left them in some other cage." — Boz.

This repartee drew from a friend of Southey, the re-
ply, in which reference is made to Pickwick and Our
Mutual Friend -

*' Put yoMvfrst work and last work together,
And learn from the groans of all men.
That if you've not altered your feather,
You've certainly altered your pen."

Our Mutual Friend was dramatized, like most of the
other works, and was produced with success at Sadler's
Wells, Astley's, and the Brittania Theatre.

Riah, the benevolent Jew, appears to have been intro-
duced to satisfy and make amends to the race to which
he belonged, for the introduction of Fagin in Oliver T'lvlist.
For a Jewish lady, it seems, complained that " Charles
Dickens, the large-hearted, whose works plead so elo-
quently for the oppressed of his country, has encouraged
a vile prejudice against the despised Hebrew." In his re-

CHARLES DICKEJ^Sl.

S91

ply, wliich enclosed a subscription to some Jewish charity,
Mr. Dickens said, " Fagin, in Oliver Ihvist, is a Jew be-
cause it unfoiiunately was true, at the time to which
that story refers, that that class of criminal almost invari-
ably was a Jew. But surely no sensible man or woman
of your persuasion can fail to observe — firstly, that all
tlie rest of the wicked dramatis j)ersonce are Christians ;
and, secondly, that he is called the ' Jew,' not because of
liis reli!:rion, but because of his race. If 1 were to write a
story in wdiich I described a Frenchman or a Spaniard as
the ' Roman Catholic,' I should do a very indecent and
unjustifiable thing ; but I make mention of Fagin as the
Jew, because he is one of the Jewish people, and because
it conveys that kind of idea of him which I should give
my readers of a Chinaman, by calling him a Chinese."
Ke added, " I have no feeling towards the Jewish people
but a friendly one. I always speak well of them, whe-
ther in public or in private, and bear my testimony (as I
ought to do) to their peifect good faith in such tiansac-
tions as I have ever had with them ; and in my CldlcVs
History of England I have lost no opportunity of setting
forth their cruel persecutions in old times." The reply to
another letter from the same lady, on the 14th July, 1863,
was the character of Riah, in Oar Mutaal Friend, and
some favorable sketches of Jewish character and the
lower class published in some articles in All the Yeo.r
Round. In acknowledgment, his fair correspondent pre-
sented him with a copy of Benisch's " Hebrew and Eng-
lish Bible," with this inscri[)tion-: — "Presented to Charles
Dickens, Esq., in grateful and admiring recognition of hia

292

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

having exercised the noblest quality man can possess —
that of atoning for an injury as soon as conscious of hav-
ing inflicted it. By a Jewess." In a letter, written at
Bradford, Yorkshire, on " Friday, First March, 1807," ho
thanked her, saying, " the terms in Avhich you send mc
that mark of your remembrance are more gratifying to
me than I can possibly express to you ; for they assure me
that there is nothing but goodwill felt between me and a
people for whom I have a real regard, and to whom I
would not wilfully have given an offence or done an injus-
tice for any worldly consideration."

This was our author's last completed work published
in the serial form ; but while he was engaged upon the
manuscript of Bleak House, Little Dorrit, and Car Mutual
Friend, he was also contributing largely to the pages of
the periodical of which, as we have said, he had accepted
the position of editor-in-chief His more imposing stories
thus contributed were four in number, namely, Hard
Times, A Tale of Two Cities, the Uncommercial Traveler,
and G-reat Expectations ; and these were supplemented
by" shorter stories, contributed to the Christmas Numbers,
comprising The Seven Poor Travelers, The Haunted
House, The Wreck of the Golden Mary, A Message from
the Sea, Mrs. Lir risers Lodgings, and Mrs. Lirripers
Legacy, Tom Tiddlers Ground., Somebody's Luggage, JS^o
Thoroughfare, Hunted Dovni, The Holly Tree Inn, Mugh>j
Junction, and Dr. Marigold's Prescription. All of these
contributions are usually bound with Mr. Dickens' works,
and all but one or two of them have been acknowledged
by him. lu addition to Uiese, he contributed to Houae-

CHARLES DICKENS.

293

hold Words, A Child's History of England, wi'itten with
great familiarity and pleasantness, for the purpose of bring-
ing it down to the comprehension of youth. This little
work became very popular, and in the following year it
was reprinted in a separate form by Messrs. Bradbury &
Evans, and inscribed as follows :

" TO MY OWN DEAR CHILDREN,
WHOM I HOPE IT MAY RKLP, BY-AND-BY, TO READ WITH
INTEREST LARGER AND BEITER BOOK.S ON THE
SAME SUBJECT."

The Battle of Hastings is one of the finest and most
marvellous pieces of descriptive writing in the Child's
11 istori/, which — as has been well remarked — "might bo
read by many children of larger growth with much profit."
This is an extract from his glowing description : "Tho
Sim rose high and sank, and the battle still raged. Through
all the wild October day the clash and din resounded in
the air. In the red sunset, in the white moonlight, heaps
upon heaps of dead men lay strewn, a dreadful spectacle,
all over the ground. King Harold, wounded with an ar-
row in the eye, was nearly blind. His brothers were
already killed. Twenty Norman knights, whose battered
armor had flashed fiery and golden all day long, .and now
looked silvery in the moonlight, dashed forward to seize
the royal banner from the English knights and soldiers,
still faithfully collected round their blinded king. T^o
king received a mortal wound and dropped."

If Mr. Dickens reached the summit of his power in
creating David Copperfield, he fell off" very appreciably
after the completion of that work- for in none of h\^

294

LIFE AND WRITINGS OP

ilrf: r^

subsequent productions docs he begin to display the
power which directed his pen when it flowed over the
sheets of Oliver Tivist,Bavnahy Ru(l(je, and others of his
earher productions. During his later years, in fact liis
works began to exhibit the evident marks of an over-
worked intellect, and a jaded and exhausted frame. It is
apparent, to his constant readers, that all of his later pro-
ductions are works of second grade compared wdili Coi^-
perjield and its predecessors. Tliey do not show so much
force of thought, strength of representation, brilliancy of
ftmcy, and of style — in short, not so much of any of its
author's great qualities, as the previous novels. Perhaps
the most apparent distinction between the tAvo series of
works is in the quantity of gaiety and humor in them.
Whatever the power of the serious characters of the later
novels as compared with the earlier, the mirthful element
is far less frequent in the later.

The foui- more important stories, which, as we have be-
fore stated, wei'e first printed in Household Words and
All the Year Round, were, of course, published in book
form shortly after their completion. Hard Times was so
issued in August, 1854. It was inscribed to Thomas Car-
lyle. Of all his works, this is the least admired and least
read. It is sadly deficient in plot, and the personages and
surroundings are much overdrawn. Some of the passages
would incline the reader to adopt a false impression of the
philosophy or political economy of Mr. Dickens, wdiich the
following extract from a letter of his may serve to correct.
Mr. Charles Knight, in his Passages of a Working Life,
tells us;' "Before I published, in 1S54, my volupae of

CHARLES DICKEyg.

295

Knowledge is Power ^ I sent a copy to my eminent friend
(Mr. Charles Dickens), with somewhat of apprehension,
for he was then publishing his Hard Timeff. I said that
I was afraid that he would set me down as a cold-hearted
political economist. His vo\)\y, of the 3()th of Januar}'',
1854, was very characteristic ; and I venture to extract it,
as it may not only correct some erroneous notions aa to
his opinions on such subjects, but proclaim a great truth,
wliich has perhaps not been sufficiently attended to by
some of the dreary and dogmatic professors of what has
been called the dismcd science : * My satire is against those
who see figures and averages, and nothing else — the re-
presentatives of the wickedest and most enormous vice of
this time — the men who, through long years to come, will
do more to damage the really useful truths of political
economy than I could do (if I tried) in my whole life — tho
addled heads who would take the average of cold in the
Crimea during twelve months as a reason for clothing a
soldier in nankeen on a night when he would be frozen
to death in fur — and who would comfort the laborer, in
traveling twelve miles a day to and from his work, by
telling him, that the average distance of one inhabited
place from another on the whole area of England is not
more than four miles. Bah ! wliat have you to do with
these r "

Various adaptations of this play were brought out on
the stage, most of which changed the denouement from
that of the story itself, and all of them cut down the mel-
ancholy and heightened the comic effect. One of these,
entitled " Under the Earth ^ or tho Sons of Toil," waa

296

LIFE AND WRITINaS OP

i P. ^

played quite recently. The circus settles in Hard Tinm
are almost equal to the theatre scench in Nicldeh\j. Mr,
Dickens was indefatigable in his efforts to become thor-
oughly "posted" on the minutest details of the subjects
upon which he wrote. Mr. Fields says : " If he contem-
plated writing Hard Times, he arranged with the ninstor
of Astley's circus to spend many hours behind the scenes
with the riders and among tlie liorscs ; and if the compo-
sition of the Tale of two Cities were occupying his
thoughts, he could banish himself to France for two years
to prepare for that great work."

The Tale of two Cities was republished by Messrs. Chap-
man & Hall. The tale relates to Paris and London in the
time of the French Revolution. His object was to add,
in a popular form, to the stock of knowledge of that ter-
rible time. He endeavors to hold as strictly to an histori-
cal version of events as the field of the novelist will allow.
In the preface, the author mentions that he first thought
of the story while acting with his children and friends in
Mr. Wilkie Collins' drama of "The Frozen Deep." Ho
Bays : — " As the idea became familiar to me, it gradually
shaped itself into its present form. Throughout its exe-
cution it has had complete possession of me ; I have so
far verified what is done and suffered in these pages, as
that I have certainly done and suffered it all myself.
"Whenever any reference (however slight) is made here to
the condition of the French people before or during the
Kevolution, it is truly made, on the faith of trustworthy
witnesses. It has been one of my hopes to add something
to the popular and picturesque means of understanding

CHARLES DICKENS.

297

that terrible time, though no one can hope to add any
thing to the philosophy of Mr. Carlyle's wonderful book."

Certainly it must be acknowledged that he has so far
succeeded in his endeavors as to liavo presented us with
the most truthful, vivid and powerful account of that
troublous time to be found anywhere in the pages of fic-
tion. Mr. Richard Grant V'hite, the editor of Shake-
speare, pronounces this work "so noble in its spirit, so
grand and graphic in its style, and filled with a pathos
so profound and simple, that it deserves and will surely
take a place among the gi'cat serious works of imagina-
tion." The story holds the reader perfectly spell-bound.
The power and awful gi'andeur exhibited in the descrip-
tive scenes of bloodshed and carnage enacted in the dread-
ful reign of terror are almost beyond conception. It has,
however, occasional passages of humor — as, for instance,
where Mr, Jeremiah Cruncher determines not to let his
wife say her prayers, being of opinion that such a course
of procedure, described by him as "flopping," ' injurious
to his business ! Perhaps the finest drawn ciiaracter in
this story is Sydney Carton, the castaway, who, with
equal simplicity and sublimity of thought and deed, real-
izes the solemn aphorism, "Greater love hath no man than
this, that he lay down his life for his friend." His is a
noble example of devotion and self-sacrifice. This work
has never been very successfully dramatized.

Mr. Dickens had the greatest respect for the works of
Thomas Carlyle, and was fond of quoting him. Only a
few weeks before his death, Mr. Arthur Locker was dis-
cussing some literary topics with him. " On this occg,-

2D8

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

sion," that gentleman writes, "Mr. Dickens conversed with
me chiefly about Mr. Carlylo's writings, for whose FrnicJi
Revolution he expressed the strongest admiration, as lie
had practically shown in his Tide of two Cities."

Towards the close of 18G(), Messrs. Chapman & Hall
published, under the title of The Uncommercial Trdvckr
a series of quaint and descriptive papers, originally seven-
teen in number, but subsequently increased to twenty-
eight, which had for some months back been contributed
by Mr. Dickens to the pages of All the Year Hound.
Among these are found the short tales bearing the titles—
City Churches, Sly Kcighhorhoods, Ki<jht Walks, Cham-
bers, Birthdays, Funerals, Tramps. We need scarcely
remark that tliey are all admirably written, and abound
in delicate touches. These miscellaneous sketches, pub-
lished together by the name of The Uncommercud T vav-
eler, impress the reader a good deal, as do the American
Notes and the Pictures from Italy. They are lively,
full of observation and character; we wonder at their
unfailing vitality and general good nature, at the im-
mense power of seeing and recording, at the endless
succession of quaint, graphic, >^ivid touches. Yet, af-
ter all, it is the note-book of a novelist rather than the
work of a traveler or wi'iter of character-sketches as such,
and we think what a mass of capital material this would
have been for more novels.

Great Expectations was commenced in 1860, in All the
Year RouvA, and was republished by Messrs. Chapman
& Hall, in November, 18G1, in a form somewhat unusual
to Mr. Dickens' works, the old library lending style of

CHARLIES DICKENS.

299

three volumes. It was inscribed to Mr. C. H. Townshcnd,
and has its scene hiid in the London and Eshox marshes.
It is a novel of the most peculiar and fantastic construc-
tion, the plot of an extraordinary description, and the
characters often grotesque, and sometimes impossible.
Here we meet with Abel Magwitch, the convict, a power-
fully-drawn character ; with Pi|), a selfish, and oftentimes
a ])itiful fellow, but good in the end, when his expectations
have entirely faded ; with Joe Gargery, the Ijlacksmith,
the finest character of all — uneducated and unpolished, but
a gentleman by instinct — kind, patient, and true to Pip,
from his infancy to manhood, shielding him in all his
shortcomings when a child, and liberally spooning gravy
into his plate when he gets talked at by Puml)lechook at
dinner ; with ^liss Havisham, the broken-hearted woman,
existing with the one idea of training her adopted child ;
with Estella, a beautiful conceptioji (Pip's love for her,
and his grief when he finds her married to Bentley
Drummle, the man without a heart to l)reak, are master-
pieces of description) ; with Pumblechook, that frightful
impostor. Perhaps the most entertaining portions are
those connected with Wemmick, the lawyer's clerk, his
"Castle" at Walworth, and his peculiar ideas of portable
property, his "post-office mouth," and Mr. Jaggers, the crim-
inal lawyer of Little Britain, his employer. The descrip-
tion of these legal characters puts Mr. Dickens in his ele-
ment once more. The death of Provis, the convict, in
Newgate, is in our author's best style. We may here
mention that "Satis House," the residence of Miss Hti vis-
ham, lies a little to the west of Boley Hill, near Rochester,

300

LIFE AND WRITINOS OF

?1 «1!

and derived its peculiar name from the fact of "Riilmrd
Watts (founder of the Poor Travelers' House previously
refeiTed to) entertaining EIizal)eth in it when on her jour-
ney round tlie coasts of Sussex and Kent, in 1573. Hlio
she staid some days, and, on her leaving. Watts apoloj^n sod
for the smallness of the house ; she merely replied 'SSV//;,s,''
signifying she was well content with her acconnnodjitlon.
The minor pieces do not rc^cjuire any very extended no-
tice here. The Haunted llouf^e provoked much discussion
on the subject of ghosts and supernatural visitors. The
idea of this Christmas number may have been suggostid
by the appearance of a work, published a few months piv-
viously, entitled, A NUjht in a Haunted House: a Tak
of Facts. By the author of Kazan, and dedicated to
Charles Dickens. Howitt took the matter up warmly,
and Dickens, in a letter to Howitt, said that he had al-
ways taken great interest in these matters, but required
evidence such as he had not yet met with ; and that wliou
he thinks of the amount of misery and injustice that con-
stantly obtains in this world, which a word from the ih-
parted dead person in question could set right, he would
not believe — could not believe — in the War Office ghost
without overwhelming evidence. Mr. Dickens could
scarcely believe it, although he might wish with Tenny-
son —

B' V.

" Oil that it were possible, for one short hour, to seo
The souls we loved, that they might tell us
What and where they be 1"

Howitt sent a letter to one of the weekly papers, stating
that " Ml'. Dickens wrote me some time ago, to request

CHARLES DICKENS.

301

that I would point out to liim some house said to be
haunted. I named to liiui two — that at Cheshunt, for-
merly inhabited by the Chapmans, and one at Wellington,
near Newcastle. Never seen former, but had the latter."
Dickons went to Cheshunt, and visited the house, and
coninumieated to llowitt that " the liouse in which tho
Chapmans lived has been greatly enlarged, and eonmiand.s
a high rent, and is no more disturbed than this house of
mine."

If any one of a nervous and superstitious temperament
will road all the seven ghost stories contained in The
Jlduntcd House at iil'dtG hour, n\onc, and in a dull and
gloomy room, a very quiet and comfortable night's rest
may be safely calculated on !

The Seven Fuor Travelers, formed the title of the
Christmas number for 1(S54. It was one of the most
popular of the* series of Christmas stories. The idea was
that Dickens had staid one Christmas eve at the Poor
Traveler's House at Rochester (founded by good old
Richard Watts*) in company with six poor travelers, and
entertained them with roast beef, turkey, and punch from
the neighboring inn, when each in turn told a stor^ His
own, the histoiy of Richard Doubledick, is one of the most
impressive and beautiful stories ever written.

In the celebrated Christmas number, entitled lite
J I oil u Tree I mi, tho best story — of course by Dickens — was

* The hou^e appointed for the recci)tiou of the ]M)or travelers is situated
on the north side of the High street, adjoininj,' the Custom house, and is
probably the original building. A very considerable sum was expended by
the mayor and citizens on its repair in 1771. Agreeably to the benevolent
de>)ii,Ti of the donor, poor travelers have lodging and four-pence each ; and

i I'

; ■ ' ( 1;! Jitl 1 1

302

LIFE AND WHITINGS OF

The Boots, a charming sketch, the wiiting delightfully
fresh and vivid. It recorded the droll adventures of a
young gentleman of the tender age of eight running off
with his sweetheart, aged seven, to Gretna Green.

In A Message from the Sea, we became acquainted
with Captain Jorgan, the American ca})tain, and his laitli-
ful steward, Tom Pettifer. The Captain's task satisfac-
torily terminated, he shakes hands with the entire popu-
lation of the fishing village, inviting the whole, without
exception, to come and stay with him for several months
at Salem, United States.

'' The Sea-faring Man," narrating the shipwreck, and
the island on fire, in vividness of description are wonder-
ful pieces of writing. ^The jjicce was dramatized and
brought out at the Britannia Theatre, Hoxton. Mr.
Dickens, who was very jealous of the use of his works,

that this charity may be more generally known, the following inacriptiou is
fixed over the door :

"RICHARD WATTS, ESQ.,

BY HIS WILL DATED 22ND AUG., 1579,

founded this chauitv,

for six poor travelers,

who not being rogues or proctors,

may receive gratis, for one night,

Lodging, Entertainment,

and four-pence each.

In testimony of his IMunificence,

IN honor of his Memory,

AND inducement TO HIS EXAMPLE,

NATHK HOOD, Es(j., the present Mayor,

HAS CAUSED THIS STONE,

GRATEFULLY TO^IiE RENEWED

AND INSCRIBED,

A. D. 1771."

— The History of Roehater, 1772.

By direction of the Court in Chancery, tlie large income deri v-ed from tlie
proi)erty betjueathed for the support of the house (being now £3500 per
annum) wa8 in pursuance of a scheme settled in 1855, applied in building of
almshouses for ten men and ten women. The result has been the erection of
a splendid edifice, in the Elizabethan style, with two magoificent gateways.

ClURLES DICKENS.

303

unless he shared in the proceeds, endeavored to prevent
its appearance.

Our novelist devoted his Christmas number, Soyne-
hoihjs Liujfjujjc, to that peculiar class of individuals
known as '* Waiters." Mr. Arthur Locker truly says of
it : " We rise from the little story with kindlier feelings
towards the whole race of waiters; we know more of
their struggles and trials, and so we sympachise with
them more." Most of our readers will remember the de-
scription of Christopher, the head-waiter, with his amus-
ing revelations of his profession — the mysterious luggage
left in Room 24 B, with a lien on it for X2 12s. Gd., his
purchasing the whole of it, and finding all the articles
crammed full of MSS. — his subsequent selling them, and
the arrival of the proofs, his horror at the appearance of
the owner — his placing them before him and the joy of
the unknown at finding his stories in print, and sitting
down with several new pens and all the inkstands well
lilled, to correct, in a high state of excitement, and being
discovered in the morning, himself and the proofs, so
smeared with ink that it would have been difficult to have
said which was him, and which was them, and wdiich w\as
blots — is sufficient to keep the reader in one continual
roar of laughter.

Torn Tiddlers Grounds, excited considerable curiosity,
and one of the stories became a subject of general discus-
sion — that of Mr. Mopef^, the hermit. PlckliKj up
Soot and Cinders, gives the history and description of
the hermit— a dirty, lazy, slothful fellow^ dressed up in a
blanket fastened by a skewer, and revelling in soot and

304

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

grease. Therej is one story in the number called Plchlnrj
%ip Terrible Compang of the most intense sensational
character. It is told by Francois Thierry a French convict,
under the head of "Picking up a Pocket-book." The
" hermit " was a living reality — a person of property and
education, who, to mortify his friends, we believe, with-
drew from the world, and lived in rags and filth.

Mrs. Lirripers Lodgings was tlie title of the number
for the season of 1863, and it created an immense furore.
The quaint manners and ideas of Mrs. Lirriper, lodging-
house keeper, of 81 Norfolk street, Strand — her troubles
with the domestics, willing Sophy, Mary Anne — the fiery
Carolina fighting with the lodgers, and being sent ofi" to
prison — the odious Miss Wozenham, an opposition lodging-
house keeper — the adoi)tion of poor little Jemmy, under
the joint guardianship of her eccentric but good-hearted
lodger, Major Jackman, his education at home, and then
his being sent oflf to a boarding-school, are inimitably
sketched. The interest taken in Mrs. Lirriper and her
Lodgings, the preceding Christmas, induced Dickens to
give a sequel to the old lady's experiences. Accordingly,
in the Christmas of 1864, we had Mrs. Lirriper's Legacy.
This narrated the death, in France, of Mr. Edson, tlie
father of Jemmy ; the journey of Mrs. Lirriper, the ^lajor,
and Master Jem, to the death-bed of the repentant man;
their adventures going and returning ; the revelations of
the extraordinary conduct of her brother-in-law, Doctor
Joshua Lirriper ; the vagaries of Mr. Bufile, the collector
of the assessed taxes ; her meritorious conduct towards
him and his family on the night of the fijre, and also, when

%i %

CHARLES DICKEN!^.

305

Miss Wozcnliam was in clanger of being sold up, lending
h:v money to pay the execution out, and becoming inti-
mute friends — are all wry charmingly and amusingly
Jesi-i'il led.

M('i]^)!j J" I) (Hon was the title of that issued in Decem-
1) ']•, ISiiO, the last number but one of the old familiar
I'liiistmas Numbers, and it contained a larger amount of
writings by Dickens than usu;d. Barhox Brothers d' Co.^
Thr Boy at Mu(jhy^ and Tlte Slgnahnaii were his contri-
butions.

The description of the Mugby Junction Station at three
in tlic morning in tempestuous weather ; the arrival of the
express train, the guard " glistening with drops of wet
and looking at the tearful face of his watch by the light
of his lantern ;" the alighting of Barbox Brothers ; the
appearance of " Lamps," the vehx^teen individual ; his
(laughter Phoebe, who kept a school ; the episode of
Polly going astray, and being found by Barbox Brothers ;
and the relating of Barbox Brothers' past life and adven-
tures, are told in a manner the reader will not easily forget.

TJie hoy at Muyhy was intended to show the abomin-
alilc system of our railway refreshment rooms, with their
stale [)astry, saw-dust sandwiches, scalding tea and coffee,
and unpalatable butter-scotch, in comparison with the ex-
cellent arrangements for the comfort and accommodation of
railway travelers in France. It is a sarcastic account of
tlic impertinence and impositions of the railway servants,
and eatiu'T-house and other similar accomodations, in
which Rugby, under the name " Mugby " is used as an
example : it sufficed to concentrate such a roar of publio

M'' iW

300

Lir'E Al^D WRITINdS Of

i 5;

laughter on tlicso abuses as actually to whip the corpora-
tion into a reform.

As some indication of tlic sale of these " Christmas
Numher.s," we may .s.t:ito that the sale of ]\la<jhy Ju.ndlon
exceeded a quarter of a million copies.

Xo Thorui.Kjitfdre was tlie title of the Christmas muu-
bcr of All tito ]'(.'((!• llonnd, which appeared dmiiii,'
Dickens' absence in America in the Cliristmas of bS(J7.
.It consisted of a sensational story, tlie joint production of
Dickens and AVilkie Collins. It was dramatized by tlio
authors, and had a most successful run at the A(lo]}»]ii
Tlieatre for one hundred and fifty-one nights, and was
afterwards produced at tlie Royal Standard.

Hunted Douni\Y'A^ ^yniiQw for the Neio York Ledijer.
Mr. Bonner had applied to ^Ir. Dickens to write a story
for that paper, Init the h>ttor, then engaged upon TJie Tak
of Two Cities, liad declined for want of time. The enter-
prising publisher of tlie literary paper Avhich has probably
the largest circulation in the world, supplemented Lis
request by the offer of £1000; which was too much for
Mr. Dickens to I'cfuse. Tlie story was written and had a
six months' run in America, prior to its publication in
England, in August, 1 8G0. " I thought," wrote the author
to the American publisher, " that I could not be temptcl
at this time to eno-ao-e in ary undertakino- however short'
but the literary project whioh will come into active exis-
tence next month. But your proposal is so handsome that
it changes my resolution, and 1 cannot refuse it. . . •
I will endeavor to be at work upon the tale while tlii^
note is on its way to you across the water." The " pro-

CHARLES DICKENS.

^07

ject" referred to here as coming into active existence next
inontli was A Talc of Ttvo Cities.

The story was supposed to be a reiainisccnce sn])plicd
by a Mr. Sampson, chief manager of a life assurance
ollice, relating tlie history of an assurance effected on the
life of Mr. Alfred Beckwith, hy Mr. Julius Slinkton, whom
lie (Slinkton) attempts to poison to get the money ; hut,
foiled in his ohject, destroys himsi'lf The story was of a
most melodramatic and sensational cliaracter.

Mr. Dickens was engaged up to the time of his death
upon another work, commenced in March, 1870, which
was being published in serial form, and of which, perhaps,
one half was ready for tlie public at the time of his
lamented decease. It was styled the My.^fary of Edwin
Di'OoJ, and gave promise of a tale so ingenious and capti-
vating, that the public, after the first shock which the
tidings of his death will bring, may be pardoned a hope
that [)0sterity will not lose the whole of this work, but
that the author had made such advance in it as to afford
some indication of its close. Messrs. Cliapman & liall
addressed the followino- letter to the Times on this sub-
ject, shortly after Mr. Dickens' decease :

'■' SiiJ, — We find that erroneous reports are in circulation
respecting TliC Mydery of LVhrui Drood, the nijvel on
"vvliieh Mr. Dickens was at work when he died. It has
been suggested that the tale is to be finished by other
hands. We hope you will allow us to state iti your col-
imms that Mr. Dickens has left three numbers complete,
ill addition to those already published, this being one-
half of the story as it was intended to be written. These

808

LtFE AND WRITINGS OF

numlxTs will be puLlLshcJ, and tlic fragment will so re-
main. No other writer could be permitted by us to com-
plete the work which Mr. Dickens has left."

A letter had been sent to Mr. Dickens, relative to a fi'nno
of speech in Chapter X. of Kdvui JJrond, which figure df
speech, the writer stated, had been taken from the du-
scription of the suHering of our Saviour, as given in the
New Testament, and applied in a way to wound the fuel-
ini;s of Christian readers. The author of Edivut JJrom]
wrote the following reply the day pi'eceding his dcutli.
It has been published as "his last words:"

" Deau Sir, — It would be (piitc inconceivable to inc,
but for your letter, that any reasonable reader could pos-
sibly attach a scri[)tural reference to a passage in a book
of mine, reproducing a much abused social figure of speech,
impressed into all sorts of service, on all sorts of
inappropriate occasions, without the faintest connection
of it with its original source. I am truly shocked to
find that any reader can make the mistake. I have
always striven in my writings to express veneration
for the life and lessons of our Saviour ; because I feel it.
and because I re-wrote that history for my children—
every one of whom knew it from having it repeated to
them, long before they could read, and almost as soon as
they could speak. But I have never made proclamation
of this from the housetops.

*' Faithfully yours,

"Charles Dickens.'

lu connection with Edwin Brood, as an illustration of

CHARLES DICKENS.

300

c to u fiLniro

the habitual painstaking habits of the author, we find in
tlic Dalbf Neiv!^ a letter from John Browning, which
says: — "Connected with the name and histoiy of Charles
Dickens, and illustrative of his habits of ()])servation, it
may not be amiss to record tliat on tlie publicatiiai of
Kilc'iit Brood's Mi/sfcry T Avrote to hin\ explaining what
appeared to me an inaccuracy^ in his dcscri[)tion and pic-
ture of ()})imn-smoking, and sent to him an original Cliineso
sketch of the form of the ])i[)e and tlie manner of its enjoy-
iiK'ut in China. Ex})ressing much gratilication with my
cdinnumication, he informed me that befoie he wrote the
cliaptcr he had personally visited the eastern districts of
London, in the neighljorhood of the docks, and had only
rcconled what he ha<l himself seen in that locality. No
duul)t that the Chinaman whom he described had acconi-
iiKxlated himself to Endisli usao-e, and that ourm-eat and
faithful dramatist here as elsewhere, most concctly por-
ti'aycd a piece of actual life."

In view of the author's decease so soon after penning
the passage, the last words in the nundjer for June, 1870,
liave a mournful significance : — " Comes io an rnd — foi*
fill' (itne." Perhaps the weary^ novelist had some f(jrebod-
iug even then, that it was to be — foi' aU time.

It is remarkable too that in the American edition, })ul)-
lished independently, the conchiding Avords in tlie nund)cr
issued prior to his death should be so prophetic : — " There;
there 1 there ! Get to l)ed, \m)ov man, and cease to jabber*
^^ itli that he extinguished liis light, pulled up the bed-
clothes around him, and ivUh another slyh shut out the

810

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

;^j

m 1 1;

Hi, ..r 'f:

II ^ f...

This completes an approximate sketch of Mr. Dickens'
literary lal)or.s, properly so caHed. Their intelleetual total
is not nieasuralile ; tlidr nieclianieal total alone is a gicit
one; for it would incliuli,' the editorial labor on the Jhiihf
I^eivs, that on BnutlcjH Miscc/iifir//, tliat on tlie forty hy>fii
oetavo volumes of Hoiischold Worth and All the Yin,'
Jlound, in addition to ahout twenty-five volumes of his
own ''Works," including tlie Novels, Tales, Sketrlics,
Travels, Biography of CJrimaldi, nnd History of Kuglau.l.

The relations, personal as well as professional, uetwcpn
Charles Dickens and leading artists, were always of tliu
most satisfactory nature. He went into general soeictv,
rather as a duty to his family and position, hut his heart
was with such artists, authors, and actors as were wi'll
known to and highly regarded hy him. He was fortun-
ate in the selection, at the commencement of his career,
of an artist of such ahility and experience in life as George
Cruikshank. The assistance of this gentleman's most
vigorous pencil was of incalculable advantage to the young
author. His first ofibrt in Mr. Dickens' behalf was sc^nie
fine cuts for a small pamphlet, now out of print, entitled
Sun(h(>j hi Londoti. The thirt^^-nine characteristic illus-
trations designed by him for the Slictches contrilmtetl
largely to their success. Had this first effort of Mr. Dick-
ens proved a failure, it is veiy possible that he might
have felt so ori'cat a discourai-'ement as to have abandoned
the occupation of story writing forever, and sought fur
some employment oftering him a greater remuneration,
and a better prospect of success. But success was assured
with author and artist working in so great a unison : and

CHARLES DICKENS.

311

it was rendered douLly certain l)y tl»e re]»ntatl(>n already
estuMislied l»y Cruiksliank. Tliis li;- liad ac'(iuired l)y
Ills spirited ctcliings for a honk calh.'d ///"'' /// LdikIod, —
a low work but very famous in its day, wliirh was ada[»t-
0(1 to the stage, ;ui'l is repeatedly referred to ly Thackeray
in Ills works, — as well as l»y his illustr;iti(»ns for many
other coniie volumes very [)opular at that time, but now
forgotten. Of liis other labors, Mij SL-rfc!i Huol-, Points of
If'iiiior and Illti.^fr(itio)is of Plu'enolo;/'/, were noticed
with very high enconuums by Christopher Noi'tlijin Bhwk-
vood's MiUjazlne. He had likewise, before Mr. l>)ickens'
time, furnished illustrations for Fielding, Smollett, and
(loldsmith in Roscoe's Novelists' Library, which estal)lish-
C(l his reputation as a book artist, and proved him to bo
no mere caricaturist. From his boyish days, Cruiksliank
had been familiar with all the varieties and ])hascs of
middle life and low life in London. It was said of him
that you could not njime a lane or alley in the Modern
Babylon, the locality of which he could not instantly de-
scribe. He was the true "guide, philosopher, and friend'*
for Charles Dickens, and both were the xary men to pro-
duce,"with pen and pencil, the Sh'tcJiCH of Ewjlhlh Life
and CJu( racier which bore the now familiar 'nom de
'plume of Boz upon the title-page. His etchings in the
SlrtcJies were admirable. One — that of "The Streets :
Morning" — a view of some slum near Seven Dials, desert-
ed in the bright daw^n, save by a saloop-woman, a sweep*
and a policeman leaning against a post, is incomparably
fine.
Besides the Sketches, Cruik shank illustrated Oliver

512

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

Twist and the Mnnoin^ ofjopcph GrhnaJdi. Tn fact tlio
latter story was in a mcasinc written nj) to tli<' illus-
trations, in sonietliin.LC the sanic way in wliidi the /\V/;-
IvicJc Pitpcrs were Ih'.st started ^h•lny years al'ter tin-
publication of OlU'cr Tirlst, a visitoi", tnrniiiL,^ ovei- tlic
inultitiulc of etchings in the artist's poitiolio, came jicioss
a bundle of some twenty-live or thirty drawings, voy
finelv finislied, in wliich it was not dilllcult to reeoirni/.t!
the tlien well known features of Oliver, TMi^in, Bill Sikcs,
and many others of the characters in tliat stoiy. Mr.
Cruikshaidc, on \>cuv^ (luestioned in relation to them,
explained that it had h»ng been his intention to sliew
the life and experience of London criminals by a series
of drawings, without a word of letter-press. " Dickens,'
he continued, " drop})ed in here one day just as you have
done, and, v/Mlc waiting until I could si)eak with him,
took up that identical portfolio, and ferreted out that
bundle of drawings. When he came to that one whirli
represents Fagin in the condemned cell, he silently stud-
ied it for half an hour, and told nie that he was tempted
to change the whole plot of his story ; not to carry
Oliver Twist through adventures in the country, but to
take him up into the thieves' den in London, show wh;it
their life was, and bring Oliver safely through it with-
out sin or shame. I consented to let him write u}) to
as many of the designs as he thought would suit his
purpose ; and that was the way in wdiich Fagin, Sikes
and Nancy were created. My drawings suggested them,
rather than his strong individuality suggested my draw-
ings."

CIIAHLES DICKENS.

ni3

Tt lias Loon statod l)y Mr. Mayliow, tliat wlicn Cruik-
sli.iiik was (Icsi^n'mL'- F;iL;in in tlio condciiuuMl cell, Ijo
iiiatlo variniis attfiiiiits to pnxlurc tlio iV(|uhT(l I'trcct of
tori'or, liatvcfl ninl dcspnir, l>ut did not suocotMl, nntll,
ui (' iiiornin«.(, as lio was sittiiiLi" np in l>rd, onawinLi; liis
nails, jis Ik* nscd to do wlicii In; fuund liiiiisclf at a non-
|)lus, lie can^lit a \it'W of liis own faco rotloctcd in a
|)iL'i'-ij^lass opjjositc, and, jinnjtiiiL;' out of IkmI, on tlie nio-
iiiL'iit, went to work on liis sketrli. He liad got the posi-
tion and the cx[)ression lie wantiMJ.

Mr. Crniksliank also furiiislii'd one drawing; for 77/6' ad-
veil fares of Mr. Tnlriiinhfc, and one for T/fC Proceed} n(js
of Ihe Mu(Jfo(j As.^ucidfioii, two minor j)ieccs of little niei'it,
oi'i<;-in;illy printed in Jienflei/st, but not re-j)ul»lislied by Mr.
l)iekens, and never ineluded in the English editions of his
Works.

]\[r. Thackeray, who had been studying high art in tlio
Louvre, — not, however, with any very astonishing suc-
cess, and had furnished some iioor et<'hinirs for Doutrlas
Jcrrold's ^feli of Che rai'ter — was very anxious to try his
hand at illustrating Pickirlcl', and waited on Mr. Dickens
for t^iat purpose. His services, however, were thankfully
declined, much to the mortification, probably, of the author
of YaiLibj Fair. Thackeray confirmed this fact in a
speech at an anniversary dinner of the Royal Academy a
few years since, Mr. Dickens being ]»resent on the occa-
sion. " I can remember," said Mr. Thackeray, " when !^li'
Dickens was a very young man, and had commenced de-
lighting the world with some charming humorous w^orks
in covers which were colored light green, and came out

314

LIFE AND WRITINOS OP

.' ' *

I :•>■ • < ,
-if.

III I 'm

onno a moiitli, that tliis youn^,' iiimii wanted an artist to il-
lustrate liis writin/^s ; and T recollect walkini;" np to liis
cljain1)ers in l^'ui'iiival's Inn, with two or three <lrawin:j;s
in my hand, whicli, strani^'e to say, he di<l not lind suit-
alth;. Ihit lor the unfortuiiaie l)li^ht w hicli came oncj* my
artistieal existence, it would li.ave l>een my pride ami my
j)leasuro to have endeavoi'ed one day to lind a place on
these walls for one of my perfnrmanees." Tlie work n-
fei'i'cd to was the Pirliric/i' Vd [wr^. It wjis not for ;i
year or two after tlic event referriid to that he began scii-
onsly to devote himself to literary lahor; and his articles,
published anonymously, and only now for the tlrst tiiii(3
brought into notice, V)ecause recoginzed from their iioirif^-
de-p!ume to have been AN-ritten by him, contain the best
evidences that lie felt no shadow of ill-will for a rejection
which he alwa.ys good-humoredly alluded to as "Mr. Pick-
wick's lucky escape !"

Robert Seymour's four designs for The Pichwlch Puiicr'^,
were: 1. Mr. Pickwick addressing the C!ub, in which the
old gentleman, su})ported by Tupman, Winkle, and Snod-
grass, stands upon a Windsor chair, with one hand cov-
ered by his coat-tails, while he anathematizes unfortunate
Mr. Blottom — his opponent. 2. Mr. Pickwick and the
pugnacious Cabman. 3. The sagacious dog, who, seeing
a notice that " The gamekeeper had orders to shoot dogs
found in this enclosure," turns tail, and refuses to follow a,
cockney sparrow-shooter into a lield — this is in Seymour's
best style. 4. The Dying Clown, which is a poor i)er-
formance, in all respects.

As Mr. Pickwick Ayas to be the leading character in the

ii;

CIIARLrS DICKENS.

31.

x'g'aii sci'i-

bmtk, nnd tlio one ]}y wliicli it was principally to ho idcn-
titied, tho drawin^^ of that personage was of course a
matter of «^n'eat importance and study. The figure linally
}'. iopted, was snu^'4"csted l»y Mr. ('hnonian, one of the pub-
lishers, who ,s,M\s, in a letter to I)iekens : — " As this U'ttcr
is to be historical, 1 may as well claim what little belon<js
to nio in tho matter, and that is, the figure of Pickwick.
Siymour's first sketch," made from the ])roof of the first
cliajtor, was of a Ioiil;-, thin man. The pn'scnt innnoi*-
tal one was made from my descri[)tion of a friend of mine

it Jlicl

imoiK

re([uent consultations wore

held

lis sul»je(

t be-

tween author, artist, and publishers, and each and all
made sue'<restions in relation to this illustrious character.

r»

^Ir. Dickens thus compliments Mr. Seymour on the final
success of his drawin<r :

IT), FnixrvAL's Ixx.

" My Dear Sir, — I had intended to vvrite yon, to say
how much gratified I feel by the pains you have bestow-
ed on onr mutual friend, Mr. Pickwick, and how much to
the result of your lal)ors has sni'passed my expectations.
I am happy to be aide to con^n'atulateyou, the publishers,
and myself on the success of the undertakin,*^, which ap-
pears to have been most complete. — Dear Sii, very truly

ours.

Charles Diokens.

Seymour was in ill health and indigent circumstances
at this time, and died shortly after this, and before forty-
eight pages of the manuscript were written, by his own

31G

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

^!t'

h.iB

hand ; an event induced by long continued depression of
mind. He was niucli inferior in imagination, humor, and
execution to tlic other artists who liave immortahzed
themselves in connection witli Mr. Dickens.

.Mr. Ilablot Kniglit Browne, under tlie pseudonym of
" Phiz," succeeded ^Ir. Seymour, and ilhistrated most of
the works which were ])ublished in tlie familiar green
cover series, including the Ficl'iclck I^apars, Dornhoij and
t)On, Nicholas Xicldehy, Bleak House ^ Little Dorr It, David
Copperjield and Martui Cltazzhvlt, entire; and, witli
some little assistance in the landscai)e illustrations from
the late George Chattermole, Barnabij Riahje and The
Old Cariosity Hhop, also. "Phiz" was a young man at
this time, three years the junior of Dickens, and was liv-
ing in Furnival's Inn, where the latter made his acquain-
tance. It is probable that the two young men, living
uogeth^r, both in needy circumstances, and both aspiring,
and having, perhaps, a fellow feeling of comic humor to
bin(j them together, became chums ; and this likely led t(j
th.oir business connection. Mr. Browne was an excellent
i rbist, though with less experience than Cruikshank. Ho
iiad, prior to his connection with our author, won a medal
I'rom the Society of Arts, for a large etching of John
G'lpin scattering jjigs and })oultry in his famous ride. His
first drawing for Dickens was Dr. Slannner's defiance of
Jingle. His early illustrations were not very satisfactor}^ ;
but assiduous labor and careful study of the manuscript
caused a marked improvement.

The drawing in the Old Cariosity Shop of the droAvned
corpse of Quilp lying in the ooze and sedge of the river

CHARLES DICKENS.

317

Itank, and in BarntjJnj RvJije of Hugh tied to the troop-
er's liorse, after the sui)i)ression of the riots of '80, arc
really nohle performances. "Phiz" I'eached his (icniCy
pei'haps, as an illustrator in Martin Cli uzzJoivU. His Tom
Pinch, liis Jonas (/huzzlewit, and especially his Pecksniff,
are masterly creations of comic art In Co])j}('rfu'hl there
is a slii;'ht falling oH* although there have been few finer
etchings from his needle than the picture of little Davy
giving his "tremendous order" for a glass of ale in the
public-house. In Blank House and in LlUle Dorrit, Mr.
Hablot Browne unha])pily adopted a style of engraving (a
level ruled tint being laid over the free-handed etching,
and touched up here and there with high lights) which
although soft aiid pleasing to the eye, and productive oc-
casionally of Ilembrandt-like effect, undoubtedly militated
against the graphic vigour of his designs ; this style was
not pursued in the illustrations to the Tale of Two Cities^
an essentially melodramatic work, where, if anywhe/e,
this effect might possibly have been used to advantage.
Author and artist were well suited to each other as their
long and mutually satisfactory connection makes manifest.

The Arnericaji Xofes, Tale of Tiro Cities, Great Ex-
pcrtatw lis and the Pictures fnnti Itnlr were illustrated
by Mr. ^larcus Stone, a young })ainter of veiy signal merit,
and of still greater promise, \vhose picture of " The first
Sus[)icions of Catharine of Arragon," is one of tho most
prominent in the Academy Exhibition of the current year.
This gentleman is a son of Mr. Fraidv Stone, artist, (jne
of Mr. Dickens' closest friends.

The Chridmaa ^Stories were embellished with etchings

I» il.';^!';!''';

|i'»7.

'ji -J w f^i

< *:';

i« y Jft

318

LIFE AND WRITINGS OP

by John Loecli, Daniel ^[aclisc, and Edwin Landsoer.
Hard Tlme^, some Rf printed Pieces, and some additional
Cliristmas Shrlas were illustrated by Mr, J. Walker ; and
Edwin Brood, his last and unfinished effort, by Mr. S.
L. Fields, one of wliose pictures attracted ^Ir. Dickons'
attention at the Exhibition. Daniel Ivlaclise also contrll)-
ted one sketch, '' Little Nell and the Sexton," to the Ohl
Curiosiiy Shoji, and as we have previously stated, tlie
valuable portrait of the authoi-, a line engraving of which
adorned the early edition of Nicholas Kiddcby.

CHARLES DICKENS.

310

CHAPTER X.

KKMOVAL TO TAVISTOCK IIOUSK. — HAIUTS AT ITOMK.— LV-

ti-:i:le .t u al to il. — fam i l y tro u I'.l i-:s.— s i: pa n at i on. —

EXPLANATIONS.— CIHLDKEX. — DISA(JREEMENT WITH PUB-
EISliEUS — KENT. — REMOVAL TO GAD'S HILL. — DICKENS
AT HOME. — gad's HILL PLACE.

*' These are ■worda of deeper sorrow
Than t)ie "vvail above the dead ;
Both shall live, but every morrow
AVakc us from a widow'd l>ed.'' — HvKoN".

^^'^^^R. DICKENS continued to reside at number 1,
'' ^ Devonsliire Terrace, until tlic year ISoO, Avlieii

,._i5 he removed to " Tavistock House," Tavistock
Square. This was a beautiful villa, in the
very heart of London, yet surrounded by trees and shrub-
bery, and haviiig a considerable garden in the rear. This
Litter had several lawns, shaded ]ij tall trees, Avhicli im-
parted a rural ai)i)eai-ance to the whole, even in the midst
of dusty and smoky London. Tliero was an iron railing
ill front, to separate it from the street, while the well-kept
shrubbery efiectually protected it from die too curious
public gaze. Li the passage leading from the street to the
garden, there hung paintings and cop|)er-i)lates ; here
stood Dickens' marble bust, life-like, young and hand-
some, and the doors to the bed-cliambers and dining-rooms
were surmounted by Thorwaldsen's bas-reliefs of Night
and Day. On the first lioor was a large library, with a

320

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

firc-placc and writing-taLlo, and in tlie larg-e room open-
ing ii])on tlio garden, Dickens and his family and fVifiKls
amused themselves in winter by performing plays. Tlio
kitchen was in the basement, and the bed-rooms on the
n|)pei' floor. From the rooms opening on the garden, tlie
Tower of London loomed up above the trees, or disappear-
ed, according to the clearness of the weather. It was a
loni.; walk out from the centre of business life. The ad-
joining house was occupied by Mr. Frank Stone, the em-
inent artist. This residence Mr. Dickens occupied until
1857, when he removed from London to tlie famous (Jad's
Hill mansion, Avith which he is so thorou^i^hlv identified.

Wherever residing, his liouse was always an open one,
and his guests were treated with a genial hospitality.
Mrs. L. K. Li})pincott, of Philadelphia, then Miss Clarke,
has lately written a very readable letter to the Xeiu York
Trlhanc, in relation to a visit to Tavistock House, in 18.')2.
in which she says : " I have in my mind still a perfectly
distinct [)icture of the bright, elegant interior of Tavistock
House, and of its inmates — of my host himself, then in his
early prime — of Mrs. Dickens, a plump, rosy, Englisli,
handsome woman, with a certain air of absent-minded-
ness, yet gentle and kindl}^ — Miss Hogarth, a very lovely
person, with charnung manners — and the young ladies,
then verf/ young — real English girls, fresh and simple, and
innocent-lookino' as Eno-lish daisies. I w\as received in the
library. Mr. Dickens — how clearly he stands before mo
now, with his frank, encouraging smile, and the light of
welcome in his eyes ! — was then slight in person, and
rather pale than otherwise. The symmetrical form of

CHARLES DICKENS.

321

his head, and the fine, spirited bearing of the whole figure,
struck me at once — then the hearty houhomie, the whole-
some sweetness of his smile ; but more than any thing else,
the gi'eat beauty of his eyes."

Miss Clarke questioned Mr. Dickens very closely about
his modes of study and writing, and he answered her
frankly and patiently. " I asked," she reports, " if certain
characters which I pointed out, generally esteemed very
peculiar and eccentric, if not positively unnatural and im-
possible, were not altogether beings of the mind, pure
creatures of his own fancy ; and he said explicitly that
the most fantastic and terrible of his characters were the
most real — the 'unnatural' were the natural — the 'exasf-
gerations' were just those strange growths, those actual
human traits he had copied most faithfully from Ufo.
Sam Weller, whom everybody recognized as an acquaint-
ance, was not a real, but quite an imaginary personage, he
said — was only the representative of a class." She ob-
served the exquisite order and nicety of his study-table,
and asked him if he actually did his every-day work
there. " Oh, yes," he said, " I sit here and write, through
almost every morning." " Does the spirit always come
upon you at once ?" " No — sometimes," he answered, " I
have to coax it ; sometimes I do little else than draw fig-
ures or make dots on the paper, and plan and dream till
perhaps my time is nearly up. But I always sit hci-e for
that certain time." She asked whether, in case the liow
of in.spi ration did not come till near the hour for hirich or
exercise, he left that seat when the hour struck, or re-
niaiued ? " I go at once," he said, " hardly waiting to
21

822

LIFE AND WETTINGS OP

complete a sentence. I could not keep my health other-
wise. I let nothing deprive me of my tramp." Lastly
came an inquiry, wliich shows that the lady had thought
the matter over closely. " I asked," she says, " if tlio
mental work did not go on as he walked, and he said lie
supposed it did in some degree, especially when ho wa.s
alone ; yet that he thought he saw almost all that was to
be seen in his walks about London and Paris — indeed,
everywhere he went ; that he had trained his eye and ear
to let nothing escape him ; that he had received most val-
uable hints of character in that way."

This is undoubtedly correct. His long walks recuper-
ated his wasted bodily energies, and at the same time
freshened and invigorated his mind. It was owing, no
doubt, to his regular habits and vigorous exercise, super-
added to a naturally muscular constitution and tough
framework, that he was enabled to hold out so long under
that most exhausting of all work, increasing mental cfi'ort.
There is no cessation of thought to a person of his organi-
zation, save only in sleep ; and even

** In the mid silence of the voiceless night,
Oft, chased by airy dreams, the slumbers flee ."

fill ^

There is a constant draft upon the brain, against which
exhaustive process no human organization, however vig-
orous, or however supplemented by exercise, can battle for
more than a very brief period. It was utterly impossible
for him, on leaving his studio, to rid himself from tlie re-
membrance of his labors there, and to dismiss the train of

CHARLES DICKENS.

323

thought which, with Iuh whole heart Itound up in tho
work, must liave weighed so heavily upon his mind. Tlio
intellectual toil continued during his rand)les, though va-
ried somewhat, doul.)tless, hy the new ideas, images and
correllations presented to his mind l)y the various per-
sons, scenes and incidents which met his bodily eye, and
which he constantly endeavored to blend with ideas al-
ready formed, and utilize for his literary ])urposes.

We remarked in a previous chapter th;it the discontin-
uation of Household }Vords was due to a quarrel between
Mr. Dickens and the publishers of that mngazine, Messrs.
Bradbury &; Evans, which led to its sale in Chancery, and
the establishment by our author of All the Year Bound
ill its stead. Not cariwg at that point to break the thread
of our narration of Mr. Dickens' literary labors, we defer-
red to touch upon the cause of that unfortunate disjigree-
inent, which we will now proceed to narrate.

For some years prior to this event, the domestic rela-
tions of the author with his wife had ceased to be of a
nature which was either happy or satisfactory to either of
them. In June, 1858, it had become town-talk that a
se[)aration had occurred between ^Ir. Dickens and his
wife. Early in that month, the following communication,
addressed to Mr. Arthur Smith, appeared very extensive-
ly in the newspapers, its object being to put an end to the
ciilumnious rumors and gossips which were being circula-
ted throughout the country, with the customary addi-
tions, to the injury of the reputation of more than one in-
nocent individual :

324

LIFE AND WniTINOS OP

"Tavistock TIot^se, Tavistock Square,

"London, W. C, Tuesday, May 28,1858.

" My Dear Arthur :

" You have not only my full permission to shoAV this,
but I beg you to show it to any one who wishes to d(j me
right, or to any one who may have been misled into doing

me wrong.

" Respectfully yours,

" C. D."

"Tavistock House, Tavistock Square,

"London, W. C, Tuesday, May 28, 18.58.

" To Arthur Smith. Esq. :

"Mrs. Dickens and I have liv^ed unhappily together for
many years. Hardly any one who has known us inti-
mately can fail to have known that we are in all respects
of character and tein|)erament wonderfully unsuited to
each other. I suppose that no two peo})le, not vicious in
themselves, ever were joined together who had a greater
difficulty in understanding one another, or who had less in
common. An attached woman servant (more friend to
both of us than a servant), who lived with us sixteen
years, and is now married, and who was and still is in
Mrs. Dickens' confidence and mine, who had the closest
familiar experience of this unhappiness in London, in tlie
country, in France, in Italy, wherever we have been, year
after year, month after month, week after week, day after
day, will bear testimony to this.

" Nothing has, on many occasions, stood between us and
a separation but Mrs. Dickens' sister, Georgina H(jgai'th.
From the age of fifteen she has devoted herself to our
house and our children. She has been their playmate,
nurse, instructress, friend, protectress, adviser, compaTiion.
In the manly consideration towards Mrs. Dickens whicli I
owe to my wife, I will only remark of her that the peculi-
arity of her character has thrown all the children on some
one else. I do not know — I cannot by any stretch of

CHARLES DICKENS.

325

fancy imagine — what "would have become of tliem but for
tills aunt, who has grown up with them, to whom they arc
devoted, and who has sacriliced the best part of her youth
and life to them.

" She has remonstfjit 'd, reasoned, suffered and toiled,
and came again to prevent a separation between Mi's.
Dickens and mo. Mrs. Dickens has often exj)ressed to her,
lier sense of her atiertionate care and devotion in the
house — never more strongly than within the last twelve
months.

" For some years past, Mrs. Dickens has been in tho
lialjit of re])resenting to me that it would be better for her
to go away and live apart ; t1ia,t her always increasing es-
tningement was due to a mental disorder under which she
sometimes labors ; more, that she felt herself unfit for the
life she had to lead, as my wife, and that she would be
better faraway. I have unifonnly replied that she must
Lear oui' misfortune, and fight the fight out to the end ;
that the children were the first consideration ; and that I
feared they must l)ind ns together in * appearance.'

" At length, within these three weeks, it was suggested
to nie by Forster that, even for their sakes, it.would sure-
ly be better to reconstruct and rearrange their unhappy
home. I emj)0wered him to treat with Mrs. Dickens, as
tlie friend of both of us for one and twenty years. Mrs.
Dickens wished to add, on her part, Mark Lemon, and did
so. On Saturday last, Lemon wrote to Forster that Mrs.
Dickens 'gratefully and thankfully accepted' tne terms I
jaoposed to her. Of the pecuniary part of them, I will
only say that I believe they are as generous as if Mrs.
Dickens were a lady of distinction, and J a man of fortune.
The remaining parts of them are easily described — my el-
dest boy to live with Mrs. Dickens and to take care of her;
my eldest girl to keep my house ; l)oth my girls and all my
children, but the eldest son, to live with me in the con-
tinued companionship of their Aunt Georgina, for whom
they have all the tenderest affection that I have ever
seen among young people, and who has a higher claim (as

* ■■■■/•" ■]•

32G

LIFE AND WRITINGS OP

.15^':

I have oftoii (IcjcLikmI, for many years), upon my aflccticjii,
re.S])Oct and gratitude; tlian anybody in this world.

** I hope that nouiio wlio may ])ecome awjuaintod witli
what 1 write liere, can possil)ly V)c so cruel and nnjust as
to put any misitonstruvtion on our separation, so far. My
elder chihlron all understand it perfectly, and all accept it
as inevitable.

"There is not a shadow of douht or concealment amonij
us. My eldest son and I are one as to it all.

" Two wicked persons, who should have spoken very
differently of me, in consideration of earnest respect and
gratitude, have (as I am told, and, indeed, to my persoiml
knowledire) couj)le(l with this sc})aration the name of a
young lady for whom I have a great attachment and re-
gard. I will not repeat her name — I Inmoi' it too nnu;1i.
Upon my soul and honor, there is not on this earth a nioro
virtuous and si)()tless ci'eature than that youn<:{ ladv. I
know her to he innocent and pure, and as good as my own
dear dau'jhters.

" Further, I am quite sure that ^Irs. Dickens, having re-
ceived this assurance from me, must now believe it in the
res})ect I know her to liave for me, and in the })erfect con-
fidence I know her in her better moments to repose in my
truthfulness.

"On this head, again, there is not a shadow of doubt or
concealment between my children and me. All is optni
and plain among us, as though we w^ere brothers and sis-
ters. They are perfectly certain that I would not deceive
them, and the confidence among us is without a fear.

" C. D."

The young lady herein referred to was Miss Geoi'gina
Hogarth, Mrs. Dickens' younger sister, for whom the au-
thor always expressed the veiy highest i-egard, and who
had lived in the family for many years as a friend of all
parties and instructress of the children. Gossip, with its
busy tongue, made free with her name, in tliis connection,

CHARLES DICKENS.

327

and assigned a too great intimacy \ »etwcen Mr. Dickens
and herself as the cause of jealousy on the part of Mrs.
I)ickens.

A few days after the i)ul)li('ation of the letters given
al)ove, there appeared on the fi'ont page of Iloiisrhold
Words for June l*2th, IS.jcS, a furtlier explanation from
Mr. Dickens on this subject, couched in the following lan-

minj^e :

((

PERSONAL.

" Three-and-twenty years have passed since I entered
on my present rehitions with the public. They began
wIr'U I was so young, tbat I find theui to have existed for
nearly a ([uarter of a century.

" Tiu'ough all that time 1 have tried to be as faithful to
tlie public as they have been to me. It was my duty
never to trifle with them, or deceive them, or presume
upon their favor, or do anything with it but work hard to
justify it. I have always endeavored to discharge that
duty.

" M}^ conspicuous position has often made me the sub-
ject of fabulous stories and unaccountable statements.
Occasionally such things have chafed me, or even wound-
ed nie ; but I have always accepted them Jis the shadows
inse[)arable from the liglit of my notoriety and success.
I have never obtru<led any such personal uneasiness of
mine, upon the generous aggregate of my audience.

" For the first time in my life, and I believe for the last,
Tnow deviate from the princii)le I have so long observed,
hy presenting myself in my own journal in my own pri-
vate character, and entreating all my brethren (as they
deem that they have reason to think well of me, and to
ktiijw that I am a man wlio has ever been unafiectedlj
true to our common calling), to lend their aid to the dis-
semination of my present words.

" Some domestic trouble of mine, of long-standing, on
which 1 will make no further remark than that it claims

S28

LIFE AND WRITTNGfli Of*

'ill '
m )

to T)C rcspoctcd, as ])v\]v^ of a sacredly ])rivato iintuiv, linn
lately l)eeii biv)ii(^lit to an nrrMnL,'eiii('nt, wliidi iiivolvrs no
a n<j;er or ill-will of any kind, jiikI the whole ori<,nii, jun-
gresH, and surrounding ciicunistanees of which have ln'cn,
throughout, within the knowledge of my children. It is
anii(;al)ly composed, and its details have now hut to he
forgotten hy those concerned in it.

•'By some means, arising out of wickedness, or out nf
folly, or out oi' inconceivahle wild chance, or out of iill
three, this trouhle has heen made the occasion of misio-
presentations, most grossly false, most monstrous, ,'ni<l
most cruel — ijivolving, not only me, Init innocent ])ers(»ii,s
dear to my heait, and innocent persons of wliom 1 havo
no knowledge, if, indeed, they have any existence — iiinl
so widely spread, that 1 doubt if one reader in a thousiuid
will i)eruse these lines, by whom some touch of the breath
C!f these slanderers will not liave passed, like an unwholu-
some air.

"Those who know me and my nature, need no assurance
under my hand that such calumnies are as irreconcilahle
with me, as tl^|F are, in their frantic incoherence, witli
one another. But, there is a great multitude who know
me through my writings, and who do not know me other-
wise ; and I cannot bear that one of them should be left
in doubt, or hazard of doubt, through my poorly shrinkini^
from taking the uiuisual means to which I now resort, uf
circulating the truth.

" I most solemnly declare, then — and this I do, both in
my own name and in my wife's name — that all the lately
Avhispcred rumors touching the trouble at which I Innc
glanced, are abominably false. And that whosoever le-
peats one of them after this denial, will lie as wilfully
aiul as foully as it is possible for any false witness to lie,
l)Ciore Heaven and earth. Charles Dickens."

All the newspapers and journals copied this manifesto
with various comments — in some cases exceedingly ran-
corous and spiteful — and various long letters and docu-

CHARLES DICKENS.

329

incuts from friends on botli sides nppcaroJ in tlic pul)lic
journals. Tlie sin»})lo trutli is that there was prohahlyno
cause of (lisa<jjreenirnt hetwecn Mr. Diekens and Ids wife,
except wliat is usually styled an ineonipatHtllity of tem-
perament. It was never alleged hy Mrs. Diekens that
there was anything imi)roper in the relations between her
husband and Miss Hogarth, on the contrary, she was on
terms of intimacy with hei' sister after a separation had
taken [)lace between hersi'lf and herhusl)and. The whole
ail'air was extremely unfortunate, and extremely to bo
regretted. Married when Mr. Di(;kens was only twenty-
five years of age they hail lived together until ho had
reached the mature manh' >»d of forty-six years; cx[)eri-
encing this nearest and dearest of all relati()nshi})s for tho
leng period of twenty-one years. During this time they
had wept together at the graves of several of their off-
spring, and r^ix children still remained to strengthen tho
tic which should have boun<l them together. A slight
3 ielding on the part of either to the wishes and tastes of
the other — a little more self-sacritice and charity — woidd
have prevented tho necessity for the sad event which
must have embittered their lives, and which leaves a blot
on the fair fame of the great author. The whole diff'or-
ence between them might have been tided over had they
mutually realized in their dealings with each other that
homely forbearance so well depicted by Whittier, and
absolutely necessary for domestic hapjjiness : —

" And if the ImsLand or tlie wife

In liome's strong life discovers
fSuch slight defaults as failed to meet

The blinded eyes of lovers.

ft;-:

llr

iii

ill '

330 Life and writings of

" Why need we care to ask ! who dreams

Without their thorns of roses,
Or wonders that the truest steel.

The readiest spark discloses j;

" For still in mutual sufferance lios

The secret of true living ;
Love scarce is love that never knows

The sweetness of forgiving."

However, it was not destined so to be, and a sejiaratioii
and separate maintenance for Mrs. Dickens was agreed
upon. In arranging the deoails of this affair mutual
friends, Mr. Mark Lemon for Mrs. Di-.-kens, and Mr. Jolm
Forster for Mr. Dickens, acted as oommissioners. TliC
former accepted for Mrs. Dicl^ens tlie peciiniriy terms
offered by lier husband, wliicli were urderstood to be an
allowance of about $3000 a year, and it was fux ther agreed
tliHt the children should be divided bet.veen the two
households with the privilege of visiting each other and
their parents at their pleasure. The broken tie was never
re-united, but Mrs. Dickens was in constant intercourse
with her sister and children.

Of the six children mentioned as still living, one
daughter, Kate, is married to Mr. Charles A. Collins, artist-
author, a brother of Wilkie Collins, the novelist ; the
other daughter, Miss Mary Dickens, is unmarried, and
following her father's vocation, is a novelist of more than
ordinary talent, her best known works being Aunt Mar-
garefs Tvoiihle, MaheVs Pro'jresi', and V'H'onlca ; the
eldest son, Chaides, junior, is now, and was at the time of
the separation, married to Miss Fanny Evans, daughter oi
Mr. Evans, of the firm of Bradl3ury & Evans, his publishers.
He succeeded his father in the editorship of All the Year

CHARLES DICKENS.

831

Bovndy as already stated, and is at the present time
manager of that maf^azine. The other three sons are un-
known to fame — one is in the English navy, one in
Australia, and the third attending th? University.

AVlici'e Mr. Dickens is largely to blame in this affair is
ill his persistency in dragging family matters, which
sliould have been sacred to the household, before the
|)ul)lic ; and, in defiance of that caustic adage which ad-
vises the " w^'ishing of dirty linen at home," making his
domestic affairs n matter of town-talk and gossip. Like
B3Tun,, he mast always have the last Avord. It was this
Avliich led to his disagreement with Messrs. Bradbury &
Evans. These gentlemen warmly espoused the cause of
Mrs. Dickv.!i.'5. The intermarriage mentioned above gave
tliern a greater interest in this affair than they w^ould
otlierwise have had, and wdien Mr. Dickens desired the
h'nefit of the circulation of Flinch, of which thev were
pul)lisliers, to enter into a vindication of himself, they very
properly and very peremptorily refused it. They objected
moreover to the publication of his ca^d in Iiousehold
Words. The differences between them, increased by Mr.
Dickens' rather obstinate disposition, eventuated in a
C'liancery suit, which resulted in a decree that the right
to use the name of the periodical, together with the
printed stock dnd stereotype i)]ates of the work, should
be sold by auction on May l(]th, 1859. This was carried
into effect. Hodgson's auction -room was crowded. The
-jalesman mounted his rostrum, and offered for sale tlie
right " from and after the 28th day of May, instant, to
P'lblish under the said name or title, any periodical or

-^^^

m''

332

LIFE AND WRITINaS 01*

other work, whether in continuation of the said periodical
called Household Woixls, in the pleadings of this cause men-
tioned, or otherwi'^.e, as the purchaser shall see iii." Tlie
bidding rose from £500 to £3,550, at which price it Avas
purchased by Mr. Albert Smith, acting for Charles
Dickens. Messrs. Bradbury «S:; Evans were among tlie
bidders. As Mr. Dickens owned three-fourths of tlie
copyright, he had ©nly to pay the sum of £888 to the
publishers for their share. His object in purchasing it
was to discontinue it. This led to the inauguration of ^1/^
the Year Bound, which changed the motto of the previ-
ous publication, "Familiar in their mouths as Household
Words," to another from Shakespeare, " The story of our
lives from year to year." In the last number of House-
hold Words, introducing the fc^rtncomii g periodical, he
wrote :

"He knew perfectly w^ll; knowing his own rights, and
his means of attaininuf them, that it could not be but that
this work must stop, if he chose to stop it. He therefore
announccvl, many weeks ago, that it would be discontinued
on the day on which this final number bears date. The
public have read a great deal to the contrary, and will
observe that it has not in the least affected the result."

Shortly after this sale, Messrs. Bradbury & Evans pub-
lished a statement of their difference w.th Mr. Dickens,
the more material portions of which are here added; partly
because it bears upon the great author's literary history,
and partly because his domestic trouble is mixed up in it :

"Their connection with Household Words ceased

CHARLES DICKENS.

S33

against their will, under circumstances of which the fol-
lowing are material :

" So far back as 1886, Bradbury & Evans had business
relations with Mr. Dickens, and in 1844, an agreement
was entered into, by which they acquired an interest in
all the works he might wi'ite, or in any periodical he
might originate, during a term of seven years. Under
this agreement, Bradbury & Evans became possessed of a
joint, though unequal, interest with Mr. Dickens in
Household Words, commenced in 1850. Friendly relations
had simultaneously sprung up between them, and they
were on terms of close intimacy in 1858, when circum-
stances led to Mr. Dickens' publication of a statement on
the subject of his conjugal differences, in various news-
pa})ers, including Household Words of June 12th.

" The public disclosure of these differences took most
persons by surprise, and was notoriously the subject of
comments, by no means complimentary to Mr. Dickens
himself, as regarded the taste of this proceeding. On the
17th of June, however, Bradbury & Evans learned, from a
common friend, that Mr. Dickens had resolved to break off
his connection with them, because this statement was not
printed in the number of Punch, published the day
preceding — in other words, because it did not occur to
Bradbury & Evans to exceed their legitimate functions as
proprietors and publi^'iers, and to require the insertion of
statements on a domestic and painful subject, in the inap-
propriate columns of a comic miscellany. No previous
request for tlie insertion of this statement had been made
either to Bradbury & Evans, or to the editor of Punch, ancl

334

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

tlie grievance of Mr. Dickens substantially amounted to this,
that Bradbury & Evans did not take upon themselves,
unsolicited, to gratify an eccentric wish by a preposterous
action.

"Mr. Dickens, with ample time for reflection, persisted in
the attitude he had taken up, and in the followinfr
November, summoned a meeting of the proprietors of
Household Words. He did not himself attend this meet-
ing ; but a literary friend of Mr. Dickens came to it as liis
representative, and announced there, oiiicially, that ]\Ir.
Dickens, in consequence of the non-a})pearance, in Pinivh,
of his statement, considered that Bradbury & Evans had
shown such disrespect and want of good faith towaids
him, as to determine him, in so far as he had the power,
to disconnect himself from thejn in business transactions ;
and the friend above mentioned, on the part of Mr. Dickens,
accordingly moved a resolution dissolving the partnership,
and discontinuing the work on Mav 28. Bradbuiy k}
Evans replied that they did not and could not believe
that this was the sole cause of Mr. Dickens' altered feeling
towards them ; but they were assured that it was the sole
cause, and that Mr. Dickens desired to bear testimony to
their integrity and zeal as his publishers, but that his
resolution was formed, and nothing would alter it.
Bradbury & Evans repeatedly pressed Mr. Dickens' friends
upon this point, but with no other result.

" Thus, on this ground alone, Mr. Dickens puts an end
to personal and business relations of long standing ; and
by an unauthorized and premature public announcement
of the cessation of Household Words, he forced Bradbury

CHARLES DICKENS.

335

& Evans to an unwilling recourse to the Court of Chan-
cery to restrain him from such pro^ee(liii<,'s, theroby in-
juring a valuable property in which others beside himself
were interested. In fact, by tliis mode of proceeding he
inflicted as much injury as his opportunities afforded.
^'^")t having succeeded in purchasing the share of his part-
ners at his own price, he depreciated the value of this
share by all the agencies at his command. By publicly
announcing (so far as the Court of Chancery ])ermitted)
his intention to discontinue the publication of Household
]Yovcls ; by advertising a second work of a similar class
under his management, by producing it and making it as
close an imitation, as wajj legally safe, of Household Words,
while that publication was actually still issuing, and still
conducted by him ; he took a course calculated to reduce
the circulation and impair the prospects of a common
property ; and if he inflicted this injury on his partners,
it is no compensation to them that he simultaneously
sacrificed his own interest in the publication he is about
to suppress.

''Household Words having been sold on the IGth inst.,
under a decree in Chancery, Bradbury & Evans have no
further interest in its continuance, and are now free to
make this personal statement, and to associate themselves
in the establishment of 0)ice a Week."

Mr. Dickens began the publication of All the Year
Round, simultaneously with the cessation of Household
Words, thus getting ahead of his competitors, who, having
to prepare for an illustrated work, did not publish the
first number of Once a Week until July 2d, 1859. The

.J3il

fl-

.9;

836

LIFE AND WRITINGS OP

^'^^1 5 -vl

latter was illustrated with twelve designs, and had some
noted contributors, but did not prove a success.

We have said that Mr. Dickens' favorite county Avas
Kent, and he loved to roam about its charming green
nooks and along tlie banks of its meandering rivers. One
of the best of the Uncommercial Travele7''s papers, in
which the manners and customs of tramps are descril)ed
is tinted with this Kentish coloring. He was one of tlie
few men who have an equal appreciation for the country
and the town. He equally delighted in the dell and in
the squalid alley. Charles Lamb had no relish for tlie
beauties of nature ; Wordsworth on the other hand despised
city life in all its forms. For our author both silent field
and crowded street had strong attractions. A village inn
was one of his beloved spots. The Tiger's Head, on tbo
top of Highgate Hill, just opposite Mr. Oilman's house,
where Coleridge spent the closing score of years of his
life, was a great favorite of his. So was Garraway's Coffee
House, in Change Alley, Cornhill, just opposite the Ex-
^ change, London, which was finally closed in April, 18GG,
after having been open for two hundred years.

It had often been suggested to Mr. Dickens, by his
friend Talfourd, that he would be both a richer and a hap-
pier man, and possess a clearer head for writing, if he
could prevail upon himself to retreat from the cares, ex-
penses and dissipations of fashionable London life, and
take up his residence in some pleasant country spot. Mr.
Dickens finally adopted this view of tlie case and cast
about for a suitable residence. Nearness to London was
a sine qua non with him^ as he required to visit the me-

CHARLES DICKENS.

S37

trapolis at short intervals. His fund regard for Kent de-
termined liim to locate in that direction, and one house
{il>ove all others took his fancy. This was the famous
liouse known as Gad's Hill Place, now so thoroughly
idcntitied witli the nan',0 of Dickens. The proper ad-
dress of this residence is Highani l>y l\ochoster, Kent.
This little town is a stati('U on the railroad to Rochester,
and is located ahout two miles from (Jad's Hill, and
twenty-five miles, or an hours ride from London.

Though not l)oi-n at Rochester, ^[r. Dickens spent some
portion of his boyliood there, and was wont to tell how
Ins father, the late Mr. John Dickens, in the course of a
comitry randjle, pointed out to him as a child the house
at Gad's Hill Tiace, saying : " There, my boy, if you work
and mind your hook, you will perhaps one day live in a
house like that." This speech sunk deep, and in after
years, and in the course of his many long i)edestrian
raiiihles through the lanes and roads of the pleasant Kent-
ish country, Mi*. Dickens came to regard this Gad's Hill
house lovingly, and to wish himself its possessor. This
seemed an impossibility. The property was so held that
there was no likelihood of its ever coming into market,
and so Gad's Hill came to be alluded to jocularly as repre-
si'htiug a fancy which was pleasant enough in dreamland
hut would be never realized. i\[ean while the years rolled
"11, ;iud Gad's Hill became almost forgotten. Then, a fur-
ther lapse of time, anel Mr. Diekens felt a strong wish to
^oLtle in the counti'V, and determined to let Tavistock
liouse. About this time, and by the strangest coinciden-
ce, his intimate friend and close [ally, Mr. W. H. Wills,
22

338

LIFE AND wniTlNOS OF

chanced to sit next to a lady at a London dinner party, wlio
remarked in the course of conversation that a house nn<l
grounds liad come into her possession of which slie "svantuil
to dispose. Tlie loader will guess the rest. The house
was in Kent, was not far fi'om Rochester, had this and that
distinguishing feature which made it like Gad's Hill jukI
like no other place, and the upshot of Mr. Wills' diinici'
table chit-chat with a lady wliumhe had never met boluie
was, that Mr. Dickens realized the dream of his youtli,
and bjcame the possessor of Gad's Hill. The i)urchu.s(j
Avas finally consummated in the s[)]ing of ISoO.

In the Uncomiiievcial Tracchr, under the head u'i
" Traveling Abroad/' No. VIJ ., Dickens makes this iiicii-
tion of it :

" So smooth was the old hi^-h-road, and so fresh were
toe horses, and so fast went I, that it was midway lic-
tween Gravesend and Rocliester, and the widening rivii'
Wits bearing the shi[)s, white-sailed, or black-smoked, out
to sea, when I noticed by the way-side a very queer small
boy.

"'Hallo!' said i to the very queer small I'jy, 'where
do you live V

" 'At Chatham,' says he,

"'What do you do there V says 1.

"'I go to scliool,' says he.

" I took him u}) in a mumeut, and we went on.

"Presently the very queer small boy says, 'This is
Gad's Hill we are coining to, v/here Talstatf went out to
rob those travelers and ran awa^'.'
■ " 'You know somctliing about Falstaff, eh ''! said I.

" 'All about him/ said the very queer small boy.

CHARLES DICKENS.

339

"'I am old (T am nine) and I road all sorts of books.
But do let us stop a^ the top of the liill and look at the
house there, if you })leasc !'

"'You admire that house V said T.

"'Bless you, sir I' said tlie very queer sniallboy, 'when
I was not more than half as old as nine, it use<l to be a
treat for me to be brought to k)ok at it. And now I am
nine, I come by myself to look at it. And ever sinee I
can recolleet, my father, seeing me so fond of it, luis often
said to me, 'If you Avore to be very persevering and were
to work hard, you might some day eome to live in it.'
' Though that's impossible!' said the very queer small boy,
drawing a low breath, and now staring at the house out
of window w^ith all his might.

" I was rather amazed to be told tliis by the very queer
F^iiiall boy, for that house happens to be my house, and I
liave reason to believe that what he said w^as true."

Tins " queer small boy " seems to have regarded the
liouse very much as Dickens himself was wont to regard
it in his youth. It is possible that this is a little frag-
ment of blended autobiography and romance. In the very
({.icer small boy, nine years old, who read all sorts of
Ijooks, admired Gad's Hill, knew its Shakespearian associ-
ation, and was paternally told that if he worked hard, he
iiiiuht live in such a house, avc find realized the famous
AVordsworthian aphorism, " The Child is father of the
Man," the idea of which, by the way, is to be found in
two lines,

"The cliihlliood shows the mail
Aa morning ahuws inc day, '

-^.vJU

;:-.^

il' 1

340

LIFE AND NvniTINOS OF

which were written in Pamd'if^c BcijuiiipJ, hy an alniost
ins[)irotl hliiid old num, naniLMl John Milton, who is niore
talked altout than read, in our days.

The liousc at (Jnd's Hill is an old fashioned, two jukI
a-half story, brick d well iiig, with dormer windows light-
ing the third tier of rooms in the attie. It is :'oomy ami
comfortable, surronnded by fine old trees and dn^uljl^ciy,
with hiwns nicely laid ont and iirescntiiiL;' a |)ictures(|iif'
a])pearance from the J"oa<h It has a wide hall in the
centre, with two l)ow or oriel windows, one over the other.
on each side, and altog(3ther presents much the appear-
ance of the residence of one of our well to do American
farmers. There is an observatory on the roof, and over
the front door a well-])roportioned poi'ch with pillars,
where Mr. Dickens used often to stand in the intervals of
his work, refreshing himself with a L^ok along the road
and fields before him, or chatting with his chihlren, graml-
children and friends. He was a social man, and delightrJ
to see happy faces, and hear joyous voices. The engi'av-
ing in this volume presents a good idea of the building
as it appeared when viewed from inside the iron railin<;
which separated the grounds from the street. Most per-
sons would have objected that the building stood too near
the street ; but this probably was no drawback to one so
fond of life and society as the authoi o^ Fickii'leh. Inside,
the building was handsomely and comfortably furnished;
and the dining-room, one of his favorite rooms, in par-
ticular, was pleasantly set off with pictures and drawings,
most of them gifts from his artist friends, and illustrating

scenes in his own writings. Among these was the fanioib

CHARLES DTCKEXS.

portrait of Mr. Dickons, Ix'foi'o mentioned, a gh't of his
friend ^laclise.

Hn-c, in liis favorite home, onr autlior disponsed a wide,
enjoying Miid cnjoyalilc liospitnlity. Mr. Donahl (i. Mit-
niell, in Jfcdiih a ml Jlomr, lias ^'ivcn a very ])l(>asant
|iictur(> of Ml-. l)iekens at (lad's ]Iill Place, from whieli
tlio following i)assag(\s arc ([noted. They paint him as a
delightful companion and entertainer, as well as a kind
friend and good nrighhor, carr^'ing with him a i)ersonal
atmosphere of kind and humomus happiness, exactly snch
jis might have l)een imagined from the most enjoyable of
liis novels :

"Dinner was a gala-time with him ; hntunceremonions
,Mn<l careless of di-ess as he might he in the earlier hours of
tli(.' day, he, in his latter yeais at least, kept hy the old
Kii^iish ceremonial di'css for dinner. Mis hntler and ser-
vaiit were also habited conventionally ; and the same
imtion of eonventional refpiirement, it will be remembered,
lie observed always in his readings and a})[)earance on
public occasions.

"JJut the laws of eti(piette, however faithfully and con-
stantly followed, did not sit easily on him; and there is
111) ])ortrait of him which to our mind is so agn^eable as
that which re])resents him in an old, loose, morning jacket,
leaning against a column of his ])oreh upon Gad's Hill,
with his family grou|)ed around him.

" As diiini.'r came to its close, the little orand-cliildren
tottlod in — his ' wenerable' fric-nds, as he delighted to call
them — and with tlieir advent came always a rollicking
time of cheei".

"After this, there may liavx been a lounge into the bil-
liard-room, the master of tlie house ])assing his arm affec-
tionately around a daughter, and inviting her to a sight
f'f a game between a Yankee and John Bull.

ViivfS'

! ■■ . .Hi

342

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

" ' Thrce-pCTioo on tlio Yunkcc,' says DickciiR. 'Now
then, Harry (to liis son), do your best.'

" ' Hurra for Kn<'lan(l !' lie says at a <^oo(l striko.

".'Now thou fur tlio VankL'c ; and, reniend)er — I've
money up.'

" And so lie keeps a r('i«^'nin^' joy aljout Lini — Avitli tlioso
cyeLrow.s of his arching comically at every ndrtliful
sally.

" Or, ])crhiips, it is not the hillinrd-room, hut the velvety
lawn, with its tufts of liolly and Portugal hiurel, tov/hidi
he draws away Ids guests — in either case, intent niii>t
ii})on kindling snules and w.akening content."

" One day, a visitor had sat up with lum till the ' woo
sma' hours' of niorninir — an unusual circunistanee, for
which Mr. Dickens pro])osed to compensate hy a Iohlj
sleep. But when the d(jctor rose and looked out upon tliu
lawn, there was his host, eui'-at'ed in directini^ the work-
men who were rollin<>- and adjustini^ the cricket-<.?T'ouinl.

"He had forgotten, he said, that his gardener, witli tin;
gardener of the rector, had the promise of the ground for
a game with some of their eompaidons. It was not in
good order, and he had risen betimes to put evciythin^'
in trim f(jr his friends of the cricket-match.

" With this neighbor rector, by the by, he was on tlio
best of terms ; and, notwithstandino: his democratic ten-
dencies, had a strong yeaining for the Established Churoh
of England— not so much from love of its formalities, as
from a kindly recognition of its ever-open doors to the
feet of all the poor.

" The charity and kindliness that shone in his books
belonged also to his life and every-day tjdk. There was
also a eharmim; thouj^htfulness fur others and solf-abnen'a-
tion in his familiar social intercourse. Upon the day
preceding his final reading in New York, we liad the ploa-
sure of taking a twenty-mile drive in his company. AVo
sat opposite to him in the carriage, and though twinges of
pain chased each other over his face, it was only by the
greatest persuasion that we could induce him to rest his
bandaged ai}cl sufiering foot upon the seat beside us. "ffo

ill the ' woo

CHARLES DICKENS.

343

nood hardly say to tliosc who listened to his roadinj^'«, with
wliat /est and charm he told a story — how he made tbe
chiiractors of it eonie before you — liow lu' sinnnioned
thciii all into jtresonce, and made you a wondering' part-
ner in new and strani^^e scenes. As a listener too, he was
of the kindliest and nujst symi)athetie ; listenin*^ with lij)
Mild eye and anthed eyehrow — smacking the last touch of
huiiior — goinn" bcl'ure youi- meaning and interpreting by
swift expression (►f feature what your words were too
slow to reveal.

"Personally, we are most glad to have recollection of
liiiii as a most genial and kindly man, with not the re-
motest show of self-eonsecjuence — with no spark of con-
ceit — with no irritating condescension, but, throughout
luid in all, frank, warm, heai'ty, cheery, and companion-
aUe."

^Ir. Hawthorne, in his Ktujlhh Kote Booh, records var-
ious rci)orts about Dickens, whom he seems to have met
|ei,sonally but once. It is a l)ity ; the observations of so
])eneti'ating and intuitive a practical psychologist as the
ffieat American, upon so interesting a character as the
<^Teat Englishman, would have been extremely valuable
uiid interesting. That Mr. Dickens loved his home, and
that his domestic tastes were very strong, there is aljun-
daiit proof. Hawthorne, in his EiKjl'iKh Dia I'lf, has a pas-
^'i\g(i a propo)^ of this: "Mr. Dickens mentioned how he
preferred home enjoyments to all others, and did not wil-
liii«;ly go much into society. Mrs. Dickens, too, the other
day told us of his taking on himself all possible trouble
as regards oheir domestic affairs."

Mr. Philp, of Washington, who was very intimate with
Mr. Dickens, has recorded the following very similar por-
traiture of our author's home and home life ;

344

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

" On arrival (half-past twelve), cominenced with ' cidi r
cup,' which had previously hocn ordered to he ready fr.y
"US — delicious cooliu.;' drink — cidar, soda-Avatoi", sheriy,
brandy, lemon-peel, sugar, and ice, flavored with an luilj
called burrage, all iucliciously mixed. Lunch at oiii'
o'clock, completed by a lif^uor Avhich Dickens said was
* peculiar to the house.' From two to half-past five ^ve
were engaged in a large open meadow at the back of tlie
house, in the healthful and intellectual employment of
playing * Aunt Sally ' and rolling balls on the grass ; at
half-past three, interval for 'cool brandy and water;' at
half-past six o'clock we dined — 3'oung Charles Dickens,
and a still younger Charles Dickens (making tiiree genera-
tions), havmg arriv^^d in the meantime — dinner fauitlcss,
wines irreproachable ; nine to ten, billiards; ten to eleven
music in the drawing-room; eleven, 'hot and reltellinns
liquors,' delightfully compounded into punches ; twelve,
to bed.

" The house is a charming old mansion, a little modern-
ized ; the lawn exquisitely beautiful, and illuminated hy
thousands of scarlet geraniums ; the estate is covered uitli
magnificent old tree.;, and several cedars of Lel)anon I
have never seen equalled. In the midst of a sniall plan-
tation, across the road opposite the house, approached ly
a tunnel from the lawn under the turnpike road, is a Swiss
chalet, sent to Dickens as a present in ninety-eight pack-
ing-cases ! Here Mr. Dickens does most of his writing,
where he can be perfectly quiet and not disturbed b}' any-
body. I need scarcely say that tlie house is crowded with
fine pictures, original sketches from his books, choice en-

CHARLES DICKENS.

f'TuvinGfs, etc. ; in fact, one miii-ht be amuscrt for a month
in looking over tlie oljects of interest, wliicli are numer-
ous and beautiful.

"Inside tliehall are portions of tbcscenory, ])ainte(l by
StanfieM for tlie Frozen Deep, tlie play in wliicli Dickens
and others perfoi'med fi»r the boni.'fit of Douglas Jerrold's
famih,', written by Wilkie T ullins. Just as you enter, in
a neat frame, written and illuminated by Owen Jones, is
the folio win i^^:

" Tills H(mso,
"nad'sHill JMaco,

stands on the snmiuit of Sliakcspoaro's CJad's Hill, ovor momorable
for its association, in Ids noblo fancy, with Sir John Falstatt'.

" ' I'ut, my hids, niy lads, to-ninrrow nioii iiig by four o'clock,
tTaly at Gad's Hill, There are pil^^a-inis going to Canterbury with
rj'jli offerings, and traders riding to London with fat purses. 1
have visors for all ; you have horses for yoiirselves.'"

"In the dininu'-roo.n hano's Fi'ith's orii-Mnal picture of
Dolly Varden, and Ilacli^e's portrait of Dickens when a
young man; also Caitormole'.s wonderful drawings, illus-
tratino- some of Dickens' most touchinLi' sceiu's, besides
8L'Vci'al ex(|Uisite woi'ks by Marcus Stone (who illustrated
On,' ]\I(itu(iI Friend), David Roberts, Cahleron, Stanfield,
and others.

" ^ly bed-room was the perfection of a sleeping apart-
ment — the view across the Kentish Hills, with a distant
peep uf the Thames, charming; the screen, shutting off
the dressing-room fi'om the bed-room, is covered with
proof-impressions (neatly framed) of the illustrations to
Our Mutual Friend^ i\.Y\{\. oi\\QY ^xovk'^) in every room I
found a table covered with writing materials, headed note-
paper and envelopes, cut rpiill pens, wax, matches, sealing
yax, and all scrupulously neat and orderly.

'^Jk

34G

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

" Tliere are magnificent specimens of Newfoundland
dogs on the grounds, such animals as Landseer would love
to paint. One of them, Bumble, seems to be the favolto
with Dickens. They are all named after characters in his
works.

" Dickens, at home, seems to be perpetually jolly, and
enters into the interests of games Avith all the ardor of a
bo}^ Physically (as well as mentally) he is inmiensely
strong, having quite regained his wonted health and
strength. He is an immense walker, and never seems to
be fatigued. He breakfasts at eight o'clock ; inmiediatcly
after answers all the letters received that morning, writes
nntil one o'clock, lunches, walks twelve miles (everyday),
dines at six, and passes the evening entertaining his nu-
merous friends.

" He told me, wlien a boy his father frecpiently took
him for a walk in the vicinity of Gad's Hill, and he always
had a desire to become some day the owner of the house
in which he now resides."

Hans Christian Andersen visited the novelist at his
home, in 1857, and we have obtained from him some re-
miniscences of the occasion. He writes us :

"Now there lies on the broad high road Dickens' villa,
whose turret, with the gilde*' weathercock, I had ahead}'
descried from afar, above the tops of the trees. It was a
fine, new house, Avith red walls and four bow-windows,
and a jutting entrance sup[>orted by pillars, in the gahle
a lar<xe windov\^. A dcr.se hedtxe c;f clu-n-v-L-iui'cl sur-
rounded the house, in front of which extended a neat lawn,
and on the opposite side rose two mighty cedars of Le-
banon, whose crooked branches spread their green fan over
another large lawn surrouudod by ivy and wild vines, the

CHARLES DICKENS.

347

hedge being so dense and dark that no sunbeam was able
to penetrate it.

" As soon as I stepped into the honse, Dickens came to
meet me, kindly and cordially. He looked somewhat
older than he did Avhen he bade me farewell ton years ago,
but, that was, ])erhaps, in ])art owing to the beard which
he now wore ; his eyes still s})arkled as they had done at
that time, the same smile played round his lips, and his
<lear voice sounded as sweet and i)leasant, nay, more so
than formerly. Dickens was now in the prime of life,
still so youthful, so active, so eloquent, so rich in the most
pleasant humor, through which his sterling kind-hearted-
ness always beamed forth. As lie stood before me in the
jirst hour, so he was and remained during all the weeks
which I passed in his company, meriy, good-natured, and
full of charming sympathy.

" In the room where wg assembled with some of the
children round the breakfast table, it was ([uiet and ])lea-
sant, and Sundaylike ; a w^ealtl". of roses surrounded the
laiL'e windows on the outside, and the view extended over
the garden, the beautiful fields beyond the hedges, and the
hills bordering the horizon, in the river of Rochester. An
excellent portrait of Cromwell liung over the fire-])lace,
and among the other i)aintings ad^'iiing the walls all
around, there w^as one which attracted my attention par-
ticularly. It represented a caleche, in which were seated
two young ladies, absorbed in reading a book, whose pages
were headed '' Bleak House!' The little groom, seated in
the box behind, bent forward, and furtively read also in
the book. A few birds in cages sung the more merrily
the more animated the conversation grew in the dining-
room.

" Durinu" the meal, Dickens took the seat of the head of
the family at the upper end of the table, and accordiug to
the English custom, said a shoi't prayer after he had
seated himself; my seat was by his side during the whole
of my visit.

" Dickens then had no less than nine children, two
grown daughters, Mary and IvatO; and seven sons : Charles,

aiiiiitil

l-vi-i

348

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

Walter Savao-e Lniidor, Francis Jcffi'oy, Alfred TcmiyRon,
Sidney Suiitli, Henry Fieldini;', and Edwai'd Lytton Bul-
"wer. The two eldest and the two yoiini^^est were at liomc ;
tlie otlier tliree came on a visit from Bonlogne, in Fi-aiicc,
where tliey were at a Ijoardinf^ school. It was vacation
time, and I saw tliem climl) in tlie l)ranches of the lar^c
cedar trees, or play at cricket with their other Iji-otlicis
and tlieir fatliei', all of them in shirt-sleeves, on the lar^L'
meadow close to the garden; the ladies sat in the tall
grass under the trees, ])easant children peeped ovei* tlic
hedge, and Turk, the watch dog, who was fastened nil
night, had now been delivered from Ids chain and led the
life of a free, doo;, while his lonu" chain and his kennel weiv
left to a big, old raven, who no dou])t considered liinisiH'
a relative to the raven in Bnvnahij .l{u(l</r, wliich, though
stutfed, still existed, and was to he seen in the house.

"When I arrived at (lad's Hill the family ]iad not yet
been two Aveeks at tlieir new country-seat ; both the en-
virons and all the drives were new to them. jMeanwliilc
I myself so(m found out the most attractive points, and to
one of them, the sunnnit of Gad's Hill, I conducted
Dickens and his family. Our way led across tlic bioad
highroad on which, op])osite to Dickens' villa, there lies ;i
tavern, on the faded sign of which Falstaff and Prince
Henry, and on the reverse a scene from the Mervij ll'/rrs
of Whidi-ov, are represented. From the tavern a ravine.
between live hedges led up to a grou]) of peasant houses,
all two-storied, and their walls V)eautifully clad with \\\w
and cree]'>ers ; long, neat, white curtains hung in the win-
dows ; the highest house was watched by an old blind
dog, cows and sheep wei'e grazing on tlie meadows, and on
this highest point there rose an obelisk Tlie whole
monument was cracked, and the lirst gust of wind might
upset it. The inscription was no longer distinctly legihlc,
but we saw that the monument had been erected in honor
of a country gentleman wdio had died many, many years
ago. Inasmuch as I was the first to lead Dickens to this
point, he afterwards called the place, j(jcosely, ' Hans
Christiau Auderscn's monument.'

CHARLES DICKEXh!.

349

" Wo enjoyed here a panoramic view of the country, as
beautiful as it was extensive. The north of Kent is justly
called the garden of England. The scenery is similar to that
of Denmark, though n\ore hixuriantand richer. The eye
sweeps over green meadows, yellow corntields, forests,
peat-moors, and, when the weather is clear, one may see
the North Sea in the distance. The landscape, it is true,
does not present a lake, but you hehoM every where the
Tliames, whose silver thread is meandering for many miles
through the green groinids. We still found, on the sum-
:aiit of the hill, traces of the ancient intrenchments from
thf> time of the llomans. We v.ont ui) there many an
evening, and sat down in a circle on the grass, and gazed
iit the setting sun, whose beams wjre retlected in the
l)ends of the Thames, pouring over the river a golden
lustre, on which the vessels stood forth like dark sil-
liouetts. From the clumneys of the country liouses all
around, rose blue smoke ; tlie crickets were chirping, and
the whole scene presented a lively i)ieture of peace, heigh-
tened by the sweet sound of the evening bells. .\. bowl
of claret, adorned with a bou(piet of brown field flowers,
l)assed around our circle. The moon rose, round, large and
red, until she shone in silvery lustre, and filled me with
tlic fancy that all this was but a beautitul Midsummer
night's dream in the land of Shakespeare ; ,.

^f.

was

more; it was reality. I sat by Dickens' side, and saw and
heard him enjoy to the utmost the cliarming evening
wliich, as it was retlected in his soul, was sui-e to be used
by him for a new, glorious creation of his wonderful im-

a^'uiation.

From June, 1857, Mr. Dickens occupied his Gad's Hill
residence continuously until the time of his death, ex-
cepting- th;it during the last ^\'inter of his life, having
made arrangements to give some pul)li<' readings in
London, and desiring to avoid frerpient journeys down to
Uad's Hall during the inclement season, he rented from

i
.(*'

350

LIFE AND WRITINGS OP

his old friend, Mr. Milner Gibson, his town house in Hyde
Park Pkic3, which he occupied up to nearly the end of
May. In this residence some i)ortions of Edvjiii Dwoil
were written, the first chapter having been composed at
Gad's Hill Place, or as the great man himself always wrote
it, with tliat amplitude and unmistakable clearness whicli
made him write, not only the day of the month, but the
day of the week, in full at the head of his letters — Gads
Hill Place, lllcfham hjj Rochester, Kent.

Of " Gad's Hill's haunted greenness," a modern poet
well says :

" There is a subtle spirit in its air ;

Tlie very soul of humor homes it there ;
>So is it noAV : of ohl so has it l>ceii ;
Shakespeare from off it eaught the rarest scene

1'hat ever shook with hiuglis the sides of Care ;

Falstaff's tine instinct for a Prince grew wlierc
That hill — what years since ! — showed its Kentish green :

Fit home for England's world-loved Dickens,"

From his j^outh up Dickens had admired this locahty,
and the darling ambition of his youth was now gratified
in the possession of it. To these fields he had journeyed
through life to study nature, and to renew within liiiii
the love of the good and pure and holy, which the works
of the Almighty are so well qualified to strengthen and
confirm ; and to take a lesson from a greater book than
any that could emanate from his pen, for Nature is a
beautiful book, written by the finger of God, in which
every fiower and every leaf is a letter. You have only
to learn them — and he is a i)oor dunce that cannot, if he
will, do that — to learn them, and join them, and then go
on reading and reading, and y ou Avill find yourself carried

QW gratilied

CHARLES DICKERS.

351

away from tlic earth to the skies by the beautiful thoughts
—for they are nothing short — grow out of the ground,
and seem to talk to a man. And then there are some
flowers, that always seem to be like ovei -dutiful ehildren ;
tt'ud them ever so little, and they come up and tloui'ish,
and show, as we may say, their bright and happy faces to
you.

* ■* \^ ■♦p * f

352

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

CHAPTEPw XL

J..:^:

DICKENS AS AN ACTOR. — Cli VUITAI'.LK RKADINC- Till; <'^''\A,

OF LrrFUATci: .-';.; .'!:i!i{()i,.) Fc::i). — pjiofkssioxai.

RKADlN(;,x — l'.ANs>i; KT AT Fl'vKKMASONs' HALL. — SKCoND
YLSIT TO AMK.TC/. - iUIUUNCiS IN T'.oSToN. — CJRAND RK-
CEITION. — TOUJl TO NLV, Yoi>k, AND OTHER CITIKS. —
(iUATlFYLNG RKSULTS. — PUP.LIC DINNER. — FAREWELL AD-
DRESS. — DEPART FRE FOR HOME.

-Tins i)laycr licrc,

But in a lictioii, in a dicani of passion,
Could force his .soul so to lii.s own conceit,
Tbat from its working; all his visage Manu'il ;
Tears in his eyes, distraction in 's aspect,
A broken voice, antl his whole function suiting
AV'ith forms to his conceit." — Hamlet,

^I^^JSROM liis earliest youtb, Cliarles Dickens ex-
liibitcd tlie greatest taste and fondness for the
drama. His liking- for tlie staorc attained al-
most to the pro])ortions of a passion, and at
one time lie contenn)lated, in conjunction \\ ith some friends
similarly minded, assuming the management of a London
theatre. It will he remembered that his lirst juvenile
compositions were " certain tragedies." He used to ex-
tremely enjoy all jnamier of private the:itricals, in which
he was a most cllicient lie!i)er in every dcpnrtment, from
the carpenter's up to the liero's, and he has for a consider-
able time been rei)uted the best amateur actor in England'
As far back as 18oG, when Picl-v:>-:l- was publisldng, be
took part in r/ic/S7ra/^</6 GeiiUcmaii, at St. James' Theatre,

CHARLES DICKENS.

353

and on various occasions lie assisted in private theatricals,
J, I 1842 he wrote a oeautifid ])rolngue to The PatnciarCa
.i nighter, whiiAi \vas adjuirably delivored by his friend
A'licready, ".vith whom lie W!i . on terms of r^reat intimacy,
;i he v/as also subsec^iiontly, witli the versatile French
aotor, Mr. T'ecl ucr. The boautifid little .summer-house on
the model of a Swiss chalet, which stood in the grounds
at Gad's Hill, in wliich, in warm weather, the author
oltL'ii [)repared his manuscript, was a gift from t^e latter
actor. In the year 1845, he again made his appc anco
as an actor in 77<c Elder Brother, which was ^ iKimed
for Miss Kelly's benefit, and nothing in his appc\-*ance or
performance gave the least indication that h wns not a
regular professional dramatist. A few days later, on the
19th of September, he assisted in Ben Johnson's play,
Every Man in 11 i^ llu nior, at the St. James', on which
occasion he took the part of Captain Bohadll, and was
most ably assisted. Of those wdio took part with him on
this occasion only a few vrere professionals, the great ma-
jority being his literary and artistic friends. The triumph
achieved was immense, and tlie performance was repeated
for a charitable pur[)ose on the evening of the 15th of
November following. The playbill on this occasion has
now become a curiosity :

A Str'ictJu Fricatc Amatotr Performance.

At the St. James' TiiEAXRE

(By favor of Mr. Mitchell). Will bo peifonned Ben
JoluLsoii's Comedy of

EVERY MAN IN HIS HUMOR,
23

L*\

; f

n-':

it,

354

LIFE AND WRITINGS OP

CIIARAf'TKTlR :

Knov'cll Hfn'ry AfnYTiKW.

TJtlinird Knou'dl Kkkkkhick Dickens.

lirdiiiH'dnii M.MtK Lk.mon.

(rcnrrfc Doirnri'f/it Di'Dley CosTKi.r.o.

JVr/iln'cd (JlinRfiK ( 'attkumui.e.

Kitvljl JoilN' KoltsTKU.

Captain lioUatlil Ciiaules Dickkn'H.

Manter Sfcp/un Doi'clam .Ikkuoli).

J\fat<f(7' Mathcir JoilN Iii:i;c'H.

T/i(»inas ('ash AiMiisTis DicKKN'S.

Olinr Col) J'kucival Lkkiii.

Justice Clement Fuank Stonm:.

JRot/rr Formal ^ I r. M v a nm.

William W. Eaton.

James W. J J. JKUROLn.

Da m e Kitdii !M iss F( > rt ksi^ i' i:.

Mitttress JiriU(/et IM iss If i nton.

Tib Misjs J3e\v.

To conclude with <. Farce, in One Act, called

TWO O'CLOCK IN THE MORNING.

CHARACTERS :

^f^•. Snohhin(/ton Mr. CiiAs. Dickens.

T/ie ,Stn(n[icr Mr. Mark Lemon.

Previous to the Play, the Overture to " William
Toll." Previous to the Farce, the Overture to "La
Gazza Ladra."

Ben Johnson, as an acting dramatist, has almost disap-
peared from the stage he so long adorned, and, probahly,
no performance of his best comedy was ever more suc-
cessful than the above. Dickens made such an admirable
Captain Bobadil, that Leslie, the artist, took a most char-
acteristic portrait of him in that character. The moment
selected is when the Captain shouts out —

"A gentleman ! odds so, I am not within."

Act i., ycene 3.

Mr. Dickens, in arranging for tlie performances, was the
man of all work, the life and soul of the enterprise. He

CHARLES DICKENS.

35.J

arrangod the scenery for effect, c»f wliicli lie was a good
judge, drilled tlu; porfonners, and attendcil to i]\o adver-
tisintj and other business details.

He was einint.'ntly draniati*'- in his tastes and genius.
This caused him to take a deep interest in theatricals, and
to gather around him as his intimate acquaintances many
of the chief lights of the stage; and throughout his life ho
was constantly associated with <.'minent amateur and pro-
fessional actors, from the time of Macready to that of Fech-
ter, now performing in his own and other private residences
for the entertaiiiment of friends, now in public, in behalf of
some charity or public institution, and again for the benefit
of the family of some deceased brother in literature. As
an amateur actor he was unsurpassed and unsurpassable.
Those who remember the i)erfonnances on behalf of the
Guild of Literature and Art, those given privately at
Tavistock House, about a dozen years ago, and tliose held
on behalf of the Douglas Jerrold Memorial Fund, know
that the dramatic readings which took the world by storm
of late years were the ripened fruit of a long and intense
admiration for and leaning to the stage.

Some of the most competent judges have declared that
the English stage lost an oi-nament, which would have re-
vived its brightest days, by Charles Dickens succeed-
ing as an author and making literature his profession.
But Mr. Dickens' earnestness was such that he not oidy
took upon his own shoulders the most arduous tasks con-
nected with the amateur performances for charitable ob-
jects, with which he so often associated himself, but sup-
erintended the minutest detail, and often worked with his

BWM

■'m

llii

35G

LIFE AND WRITINaS OF

own hands to insure what ho held to be tho nooossarj'
cfTcct.

There arc men living wlioremcmhcrliisocciipyinL,^ liim.
self for a wliole day witli lianuiier and nails on tlie stai^o
of Miss Kelly's Theatre, while it Avas matter for })lavrul
jocularity among hrave spirits who linve gone l)cforc, tliat
Dickens had converted himself into an aniatenr clurk-
taker, and sat in tho receipt of custom with Arthur Smith
all day long at the Gallery of Illustration, when the Jer-
rold performances were about to be given. This is not
the place to sj)cak of the intense and laborious care he
bestowed upon the performances given at his LoikIdh
house, or of the days he devoted to the su})erintendeiiee
of stage effects. The only place at which there was
a chance of seeing Dickens at this time, said liis intimates,
was on his amateur stage, and there, absorbed in tho suh-
ject of the hour, he would be found, resting one arm in
the hand of the other, looking at the drops and cogitatin^^
upon their effect for the coming night, or working like
any scene-shifter at the propeitics.

In the spring of 184G, on April (jth, tho first /.nnivcr-
sary Festival of the General Theatrical Fund Association
was held at the London Tavern. Dickens was in the
chair, and made some admirable hits in his most efiective
speech, as when he said, in sj)eaking of the " base uses "
to which the two great theatres were then being applied :
" Covent Garden is now but a vision of tho past. You
might play the bottle conjurer with its dramatic company,
and put them all into a pint bottle. The human voice is
rarely heard within its walls, save in connection with

CHARLES DICKENS.

357

corn, or tlio aiiil>i(loxtroii.s pre.sti<Iiginatior. of iho Wizard
of the North. In like manner, Driiry Lane is condiu'tcd
now witli almost a sole viow to the opera and hallct, inso-
iiuu'h that tlie statue of Shakespeare over the door serves
as emphatically to point out his grave as his bust did in
the eliureh of Stratford-upon-Avon."

Duringthc year 1847 an announecnicnt appeared that
Sliakcs])care'shouse at Stratford-up<jn-Avon\vas to be sold.
A j)ublie meeting was held, and a oonnnittee organized. By
means of sul)seri[itions, a grand performance at Covcnt
(inrden Theatre, on the' 7tli December, readings by Mae-
lendy, and private theatricals by Mv. Diekens and his con-
freres, at the Hay Market, during 1848, a sullicient sum
Avas realized to purcliase the house, and provide for its
l)io[)cr custody. The ])lay selected was The Mcn'U Wives
of Windsor, with nearly the same cast of characters as
before.

But Mr. Dickens first became ])opuhirly known to Kng-
lish audiences, and achieved his marked success as an
amateur actor, by Ids performances in connection with a
company, of which he was a member, associated as a
"Guihlof Literature and Art," inaugurated by Bulvver,
for the benefit 'f needy authors, artists, and actors. Bul-
wer Lytton had written a comedy entitled Xot 80 Bad as
We Seem ; Or Many Sides to a Character, for the benefit
of the " Guild." This was performed at the Devonshire
House, London, by nearly the same cast as before, on the
27th May, 1851. A Farce followed, entitled, Mr. Xifjht-
ingales Diary, in which Mr. Dickens and Mark Lemon
took the principal parts. A critic at this time remarked :

S58

LIFE A>tD WRITINGS OF

" Both these gentlemen are admirable actors. It is l»y no
means amatenr playing with them. Dickens seizes the
strong points of a character, briiYging tliem out as effijc-
tively upon the stage as his pen undyingly marks tliem
upon paper. Lemon has all the ease of a finished per-
former, with a capital relish for comedy and broad farce."
The audionce w^as large and appreciative, and incliKk'd
Macaiday, Wellington and other notables. The success
was very grcai, and the Guild i-cpcjited the ]:»erformance (tii
many occasions in the smaller cities and towns. It was
this Guild wliich Victoria "commanded" to appear before
hei and perform ; to which Mr. Dickens sent reply that lie
would " perform nowhere as an actoi', where he was not
received on terms of equality as a gentleman." Most of
the members of the Guild are now passed away. The
funds raised were unfortunately, by a flaw in the act of
Parliament, unintentionally tied up for a number of years;
but on Saturday, July 29th, 18G5, the surviving members
of the Fimd proceeded to the neighborhood of Stevenage,
near the magnificent seat of the President, Bulwer Ly tton,
to inspect three houses built in the Gothic style on tlie
ground given b}^ him for that purpose. An enterprising
publican in the vicinity had just previously opened his
establishment, which bore the very appropriate sign of
" Our Mutual Friend " — Mr. Dickens' then latest work—
and caused considerable merriment.

In 1855 was performed at Tavistock House, in London,
where Mr. Dickens was then residing, a strik ng two-act
play entitled, The Li</Jd-IIous€, a thrilling n elo-drania,
written by Mr. Wilkio Collins, Mr. Dickens himsell'

CifARLES DICKENS.

859

iate sio"ii of

taking the part of Aaron Guvnock, the head light-
keeper. The play and the acting excited so much
curiosity in London society that after a good deal of urg-
ing it was repeated by tlie Guild at a fashionable private
residence for the benefit of one of the organizations to
aid tlie British soldiers in the Crimea. The audience was
extremely brilliant; Mr. Collins, Mr. Mark Lemon, Mr.
Dickens' sister-in-law, Miss Hogarth, and his daughter,
^liss Dickens, the artist ^Ir. Egg, and others, were the
actors ; the scene was laid in the Eddystone Lighthouse,
and the performance was such that it would have been
highly successful as a })rofcssional one. Mr. Tom Taylor,
the eminent critic, in an article in next morning's 2' lines,
remarked that —

" The actino' of "Mr. Dickens and Mr. Lemon was most
admirable, not only worthy of professional actors, but of
a kind not to be found save among the rarest talent?.
Aaron, a rouf^li, ruL"jfed son of Cornwal), with the lines of
misery deeply furrowed in his face, rendered more iriit*
able than humble by remorse, and even inclined to bully
his way through his own fears, is elaborated by Mr.
Dickens with wonderful fulness of detad, so that there is
not an accent, a growl, or a scowl without its distinctive
significance. Li a word, it was a great individual crea-
tion of a kind that has not been exhibited before." Much
praise was also bestowed upon the ladies. But the asso-
ciation of Miss Hogarth with these ])erformances is said to
have ^-iven oi'oat undji-ai-'c to hei" sister, Mrs. Dickens, and
to have been one of the causes of the melancholy rupture
between herself and her husband, which occurred in 1858,

«1

S60

LIFE AND WRITINGS 01*

The piece was afterwards repeated for the benefit of oilier
charities.

On the 8tli of June, iSoT, i^Ir. Dickens' chci-ishod
friend, Douglas Jcrrold, breathed his last, leaviiig ]{]^
family in indigent circumstances. Almost his last
words to his broken-hearted Avifc were, " Dickens vrill
take care of you when I am dead." His trust Avas not
misplaced. Dickens was associated with Thackeray.
Mark Lemon, Charles Knight, Horace MayhcAV, i\ronckt'i!i
Milnes, and Mr. Bradbury as pall-bearers, and a great
gathering of authors and artists followed the body to iVor-
wood Cemetery. Mr. Dickens at once set about raising a
''Jerrold Fund." A performance was inaugurated, the
play being The Fj'uzeiiJJcrp, with scenery by Clarkson
Stanfield, and readings Aveie also given by Dickens and
Thackeray, until sufiicient funds (£2,000), were accumu-
lated with whic'^ to purchase an annuity for the widow.
It may be remembered that the Preface to the Talc ofTi'v
Cities began Avith the sentence, " When I Avas acting,
with my children and friends, in >»Ir. Wilkie Collins'
drama of TJte Frozen Deep, I first conceived the main
idea of this story." The reading by Mr. Dickens Avas his
Chvistrnas Carol. The literary circles of Avhich ^Ir.
Dickens w^as member, secured by the same means an
annuity for a god -dauo-hter of Samuel Johnson. ]\lr.
Dickens also gave i-eadings on scA'cral occasions, generally
the Clir'islrivjs Carol, for the l)cnefit of tiie funds, ol
various Mechanics' Institutes. At the conclusion of one
of these in Shelliehl, the Mayor })rescnted him Avith a A'cry
handsome table service of cutlery, including, we arii fur-
ther told, Avitli a circumstantiality which is amusing- — "ii

CirARLES DICKEXS.

3Gi

pair of fisli-carvcrs, and a couple of razf.rs," in tlio name
of the inliabitants, for his genor'^us help and assisiance.
In thankino- liini, Dickens said that, in an earnest desire
to leave imaginative and |)opular liter;iture something
more closely associated than he found it, at once Avith the
private homes and the puhlic rights of the English people,
"lie should 1)e faithful to death."

On the 21st July, 1S58, a puhlic meeting was held at
tlic Princess' Theatre, for the purpose of estahlishing the
now famous Royal Dramatic CoUego. i\.Ir. (Iiaries Kean
Avas the Chairman, and Dickens dcHvcred one of his ex-
cellent spe>3chcs on a to})ic ever dear to him — the
theatrical pvofession. Charles Kean was then conducting
Lis Shakespearian revivals — those sjtlendid prigeantries
andarelijoologicad displays vhieli we all remember at tins
theatre tAvelve vears u^o — and Diekens, Avith his usual
tact, turned the cii'cumstance to account in his speech*
The play then being performed was the Mcrrliaiif of
Yoilce, and, in concluding, the speaker remarked, " I
could not but retiect Avhile Mr. Kean Avas speaking, that
in an hour or tAvo from this time, tlie spot u[)onAvhich Ave
are now assend)led will be transformed into the scene of a
crafty and a cruel bond. I know that a few hours hence
tiie Grand Canal of Venice Avdll tlow, Avith picturesque
fidelity, on the A'cry s})ot Avhere I now stand dryshod, and
that the ' cpiality of mei'cy ' Avill be beautifully stated to
the Venetian Council by a learned young doctor fr^^m
Padua, on these A-ery boards on which avc noAV enlarge
upon the (juality of charity and sym])athy. Knowing
this, it came into my mind to consider how difierent the

*H t|

SG2

LIFE And writing?^ oi*

real bond of to-day from the ideal bond of to-niglit. Kovj
all generosity, all forbearance, all forgctfulness of little
jealousies and unwortliy divisions, all united action for tlic
general good. Tlicn all selfishness, all malignity, all
cruelty, all revenge, and all evil ; voiu all good. That ,i
bond to be broken Avitliin the compass of a few — three or
four — swiftly passing houi's ; noiv a bond to be valid and
of good effect generations hence."

The committee's labors were successful, and an elegant
building, in tlie Elizabethan style, at May bury, was tlic
result.

The annual Fancy Fair at the Crystal Palace, and the
junketing thereat, it is needless to say, are the means of
addino^ a laro-c accession to the funds.

The great power of Dickens, ])efore years came on, wah
in his eye. When he ^vas in Rome, he sat in the hulk dc
liote, opposite a somewhat vulgar woman, whose loudness
of manners attracted his attention. Thenceforth, ever and
anon, he flashed upon her the "full blaze of his visual orb,"
which, as all who knew him must remember, was a very
large one. At last, the lady cried out, in the unmistakal)le
cockney vernacular : *' Drat that man there — I wish he <!
take his lieycs (eyes) hoft'my face. They're like a policj-
man's bull's eye !" Such^ also^ was the searching glance
he cast upon life.

\V(^ h Lve previously noticed that Mr. Dickens was a
cornpo^^er of ;''ays, as w dl as an actor in them. Before he
v/i s ^''Terity -five year;> old he had two ."arces and an o])erii
of l>ip jwn played a^ St. James Theatre, London, then
mano<;;ed :; Joku Braham, who, during full fifty yeartiJ

CHAilLES DICKENS.

3G3

was ilic great Eiiglisli tenor. It is not claimed for Cliarles
Dickens, however, tliatlic was a A-ery successful dramatist.
His skill in construction, his facility in contriving start-
ling situations — and above all, ins wondrous power of
making his characters speak and act like living creatures,
and not accordinrr to the traditions of the stafa>, had
scarcely been developed, certainly had not been matured,
when he wa'ote two farces and an o|)era. Perhaps, had
tliese been the ])roductions of any })erson but him, who
was being recognized at the time as a meteoric light on
the horizon of letters^ their success would have been more
assured : for the dramatic element abounds in all his
Avorks, and no other writer has Su thoroughly individual-
ized the characters he created. They were not niere
Marionettes, puppets moved by an unseen but iiot unsus-
pected hand behind tlie scene, but real people. Two or
three of his novels were dramatized under his own
inspection, and w^ith his own assistance, but nearly all of
the other adaptations for the stage were got u[) i a hiuTy
and in the most flimsy manner.

The readinof which our author f]:ave in aid of Jie Jerrold
and other charitable funds, and at private ent .tainments,
proved so satisftictory, that Mr. Dickens Ictermined to
adhere to them professionally and in hi«< own behalf.
Althounrh lonj^ accustomed to reading? alr)ud for the
anuisement of his household, the first occasion on wdiicii
he had appeared before the public as a read«'r, was in the
year 1852, in Peterborough, before a small n lidience. A
little later he read the Carol at Cliatham, in aid of an
educational fund, and in January, 18'33, before a larger

.St;

111

•«.'.

S(j4<

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

assembly at Birmingham, where the proceeds amounted to
£800. From that time until 1<S5S, Mr. Dickens' efforts in
this line were only at consideralde intervals, and generally
for the benefit of literary and dramatic societies and imli-
viduals. On all these occasions our author was very
careful about tiie arrangement of the jdatform, the liglits,
and other details, striving to secure, by the aid of his
theatrical experience, the greatest possible scenic effect.
The Citr'ist 111(18 CiU'ol was then his favorite piece. Always
])rompt at the appointed hour, the red, jovial face, unre-
lieved by the heavy mustache which the novelist has since
assumed, abroad, high forehead, and a perfectly JMicawher-
like expanse of shirt-collar and front, appeared above tlio
desk, and a full, sonorous voice rang out the words
''2farle)j-v:as-dea(l-io-hcf/in-iv:{Ji,'' then })aused, as if to
take in the character of the audience, or to see if there was
any probability of their disputing it. No need of any
further hesitation. The voice held all spell-bound. Its
de|)ths of (juiet feeling when the ghosts of i)ast Christmases
led the dieamer throui>'h the lon^'-foro-otten scenes of his
boyhood — its embodhnent of burly goo<l nature when oM
Fezziwifi^'s calves were twinklinij; in the dance — its tearful
suggestiveness, when the spirit of Cluistmasses to come
pointed to the nettle-grown, neglected grave of the unloved
man — its exfjuisite pathos by the death-bed of Tiny-Tiui,
■ — dwell yet in the memory like the strains of a favorite
tune. The author of this biograph}^ once asked ^Ir.
Dickens if he did not experience a little nervousness on
his first appearance before the public. "Not in thcleast"
way the answer. " The first time I took the chair, I felt

I'n

CHAHLES DICKENS.

n(i5

as much confidonco as if I had done the thing a hundred
timoH." Ilis delivery Avas measured, sonorous and em-
phatic. He could make his aiidicnee laugh, or weep, or
shudder as he chose ; the efiV'ct he produced was thril-
lingly impressive ; but his manner was undeniably
"stagey," and not unfre(|uently, on the platform, he over-
acted his part.

On the evening of Thursday, the 20th of April, 1.S58,
3[r. Dickens a[)})en,red at St. Martin's Hall, London, to
give his first reading in his own behalf, prefacing his reci-
tation with an apologetic address to his audience.*

The entertainments thus inaugurated proved very suc-
cessful, both in gratifying the public, and as a pecuniary
specalation to ^Ir. Dickens himself. I o \isited at this
time most of the large cities and towns in Great Britain
and Ireland, and read before extensive audiences. A
coui'se of these entertainments Avas also given in Paris. In
18G2, a ncw^ series of readings was commenced and })roved
equally successful. This success, however, was not ob-
tained without great labor and porsovorance. Hi; often

■■ This iutroductury aihiross was as f(,illi)\vs ; —

" Lai.ikj and C!i;xti,kmk\ ;— It may iierliaps be known to you tliat, for a few years
l>ast, I liave been aecustonied ocoasionikUy to re;ul some of my shorter hooks to various
iuulieiices, hi aid of i variety of ^ood cil)j(jcts, and at some ehar;',e to myself both ii time
and nii.ney. It i;i\ ini^' at len^tli liccume imi)o>-.>ihli: in any rcasun to comply with these
always aeeumnlatiny demands, I have had definitely tn elmose hulwoen now and then
rcadiii;^- on my own aei'ount, as one of my rcdLiiiized ooeupations, or not reading; at all.
1 lia\e had little or no diiheulty in dii-idinj^ nn the former ennrse.

" Tliu reasons that have led "me to it, besides tiie e^nsiderati'in that it necessitates no
departure wliatevcr from the ehosen pursuits of my liie, are tln"ee-fold : firstly, I have
sutislitd mysolf that it ean involve no (lossible eoinpr<imise of the credit and independ-
eiiee of literature ; sueimdly, I have Inii;,^ held tl.e npininii.aiid have Ion';- aeted -iii the
<ipiiiion, that in these tunes whatever brings a jinhlic; man and his public face to face, on
ttrms of mutual eMniidenc! and respect, is a u'ond thin^ ; thirdly, I have h.ad a pretty'
laive cxiierienee of the interest my hearers are so ;^enernus as to take in these cceasioiis,
and of tre delij,ditXhey give to m'c, as a tried nivalis of strcn^.'tbcnin'j^ those n hLtions— -
1 Hiav almost say of personal friend.dn]i— which it is my yreat jirivile^-e and jiride, as it in
tiiy {;Teat responsil)ility, to hold with a multitude of pers )ns v.ho will never bear my
Voice, nor ;;ee my face. Thus it is that 1 come, (piite naturally, to be here amon,;^ you
:it this time; and thus it id that I jiroiioed to read this little boyk, ([xxiia us composedly
ao 1 luiyht proceed to write it, or to I'ublish it in any other way."

1- ' ■■ r. I

."'1 'i; K
■ 1:, ■:

nC)G

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

devoted two or three months to the perfection of a new
Rccnc.

As the United States aft'ordiMl a more promising field for
a specnlation of this nature, Mr. Dickens determined to
visit tlie American Continent for a second time, and for
this ])urpose sailed from Liverpool in the " Cuba," accom-
panied by his machinist and — like a true showman —
having his apparatus along, early in November, 18G7,
reached Boston on the nineteenth of that month.

Prior U) his departure from England, Mr. Dickens was
the recipient of a farewell banipiet at Freemasons' Tav-
ern. The hall Avas si>lendidly decorated, and inscri])C(l
with the names of his v^arious works. Five hundred per-
sons sat down, including nearly all the eminent literary
and scientific men of England. Bulwer Lytton presided,
and in the course of his euloo-ium on the illustrious novel-

ist,

" We are about to intrust our honored countryman to
the hospitality of those kindred shores in which his writ-
ings are as nmch household words as they are in tlie
homes of England.

" If I may speak as a politician, I should say that no
time for his visit could be more happily chosen. For our
American kinsfolk have conceived, rightly or wrougly,
that they have some recent cause of complaint against
ourselves, and out of all England we could not have se-
lected an envoy — speaking, not on behalf of our govern-
ment, but oT our people — more calculated to allay irrita-
tion and propitiate good- will.

CHATILES BTCKEXS.

3C7

" How many lioiirs in wliicli pain and sioknos.s have
clian^^ed into clicoi-fnlncss and niirtli IxMicatli tlio wand of
that onchant(?r ! ]I(t\\' many a liai'dy combatant, beaten
down in tlio battle oi'lit'c — -and nowliero on this eartli is
tl»e batth) of life sharper than in. tlio commonwealth of
Amei'ica — has taken new hope, and new courage, and new
f(jrce fiomtho manly lessons of that unobtrusive teacher."

Ho concluded by y)roposing ''A prosperous voyage,
health and long life to our illusti'ious guest and country-
man, Charles Dickens ;" Avhich, having been duly honor-
ed, Mr. Dickens njade an eloquent {icknowledgment, and
ill conclusion remarked : " The story of my going to Am-
erica is very easily and briefly told. Since I was there
before, a vast and entirely new generation has arisen in
the United States. Since that time, too, most of the best
known of my books have been written and published.
The new s'eneration and the books have come tofjether
and have kept together, until at length nund)ers of those
who have so widely and constantly read me, naturally de-
siring a little variety in the relations b>etween ns, have ex-
pressed a strong wish that I should read myself This
wish, at first conveyed to me through pul)lic as well as
through busmess channels, has gradually become enforced
by an immense accumulation of letters from pi-ivate indi-
viduals and associations of individuals, all expressing in
the same hearty, homely, cordial, unatiected way a kind
of personal affection for mc, which I am sure you will
agree with me that it would be downright insensibility on
my part not to prize. Little by little this [)ressure has
become so great that, although, as Charles Lamb says,

''X

ukW

im^

3C8

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

'My household ^^ods strike a terribly deep root,' I have
driven them from tlieir ])laceH, and this day week, at this
hour, shall he u[)()ii tlio sea. ^'oii will readily conccivo
that I am inspired besides by a natui'al desire to see for
myself the astoni.sliin^* progress of a ([iiarter of a ceiituiy
over there — to g'rasj) the hands uf many faithful fi'ieuds
whom I left there — to see the faces of a multitude of new
fiiends u[)on whom I have never looked — and, thouL;]i
last, not least, to use my best endeavors to lay down a
third eable of intercommunieation and alliance between
the Old World and the New.

"Twelve yeai's ago, when, Heaven knows, I littlo
thought T should ever be bound upon tlie voyage whidi
now lies before me, I wrote in that form of my writings
which obtains by far the most extensive circulation, tlavso
w^ords about the American nation : ' I know full well that
whatever little motes my beamy eyes may have descrictl
in tlieirs, that they are a kind, large-hearted, generous and
great people.' In that faith T am going to sec them again.
In that faith I shall, please Ood, return from them in the
spring, in that .same faith to live and to die. Ladies and
gentlemen, I told you in the beginning that I couhl not
thank you enougii, and Heaven knows I have most thor-
oughly kept my Avord. If I may quote one other slujrt
sentence from myself, let it imply all that I have left un-
said and yet deeply feel; let it, putting a girdle round the
eartli, com})rehend l)oth sides of the Atlantic at once in
this moment. As Tiny Tim observed, ' God bless us, every

one.

> 5J

For the first fortnight after his arrival in Boston, Mr.

«,^ ^

CTIARLKf? DtCKENf?.

• noD

Dirkons (lovotod Lis tiino to rccruitiii!,^ from Ins voyage,
stuflyiiiL;* liis parts in liis rooms at tl;c Parker House, re-
cei\in,i;' ami makiiii;" calls, and takinij;* his accnstomc'd con-
stitutional walks ot'iivc or six miles, to the heautit'ul vil-
laires which surround " the ilul> of the Universe." His

'fellow, Whittier, L

intnuacy was veiy close with .LonL;iclk)w, v\ hittier, Jjow-
(11, Fields, Holmes, l^'cscott, Felton, and other literary
men with which that locality a hounds. Attempts vvero
made to fete him, as on his ])revious visit ; hut he let it
he known that he had come this time on business. "I
iuu come here," he said, "to rea<l. The ])eople expect mo
t(» do my liest, and how can 1 do it if [ am all the time on
the go ? ^ly time is not my own when T am ^jreparing
to read, .any more than it is when 1 am writing a novel ;
and I can as well do (me as the other without conecntrat-
iiig all my })ower on it till it is done."

j\Iost of his time was spent in the most laborious, pains-
taking study of the parts he was to read. Indeed, the
public had but little idea of the cost — in downright hard
work of mind, body and voic(3 — at which these readings
were ])roduced. Although JVlr. Dickens had read now
nearly five hundred times, I am assured, on the best au-
thority, that he never attem[)t(Ml a i^'W part in |»ul:)lic un-
til he had spent at least two months over it in study as
faithful and searchimi' as Rachel or Cushman would e-ivo

to a new cluiracter. This study extended not

mere

ly to

iho analvsis of the text, to the discrimination "f charae-
tev, to tlie minutest points of elocution ; ])ut decided upon
the facial expression, the tone of the voice, the gesture,
the attitude, and even the material surroundings of the

IMAGE EVALUATION
TEST TARGET (MT-3)

1.0

I.I

»- L.

1.8

1.25 1.4

1.6

•^ 6" -

►

^/.

'<^.

^ "*'

Photographic

Sciences
Corporation

^9>

33 WEST MAIN STREET

WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580

(716) 872-4503

'-1 " ^!^

i/j

370

LiFfi AND WRITINGS OF

ij.

actor, for acting it was, not reading, in the ordinary sonso
at all. Mr. Dickens was so essentially an artist, that lie
could not neglect the slightest thing that might serve to
heighten the eflect of what he had nndcrtakeu to do.

And he was so conscientious, so strict in his dealings a

very Martinet in business and thorough man of all'airs

that he would leave nothing undone that time and labor
could do to give to the puhlic that pays so much for tlie
pleasure of hearing hiin the full worth of its money. This
is the reason why he, a man of the v\'orld, greatly del iglit-
ing in society, thoroughly fitted to enjoy it himself, dclib.
erately cut himself off from it until his task should be
done.

The first reading took place at the Trcmont Tem[)le, on
the evening of the 2nd of December, ISfJT. The hall was
filled to overflowing, and the audience was extremely
brilliant. As Mr. Dickens himself remarked to the writer,
few cities could show a o-atherinii; of such a character. TIic
literati of Boston and Cambridge, and the learned men,
the wit and beauty and elorpience for twenty miles arctund
were there in force. Crowds assembled to ^'reet him in
the streets. All noted the marked change in his ap])ear-
ance from the dashing, slender, handsome young fellow of
twenty years ago, to the stoutish, grizzly, care-worn and
weary-looking middle-aged gentleman before them.

" O'er tliat fair hroad 1)rav/ were v/roirglit
The intersected lines of thought."

Mental labor, rather than years, had changed him far more
than the wearing; <\nd wearvin;;' touch of time. Still, i;i
his attire, neat even to elegance, with the glittering watoli-

CHARLES DICKENS.

chain and pendant ornaments, and tlie flower in his but-
ton-hole (liis daily comi)anion there for thirty years), his
intelligent glance around and through the audience, as if
it were rajjidly taking stock of them, an<l his own a})par-
cnt cool and decided mauner, as if confident that in a few
minutes that eager crowd would be under his spell — all
coml)ined to render him not merely "the observed of all
observers," but one of the most remarkable among the
truly great men of this or of any age or country.

" Cheer after cheer broke forth," it was re[)orted, " and
amid cries of welcome and clapping of innumerable kids,
Dickens rose and fell and rose again in a friendly roar,
tried to si)eak and was defeated, and returned gallantly to
the charge again,, but had scarcely got as far as ' Ladies,*
when he was obliged to succumb ; made another dash at
' Gentlemen,' and gave it up ; and at last saw that one
Englishman was nothing to so many Yankees, and waited,
smiling and bowing, until they had their will, and were
ready to let him have his."

The Readings of that evening consi.sted of the Christ-
mas Carol and the breach-of-promise marriage trial from
PlcJcivlch. The afidience wei"e alternately sobbing and
laughing during the former, though their tender sympa-
tliy was oftcner moved than their sense of humor — but
tlie trial, Bardell *". Pick^\ ick, was farce from first to last
— only varying in its gra-^es of fun. It was in this, that,
besides introducing the numerous and well sustained
dianges of intonation necessary to individualize oaeh of
the characters, Mr. Dickens brought into i)]ay that won-
derful facial mobility of feature and expression which, in

372

LIFE AND WRITINGS 01*

mm'

common Witli all great actors, lie largely possessed, and of-
fectivcly, because judiciously exercised. When Mr. Ser-
geant Bw/Anz, assuming more importance than ever, yosq
and said, " Call Samuel Weller," there was, for a monient,
a pause —

*' A sound so fine that nothing lives
'T\yixt it and Silence,"

and then, as with on(7 consent, a loud murmur of applause
among the audience, which simultaneously broke into
cheers. When he was j3U])posed to have appeared — sup.
2^086(1 ! Why, the man .^\is there I attired in that identi-
cal livery; Avhicli made him wonder, Avhen heiir.st gotinto
it, whether he was meant to* be a footman, or a groom, or
a game-kee[)er, or a scedsmaw, c»r " a compo of every one
on 'em." It seemed as if Sam Avere there, in the Hesli.
Then, the little Judge, — little Mr. Justice Starcleigh. At
one moment, Sam Weller, in his free and easy manner,
was delivering his evidence, half jestingly, yet wHh a se-
cret purpose, which he carried out, of doing his best for
Mr. Pickwick, and in the next, he had vanished — andtlie
audience only saw the little Judge's rubicund and owlish
face, only heard his lunnistakaldo voice pumping u[), from
some unknown depths, the caution, " You must not tell
us what the soldier said, unless the soldier is in coiu't, and
is examined in the usual Avay ; it is not evidence." Hey,
presto, — the judge disappeared, and we heard Sam, saio
Sam cheerfully answering, " Werry good, my Lord." llvro
let me observe, that the illustrations of Dickens 1'}'
** Phiz" and other artists, placing so many of the charac-
ters before readers, in days gone by, until they had sank

CHARLES DICKENS.

373

(loop into tlioir inomoiy, greatly assisted Mr. Dickens,
M'lien he acted various scenes before an audience. In con-
sequence of these engravings, Dickens lias heen more read,
and is better understood, than any other writer : just as.
tlie ])articular plays of Shakespeare, which are most popu-
lar and most intelligible to the majority of readers, aro
those which are frequently acted on the stage. In dra-
matic representation and in good illustrations, there is a
realism which greatly assists intellect and memory.*

It will not be necessary to ])articularize each reading
•which Mr. Dickens gave in the United States. The fore-
going description is sufficiently applicable to the whole.
SiifHce it to say, further, that he visited New York, whero
he stopped at the Westminster Hotel, and gave his read-
ings at Stcinway Hall ; in Pliiladelj)hia, at Concert Hall;
also giving entertainments at Brdtimore, Washington,
Buffalo, Hartford and most of the large cities in the East,
eveiy where greeted l)y crowded houses. A Philadel[)hia
paper said : "No literary stranger ever had such a wel-

* ^Fr. Dickens bade farcAvell to Boston in the followinj,' words :

" TiADiES AND CJkxti.kmen' : My ]»rec'ious and general welcome in America,
wliicli can never ]»e obliterated from my memory, b(';;an here. My de))ar-
tinv bcLfins liere, ti>o ; for I assure yoti that I \\n\v nevt'r, initil this moment,
milly felt that I am ^^'oiiiLf away. Iti this biit-f life nf o\n's, it is siwl to do
almost anythin.!,' for tiie last time; and 1 cannot ci.nceid it from you, that
a!thonj,di my face will so soon be turned towards my native land, and to all
that makes it dear, it is a sad considi-i-ation with me that in a wvy few
nmnients from this time this brilliaiit ball, and all that it cuitains, will fado
from my view for evermore. ]')ut it is my consolation, that the spirit of tho
liii'-'ht faces, tlu' ([uick ]percc]ititin, the icadv replies, the ^-enei-ous allowance,
and the cheering,' crowds that have nuide this place joyful to uie, will remain ;
and you may rely njxm it, that that spirit will abide witli me as Ion;,' as I
liave the sense and sentiment of life. I do not say this with any reference to
the ])rivate friendshijis that have for years and years made liostou a memr)r-
aljle and beloved s))ot to me ; for such ]ii'ivate references have no business
in this ]dace. I say it purely in remend)rance of, and in honia^'e to tlio
j,Teat p\iblic heart before me. liadies and ^'entlemen, I Ijck most earnestly,
most gratefully, and most affectionately, to bid you each and all farewell,"

374

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

come from Philauolpliia fis Charles Dickens received last
nij^dit at Concert Hall. Tlio selling of the tickets two
•weeks ago almost amoiuite<l to a <listnrl)anceof the pence.
Five hundred })eo|)le in line, standing from midnight till
noon, poorly re[)reseiited tho general <lesire to hear tlio
great novelist on his first night. Everywhere th.it I
looked in the crowded hall I saw some one not unknown
to fame — some one representing either the intelligence or
the beauty, the wealth or the fashion of Philadelphia."
Longfellow tells us that the three evenings he spent in
listening to the author were among the most agreeable in
his life.

It w^as the story everywhere. Mr. Dickens acknowledged
that the success of his trip far exceeded all his expecta-
tions. In five short months, from the 10th of November
to the 22nd of April his receipts exceeded those of liis
whole previous life. It w\as the accumulated investment
of a lifetime returning to him ; the sowing of years yield-
ing its ripe harvest. Had Dickens been a public reader
and nothino' else, he never could have attained this result.
But with his great reputation, and the familiarity of the
public wdth his imaginative creations, he had all the ele-
ments of success. The people were willing to pay to " see
Dickens " — he was to them an old friend re-introduced.
The smallest house which anywhere greeted the illustrious
writer w^as in Hocliester, Avliere the I'eading netted §2,500.
The others ranged from this sum up to $8,000. This
amount might have been doubled in large halls, but the
author preferred those of moderate size for the sake of the
effect. The recitations, too, might have been extended in-

CHARLES DICKENS.

375

definitely, as there was no abatement in the interest, l)ut
the Labor was too exhausting ; and with the goodly sum
of over 8200,000 in gold as the grand result, the novelist
brought his readings to a close on the 21st of April, 1868,
at St(.'inway Hall. At the conclusion of this Farewell
Reading, he was rapturously applauded, and returned the
compliment by a neat and touching farewell address.*

A public dinner was given to Mr. Dickens, at Del-
monico's, on Saturday evening, April 18th, four days
before his departure, by the gentlemen connected with
the press, which was a very brilliant affair. Horace
Greeley presided, and reprcsentcitives from every con-
siderable city were present. Eloquent addresses were
made b}? the chairman, by Henry J. Raymond, George W.
Curtis and others. Mr. Dickens rei)lied to the leading
toast of the evening in a most happy manner. In tho
course of his remarks he said : " It has been said in your
newspapers that for months past I have been collecting
materials for hammering away at a new book on America.
This has much astonished me, seeing that all that time it
has been perfectly well known to my publishers, on both
sides of tho Atlantic, that I positively declared that no
consideration on earth should induce me to write one.

"* " Ladies and Okntt^kmrn' : Tlie sliadow of one word has impeiided over me all thi.s
evening, Imt the time has at liiij^th come \slieii tho shadow must fall. It is a short
word, hut its wei^dit is not measurod hy its leii^fth. 1 .st Thursday evening', while I
nad the story of ' David Copporfiold,' 1 ft It that tlaro was another mear.in^,' than usual
ill the wordb of old llr. I'ojrj.'-otty, ' My future life lies over the sea.' And when 1 read
friini this hook to-ni};ht (refirin^' to tho ' ricknick Put't'in'), I realized that I nuist
.'•linrtiy establish sueh an alibi as would sati^^fy even Mr. Welier, s^'uior. The rclati>(n.s
sot up in this place between us have been to me of the most satisfactory character. There
has been on my part the most earnest attention to the work of preparation to entertain
Juu, and on your part the kindest sympathy, winch cannot be for^'otten forever. I
shall often recall you by the winter lire of my home, or in the pleasant summer of old
Knj^land— never as a jniblic audience, but always as dear |)ersonal fricndM, and ever with
tl>e tendercst sympathy and affection. In bidding' you a final farowell, I pray Ood bless
us, every ono, aud God bless the laud iii which i leave you."

87G

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

But "wliat T have intended, what T have resolved npr>n
(and this is tlic confidence I seek to })lace in you) is, on
my return to England, in my own person, to hear, for tlio
behoof of my countrymen, sucli tt'stimony to tlie gigiintiii
changes in this country as I have liinted at to-niglit. Also,
to record that, wherever [ have been, in tlie smallest places
equally, with the largest, I have been received with un-
surpassable politeness, delicacy, sweet tem])er, hospitality,
consideration, and with unsurpassaljlo res[)ect for the
privacy daily enforced upon me by the nature of my
avocation here, and the state of my health. This testi-
mony, so long as I live, and so long as my descendants
have any legal right in my books, I shall cause to be re-
published as an appendix to every copy of those books
of mine in which I liavc referred to America. And this
I will do and cause to be done, not in mere love and
thankfulness, but because I regard it as an act of plain
justice and honor."

As an incident of his regard for little kindnesses, it may
be mentioned that he was in Washington on his 5Gt.li
birthday, and numerous presents were sent to him,
amongst them a set of American studs and buttons, wliieli
drew from Mr. Dickens this acknowledgment ; " I was
truly touched and atlected yesterday evening by the
receipt of your earnest letter, and your handsome birth-
day present. I shall always attach a special value to
both, and shall make a point of Avearing the latter on the
7th of February, as often as the day may come round to

me.

The applications for autographs, album-verses and locks

CHARLES DICKENS.

377

of hair wore boyond Jill coniputMtion ; and the author was
forced to liavc a printed f(^rni for reply, whieli ran, " 7o
annph/ with your vniiient it'Oithl vot he rattHondhJy
2)(>ss}}>/e." Aproj)()s to tliis su1>jeet, PancJt jokiiii^dy said:
"We learnt, while haviii^^ our hair cut at Truetitt's the
other dav that that illustrious dealer in fictitious hair had
received an imnicnso order from Boz, originating in his
desire to gratify the seventeen thousiind American young
ladies who had honored liim witli a])i)lications for locks
from his caput. Two shi[)s have heen chartered to con-
vey the sentimental cai'go, and will start from the London
docks, on the 1st day of April."

At length, however, the time arrived for his final de-
parture from the New World. The " Russia " lay in
the stream. A tug-boat awaited his leave-taking. A
fjreat crowd assend)led to bid him farewell, among them
his friend Fields, with whom his parting wfvi lengthy and

very affecting ; which led to the humorous s(|uib :

''A thousand friendly throats, Charles,

15id you ^'ood-specd to-day,
But don't Mrite any ' Xote.s,' Charles,

And say 'twas ' t'other way.'
You once invoked your s]ileen, Charles,

And struck us hard and sore ;
But now you're not so iireen, 'Charles,

Aljout our Yankee shore.

80, * kiss me quick and ;;o, ' Charles,

So, 'kiss !ne (piick and ^o ;'
Send all your hooks to I'.ostoii, v'harles,

Now, ' kiss me quick and go.' "

The tug carrying Mr. Dickens, and crowded with his
friends, finally left the wharf for the steamship. Here
another leave-taking took place, as the " Russia " saile4

378

LIFE AND WRITINGS OP

down the bay, amid the wavin;^ of hats and handkerchiefs.
"Good-bye, Boz," vociferated tlie crowd on the tug boat,
"Good bye." Then 'Boz' jnit liis iiat npon Ids cane and
waved it, and tlie answer came, " Good-bye ! and God
bless you, every one ! "

CHARLLJ DICKENS.

379

CIIArTER XII.

DISAPPOINTMKXT AND SUCCKSS. — EXPFJUKNC'ES AS KK-
I'OUTKIl. — IK )M1': INFLUKNCKS. — TUT H NAM K. — FALSK
PRKUTCTIOXS. — LUCK. — JIANDWIUTLNCJ. — AIUJUMFXT. —

. COLLFCTINa MATERIAL. — EdoTISM. — (;()SSIP. — PIUACV. —

poLrncs. — popri.AR education. — reijciox. — intem-
perance. — CONTEMPORARIES. — SOCIAL AND HUSINESS
HARITS. — PERSONAL APPEARANCE.— DRESS. — CIIARITV.

** Nf>t niorcly tliine the trilmtc praise,

AV'hieh greets an author's ])r()gre3s here ;
N(»t merely thine tlie fabled hays,

Whdso verdure l)righteiis his career ;
Thine the jiure triunipli to have taught

Thy brother man a gentle part ;
In every line a fervent thought,

AVliieli gushes f?"om thy generous heart :
For thine are Avords which rouse up all
The dormant good among us found —
Like drops which fr«m a fountain fall,
To bless and fertilize the ground !"

— Mrt; Nujiton'c) Ti'ihuk to Dickens.

iT is both interesting and instruotivo to review
the career of Charles Dickens from tlie time of
liis entry into thebattle of life as a law clerk and
scribbler for newspapers, to that of his decease,
when in the full tide of the world's honor, and on the highest
pinnacle of literary fame. His early struggles and experi-
ence in an attorney's office, though exceedingly irksomo
and unremunerative at the tine, were undoubtedly of the
greatest benefit to him in after life.

It was, however, in Parliament, and as general reporter
for the press, that the knowledge o : human kind, which

380

LIFE AND WRITIXOS OF

Ll ■*

f'U^'"

ho suWqnciitly iiiado tlio study of liis life, wn«* most
largely ac(julr('(l. lie has </\\im uh soino humorous infor-
mation respeetiuf^ the ditliculties he cxporieneed in
acrpiii'in;^ a knowh'd;^'(; of tlio art of stenoi^q'apliy/

The position of ie[)orter in tliose rhiys of stag(» eoaehincj,
■was no sinoeure, l)ut it was just this roui^h life, tliis mixiiiL,'
with all classes, so conj^n'uial to his temperament, that
fixed the hent of his mind and gave to the world i^'r/-
^vIcJv and KicJHjhts Kick/chi/. It formed the major part of
his education. College-bred he was not ; yet educated
he undoubtedly was. Education does not mean going to
scliool in our boyhood, or college in our youth, but it
means the power to take our mind and make it the

* " I did not allow my resolution in risinct to tlio |iarliainoiitary dtbatcs to cocil. It
was one of the irons I Itepiii to hoat ininicdiati'ly, and one of the irons I kept hot and
haninurod at with a perseverance I may honestiv admire. I lionu'lit an aiiptovcd
Bclieme of the nohle art and mystiTX of st('no;.ri-ji|))iy (which cost me teii-and-sixpcnec),
and |ilunK:ed into a sea of perplexity, that hron^ht me in a f » w neeks to the cotdines of
distraetion. 'I'he ehan>,'es that were rnnt,-- upon dots, whieh m one jtosition meant such
a thni^, and in another position somethin;,' else entirely dilterent ; the wonderfnl
vat,''aries that were )»layed hy eireles ; the unaeeotnitahlu eonsequenees thrt resulted
from marks like tly's lej^'s ; the trenien(h)us efTeets from a eurve in the wri)ni,' jdaee ;
not only trouhled my w akin;,' hours, hut re-a|i|ieared hefore n\e in my sleep. When
I had Kr<>))ed my way hlindly throu^rh these ditlieulties, and had mastereil the aljihaliet,
which was an K|,'y))tian tem])le in itself, there then appiared aproeession of new horrors,
called arhitrary characters- the most desj)otio characters 1 had ever known ; who
insisted for instance, that the tiling' like the hejjimnny: of a cohweh meant exjiectation,
that a pen-and-ink Hky-rocket stood for disadvanta^rcous. When 1 had fixed tlieso
wrctclies in my mind, 1 found that they had driven evcrythinyf else out of it; then,
luginninpr ap:ain, 1 for^'ot them ; while I was picking/ them up, I droi>ped the other
fragments of the system ; in short, it was almost heart-hreakiiii;.

" 1 went into ,tlie gallery of the House of Connnoiis as a parliamontary rci)orter when
I was a hoy, not ei;;hteen, and i left it I can hardly helieve the inexoralile truth nii^li
tliirty years au'o ; and 1 have jmrsned the culliuyf of a reporter under circumstances of
which many of myhrethren at home in iOnj;lund here many of my hrethren's succes-
sors— can form no adc<piate coneeiition. 1 have often transcribed for the printer fmni
my short-hand notes imjiortant jiuhlic speeches in which the strictest accuracy was
required, and a mistake in which would have been to a yinuij; man severely c(jmproniis-
iiiy, %\ritin.L;' on the palm of my hand by the li'jht of a dark lantern in a )iost-cl.ai>e
and four, Kalh'P'"p throuuh a wild country, through the deail of the nii.'ht, at the

then surprising;' rate of fifteen miles an hour I mention tliese trivial

thin^^H as an assurance to you that 1 never have for^^otten the fascination of that old

{)ursuit. The pleasure that I used to feel in the rapidity and dexterity of its exercise
iius never faded out of my breast. Whatever little cunnin;;- of hand or head I took to
it or acquired in it, I liavc so retained as that I fully believe I eoulil resume it to-mor-
row. To this i)resent year of my I'fe, wlien I sit in this liall, or where not, liearin^r iv
dull HiJeech — the plienomenon docs occur — I sometimes he;,mile the tedium of the
moment by mentally fidlowni;? the siieaker in tlic old, t>ld way ; and sometimes if you
can believe me, X even find my liauU goiug ou tUe table-eloth.'*

CIIAIILES DICKKNS.

381

rns most
us iufijr-
iH'(;(l ill

.'(mcliinij,
s mixiiiL,'
'lit, tlint
•l.l i^^•/•-
r part of
educated
fjoiiiiX to
li, l)nt it
a it tlio

1 to uriol. It

kt'iit lint and

:in ii|i)ii'iiM il

ii(l-si,\|itiic(),

10 ('(iiiliiio> I'f

I iiicant sui'li

Wdiidirfiil

i't rosulti'il

nnij^ jiliui' ;

otp. Wlmi

lie aiplialii't,

itnv liiPiTnrs,

i()\Mi ; wlio

I'XiK'ctatiiiii,

fixed tlieso

if it ; thru,

d the other

jtortcr when
truth iii-li
lIllstulR'es of

ell's siicc'es-
printer from
ee 11 racy was

eoiiiproinis-
i post-el. ai^e
iLflit, at the
these trivial

of that old

its exercise
id I tool< to
it to-iiior-
t, hearing' a
liuin of the
times if you

instrument of conveying knowledgo and good impressions
to other minds, as weil as Ijeing oui'solf made happy. In
tliis sense he was an echicated man.

It occurs to us to mention here that Cliarles Dickens
was originally christened Charles Joint Uomjlnim Dickens,
and the name is so recorded on the j»arish register, Imt
this designation was too high sounding for liis taste, and
lie allowed the middle names to drop ; though ho remai'ked
to a iri(md that had he ])een a fashionahle physician lio
miglit have thought dill'erently. As a schoolboy he was
noted among his comrades fur his genial disposition, and
Ids i)roticiency in all hoyish s})orts. He seems to have lield
his old school teacher the Rev. Mr. CJiles in great esteem,
for many years after leaving him, he united with other
ex-pui)ils in i>resenting him with a service of plate. His
father, John Dickens, died at the age of 05 years, on the
31st of March, ItS.H, still in liarness on the staff of tho
Ddilij Xcws, thus living to witness the wonderful success
of his son ; and his father-in-law, Mr. George Hogarth, on
the 12th of February, 1<S70, in his 87th year. I'or his early
contributions in the form of sketches to the Old MuntltJyy
sent anonymously and signed '' Boz," he received no pecu-
niary consideration, the honor of having them in print
probably being deemed by Holland, the publisher, sufficient
remuneration for so young and uidcnown an author. Tho
first sketch thus contril)uted was entitled Mrs. Joseph
Porter, and is the one referred to elsewhere, as having
been dropped stealthily in the letter-box, and which it
gave him so much satisfaction to see in print.

Dr. Black, the editor of the Monii?i(j Chronicle, for

3^2

LIFE AND WHITINGS OB'

BtHIH

W^llll^hMl ;

ffinntS

HXUJP ;'

v^HIh

B^^' ''' -'

1'^

lilf

iwi

'■v>i^'^

which paper he was already employed as i'eportcr, and
with which ho now made arraiiLjements for contributing
his sketches, better appreciated Mr. Dickens' talents, and
was always emphatic iu his prognostications of a hrilliant
future. Here he was better paid, and made his first real
start in literature. His ideas however were not high, fji-
his utmost price in his negotiations was eight guineas per
shcot, or at the rate of half a guinea a })agc.* The
sketches thus contributed were not mere tales, but essays
full of visforous wit, humor and observations ; chanL-incr
with facility

"From grave to gay, from lively to severe,"

and coiiibining literature with i)hilosophy, humor with
morality, amusement Avith instruction. For Pickwick
Messrs. Chapman & Hall were to pay the author fifteen
guineas for each number, the number consisting of two
sheets, or thirty-two j^ages. In less than one year from
this tiiae he connnande<l 100 guineas per sheet ; and when
Macrone fell into difficulties and sold Ids copyright of
those same sketches to Chai)man & Hall long after public-

* It will be seen by tlio follnwiny extract fnini a letter adfU'esscd to Mr. Ildgarth, then
connected with the Chroii^rh' tluit he wiis very luodenito in bis demands: " As yu
bej,'yed mo to write an (iri^;inal sketch fur tl;e lirst numli^T of tlio new eveninj; paper,
and as I trust to your l\indness to refer my application to the p'-opor quarter, Hhouhl I
be unreasonably or improperly trespas,^in„' upon y^u, I lKj,'toask whetl;er it is ])roliatilo
that if 1 c'lnnneuccd a series of articlis under somo attractive title for the Kccniivj
Chronicle, its conductors would think I liad any claim to some additional renuuieratiou
• — of course, of no ^'■reat amount —for doin;^- so.

" Let me bej,' you not to misunderst.iiid my meaning'. "Wliatcver the reply may be, I
promised you an article, and shall supply it with the utmost readiness, and with an
anxious desire to do luy be.->t ; which i honestly assure you would be the feeling' with

wliich I should always receive any rc(piest coming' personally from yourself

I merely wish to put it to the propriottirs first, u iiether a i;ontinuation of light papers,
in the liyle of my • Street Sketclies,' woidd be considered of use to the new paper ; and
secondly, if so, whether they do not thmk it fair and reasonable that — taking my slKire
of the ordinary reportin.:;- bu.-incssof the C'liiviiicte besides — 1 should receive sumelhiii;;
for the papers beyond my ordiniuw salary as a rei>orterV"

The offer was acce))teJ, the then sub-editor informs us, and Mr. Uickcus received
ail increase iii his salary of from live guineas per week to seven guineas.

CHARLES DICKENS.

385

ation, tliey were deemed worth £1100, so rapid had been
liis advancement in fame. This did not happen however
until Flchivicl', midway in its publication, began to be
successful. AVhilc the first sheets of that periodical were
being issued, was undoubtedly a troublous time for the
youthful aspirant, the most critical period in his whole lite-
rary career. Failure sisemed certain, and had that publi-
cation failed, there is no probability that any publisher
could have been prevailed upon afterwards to undertake
tlie risk of any literary venture of his. He might tlius
have been forever discouraged from the paths of literature
and looked elsewhere for employment. Sam ^YcUcr was
introduced, was pronounced an original, the demand spread
like wild-tire, 40,0(J0 copies were sold; and Dickens at the
age of twenty-six became the most popular author of the
day. So true is it that " there is a tide in the affairs of
men, which taken at the flood leads on to fortune."

Dr. Black was one of Mr. Dickens' earliest literaiy
friends, and was always gratefully remembered by him.
The youthful author was of great assistance to the Chron Iclc
in cutting down and pruning the useless verbiage of Par-
liamentary speeches ; it being a favorite maxim of Perry,
the proprietor of the journal, that ''s})ceches could not be
made long enough for the speakers, nor short enough for
the readers." More than one speaker in that body em-
})loyed Mr. Dickens for a similar object, to trim and
polish their declamation, he waiting upon them in private
for that purpose.'^

* Hi.s reports of spceclies were very faithful and great improvements on
tlie original as ilelivered. All (jf his contemporaries in the gallery Avhoin I
httvc ever known— and I have known many— have concurred in statinj,' that

^:m^

384

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

At his start in the literary race, and indeed throughout
his career, his faihire was constantly predicted. The
unknown scril)bler who wrote the epigram with a quota-

tion from Virgil —

** Oh, Dickens, dear,
1 sadly fear

TLat great \j;ill be our loss
^\'lieu we shall say —
Alas, the (lay ! —

' P rue nut hit humi Boz.^ "

he was the quickest, tlie readiest, the ajitrst, and the most faithful stiiio-
grai)her of his time. Jle had completely mustered tlit; ditheult and unucnito-
fnl ai't of shorthand : a mistress whom you may nvoo indeed to conciufst, luit
n])(»n whom the door must be locked, mid whonnist l)e bound in liidisof inm,
lest she run awiiy from yf)U hve ndnntes uftcr she has ^dven you lier luuit.
The late An^ais Jfeach, himself iin accomi>lished Parliamentary reporter ;is
well as a distinj,'uished man of letters, used to say that, ne.\tt(» the diftieiilty
of learning the signs and characters in shortdiand came that of iniderstaml-
ing their purport after they had been written. Charles Dickens, however,
retained his pi-ohciency to the last.

Now, it is nuxnifest that a deaf or a ibdl-eared man cannot be a good re-
porter, were he to nse "longhand" even, instead of shorthand— as some of
the best reporters have done ; or were he to report from memory, (luiekeiiiir^
his reminiscences l>y drinking two pots of ])orter after a debate —as Woodfall
did. In his time, Charles Dickens must have listened to and taken down the
w<n'ds of the speeches of nearly every i)ultlic man of the last generation.
He reported .Brougham's great si)eech at Kdinburgb, after his resignation of
the C'luincellorship. He may have rejiorted Stanley's famous oration on the
Irish Church. He must have re])orted habitually the sj)eeches of l*eel and
Crey, of Denman, of Lyndhurst, of Kllenboiough, of Hume, and ^lelbounie,
and Grote.

There can be little doubt that this early ti'aining in listening and transcrib-
ing was of infinite service to him in enabling him to develope the utterances
of liis inborn genius in a clear, concise and i)erspicnous style. He had listen-
ed to mastei-s in every style of rhetoric : he had followed Henry l3roughaia
the Demosthenes, Shiel the Cicero, O'Connell the Maribean of the Kngli-<h
larliament ; and albeit in dialogue ami in description, the eccentricity of his
uimor and the (puiiutness of liis conceits stnnetimes marred the jjurity ef
lis fabric, and betrayed him into exaggeration and intt) mannerism, he was,
in genuine essay, in grave and deliberate statement, and in his culminatiui,'
passages of invective or of eulogium, a well-nigh unrivalled master of racy,

imngont, idiomatic Knglish. In nol»ility of diction, strength ef expression,
larmonious balance of ])hrases, and unerring correctness of construetinii,
very nuiny of Charles Dickens' short essays eipial the grandest of J )rydi'n"s

S'ose prefaces, and suri)ass the most sjjlendid dialectical flights of Macauhiy.
e was rarely involved and never Horid.

It is remarkable that, while tlie magnificent examples of oratory to wiiich
he had been a listener, had evidently sunk deep into his mind, and had as
evidently a powerful influence in bracing, and clarifying that which we niiiy
term his didactic style, it wouUl seem that he suffered while in the House
from sy abiiudaut a siu'feit of i)arliauieutary verbiage of the lower kind ; aud

CHARLES DICKENS.

385

through ()\it
3ted. Tlie
\i a quutu-

fiiithful striio-
ilt and imi,'rato-
:() coiKHU'st, Imt
ill links of iidii,
. you her liiurt.
:ai'y rfportcr as
to tlu; (litliciilty
, of nndcrstiunl-
;kt'ns, howoviT,

)t be a <,'oo(l ro-
md— as sonif of
ory, fiuii-koniii;4
;e— as Womlfall
;akon down the
1st j^a'iK'ration.
resi.^'natioii nf
oration on the
Hifi of I'eel and
and Melbourne,

<^ and transcrib-

the uttcraiK-ea

He had listen-

nry Brou,^'UaIn

of' the Knudi'^h

entricity of his

d the })urity nf

nei-isni, he was,

lis culininatiui,'

master of r;K"y,

1 ef exi)ressi'iii,

f constnietitni,

L'st of Drydfu's

ts of Macau lay.

atory to wiiioli
nd, and had as
; which we may
le in the Th'tise
ower kiiid ; aud

was but one out of a thousand who foretokl a similar re-
sult; and all through his lifu avc have had cynical criticisms
iu the magazines, accompanied hy statements, <«? nauscani,
tliat Mr. Dickens' genius was exhausted and incapable of
composing another work. Another devise of these back-
biters was — while praising Fickwlch ];is most facetious
certainly, but at the same time least artistically constructed
novel — to grant to Dickens the palm of humor and comic
delineation and deny to him any ability in the other
realms of fiction. But these backljiters were speedily
silenced when it was found that the great master of farco
was likewise a great master of sentiment ; that Dickens
could be, on occasion, not only irresistibly comic, not only
shly humorous, not only ininiitaV)ly (|uaint, but that ho
could be infinitely tender, graceful and pathetic — that he
could be dramatic, tragical, and terrible. The hand which
drew Mr. Pickwick " in tlie Pound " gave us, almost
simultaneously, Fagin in the condemned cell. From tho
same teaming brain have come tho death of Little Nell,

that he had been so fi-equent and so unwilling' a listener of the heavy verbo-
sity of the " Nolde Lord," \vho was " free to confess," and the dull [dati-
tuiles of the " lli;^dit Jlnuouraljle Gentlemen," who "came down to thin
House" to say iu)thini,' that was worth Msteniii',' to, that he was ever after-
WiU'ds careful to eliminate, s:) far a-i ever he coidd, the sayinL;s and doings of
the small fry of the litei'ary world from his narratives. For L,Teatness, in
whatever I'ank of life it miylit be found, he had a congenial reverence. F«r
great men he had a.i conyt-iiial an aii'eetion. Amon;,' his most intimate
friends were Thackeray, Bulwer, Jerrold, licech, liussell, Uou^'-httni, and
I'ockburn. But his ta.ste.s were eminently (l-'mocratie, and for tlie great bulk
of the mere aristocracy, so called, he had nothing but the profouudest con-
tempt. His relusid of any decoration of liiis kind for himself, and the
cliaracter of the few lordlings whom he introduces us to in hi.s works, conrinn
this. Veri.Hjjdit in i\'/'7i7f.';// is a good uatiu'eil fool; Mulberry Hawk is a
sharper and blackguanl ; \)t'dU>ck in JiUiik Hmiy.^, a bore; the barnacles in
Little Dorrit, pictures of meanness ; Chester in Bunialni liadjc, a scoundrel,
anil (jiordon a maniac, and there is lUithing in all his works relating to thia
class to act as an offset to these. He guaged the ari>itocracy with liiapeiiQ-
tiating vision ami found tliem an iucubu,s and a " baruivcle."

886

LIFE AND WRITINGS OP

and the marriage cf Mrs. McStinger ; the description of
Mr. John Smawker's "Swany," and the picture of the
Gordon Riots ; the terrific combat of Mr. Crummies and
his sons, and the storm in David Copperjidd ; the
christening of little Paul Dombey, and the murder of Mr.
Tulkinghorne.

The handwriting of Mr. Dickens was very peculiar and
one which once seen was not readily forgotten. It was
a flowing hand, each line being written, almost by one
continuous action of the pen. The signature was still
more striking; the first letter n ight be either a C or a G,
we are left to decide which by the context, and the con-
text affords no very safe ground to decide anything by.
However, we accept it for a C, because we know his name
was Charles. The flourish under it was inseparable, pro-
longed to a great extent, as our readers will see by a fac-
simile on the cover, and ending in what musicians would
call a diminuendo movement. Another peculiarity, so
customary as to have become historical, was his habitual
use of blue ink in writing ; this he always carried with
him in his writing case, and its constant use was the result
of habit, though originally adopted because he discovered
that it dried more quickly and needed no blotting.

Mr. Dickens hated argument, and was either unable or
unwilling to enter into it. He probably prayed with
Cowper,

" Ye powers who rule the tongue, if such there are,
And make collo(iuial liajipinoss your care,
Preserve me from the thing I dread and hate,
A duel in the form of a de))ate.
The clash of arguments and jar of words,
Worse than the mortal brunt of rival swords,
Decide no question with their tedious length,
For opposition gives opiuiou strength,"

CHARLES DICKENS.

S37

He used to observe, " No man but a fool was ever
talked out of his own opinion and info your state of
mind. Ai'guments are only cannon-])alls fired at a sand
bank, or water poured into a sieve — a sheer waste of time
and trouble. I won't argue with a man ; it is going down
on all-fours to an obstinate dog. In emphatie cases the
only argument is a punch of the head. That's a stun-
ner !

The physical strength and endurance of our author
were wonderful. Mr. Hawthorne tells us " in instance of
Mr. Dickens' unweariability. It is known that on one
occasion he acted in play and farce, spent the rest of the
night making speeches, feasting and drinking at table,
and ended at seven o'clock in the morning l)y jumping
leap-frog over the backs of the whole company." Ho was
an indefatigable walker. We have elsewhere narrated
how much he looked to this sort of exercise to enable him
to preserve his bodily health in the times of his severest
mental toil. Regularly as the clock struck the hour ap-
pointed for the cessation of his labor, no matter though
his efforts had proved abortive and no word had
been added to his manuscri})t at that sitting, yet
promptly at the moment he started off for his daily
tramp through the crowded streets and by-ways of
London, or through the oi)en fields of the country. And,
curiously, from these localities, unseemly and luisavoury
as they miglit be, he brought ])ictures of life and man-
ners, and produced characters of men and women and
children that have been the wonder and delight and edi-
fication of millions, not only of his own countrymen, but

388

LIFE AND WKITINGS OF

of strangers at the uttermost ends of the earth. He "was
the good genius wlio turned everything into gold. Upon
offal and garbage, upon crime and misery, upon poverty
and pestilence, upon the dullest, densest, ugliest things
the bright light of his amazing fancy shone, and of the
social reptiles he held up to view, only the precious jewels
in their heads remained. He Avas a great traveler — as
earnest and as eloquent a pilgrim, indeed, as that wan-
derer whom John Bunyan has shown us traveling from
this world to the next. And he, too, like Christian, has
got to his journey's end — to the cold, dark river with the
shining city beyond.

His pace Avas rapid and his movement vigorous, as if
he desired to derive from his walk the utmost possible
exercise for every muscle of his frame. Nor was the
time thus employed lost to him, as we have seen, even in
a literary point of view. His eyes swift to see, his sense
apt to perceive, his memory tenacious to treasure up, fur-
nished him with rich material which he was not slow to
turn to account. His ready wit seized too upon the comi-
cal features of the humanity with which he came in con-
tact ; and his powerful intellect grasped the motives of
human conduct and the imperfections in society and
law, and utilized them at once for the improvement
and enjoyment of mankind. Like Doctor Johnson, he
was fond of journeying down into dark streets and alleys
— places which most people would choose to avoid —
not only during the day-time, but in the evening
also, when the crowd was gone, and the night . scenes
were there. Who knows how many dread encounters

CHARLES DICKENS.

389

■wore exporioncccl to acquire the dark material for Oli-
ver Tv.'lst. Who can tell at the cost of how many
long tramps, through rain and sleet and snow, \ya3
purchased the mournful journey of Little Nell and lier
Grandfather over so many weary miles. Is Copperfield's
journey to Kent a ])ersonal reminiscence also, and the
"Tramps," wliat begot them? To a friend Dickens onco
WTote: " I go wandering about at night into the strangest
places, according to my usual propensity at such times,
seeking rest and finding none."* In these walks, Fagin,
the Jew, w^ould follow him ; Tiny Tim and little Bob
Crachet w^ould tug at his sleeve. Sometimes he would
say to a companion, " Let us avoid Mr. Pumblechook, who
is crossing the street to meet us ;" or *' Mr. Micawber is
coming, let us turn away down this lane."

Our author hated gossip lieartily, and ridiculed it ac-
cordingly. He felt, during his later years, the shafts of
venomous scandal, and learned by bitter experience
how much of heart-burning and suffering it cost and
caused.

In politics, Mr. Dickens was a very decided liberal, and
an advocate of the most scathing reforms. He was very

* Was it not in these rlosultorywandcrinpfs that he happened upon "Tom'^ all AlonoV
ttfld Bleedinjr Heart Yard ; lipon the den where Fatrin lived, and artful Dodpor
lured poor Oliver ; \ipon tlie }j:arret where Ka^'p;.s died ; ujtoii the residence of the
tJolden Dustman ; upon the quiet nook Avhcre liob C'racint held his Christmas dinner,
and where Tiny Tim did not die ; u]vii) the half colic^-u half alndiouse where the xiumdy
chemist who had " hewnhimsflf stej)s out <^f the ruck of kn(jwledtre whereby to rise to
fame and fortune," was eoiifrnntecl hy his own spectre ; upon Mrs. C'hiekenstalkcr's
chandlers' shop, and upon those inunortal doorsteps, close to the church tower which
held The Chimes, win ro the political economist devoured the tripe of Trotty Veek. The
Jiictures he drew were clearly not ima,;;inary, for no soonerwere they drawn than all the
World recognized their amu/.in^r vividness aiul veracity, and r)nly wondered tliat such
scenes had not occurred to them hefore ; and herein his frrcatness as an artist was con-
spicuous; for it is one of the distinctive i»rivile{,'es of genius to utter thoughts and to
portray objects which at once appear to us obvious and fanuliar, but of which no dC"
fiuite idea or impression had hitherto been presented to our minds.

S90

LIFE AND WRITINGS 01*

republican in his idear;, and an ardent friend of the work-
ing classes. It was the labor of his life to ameliorate the
condition of the poor, and to effect Improvements in gov-
ernment and society. But he 'was no politician. IIo
hated politics as a trade, and had no faith in them at all.
He looked upon all [)olitic'ians as tricksters, necessarily in-
sincere by virtue of their calling. To his view, all de-
partmental work was the Inmgled, muddled routine of the
circuml-ocution office ; and he had too good reason for so
considering it. Statecraft, with all its chicanery and d(^-
ceit, was odious to his open soul, and he held thattlie less
a countr}^ had of such devices the better; and the farther
a man kept himself removed from them, the better for
him. His belief was entirely in the people ; his writing,
his speeches, his labor, was all for them. His memorable
saying : " My faith in the governing few is infinitesimal ;
my faith in the many governed is unlimited" — still rings
in our ears. He looked for good to come by the increas-
ing strength and intelligence of the people, in opposition
to the vacillation and blundering of rulers. He was sev-
eral times asked to stand for Parliament, but his dislike
of politics and attachment to literature caused him to de-
cline. He had more faith in working out reforms through
the press than in Parliament.

Mr. Dickens was a strong advocate of popular educa-
tion. The stupidity — if it was no worse quality — of the
English Government, in op})osing or retarding a wide
spread system of national education, was beyond all com-
prehension, at least to those dwelling on this side of the
Atlantic. Mr. Dickens was not of the number who hold

CilAilLES DICKENS.

391

that Government is strong in proportion to the ignorance
and subjection of the masses.*

Mr. Dickens was n(jt formally a memher of any church
communion ; hut he usually attended divine worship at a
Unitarian Church. In ccmsequence of his extremely lib-
eral opinions in all matters of doctrine, as in politics, some
have honestly asked, "was he .t Christian?" If to be a
Christian necessitates the belief in endless punishment,
then Charles Dickens was assuredly not one ; but in the
same category we n\ust class Shakespeare, Milton, Newton
and a host of other men of talent and learning. Many
have urf]^cd that he lacked reli^don because he ridiculed

* In an addivKS to tlio Mechanics' Institute of liccdrt, in 1847, he said : —
*' I never heard Imt one tanj^'ible j)osition tak^n aj,'ain.st edncational estab-
lishments Tor the peo])le, and that was tliat in this or that instance, or in
these or those instances, education for the peoi>le has failed. And I have
never traced even this to its source, but I have found that the tenn education,
so employed, meant any thing but education -implied the vlwtm imperfect
application of old, i^niorant, i)reposterous spelling-l)ook lessons to the mean-
est purposes- as if you should teach a child that there is no hi{,'her end in
electricity, for example, than expressly to strike a mutton pie out of the hand
of a greedy boy — and on which it is as unreasonable to 'ound aji objection to
education in a com])rehensive sense, as it would be to object gether to
the combing of youthful hair, because in a certain charity sclioo Ax^y had a
practice of combing it into the jtupils' eves." Again, in a letter to Mr.
Charles Knight, in 1847, he wrote : "If t can ever be of the feeblest use in
advancing a project so intimately connected with an end on which my heart
is set — the liberal education of the peojjle — I shall be sincerely glad. All
good wishes and success attend you." And speaking still later of what con-
stitutes real education, he said : " ^Fere reading and writing is not education.
It would be quite as reasonable to call bricks and mortar architecture — oils
and colors art — reeds and catgut nmsic or the child's spelling books the
works of Shakspeare, Milton or I3aeon— asto call the h)west rudiments of
education, education, and to visit on that most abused and slaiulered word
their failure in any instance." '^I'hese and kindred sentiments were very
warmly received, as well they should have been, for the very chief object and
end of government sliould be, not that certain barnacles may fatten and
fester at ease, but that the condition of the people may be impi'oved, and
that the greatest possible happiness may accrue to the greatest nimil>er.
Refined homes and a rehned i)ei>ple are the end of civilizaticm. All the work
of the world — the railroading, navigation, digging, delving, manufacturing,
inventing, reading, writing, fighting, are done, first of all, to secure each
family to the qiuet of its own hearth, and, secondly, to surround as many as
possible with grace and culture and beauty. The work of all nations for five
thousand years is represented in the difference between a wigwam and %
lady's parlcr, Xt has no better result to show,

892

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

canting hypocrisy ; then was Clirist iiTcvcrent when ho
told the Jews that altlioiigh the scribes sat in Moses' scat,
they were full of abomination and ini(|nity. Dcnoiniiia-
national ho was not. lie was a Christian in tlic
bioadcst sense of the term, without bigoty or sectarianism.
His was a practical Christianity, visiting the fatherless
and widows in their affliction, arid laboring for the welfare
of his feUow-mcn. It is no ])art of the novelist's business
to teach dentmiinational theology, nor any theolog}^ If
ho does so, his books at once become objectionable to those
who dislike his particular views. To insert enough of
Christianity to ."idvertise tliat he is a Christian, is imprac-
ticable, for who shall decide on the quantity of the infusion,
or of the doctrine. What rewanls your virtue will punisli
mine. The forte of Dickens was ridicule ; his genius was
more of the destructive than of th.c constructive order.
He sought out blemishes and weak points, and hurled his
sarcasm at them until they were amended. He had ever
a good motive in view. His works breathe purity and
love of justice. He has no licentious motives, like Payne,
no impurity, like Sterne. He desired the progress of
truth and justice and brotherly affection, and we need no
better or more practical Christianity than this. He had
abundance of the morality of Abou Ben Adhem, and the
golden rule. He admired religion, lived according to its
truth, and instilled it into the minds of his chiklren.

It is to be regretted that Mr. Dickens was not a greater
friend to the cause of temperance. The great defect of
his works is the enormous amount of wine-bibbing which
is there introduced. Where the workhouse system, where

CHARLES DICKENS.

393

tlio Yorkshire school system, whore the Chancery Courts,
have injured one, intemperance has slain its millions.

Tlie relations of Mr. Dickens with contemporary writers
were intimate and friendly to an unusual degree. Wc
have already shown how great an aflection existed be-
tween Irving and our author, and Ik^v nuichof liumorous
genius they had in common. Irving, speaking of Dickens*
and Thackeray's works, once said that he liked Pendcnn'is
best of the latter's productions, for while Vaaity Fn'w was
full of talent, many of its passages hurt his feelings; but
Dickens was always genial and warm, and that suited
Jdm. With most of his Englisli contemporary writers he
maintained a close and enduring friendship. Thackeray
he knew for twenty years, from the first inception of"
Fichvick, until the deatli of the author of Vanity Fair,
in December, 1803. The career of those two authors was
widely different. Dickens shot at once into fame like a
rocket ; Thackeray toiled as a magazine writer and news-
paper scribbler of little note, rebuffed on every side, for
sixteen long years, before issuing the first number of
Vanity Fair, as late as February 1st, 1847. He followed
the style of Dickens, and issued his works in monthly
parts, but in yellow covers in i)lace of green. It was
bandied about, rejected, from publisher to publisher, and
was scarcely noticed by critics for a year.* From this

* The Edinhnrtili livricv, criticising it in January, 1S4S, says:— "Tlio
great charm of this work is its entire freoJoni from mannerism aiul aifecta-
tion, both in style and sentiment. . . . His ])athos (thoULfli not so deep
as JMr. Dickens') is excinisite ; the more so, perhaps, because he seems to
struggle against it, and to l)e half ashamed of being caught in the melting
mood; but the attempt to be caustic, satirical, ironical, or philosophical on
such occasions is uniformly vain ; and again antl again have we found reaHon
to admire how an originally fine and kind nature remams essentially free
from worldliuess, and, in the highest pride of intellect, pays homage to the
heart."

394

LIFE AND WRITINOS OB*

■ft

' 'I

(lato a friendly rivalry existed between the two talented
authors. Tlier(3 was no comparison, however, between
the popularity of the two. While Thackeray was rejoics
ing over a sale of 0,000 copies, Dickens chuckled at .S(),()0().
This dirtereiice results from the fact that the former sr.tis-
fies only a class, and a somewhat cynical class, while the
latter is universally admired. Only two years the senior
of Mr. Dickens, Thackeray liad scarcely begun when
Dickens had written the greater and better })art of all his
works. He was so unfortunate, however, as to have in-
herited £2(),()()0, and not until he had played the prodigal
with this was he fit for work. In his sphere, Thackeray
is as distinctly original as Dickens. In literary style,
'Thackeray, one of the chiefs of social satirists, is more
terse and idiomatic, with more Horatian strictness and
strength ; Dickens, one of the greatest of humorists, is
more diffuse and luxuriant, more susceptible to passion,
and rises to a higher flight and wilder song. The intellect
of the one is more penetrating and reflective ; of the other,
more excursive and intuitive. Few readers can under-
stand, or care to study, the mordant satire, the delicate
equivoque, the scathing irony of Thackeray's prose epic;
while all enjoy the genial himior, the touching pathos,
and ready wit of the author of Pickwick. There is no
bitterness left after reading Dickens, while Thackeray
smacks of gall. But perhaps the most striking contrasts
between these authors is siiown in the matter of quotca-
tions ; for while Dickens has left us a whole literature of
phrases familiar in our mouths as household words,
Thackeray has furnished none. It proves how strong and

CHARLES DICKENS.

S9S

clo.so tlio unison of the voice and heart of Dickens with
those of his race ; liow disjointed and solitary was
Thackeray. There is tliis difference also, that Dickens
rarely apix'ars in his works.Tliackeray habitually. Dickens
is ohjective, and not suhjective ; his work was to deal with
things without him, not to analyze his own consciousness.
Like a mirror he receives the image of an object and ro-
llects it again without any union of himself with it. You
can read novel after novel of his without thinking of the
author at all, until you renuMuber to thank him for the
pleasure he has given. Thackeray, on the other hand,
scarcely gives us a page without forcing himself on our
attention. lie never stands apart from his puppets, and
hardly lets them utter a sentiment without croaking a
moral chorus.

Both writers were however genial, benevolent and
honorable men, warmly attached to each other, and bore
willing tribute to each other's genius.* It is extremely

*Tluickeray tlniVspokeof Mr. Dickenn' works : "I mayqtiairel with Mr.
IHckens' art a thousand and a thoti.sand times ; 1 deli^'ht and wonder at his
genius. I recog'ni/.e in it— I apeak with awe and reverence — a communica-
tion from that l)ivine Beneficence whose blessed task we know it "vill one
day be to wipe every tt'ar from every eye. Thankfully I take my sn re of
the feast of love and kindness which this i^'entle, aii<l generous, and charitable
Boul has contributed to the happiness of the world. I take and enjoy my
share, and say a benediction for the meal."

And in the character of Michuol Aiigelo Titmarsh he jiraises the Carol :
"And now (says the critic) there is but one book left in the box, the small-
est one, but oh ! how much the best of all. It is the work of the master of
all the English humorists now alive ; the young man who came and took his
place calmly at the hc.id of the wlu)le tribe, and who has kept it. Think of all
we owe Mr. Dickens since those half-dozen years ; that store of happy
hours that he has made us pa.ss ; the kindly and pleasant comi)anion8 whom
he has introduced to us ; the harndess laijghter, the generous wit, the frank,
manly, human love which he has taught us to feel !"

Of Thackeray, Mr. Dickens writes : "We had our difference of opinion.
I thought that he too mucli feigned a want of earnestness, and that he made
a pretense of undervaluing his art, which was not good for the heart that he
held in trust. But when we fell upon these topics, it was never very gravely,
and I have a lively image of him ia my mind, twisting both his hands in Ms

396

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

l^ci

ft', '}' •!! 1

?V -' ."..h:

unfortunate that a difficulty should have arisen hetwoon
them to mar the current of their friendship. Tliis was
caused Ly some coarse remarks on Mr. Thackeray in a
scurrilous sheet of the day. Mr. Dickens had nothing to
do with these slanders, hut inter})oscd as mediator at tlie
club to which they belonged, and became involved. The
difference was reconciled, however, a few days prior to
Thackeray's sudden deatli.

With the poet, Hood, also, his relations were of a most
agreeable nature, and each held the other in high estima-
tion. The gentle and kindly Hood's estimate of our au-
thor's tales may be summed up in his own brief words :
" The poor are his special clients. He delights to show
worth in low places — living up a court, for example, witli
Kit and the industrious w\asherwoman his mother. To
exhibit Honesty holding a gentleman's horsi , or Poverty
bestowing alms." Of the CV^r/.sfmas Carol, he says: "It
was a blessed inspiration that put such a book into the
head of Charles Dickens — a happy inspiration of the
heart, that warms every page. It will do more to spread
Christian feeling than ten thousand pulpits. It is impossi-

hair, and stamping about, laughing, to make an end of the discussion." He
presided at the dinner given to Thackeray prior to his visit to the United
(States, and bore testimony of his high regard. On another occasion he thus
praises the works of that author : " It is not for me, at this time and in tliis
j)lace," he said, " to ta,ke on myself to flutter 1)efore you the well-thmnbt'd
pages of Mr. Thackeray's books, and to tell you to observe how full thf.y
OA-o of wit and wisdom, how out-speaking, and how devoid of fear or favci'

they are The bright and airy ])age3 of Vauitii Fair

To this skilful showman, who lias so often delighted us, and wli.) has charmed
us again to-night, we liave now to wish God-speed, and that he may contiiuie
for many years to exercise his jiotent art. To him till a bumper toast, and
fervently utter God bless him !"

Alas ! the ' ' many years " were to be barely six ! In 18G4 the speaker
himself wrote an obituary *'Iu Memoriam," a touching tribute to his
deimrted friend.

CHARLES DICKENS.

397

i 'I

' <l

ble to read it, without a glowing bosom and burning cheeks,
between love and sliame for our kind, without perhaps a
little touch of misgiving whether we are not personally
open^ a crack or so, to the reproach of Wordsworth —

* * * Tlie world is too much with us, early and late,
Getting and spending.' "

On the occasion of the first visit of our author to the
New World, Hood threw off these lines :

TO C. DICKEXS, ESQ.,

ON III.S DEPARTURE FOR AMERICA.

" 'Pshaw ! away with leaf and berry.

And the sober-sided cup !
Bring a goblet, and bright sherry,

And a bumper lill me up !
Though a pledge I had to shiver,

And the longest ever was,
Ere his vessel leaves our river,

I would drink a health to Boz !
Here's success to all his antics,

iSince it pleases him to roam,
And to paddle o'er Atlantics,

After such a sale at home !
May he shun all rocks whatever,

And each shallow sand that lurks,
And his i)assage be as clever

As the best among his works ! "

It is a curious coincidence and shows the similarity in
the opinions held by these two great authors, that in the
same number of Hoods Mar/azhic there should appear,
without pro-arrangement, a contribution by each, uniform
in spirit and pur[)Ose, and apparently aimed at the same
evils. Writing in the character of an ancient gentleman
revived, Mr. Dickens says : '' Mr. Hood; Sir, . . . Ah!
governments were governments, and judges were judges,
in my day, Mr, Hood, There was no nonsense then, Any

f .

898

LIFE AND WRITINaS OF

ti't\ ■ ■ ■"

.V-.J

u^:

sir?

of your seditious complainings, and we were ready with
the military on the shortest notice. We should have
charged Covent Garden Theatre, sir, on a Wednesday
night, at the point of the bayonet. Then the judges were
full of dignity and firmness, and knew how to adniinster
the law.

" There is only one judge who knows how to do his
duty now. He tried that revolutionary female the other
day, who, though she was in full work (making shirts at
three-halfpence apiece), had no pride in her country, but
treasonably took it into her head, in the distraction of
having been robbed of her easy earnings, to attempt to
drown herself and her young child, and the glorious man
went out of his way, sir — out of his way — to call her up
for instant sentence of death, and to tell her she had no
hope of mercy in this world — as you may see yourself if
you look in the papers of Wednesday, the 17th of April."

On the same page, directly after this allusion to Mr.
Laing, the notorious police-magistrate, — said to be tlio
Fang of Oliver Twist, — and this mention of the poor dis-
tressed needle-woman, with the allusion to the brutal
alderman, Peter Laurie, appeared, for the first time.
Hood's exquisite " Bridge of Sighs." On the same page,
with Dickens' bitter and teUing attack upon the
grumblers in power — the grumblers who can only see
national prosperity in the increasing misery of the lower
orders — there appeared those wonderful lines, commenc-

ing-

"One more unfortunate,
Weary of breath,
Kashly importunate,
Gone to her death !"

CHARLES DICKENS.

399

: !

as if suggested by the poor female whom Dickens had
just described as being brought before the magistrate for
an attempt to commit suicide.

With Francis Jeffrey, Douglas Jcrrold, Thomas Noon
Talfourd, Chirkson Stanfield, the maritime artist, Wilkie
Collins, Leigh Hunt, Daniel Maclise, the distinguished artist,
Fechter, the actor, Tom Moore, Sydney Smith, Mark Lemon,
Thomas Carlyle, John Foster, whom he made his chief exe-
cutor, and other celebrities of the day, he was on terms of
friendship ; with some of them of a very close nature.* By
all the contributors to All the YearRoundhQ was habitually
spoken of as the "chief" The greatlrish agitator, O'Connell,
reading the death of "Little Nell," with eyes full of tears,
exclaimed, " He should not have killed her! — he should
not have killed her ! She was too good !" and so he threw
the book out of the window, unable to read more, and
indignant that the author should have immolated a
heroine in death. Tom Moore declared that there was
better fun and humor in the FlckwlcJc Papers than in any
work of the day.

* In 1847 Dickens visitod Victor Hu<,'o at the French capital, twelve
months before he was forced to fly on account «jf the coup d'etat. (Jf him he
writes as follows ; and the letter i.s most interesting in a double sense. It
shows us Victor Hugo's tastes in decoration, and tliose objects in his house
upon which his eyes would continually rust, and which would help to form
drapery and literary illustrations fur his fictions ; and it shows us in an
oblique manner what were Dickens' notions in tliese matters, and the sym-
pathy—if any — in such surroundings, between the two men.

" We were (writes Dickens) at V. H.'s house last Sunday week — a most
extraordinary i^lace, something like an old curiosity-shoi), or the property-
room of some gloomy, vast old theatre. I was mucli struck by H. himself,
who looks like a genius — he is, every inch of him, and is very interesting aud
satisfactory from head to foot. His wife is a handsome woman, with dash-
ing black eyes. There is also a charming ditto daughter, of hfteen or sixteen,
with ditto eyes. Sitting among old armor and old tapestry, and old colfers,
and grim old chairs and tables, and old canopies of state from old palaces,
and old golden lions going to play at skittles with ponderous old golden
balls, that made a most roiuSfUtic show, aud looked like a> chapter out o£
one of his owa books,"

' i

H\\

400

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

'■ W:.'i

Kf V ;

l^^* ".

Eminently sociral and domestic, Mr. Dickens exercised a
liberal hospitality, and though he lived well, as his means
allowed, avoided excesses ; with a constant burthen of
work upon liis mind for fivc-and-thirty years, to say no-
thing of other occupations, it was impossible that he could
have been what is called a free liver. It is said that he
never lost a friend, tliat he never made an enemy. Of
him it might be truly said,

"He kept
The wliitenoss of bis soul, and so men o'er him wept."

He was the life and soul of the domestic circle, and it is
extremely to be regretted that that circle should ever liavc
been divided. To his remarkable power and wonderful
fertility of invention, he added a joyous temperament,
grafted upon a generous mind. When he wrote of the
household virtues, of toleration, of practical charity, of
true humanity, his words were weighty, for tliei'e was no
sham in them. They sprang from a heart that beat fur
human kind. In him there was blended skill, good sense,
a well balanced mind, and a strong purpose of doing good.
He was like his works. Wlien in congenial society, his
humor was so abundant and overIlowini>', that the im-
pression it gave the listener was that it would have been
painful to check it ; whik^ in nobility and tenderness, in
generous sympathy for all that is elevating and pure, in
loft}'' scorn of the base, in hatred of the wrong, Dickens
the author and Dickens the man was one. Stories of his
goodness and generosity are endless. Tlie whole energy
of his nature was given to a friend, or to any charitable
cause, as readily and hoartiljr as to his day's work. Again,

CHARLES DICKENS.

401

tliia kindly helpfulness was more valuable in Dickens than
in most men, froin his shrewd common sense, his worldly
wisdom, his business habits, his intense regard for aceuracy
in detail. Whatever he said should be done, thr'se who
knew him regarded as accomplished. There was no for-
getfulness, no procrastination, no excuse, when the time
for granting a promised favor canie.

In conversation ho c.innob ho said to have excelled,
thiOUgii he was genial, and told a story admirably, and
generally with humorous exaggerations, as he wrote. Ho
never talked merely for ellect, but for the truth or fun of
the sul)ject. lie was not much of a controversialist, and
hated argument as we have said ; in fact, he was unable to
argue — a common case with impulsive characters, who see
the whole, and feel it crowding and struggling at once for
immediate utterance. In ]:)rivate, the general impression
of him is that of a first-rate ])ractical intellect, with " no
nonsense" about him. Seldom, if ever, has any man been
more beloved l)y contem[)oraiy authors, and by the public
of his time. He was eminently just in all his dealings
with neighbors, and with the literary men with whom
he came in contact; a cpiality, we may add, but too rare
amongst our literary men.

In dress, Mr. Dickens was always what is termed
" loud." In his early days he was wont to w^ear a glossy
frock coat with velvet collar, velvet waistcoat with o'lis-
toning chain, with a high satin stock and d(juble breast-
})in. Later in life he appeared in the streets clothed in a
st} lish blue frock, white vest and white pants. Through
life he loved gay clothing of a sporting or theatrical cut,
2G -

i i

ill;

402

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

' ''MM

"if'-

flashy vest, showy jewehy, and a high-colored satin
stock. In tliis mattei' he resembled liis fatlicr, wlio Avas
simihu'ly inclined. He liahitually wore a bud ortlowerin
the button hole of his coat. He was very niue*li of a fop
in respect to attire, yet no man liad a keener or more un-
sparing critical eye for these vulgarities in others. It is
said of liini that he once gave to a friend a vest of a most
gorgeous shawl pattern. Soon after, at a party, he quizzed
his friend unmercifully for his " stunning " vest, althougli,
he had on him at that very moment its twin-brother or
sister — whichever sex vests belong to. This inability to
turn the bull's eye upon himself with the same searching
fearlessness he did on others Avas a defect in liis idosyn-
crasy : for, despite man's self love and vanity, there exists
in men a little self-consciousness; all of us are not blind to
our own defects.

He v/as a good-looking man, with piercing bright eyes
full of life and animation, which attracted a visitor's at-
tention at once, and long silken hair in his youth, which
he kept very carefully and elaljorately arranged. In ma-
turer years his hair became a grizzly gray. His f ice
showed strong individuality and would have heen notice-
able in a crowd. He was always noted for his sailor-like
look and was frequently mistaken for a sea captain.
There were few in London who were not able to point out
the famous novelist, Avitli lii.s thought-lined face, his gri'^-
zled beard, his v/i)n Irou-j sjn.reliing eyes, his bronzed aii'l
weather-worn counteniuice, his bluiT presence ajd swing-
in"' a'ait as, head aloft and ag£»Tessive in his conlidence, lie
strode tlirough the crowded streets, looking seemingly

CHARLES DICKENS.

403

ed satin
who was
rtowev ill
I of a fop
more uu-
>rs. It is
of a most
iie quizzed
altUoiigli,
brother or
lability to
searcliiiig
is idosyn-
here exists
lot blind to

neither to the right nor the left, but of a surety looking
at and into cvc^rything — the myriad aspects of London
life, the intinite kaleido.sco])e of wealth and pauperism, of
happiness and misery, of good and evil in this modern
Babylon. The contrast between Dickens and Thackeray,
with his towering stature, snowy locks, glistening s[»ec-
tacles, and listless, slouching port, was very marked. The
best portrait of Dickens in youth is that by Maclise, in
which tiie eyes are larg3 an I edeminate, the face full of
refinement and intellectual force, the locks long and [low-
ing, and the dress the usual habit of his youth as above
described.* Aiy Schetfer's portrait, exhibited in 185G in
the Academy, is hard and cold, and fails to give satisfac-
tion. Mr. Frith's portrait, in the possession of Mr. John
Forster, represents him in working attire at his desk.

Mr. Dickens was extremely fond of animals. His home
always abounded in pet ravens, canaries, fawns and dogs,
of which last he ke[)t quite a colony. He loved briglit

*Thackeiuy, (lescuiitiiii;" oil il'A.J p.;i-t:v.it, Hny-, " Wluit uhoeiful iiiL'jll'j'jtiuil-
ity is about tiio mau's oyos, aiul the lari,'e foivhuad ! Tliu mouth in too lan^e
and full, too ea:^cr and activo, perhaps ; the smile is very sweet and gener-
ous. If Mousieur De Balzac, that voluminous physioj^aiomist, could exam-
ine this head, he would no doubt interpret every line and wrinkle in it -
the nose firm and well placeil, the nostrils \vide and full, as are the nostrils
of all men of genius (this is .Mou:sieur Balzac's maxim). The past and the
future, says Jean Paul, are written in every countenance. I think we may
promise ourselves a brilliant future from this one. There seems no Hagging
as yet in it, no sense of fatigue , or consciousntss of decaying pov.er. Long
mayest thou, Boz ! reign over thy comic kingdcmi ; long may we pay tri-
bute — whether of three-pence weekly, or of a sliilling monthly, it matters
not. Mighty prince ! at thy imperial feet, Titmarsh, humblest of thy ser-
vants, offers his vows of h)yalty and his humble tribute of praise."

Grace Greenwood who saw him in 18."J2, says :

"He is rather slight, with a symmetrical head, spiritedly borne, and eyes
beaming alike with genius and humor. Yet, fur all the power and Ijeauty of
these eyes, their changes seemed to me to be from light to light. 1 saw in them
no profound, pathetic depths, and there was around them no tragic shad-
owing. But I was foolish to look for these on such an occasion, wlien they
were very properly left in the author s study, with pens, ink, and blotting-
paper, and the last written pages of Bleafc House,

U I

404

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

mm-

1 »?•

all

colors, and the gayest flowers were always pleasing to
him.

His heart was large and generous, and his charity
was unbounded. He never /)''^ on the good Samaritan;
it sprung from an inLorn impulse. Cheerful always,
his very presenec carried comfort and new hope to
the downcast. His presence was sunshine, and gloom
was banished as having no sort of relationship with him.
No man suftered more keenly or sympathized more fully
than he did with want and misery ; but his motto was :
" Don't stand and cry ; press forward and help to remove
the difficulty," and his kindly and unostentatious assist-
ance always accompanied the words. It would not Lo
possible to go into the details,

" Of that best portion of a '^'o.) I man's life, —
l[i:i little, iiaaiyli3;}3, uiircuiL'iubcrcd a'jtd
Oi kimluu^a and of love ;"

but his exertions in behalf of the bereaved family of
his deceased friend, Jerrold, his payment of Fechter's
liabilities ; his assistance to artists ; his noble gift of £100
to the sutfering wife of the Irish comedian, Tyrone, unfur-
tunately lost in the ill-fated " President," and the exertions
which placed her eventually above want ; the readings
which he inaugurjited f(.>r charitable and educational
purposes ; these are but the fruits of a kindly and gener-
ous nature full of love for his fellow man. Like all men
in his position, he was constantly imposed U})on Ijy
begging impostoi's, but he preferred to err, if any way, on
the right side. There are thousands of persons now living
who could bear grateful testimony to the boundless
generosity of his nature.

CHARLES DICKENS.

405

CHAPTER XIIT.

IN KNOT.AND AHATN. — FAKKWKLL KKADTXCS. — SPF,F/'irKS. —
ILL UKALTFI. — LAST lIKADINd. — LAST SPKKCII.— KLTinKS
TO (JAD's hill. — FAILLNG TOWKIfS. — ALAItMlNG ILL-
NESS. — DEATH. — IIUKIAL, — SERMON. — WILL. — CON-
CLI'SION.

'* Bi.'fiueathod Imt yesterday the <;ift of breath,
Ordained to-morrow to return to death:
From earth all came, to earth must all return ;
Frail as the cord, and brittle as the urn " — i'moR.

*' Or ever the silver eord be loosed, or the golden bowl be broken, or
thcititcher be broken at the fountain, or the wheel be broken at the
cistern.

"Then shall the dust return to the earth as it was : and the
spirit shall return unto (iod who gave it."

Erch'H. ,ii!., — 7.

!N tlic return of ^Ir. Dickons to England on the
first of May, 1808, lie was tlie recii)icnt of
quite an ovation from his neighbors in the
vicinity of Gad's Hill, with whom he was
extremely popular. The citizens turned out en masse ; a
floral arch was raised, and flags were streaming from every
house-top. For some n onths he contented himself with
giving increa.sed attention to the superintendence of All
the Year Bound, vimdared necessary hy the declining
health of Mr. Wills, the sub-editor. He was meantime
training his eldest son for the management of that pub-
lication, and he soon installed him as Mr. Wills' successor.
A new series of the magazine was commenced in the

< >i

.l-^i

40G

LIFE AXD WRITINGS OF

(yfc4?".

I: >?

autninn of this yonr ; tlic old scries liavin^^ reached
twenty volumes. The Christmas inimlxn" was also discon-
tinued to the !;;*reat disappointment (d* the ])ul)rK*. The
duties C(»nne(;ted with this jjcriodical were sutricicntly
onerous, hut the active and restle.ss natiu'c; of Mr. Dickens
"would not rest satisfied with thisachievment. He rashly
consented, at the solicitation of some theatrical and other
friends, to deliver a fai'cwell course of readings. These
entertainments, since his Amei'ican success, had become
more poi)ular than ever. The new series conunenced at
St. Jan)es' Hall, London, on th(; twentieth of October,
1808, with extracts from Coppf^rjiald.

He now determined to add to his selection, the harrow-
ing scene of Sikes and Nancy, in Oliccr Tw'tsf, This
required more th in usual study, as it was acted rather
than read, and the reiidition was very dithcult and
exhaustin<j. The excitement and anxietv to hear him
were intense. Ap[ilications for engagements poured in
from all quarters, and he continued his readings in the
other large cities and towns. In Liverpool he was
especially well received, and became the recipient of a
complimentaiy banquet. This was the last public com-
pliment conferred upon tlie illustrious author, and took
place on the lOth of April, 1801). The arrangements were
on a sumptuous scale. The chair was occupied by the
Mayor, and the tables were crowded by ladies,
anxious to honor the illustrious guest, as well as
by merchants Jind literary men to the number
of nearly seven hundred. The speech made by
Dickens on this occasion was humorous as usual,

CHARLES DICKENS.

407

nnd in liis l)cst stylo. Sul).s(>(j\i('ntly lie tcastod " Tlio
Ladies" in a ]»layf'ul strain. On tl>e -i2nd of A|)ril licliad
a|)])(»int(Ml to read in Preston, l»ut jtrior to tliat dat(5 lie wa.'^
taken seriously ill, and on tlie ecn-tilicatrs of his medical
advisers, tlie ])roniis('d readinms were indelinitcly post-
poned. Jhlis a]>peai'ance at tliis time was ja<led and worn
to an nmiMi.'d degree, and lie a]»peared to have lost that
mai'velloiis elasticity of s]»irit which was his<j^reat charac-
teristic. He W".\s snfl'eiint^ sevei'ely also from an
inilammation of the hall of the foot, the ()ri;^dn of which
was unknown, hut which re([uii'cd constant bandaging,
and occasioned him great annoyance. He now retired to
the quiet of Cad's Hill to recujierate his health, and lay
the foundation of his new tale, Eihv'ni iJrood. In
August of this year he was recpiested to deliver the
address at the inaui^uration of the Leigh Hunt Memorial,
in Kensid Green Cemetery, hut declined, on the score of
his oljection to siieech-making heside graves. On the 80th
of the same month, he attended, at considerahle risk, tho
dinner •liven by the London flowing Club to the Harvard
and Oxford boatmen, and in .t shoi't and neat speech
j)ropo.scd the toast of the evening. On the 27th of Sep-
tember, his health having somewhat imjn'oved, he delivered
the annual address before the Birmingham Listitute, of
which he was President. This is the longest efibrt in this
line of his life ; as c( m pared with his other addresses it is
somewhat severe and didactic, but still bears the marks
of his inimitable style. Towards the close of 18G9, though
not strong, he deemed himself sufhciently restored to
resume his readings in London. To avoid frequent

i 'I

408

trPK AKD WRTTIKOS OP

>?^'4

journ«>3'S to (lad's Hill in winter, lie rontcd for six months
i\\v town liouse of l)is friend Milnor (Jil>son, ns previously
statcMl. ]I('liad])y tliis time niapi)ed out a plan ol \m
new stor}', jiiid tlie early (•]iai)ters wei'e written.

On the i-Uli of March, l.sTO, ]\[r. Dickens j^avohis fare-
well 1 ('adiii<j;, at St. James' Hall. It was his favoi'ite selec-
tion — at the connnencement and close of Ins rcadiiii^^
career — the; ( lirisfjuds Carol, and The Trial from I*i<l,'-
V'lch'. Long 1 efoi'e the liour for opening, the avemus
leading to the li;dl were crowded to r(^[)letion, with the
Leauty, the inh>llect and fashion of the city. Every seat
was tilled. 'J'he attention and excitement were incense.
As if to assnre his auditors that his ])owers were undi-
minished, he read with more than usual s})irit and energy,
and his voice was clear to the last. At the conclusion the
n])pla\ise was I'apturous, and yielding to it, Mr. Dickens
came forward, and in a few touching and elo(pient words
most eaiTiestly nn<l imj)ressively delivered, Iv.Je his audi-
ence a grateful farcAvell* after which he retired amid tlio
waving of hats and handkerchiefs and the cheers of all.

* '• li.VDiRS AND (Iknti.f.mex,— It woukl be worse than idle— for it would
lie liypocriticiiliiiid uiiffcling — if I were to di.sgui.se tliat 1 close this episoile
in my life svith fec'liu:4s of verj' considt-rable pain. For some fifteen years,
in this hall and in many kindred i)laces, I have had the honor of i>resenting
my own cherished ideas hcfnre you for your recogniticm, and, in closely oh-
Hi-rvinj,' your reception of them, have enjoyed an amount of artistic deliglit
and instruction which, perhaps, is given to few men to know. In this task,
and in every other ] have ever imdertaken, as a faithful servant of thepu1)lie,
always imhued witli a sense of duty to them, and always sti'iving to do his
best, I liave l)een unifoindy cheered by the readiest resi)onse, the most gene-
rous sympathy, and the most .stimulating support. Nevertheless I have
thought it well, at the full ilood-tide of your favor, to retire ui)on those older
associations between us which date from much further back than these, and
lienceforth to devote myself exclusively to the art that first brought u.s
together. ]jadies and gentlemen, in Init two .short weeks from this time I
hope that you may enter, in ycMir own homes, on anew series of readings, at
which my assistance will be indispensable (alluding to Edwin Drood) ; but
from these garish lights I vanish now for evermore, with a heartfelt, gi-ate-
ful, respectful, aud affectionate farewell."

^»«p:

CHARLKS DICKKNS.

409

Ho s|)()k(^ npjaiti a tVw words at tlie annual dinnor of
tlio News-vendors' Society, on tlie otii of'Apiil. During tliis
iiionth the lirst nuniliur ofliis lU'W story was f;-iven to the
])Ui)iic and tlie announceniont made that it would Iteeoni-
j)let(Ml in twelve instead of twenty parts. Towards tlu^
close of the same month lie sutlrred a relapse, and was
unable to a('('ei)t an invitation to preside at the aiuuial
gathciing of the CJ(Mieral Theatrical 1^'und Society. 'J'he
complaint was a severe attack of neui'al_L;ia. On the 2nd
of iMay, however, lie felt snllicicntly well to dine with Ids
artist IViends at the oj)eninL^^ of the Academy in London.
On this occasion he made his last puhlic address, in whic*h
he paid a merited trihutt; to his friend Daniel ^laclise, the
artist, then recently decease(h

Although prostrated in l)()dily and mental enerL^y, he
seemed to lonu;' for the I'ecreatioiis of Society and the con-
stant comjtany of his friends. It was [);irticularly notice-
able that, during the spiing, ai'ter the conchision of his
readings, he went more into society and entertained his
friends more freipiently than was his wont. Ife liad ac-
quired a much more aged a])pearance during the previous
two years than formerly. The thought-gravcMi lines in his
face were deeper, the beard and hair were more grizzled,
the complexion ruddier, but not so healthy in hue. lie
walked, too, less arul less actively — latterly, indeed, drag-
inof one leu" rather wearily behind him. But he maintain-
ed the bluff, frank, hearty presence, and the deep cheery
voice ; his hand given to his friend had all its affectionate
grip, and the splendid beauty of the dark eyes remained
undimmed to the last. He returned home to Gad's Hill,

V )i

*?«

■i; ;; \.l

^K:::!.

liliii

410

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

which in his absence had been considerably lenovatcd,
on Tuesday, the 31st of May. Endeavoring to renew his
hibor upon his unfinished volume, he found that the muse
came at his call less readily than of yore. The work
flagged. He blotted and interlined more, and re] tea ted ly
destroyed his manuscri[)t, wholly unsatislied with what
he had written. In his proof-reading, too, ho almost re-
modelled the text. His fancies came neither so spontane-
ously nor so plenteously as usual. He complained of the
diiiicvdty he ey[)erienced in connnanding his thoughts — as
if with a sad presage of the truth. Literary composition
had become a task now, in place of a pleasure, to be look-
ed forward to as formerly. He had a sort of morbid
fancy that there \vere mistakes in the story, — that he had
let out the plot too early in the ntiiration. It seems to
have been im[)ossible, however, for him to be idle ; and
altrough ha had for some time been receiving further
hints of danger in the f )rm of occjisionad attacks of neu-
ralgia, sometimes very violent and painful, he worked
awav as resolutel}^ as ever. The story itself seems to
Lav ) taken its tone from the condition of the author, for,
im 'ke ids other works, it is sond^re and grave through-
out, and scarcely relieved by a snule.

T)rj physiological condition, known as the "grand cli-
macteric," was hastened in his case by the incessant and
immense drafts upon his vital capital. He was literally
tired out — tired to death's door, workinu' a^'ainst au'e and
impaired vital power. The constant strain of his arduous
literary labors, — the continued traveling — the excite-
moD.t of the meetings — the dinners — the receptions —

■*i

CHARLES DICKENS.

411

the necessity for keeping punctually hundreds of ap-
pointments fur readings, and the eniU'Ous desire to
giv^e universal satisfaction in these performances — all
pervading, as tliat desire must have been, to one so
jealous of his reputation as Charles Dickens — were too
stroncc a draft for human constitution to endure. He liad
nevei" entirely recovered, moreover, from tlie etfects of a
railway accident he suffered in 18G4, at St:iplehurst ; on
which occasion the car in which he sat was overturned
down an embankment, and hung suspended sufliciently
long to alloAv him to clamber through the window, unin-
jured in hody, but terribly sliattered in nerve. Tlieie is
a coincidence of date between this Qvcr^.t and his death,
six 3^ears later. In the postscript to Our Mutnnl Fi'ieiid,
his last completed novel, he refers to it in words which
have a mournful significance now : " I remember with de-
vout thankfulness that I can never be mueh nearer part-
ing company Avitli my readers forever, than I was then,
until there shall be written against my life the two words
with which I have this day closed this l)ook : — The End."
On the 2nd of June he ran up to London, and assisted
at some private theatricals, at the residence of Mr. Freake,
in Sduth Kensington. On this occasion i friend asked
him when he expected to be in London again. In almost
prophetic tones he replied, "^Not for some time." I am
tired out. I want rest — /r.s^" re])eated he, in a tone
mournful in its sadness. He then returned to Gad's Hill,
which he was destine; 1 never agairi to leave. On Satur-
day, June 4th, some friends gave an entertainment on his
grounds, and enjoyed his presence for a few brief moments ;

412

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

•4:m

but he complained of not l)eing well, and urged besides
that he liadmiich to do, and soon retired to his library.
Every day he wrote a little of his novel, and examined
the accounts and papers connected with All the Yctw
Hound. Just |)revious to this he had executed a codicil
to his will, in his own handwriting, be<pieathing that pe-
riodical to his eldest son. He continued his walks each
day, now neccssai'ily short, and performed as a duty,
rather than a jdeasure, and almost in defiance of nature.
The elastic sj)ring was gone, and his strength and activity
had deserted him.

On Wednesday, the 8th of June, he wrote a few pages
of Ediviii Di'ood — the last. On that da}", too, he wrote
several letters, one of which was addressed to Mr. Charks
Kent, a London journalist, making an appointment — alas!
never to be ke[)t — to meet him for business at three o'clock
the following day. Another was in relation to a voltaic
band which lie had procured for his foot. Still another,
and jn'obably the last he ever penned, was the one which
we have previously given, in rci)ly to some strictures on
his current story.

On the sani'* day, at his usual hour of six o'clock, Mr.
Dickens went promptly to his dinner. Shortly after he had
seated himself, 'his sister-in-law. Miss Hogarth, the only per-
son tlien j)resent, observed a, very I'emarkable change come
over his countenance, ".ml his eyes sutfuse with tears.
Alarmed by these symptoms she urged him to permit her to
call a physician ; but he laughed iij off, feebly replying,
" No, no, no ; I have got the tooth-ache ; I shall be better
presently :" aud refused to allow her to send for medical

'■4i*'^4'f

CHARLES DICKENS.

413

assistance. At the same time he asked that the window
might be shut, "nd remarked again that he shoukl be
well presently. In a few moments }io rose to leave the
dining-room, but after taking a few steps, he fell heavilj^
on his left side, and sunk into a state of utter insensibil-
ity, from which he never recovered. Medical assistance
was immediately summoned, and Frank Beard, his regu-
lar physician, together with Dr. Russell Reynolds, and
others, were in prompt attendance ; but he was beyond
the aid of human skill. He continued to breatlie, how-
ever, in an unconscious state until ten minutes [)ast six
o'clock in the afternoon of the following day,yJ1iur.s(l;iy,
the 9th of June, wlien his s})irit cp.st otf its mortal coil,
and winged its way to its tinal haven.

He had often wished for a sudden death, and it came
with an awful suddenness. Of his relatives tl.^ere were
present at the time only his eldest son, Charles, junior, two
daughters, and Miss Hogarth, his sister-in-law. No in-
quest was deemed necessary as all the physicians concurred
in pronouncing it a case of ai-oplexy — an etlusion of blood
on the brain, superindueed by too violent and constant
mental exertion, and overstraining of the nervous system.
His age was 58 years, 4 months and o days.

The intelliiience of this m-eat w )rld-\vide affliction was
speedily Hashed in every direction. Fi-oni two continents
there arose a Inirst of u'enei'al and heartfelt sorrow. The
nations grieved as for a hero fallen; families mourned as
at the death of a relative. The newspapers of the follow-
ing day teemed with fe«iling ol)itiiary notices ; and not a
few were clothed in the garb of mourning.

I '

414

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

IP'

«^.

Iff ft ^

The arrangements for the funeral proceeded. It had
been the first intention of the relatives to inter the de-
ceased, according to his own often expressed wish, under
the shadow of the ruins of tlie old castle at Roclicster,
whose vicinage he had loved so dearly.

But yielding to the univ^ersal desire of the people, those
liaving tiie direction of the burial consented that the re-
mains should rest in the J*oet's Corner, in Westminster
Abbey ; and there, as its fnial resting-place, to mingle
with the hallowed dust of Chaueer and Diyden ; and sur-
rounded by weeping friends and relatives, all that was
mortal of Charles Dickens was deposited, on the morning
of Tuesday, the 14th day of June, 1870. In accordance
with the terms of his will, the funeral was strictly private.
The body was forwarded from Gad's Hill by special train
to London. Arrived at the Charing Cross station, the
hearse and three plain mourning coaches were in waiting.
His sons and daughters, his sistei', sister-in-law, and a few
friends, numbering in all fourteen souls, were the only at-
tendants. On reaching the Abbey, the coffin was borno
throuii'h the cloisters to the nave ; the cirria/'-es were dis-
m'sdCid, and the doors were closed. Tlio suleuni burial
service was read by the dean, and then the coffin — a plain
oaken case, bearing the simple inscription, " Charles
Dickens: born February 7th, 1812; died June 9th, 1870
— was lowered into the o-rave. There was no swellincj
anthem, no chanted psalm : only the mournful dirge of the
organ. The few friends present, after strewing the coffin
with Howers, departed, and the services were over. The
grave was left open during the day, that the public

CHARLES DICKENS.

415

also might pay their ti'il)ute of respect. At its close tho
earth was roturue 1 to its place — thist to dust — to iiunglo
with tlie aslies of tlie illustrious dojul.

On tlie following" S;i1tl):;tli, funeral sermons were very
generally ja-eaclRMl in the puljdts of the old and new
worlds. The services in the Ahbey were conducted by
the Dean. A vast body of people were congregated to
pay resi)ect to tbeii' dei)arted friend. The text was
selected from St. Luke, (Miapter XVb, IDth to 21st verse,
being the parable of the rich man and Lazarus. The preach-
er eloquently a])plied this text to him they had assendded
to mourn, showing how the labor of his life had been
to bring to the notice of the rich and powerful the poor,
the afflicted, and the op})ressed ; to make the proud, in the
noise and bustle of their bacchanals, not fail to hear the
sob of the wretched, and the sharp cry of the hungry.
His was the c^i'ateful task to send one rav of sunshine into
the cheerless home ; one spark of ho[)e into the hovels of
the wretched and despondent. He thundered at the
barred doors of the haughty, and compelled tho stubborn
to listen in despite of themselves. He brought to light
the truth, the coitstancy and self-devotion which lieri
hidden under many a rough exterior, and under many .^^
tattered <xarb. To tho rich lu li'ive a now vi-;iun of the
world about tlioui, and iin Oi)[)ortunity foi" niL-rcy ; and to
tho poor a better hope, and trust, and contidence, in them-
selves. The teachings of the Saviour, and the plain
precepts of the New Testament, were the guides which
directed his path in life, and the only rule he desired to
leave for his children. '' In that simple but eflicient faith

(

■ - I

\i, ,

mki^

416

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF

he lived and died. In that simple but efficient faith ho
bids us live and die."

Notwithstanding the lavishness of Uie great author it
was found that he had loft an am[)lo provision for his
family. His will, copied into his own handwj'iting, had
been completed seven days before his death. His effects
amounted to about 835(),0(){), including the estimated
value of his copyriglits, his investments in stocks, and the
Gad's Hill residence.*

By tliis melancholy event, the Mfjstcrir.s ofEdii'uiDrood,
the story uponwliicli ho so rocoutly labored, is brought to
a sudden close. Closed t(^o, is a groator work than any his
pen ever pi'odueod. Tlio vohuuo of liis life is shut, and
clasped v/ith a clasp. Ho has bont his sails for that undis-
covered country from wlioso bourne no ti'aveler returns. He

* Of the latter and personal property within it, a sale was .shortly after
held, with a view to closin;^' \ip the estate. The house was purehased by
the eldest son. The otlier pr()[)erty realized high priees, on account of the
peculiar associations atluehed to them. The ]»iirtrait by Maclise was dis-
posed t)f for G()(/ t(uineas ; Frith's excellent ])icture of Dolly Varden for
1,000 ; Dotheboy's Hall for 210; stuffed raven, " (Jrip" for 120; the
collection of seventy articles realizing nearly £10,000. Miss (J-eorgiua
Hogarth and Mr. -fohn For.ster wei'e his appointed executors. By tlio
ju'ovisions of the will, his domestics were to receive 10 guineas each ; his
daugl'.ter Mary t* 1,000, and an auuuity of tiiOO for life. To his wife the
income of t;S,000 tluringlife. The immediate s;ile of the estate was directed,
and the remaining i)roi)erty to be divided e<iually amongst the chiUlren. In
Conclusion, he says : "I emphatically direct that 1 bo buried in an inex-
l)ensive, unostentatious and strictly i)rivate manner ; that no i)ublic
ann(-»uncement be made of the time ov i)lace of my burial ; that at the
iitmost not moi'e than three plain mourning-coaches be em[)loyed, and that
those who attend my funeral wear no scarf, ch)ak, black bow, h)ng hat-band,
or other such revolting alisurdity I [direct that my name l)e in.scribed in
])lain Kngli '^ h^'tters on my tond), without the additiun of ' Mr.' or 'Kstpiire.'
I conjure my friends on no ace>iuut to make me the subject of any monu-
ment, memorial, or testimonial wiuitever. 1 rest my claims to the
remendjrance of my country upon my pul)lished works, and to the remem-
brance of my friends ui»on their ex])eiieuce of me. In addition thereto I
commit my soul to tlie mercy of (Jod, through our Lord and Saviour^ Jesus
Christ, and I exhort my dear children luuubiy to try tt) guide themselves l»y
the teachings of the New Testament in its broad spirit, and to put lie faith
in any mans narrow constructiuu of its letter here or there,"

CHARLES DICKENS.

4lt

has lain down for that sleep whose waking is eternity.
Upon that pen, which in times gone by has ministered so
largely to our instruction and amusement, the ink is forever
dr}'. That genial voice, which but yesterday was potent
to electrify and thrill the soul, is hushed in death. The
weary heart is still — the aching brow at rest. Thousands
visited his grave and cast in their flowery tributes until
it seemed a well of roses. Other thousands, aye, millions,
who will never see that grave, will rear their more endur-
ing chaplets, plucked from the bright, fresh flowerets of
memory, in honor of one whom they have known so long,
reverenced so deeply, and loved so dearly.

Here our task ends. We can add nothing to the fame
of Charles Dickens. Daniel Webster said^of him that he
had done more to ameliorate the condition of the English
poor, and to educate and elevate the masses, than all the
statesmen in Parliament combined. Herein is his best
monument. No costly tablet, no graven maible, no
stately sepulchre can add aught to this. No panegyric,
no eulogium, can do justice to his memory, or magnify
his fame. His epitaph is written in iniporishable charac-
ters in the grateful hearts of the millions whose benefac-
tor he was. In his earnest words for truth, for freedom,
and popular progress, as well as in his peerless imagina-
tive creations, he will hold his place among the world's
honored great, and his memory will kee[) fresh and green
as the years roll on. In his death. Literature has lost a
patron, Poverty a benefactor, and Freedom a friend We
honor his genius, we deplore his loss, we revere his
memory, and we feel that through his instrumentality
27

1
}

418

LIFE AND WRITINGS OF CHARLES DICKKN'S.

the world has taken one step in Christian progi'ess ; one
giant stride to the n)illenium of love — " of l(jve eternal
and illimitable : not bounded by the narrow confines of
this world, or by the end of time, but ranging still be-
yond the sea, beyond the sky, to the invisible country far
away."

!«':*;?'

^octirul (JtoIUrtions

ikom the

WRITINGS OF CHARLES DICKENS.

THE HYMN OF THE WILTSHIRE LABORERS.

" Dou't you all think that wc have a great need to cry to our God to put it in th«
hearts of our ^caseous (^ueen and her nieinberH of Parlerment to grant us free bread !"—
Lucy Simpkins, at Brim Hill.

God, who by Thy Proi)het'8 hand

Didst smite the rocky brake,
Whence water came at Thy command,

Thy people's thirst to slake :
Strike, now, upon this granite wall,

Stern, obdurate, and high ;
And let some drops of pity fall

For us who starve and die I

The God, who took a little child

And set him in the midst,
And promised him His mercy mild.

As, by Thy Son, Thou didst :
Look down upon our children dear.

So gaunt, so cold, so spare.
And let their imari;e8 appear

Where Lords and Gentry are !

U God, teach them to feel how we.

When our poor infants droop.
Are weakened in our trust in Thee,

And how our spirits stoop :
For, in Thy rest, so bright and fair.

All tears and sorrows sleep ;
And their young looks, so full of care.

Would make Thine angels weep !

The God, who with His finger drew

The Judgment coming on,
Write for these men, what must ensue.

Ere many years be gone !

I: f

^mm

420

POETICAL COLLECTIONS.

O God, whoso bow is in the sky,
Let them not brave and dare,

Until they look (t'M) late) «jn liigh
And see an An-ow there !

O God, remind them, in the bread

They break upon the knee.
These sacred words may yet be read,

"In memory of Me !"
O God, remind them of His sweet

Compassion for the poor,
And liow He gave them Bread to eat,

Knd went from door to door.

LISTENING ANGELS.

Blue against the bluer heavens

Stood the mountain, calm and still ;

Two white angels, bending earthward,
Leant upon the hill.

Listening, leant those silent angels,
And I, also, longed to hear

What sweet strain of earthly music
Thus could charm their ear.

I heard the sound of many trumpets.
And warlike march draw nigh ;

Solemnly a mighty army
Passed in order by.

But the clang had ceased ; the echo
Soon had faded from the hill ;

While the angels, calm and earnest,
Leant and listened still.

'V^f^

Then I heard a fainter clamor ;

Forge and wheel were clashing near,
And the reapers in the meadow

Singing loud and clear.

When the sunset came in glory,
And the toil of day was o'er,

Still the angels leant in silence.
Listening as before.

POETICAL COLLECTIONS.

421

Then, as daylight slowly vanished,
And the evening niists grew dim,

Solemnly, from distant voices,
Rose a vesper hymn.

But the chant was done ; and lingering,

Died upcm the evening air;
Yet from the hill the radiant angels

Still were listening there.

Silent came the gathering darkness,
Bringing with it sleep and rest ;

Save a little bird was singing
In her leafy nest.

Through the sounds of war and labor
She had warbled all day long,

While the angels leant and listened
Only to her song.

But the starry night was coming,
And she ceased her little lay ;

From the mountain tops the angels
Slowly passed away.

DEATH OF LITTLE NELL.

Oh ! it is hard to take

The lesson that such deatlis will toacli.

But let no man rojuot it,
For it is one that all must learn.
And is a mighty imiversal Truth.

When Death strikes down tlie iiin(»cent and young,
For every' fragile form, from wliich lie lets

The panting spirit free,

A hundred virtues rise,
In shape of mercy, charity, and love,

To walk the world and bleys it.

Of every tear
That sorrowing nature sheds oti such green graves.
Some good is bom, some gentler nature comes.

I .

422 I'OKTICAI. COIJ.KCTIONS.

LITTLK IS ELL'S yUNEKAL.

And Ti(»u tliu })ell — tho ])oll
Sho had ho often lieard l»y night and day,

And listenod to witli Holcnin ploaaure,

E'en as a living voice —
Rung its renioFHeless toll for her,

So young, 8o beautiful, so good.

Decrepit age, and vigorous life.
And blooming youth, and heli)les3 infancy,
l*ourod f(^rth — on crutches, in the i)ride of strength

And healtli, in tlie full blush
Of promise, in tlie mere dawn of life —
To gather round her tomb. Old men wore there,
Whose eyes were dim
And senses failing —
Oran'dames, who might have died ten years ago,
And still been old — tlie deaf, the blind, the lame,

The palsied,
The living dead in many shapes and forms,
To see the closing of this early grave.

AVhat was the death it would shut in,
To that which still could crawl and creep above it !

■'I

Along the crowded path they bore her now ;

Pure as tho new-fallen snow
That covered it; whose day on earth

Had been as fleeting.
Under tliat porch, where she had sat when Heaven
In mercy brought her to that peaceful spot,

She passed again, and the old church

Received her in its quiet shade.

SMIKE'S GRAVE-STONE.

The grass was green above the dead boy's grave.

Trodden by feet so small and light,

That not a daisy drooped its head
Beneath their pressure.

Through all the spring and summer time
Garlands of fresh liowers, wreathed by infant hands.

Rested upon the stone.

I'OETICAL (OI.LKCTIONS.

423

A CHRISTMAS CAROL.

I caro not for Spring ; on lii» licklo wing

Let the bloHsoum and biulH ho horno ;

Ho wooH them aniaiii with his tn^achorous rain.

And he Hcattors tlieni <;ro the nioin.

An inconstant ulf, he knows not hiiiiHelf,

Nor iiis own changing mind an lioiu',

He'll Biiiile in yonr face, and, with wry grimace,

He'll wither your youngest tl»>wer.

Let the Summer sun to his briglit liomo run,

Ho shall never 1)0 sought l>y me ;

Wlien he's dimmed by a cloud I can laugli aloud,

And care not liow sidky he be !

For his darling child is the madness wild

That s[)orts in tierce fever's train ;

And when love is too .strong, it dou't hist long,

As many have found to their pain.

A mild harvest niglit, l)y tlu' tranquil light

Of the modest and gentle moon,

Has a far sweeter sheen, for mo, 1 ween,

Than the broad and unblushing noon.

But every leaf awakens my grief,

As it lietl' ieneath the tree ;

So let autumn air be never so fair,

It by no means agrees with me.

But my song I troll out, for Chklstmas stout,

The hearty, the true, and the bold ;

A bumper 1 drain, and with might and main

Give three cheers for this Christmas t)ld !

We'll usher him in with a merry din

That shall gladden his joyous iioart.

And we'll keep him uj), while there's bite or sup,

And in fellowship good, we'll part.

In his fine honest pride, he scorns to hide,

One jot of his hard-weather scars ;

They're no disgrace, for there's much the same trace

On the cheeks of our bravest tars.

Then again I'll sing 'till the roof dotli ring,

And it echoes from wall to wall —

To the stout old wight, fair welcome to-uight,

As the King of the Seasons all !

'Ihi^*

424 POETICAL COLLECTIONS.

BATTLE OF HASTINGS.

" The English broke and fled.
The Normans rallied, and the day was lost !
Oh, what a sight beneath the moon and stars !
The lights were shining in the victor's tent
(Pitch'd near the spot where blinded Harold tell) ;
He and his knights carousing were within ;
Soldiers with torches, going to and fro,
Sought for the corpse of Harold 'mongst the dead.
The Warrior, work'd with stones and golden thread,
Lay low, all torn, and soil'd with English blood,
And the three Lions kept watch o'er the field !"

THE IVY GREEN.

i)^

B *

,t I

qA J?-

Oh, a daintv plant is the Ivy green,

That creepeth o'er ruins old !

Of right choice food are his meals I ween.

In his cell so lone and cold.

The wall must be crumbled, the stone decayed,

To pleasure his dainty whim :

And the mouldering dust that years have mad^,

Is a merry meal for him.

Creeping where no life is seen,
A rare old plant is the Iv)> green.

Fast he stealeth on, though lie wears no wings,

And a staunch old heart has he.

How closely he twineth, how tight he clings

To his friend the huge Oak Tree !

And slil} he traileth along the ground,

And his leaves he gently waves.

As he joyously hugs and crawleth round

The rich mould of dead men's graves.

Creeping where grim death has been,
A rare old plant is the Ivy green.

Whole ages have fled and their works decayed,

And nations have scattered been ;

But the stout old Ivy, shall never fade,

From its hale and hearty gi-een.

The brave old plant in its lonely days.

Shall fasten upon the past :

For the stateliest building man can raise,

Is the Ivy's food at last.

Creeping on, where time has been,
A rare old plant is the Ivy green.

POETICAL COLLECTIONS.

425

NIAGARA. ^

I think in even quiet season now,

Still do these waters roll, and leap, and roar,

And tumble, all day long ;
S-ill are the rainbows aparning them

A hundred feet below.
Still when the sun is on them, do they shine

And glow like molten gold.
Still when the day is gloomy do they fall

Like snow, or seem to crumble away,

Like the front of a great chalk cliff.
Or roll adown the rock like dense white smoke.

But always d< es this mighty strearu appear

To die as it comes down ;
And always from the unfathomable grave
Arises tl\at tremendous ghost of spray
And n.i?b whi^^h is never laid :

Which has haunted this place
With the same dread solemnity,

S'nce darkness brooded on the deep,
And that first flood before the deluge — Light,

Came rushing on Creation

At the word of God.

A WORD IN SEASON.

They have a superstition in the East,

That Allah written on a piece of paper
Is better unction than come of priest.

Of rolling incense, and of liglited tai)er ;
Holding that any scrap Av^hich l)ears that name,

In any characters, its front imprest on,
Shall help the finder tlirough the purging tiame,

And give his toasted feet a place to rest on.

Accordingly, they make a mighty fuss

With every wretched tract and fierce oration,
And hoard the leaves ; for they are not, like us,

A highly civilized and thinking nation ;
And always stooping in the miry ways

To look for matter of this earthly leaven,
They seldom, in their dust-exploring days,

Hare any leisure to look up to Heaven.

426 POFTICAL COLLECTIONS.

So have I known a country on tlie earth

Where darkness sat upon the living waters,
And brutal ignorance, and toil, and dearth,

Were the hard portion of its sons and daiighterg ;
And yet, where they who should have ope'd the door

Of charity and light for all men's finding,
Squabbled for words upon the altar floor,

And rent the Book in struggles for the binding.

The gentlest man among these pious Turks,

God's living image ruthlessly defaces ;
The best High Churchman, with no faith in works.

Bowstrings the virtues in the market-places.
The Christian pariah, whom both sects curse

(They curse all other men, and curse each other).
Walks through the world not very much the worse.

Does all the good he can, and loves his brother.

THE END.

ADVERTISEMENTS.

427

FIVE THOUSAND A YEAR :

ANFy

HOW I MADE IT

FIVE YEARS' TIME, STARTING WITHOUT CAPITAL.

EDWARD MITCHELL,

PEICE, 26Cts.-P0ST FREE ON RECEIPT OF PRICE.

Agents wanted in every part of Canada for these and other
Works. Liberal discounts made.

TORONTO:

428

' 'f Si

ri^.^l

Health

ADVERTISEMENTS.

by Good Living;

By W. W, HALL, M.D.,

Editor of Hall's "Journal of Health."

This hook is to show how High Health can be maiidained and Common

Diseases cured by " Good Living," v)hich means, Eating with

a Relish the Best Food, Prepared in the Best Manner.

The best food includes Meats, Fish, Poultry, Wild Game, Fruits and
the Grains which make bread. The best cookery preserves the natural
tastes and juices.

As there can be no good living without a good appetite, how to get
that gioat blessing without money and without price, is pointed out,
and, it is to be hoped, in very clear and plain terms.

> V i

Hl^H

^» 'l*^^^!^!

^ff

n^i

ii^ *^^moMlt in

sbv< '^HafwHlfff'^ 7^

frSi

^^,1,

^■jj^l^m'l

SOME OF THE SUBJECTS TREATED ARE:

The object of eating : Power to work : Early Ijreakfast : Dinner-time:
Luncheon : Eating " down town :" What shall a man do ? What shall
fat men eat ? How to get fat : Bad blood : Diet for the sick : Spring
diseases : Children's eating : Forcing children to eat : Young ladies'
eating : Cvold feet and headache : Biliousness : A lazy liver : Mischiev-
ous tonics : The out-door air : Why are we dyspeptic : Discomfort after
eating : Cole 81aw : Certain cure of neuralgia : Nervous debility : Air
and exercise : Food cure &c., &c.

IT TELLS HOW

To cure dyspepsia : How to cure Neuralgia : How to cure biliousness :
How to cure nervousness : How to cure exhaustion : How to get a good
appetite : How to get lean : How to get good sleep : How to maintain
high health : How to avoid disease. And all these without medicine,
without money, without price.

IT TELLS ABOUT
Luncheons, and how to take them : Late dinners, and how to take them :
How drunkards are made at eating-houses : How girls are spoiled at
boarding-schools : How health is lost : How home love is lost : How
novel reading ruins them : How love of dress is instilled : How young
men are talked about : How bad matches are made : How good wives
are made at home : How home influences purify.

Price $1 — Free by Post on Receipt of Price.

MACLEAE & Co., Publishers,

TORONTO.

ADVERTISEMENTS.

429

Living ; THE SIEGE OF DERRY

Health."

htained and Common
ms, Eatinff with
^est Manner.

ild Game, Fruits and
preserves the natural

appetite, how to get
rice, is pointed out,

ED ARE:

kfaat : Dinner-time :
nan do ? What shall
or the sick : Spring
eat : Young ladies'
tzy liver : Mischiev-
c : Discomfort after
rvous debility : Air

to cure biliousness :

How to get a good

: How to maintain

without medicine.

how to take them :
:irls are spoiled at
love is lost : How
illed : How young
Hovs" good wives

'ice.

Publishers,
TORONTO.

AND

DEFENCE OF ENNISKILLEN;

A Narrative of the Great and Leading Events which transpired

in Ireland during that Momentous Period in our

National History.

The events so eloquently portraj^ed in this work by the great
and gifted men who»o names it l)cars, are second in importance to
none others in British History.

Here Ave have in MINUTE DETAIL, fuund no inhere rise, the
long list of heroes who nobly stood up, at the expense of life, hcjme,
comfort, and everything but honour and conscience, to secure for
us and the whole Empire at home and abroad, the blessings of Civil
and Religious Liberty — blessings only faintly appreciated by too
many in our day.

But for the self-sacrificing and noble deeds performed on Irish
soil during that eventful period, we might now be grovelling under
the h;ited rule of a Stuart, or mayhap a bloafted Bourbon, and as
much degraded as Italy, Spain or Portugal, instead of each and all
of every creed and color dwelling in peace, i)rosperity and happiness,
under the ])rotection of one of the best monarchs that ever swayed
an earthly ;.cuptre.

It is suiely time to look to our bearings when the principles for
which our fathers freely shed their life-blood, are repudiated by
many openly, and others covertly.

When men bearing the once revered name of Protestant, aye,
Protestant Clergy, have set up the Confessional, the Rags and
Mummeries of Rome — keep out from their churches the pure light
of heaven, and substitute for it a few twinkling candles,

" To mock the Saviour of mankind,
As if the God of Heaven were blind."

PRICK $1.50— Post Free, on Receipt of Price.

MACLEAR & Co., Publishers,

TORONTO.

,>;.>

E*^-;IM):5

r> ill''

BU.SV, "*

f^^-

430

ADVERTISEMENTS.

HE SIEGE OF DER

AND

DEFENCE OF ENNISKILLEN ;

A Narrative of the Gndt and Leading Events which transpired in ll
daring that Momentous Period in our National History,

The eloquent Macaulay says, — " It is impossible not to re
the sentiment which indicates itself by the veneration of the p|
of Londonderry, and the North generally, for the dear old citj
its associations." " It is a sentiment," he says, "which bel
to the higher and purer part of human nature, and which add^
a little to the strength of states. A people which takes no
in the noble achievements of remote ancestors, will never acl
anything worthy to be remembered with priJvi by remote deacj
ants. "

"Within the city," says the same author, "there wore S€
thousand men capable of bearing arms, and the whole world c(
not have furnished seven thousand men better qualified to me|
terrible emergency."

The Reign of Terror under which every Protestant in IrelJ
groaned at the time of the Revolution will be seen in the hist]
of the events contained in this book, showing clearly that th
was no other course open to them but resistance to the Stu
dynasty, which, had it been perpetuated, must have sunk the wh
British Empire to the level of Spain, Portugal, or Italy. And if
this Continent a British Settlement existed at all, we may judg(
its extent and character by what Mexico and Lower Canada now i

Extract from the Speech of Lord Liscard. Governor-General

the Dominion,

Delivered at Toronto, 5th October 18G9.

His Lordship spoke of the heroes of the Irish struggle in 168S
as "those who successfully conducted the toilsome retreat fi
Cavan — who turned to bay and held their ground at Enniskill
through many a month of doubt and peril. Of whom another bi
sustained the Longest Siege which ever took place in the Bri
Islands, and watched from the wpUs, which their valour made
pregnable, the slow approach of the sails from Lough Foyle, wl
were bringing them relief to close the conflict in their triumph
triumph not more glorious to the defenders than it proved advai
geous to them and their assailants, and to the cause of Civil :
Religious Liberty then and for all time to come."

PRICE $1.50— Post Free on Receipt of Price.

MACLEAB & CO , Publishers, Toroi

NTS.

ADVERTISEMENTS.

431

F DERRITHE SIEGE OF DERBY

AND

nSKILLEN;

"Srsr^;:"-^«, defence of ENNISKILLEN ;

I impossible not to r "^ Narrative of the CJreat ind Leading Events which transpired in

;he veneration of th ^^^®^ Ireland during that Momentous Period in our National History,

:|SlSiBY THE REV, JOHN GMHAM,

?^es to/ wiU nevei"L&^^^^^^ "^^^^" °^ MECILLICAN, DIOCESE OF DERBY, (FORMERLY CURATE OF LIFFORD ;)

L priuo by remote descend p^j^st Published in Londonderry in 1823. To which is added a most

i+v.^^ f<xi Eloquent account of the

itnor, "there were sevei

ttl^r,TSear»r BATTLES OF THE BOYNE, AUGHRIM,

Jry Protestant in Irelant &c.. Ac,

111 be seen in the histor}

'Sancelo the Vtuai^ Wh ^xm Mtl €mUMm of ^iraeriffe,

must have sunk the wholt ^ * ^

a at all, we may judge oi
id Lower Canada now are

*iwyy ctie. WITH A BRIEF INTRODUCTION,

BY THE REV. W. M.- PUNSHON, M. A.

•d. Governor-General oi

ober 18C9. |

Irish struggle in 1688-9c|
e toilsome retreat from

ground at Enniskiller ^^^ VOLUME, OCTAVO, 312 PACES, STRONC CLOTH BOARDS, FINE THICK

Of whom another band
ook place in the British
1 their valour made im-
om Lough Foyle, which
ict in their triumph— a
'han it proved advantn-

the cause of Civil and
me. "

ceipt of Price.

, Publishers, Toronto.

PAPER, AND NEW TYPE.

PRICE $1.50-P0ST FREE ON RECEIPT OF PRICE.

MACLEAR & CO., Publishers,

TORONTO.

Agents wanted everywhere for this and other Books.

432