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TIIK LAST rOHTKAIT OF 
 CHARLES DICKENS. 
 
 « alien w fcb bans; before bis beeeii&r. 
 
THE LIFE AND WRITINGS 
 
 OF 
 
 CHARLES DICKENS: 
 
 % UTcmorial Oolumc. 
 
 BY 
 
 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 ( 
 
 // 
 
 ^ 
 
 i 
 
The 
 
 THIS TRIB 
 
TO 
 
 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 
 
 BY 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
 K 
 
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 
 
VI 
 
 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, 
 
 vu 
 
 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 
 
* > • 
 
 vm 
 
 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 
 
 '1 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 IX 
 
 of relative?}. But his writings will influence posterity 
 
 for ages. 
 
 I 
 
 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. 
 
 xi 
 
 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- 
 
 i 
 
 xu 
 
 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 , . 
 
 83 
 
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 
 
 l\ 
 
 il 
 
 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. 
 
 I 
 
 If 
 
 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 
 
 OF 
 
 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- 
 
j 
 
 1 
 
 1 j 
 
 .1 
 
 ii 
 
 18 
 
 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 
 
 th 
 
 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 
 
 t 
 
CHARLES DICKENS. 
 
 19 
 
 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, 
 
- ■'! 
 
 1 
 
 I 
 
 
 if ) ! 
 
 !h It 
 
 
 ' 1 
 
 !l 
 
 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. 
 
 21 
 
 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 
 
1i 
 
 ' • 
 
 I i 
 
 \ I 
 
 22 
 
 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. 
 
 23 
 
 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 < 
 
 24 
 
 LIEE AND WRITINGS OF 
 
 ,11 
 
 w 
 
 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. 
 
 ^5 
 
 "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 
 
'} 
 
 w 
 
 ff 
 
 \ il 
 
 2G 
 
 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. 
 
 27 
 
 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 
 
28 
 
 LIFE AND WRITINGS OF 
 
 M 
 
 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. 
 
 29 
 
 [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 
 
>l 
 
 ] '> 
 
 I 
 
 :( V lii'l! 
 
 II 1= 
 
 \"r 
 
 \ ^h 
 
 I'r' 
 
 ! ;■' 
 
 1 ! 
 
 30 
 
 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. 
 
 31 
 
 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- 
 
 - ?*• 
 
32 
 
 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. 
 
 M 
 
 )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 
 
34 
 
 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. 
 
 *i 
 
 i 
 
 t !i 
 
CHARLES DICKENS. 
 
 35 
 
 
 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- 
 
S6 
 
 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. 
 
 37 
 
 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 
 
J 
 
 sa 
 
 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 
 
 f 
 
CITAIILES DTC'KEXFI. 
 
 39 
 
 )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 
 
40 
 
 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. 
 
 41 
 
 '\('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- 
 
3 
 
 'I 
 
 1 
 
 It 
 
 I 
 
 42 
 
 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. 
 
 43 
 
 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 
 
 r 
 
 At 
 
 >*' 
 
 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 
 
 u 
 
 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. 
 
 th 
 
CHARLES DICKEXH. 
 
 45 
 
 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 : 
 
 ;l 
 
 *' Who the Dickens Boz could be, 
 Puzzled many a learned elf ; 
 But time unveiled the n^ystery, 
 And Boz appeared as Dickens' »elf . " 
 
i 
 
 ti 1 
 
 ill 
 
 li 
 
 )i ill 
 
 40 
 
 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. 
 
 47 
 
 [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 ;| 
 
 i: 
 
 1 : 
 
 
 % 
 
 hi 
 
 r ! 
 
 48 
 
 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. 
 
 49 
 
 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 
 
 v> 
 
h\ 
 
 wyi'i ■ 'III 
 
 lit i';i!i 
 
 'Ml 
 
 ! I 
 
 Hi! 
 
 
 fi i 
 
 
 V 
 
 vU 
 
 H' 
 
 
 #• 
 
 :■ 
 
 
 i 
 1 
 
 
 m 
 
 m 
 
 wn 
 
 '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 
 
 ii 
 
 m. 
 
 Ir \ 
 
 
 52 
 
 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. 
 
 53 
 
 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 
 
 56 
 
 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. 
 
 57 
 
 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! 
 
 m 
 
 I 
 
 n 
 
 
 I l! 
 
 I 
 
 58 
 
 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 
 
60 
 
 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. 
 
 Gl 
 
 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 
 
 G2 
 
 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. 
 
 63 
 
 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 
 
64 
 
 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, 
 
 a 
 
 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* 
 
 
 
66 
 
 LIFE AND WRITINGS OF 
 
 
 U 
 
 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. 
 
 G7 
 
 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 
 
 • 
 
 ■ 
 
 
 1 
 
 1 
 
 i 
 
 • 
 1 
 
 i 
 t 
 
 G8 
 
 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. 
 
 09 
 
 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 
 
70 
 
 LIFE AND WRITINGS OP 
 
 I 
 
 II ll 
 
 I 
 
 
 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?. 
 
 71 
 
 " 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, 
 
 I 
 
72 
 
 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." 
 
74 
 
 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. 
 
 75 
 
 (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 
 
76 
 
 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. 
 
 77 
 
 " 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 
 
78 
 
 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- 
 
 W 
 
CHARLES DICKENS. 
 
 79 
 
 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 
 
 80 
 
 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. 
 
 81 
 
 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' 
 
 82 
 
 LIFE AND WRITINGS OF 
 
 'm 
 
 m 
 
 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. 
 
 83 
 
 ittle 
 you 
 
 so 
 
 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. 
 
 M 
 
84 
 
 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. 
 
 i\ 
 
 ))}} 
 
CHARLES DICKENS. 
 
 85 
 
 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 .. 
 
 11 
 
 80 
 
 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. 
 
 87 
 
 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 
 
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88 
 
 LIFE AND WRITINGS OF 
 
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 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. 
 
 89 
 
 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. 
 
90 
 
 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. 
 
 91 
 
 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. 
 
92 
 
 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. 
 
 93 
 
 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. 
 
 95 
 
 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 
 
9G 
 
 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. 
 
 97 
 
 arity so 
 popular 
 I card of 
 iuiinl>er 
 as made 
 (Ion life 
 
 road it 
 30 tnie, 
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 a place 
 )t pene- 
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 st taste 
 > read in 
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 eard of 
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 1^1 (No. 
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 )uld not 
 Papers, 
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 , 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- 
 
 7 
 
<i|; 
 
 1, ,,!:^! 
 
 'I ! 
 
 II 
 
 •' < 
 
 I m 
 
 ii> 
 
 98 
 
 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 
 
 as 
 
 (( 
 
 th 
 
 tiiiK 
 
CHARLES DICKENS. 
 
 99 
 
 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^ -''' ' 
 
 
 I 
 
 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. 
 
 a 
 
 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 
 
no 
 
 LIFE AND WRITINGS OF 
 
 , «ii i!' 
 
 11 tt 
 
 ai 
 
 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- 
 
 1. 
 
 :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^ 
 
 V 
 
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- 
 
 V 
 
 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 
 
.,{•?» 
 
 bl 
 
 I 
 
 11 
 
 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. 
 
 H 
 
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 
 
< * 
 
 s 
 
 l^'^ 
 
 m it 
 
 m 
 
 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." 
 

 
 u 
 
 \ ' ^■' 
 
 
 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© 
 
 9 
 
i ■) 
 
 hi; 
 
 .1 '■: 'i \ 
 
 \m 
 
 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* . ■ 
 
 11 
 
 .%'f 
 
 Sf^ h 
 
 i' 
 
 
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. 
 
 I. 
 
 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 
 
 n. 
 
 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, 
 
 V. 
 
 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 
 
 i! 
 
 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 
 
 fl 
 
 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. 
 
 c 
 
 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 
 
 m 
 
 
 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- 
 
 
 4' 
 
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 
 
 i 
 
144« 
 
 LIFE AND WRITINGS OP 
 
 im 
 
 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 
 
 ' 
 
 ^, ^ 
 
V 
 
 y ,11 
 
 ug 
 
 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 
 

 (m 
 
 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 
 
 U 
 
 I . I 
 
 m ' 
 
 '■ \ 
 
 
 i- 
 
 
 
 
 'x:'^^ 
 
 
 •h 
 
 '?V'^ 
 
 :j 
 
 ■5 
 
 ■ n. 
 
 d4 
 
 .1 
 
 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 
 
 re 
 
 se 
 ca 
 e( 
 
 CO 
 SI 
 
 to 
 
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 
 
 l\ 
 
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 
 
 
 . 
 
m 
 
 ^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 
 
 
 at 
 
 as 
 
 noi 
 
 to 
 
 poj 
 
 niil 
 
 chj 
 
 soil 
 
 nol 
 
 Ml 
 
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 ) 
 
 n| 
 
 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, 
 
 i 
 
 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 
 
mh 
 
 
 1 ;; 
 
 iill 
 
 i-'i 
 
 Al *! 
 
 : i 
 
 
 Ui 
 
 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- 
 
 (I 
 
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 
 
 
 Mi 
 
 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< '.: 
 
 n 
 
 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- 
 
 / 
 
 / 
 
 y 
 
 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 
 
 11 
 
 m 
 
 I 
 
 f 
 
 iM 
 
 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. 
 
 m 
 
 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 
 
 n 
 
 . ■ . ■ »> 
 
 m\ 
 
 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- 
 
In 
 
 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>» 
 
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 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 
 
 m 
 
 n 
 
 
"'■"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 
 
m 
 
 
 
 fl" 
 
 I r 
 
 fi 
 
 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 
 
1 
 
 
 m 
 m 
 
 li 
 
 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 
 
 I 
 
 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 
 
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 182 
 
 tfFE AND WRITINGS OF 
 
 r 
 
 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 : 
 
 1^ 
 
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 
 
 i 
 
 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 
 
 I 
 
 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 — 
 
m 
 
 It 
 
 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 
 
 MM 
 
 I 
 
 . 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- 
 
m 
 
 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 
 
 k; 
 
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 
 
i: 
 
 
 It 
 
 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 
 
 ll 
 
 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.'" 
 
 II 
 
 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 
 
I 
 
 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 
 
 'H 
 
 * 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 ' 
 
 Jl 
 
 ! 
 
 ■: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 
 
 Hi 
 
 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 
 
1 
 
 :'i!i 
 
 i 
 
 II I 
 
 ii 
 
 [I 
 
 
 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- 
 
$ 
 
 11 
 
 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 
 
 ll 
 
 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 
 
 i; 
 
 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:\ 
 
 ■■ « 
 
 u 
 
 
 •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 
 
 
 1^ 
 
 I t •1 
 
 Mm 
 
 ! il 'lii I 
 
 ti'ih 
 
 m 
 
 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. 
 
 17 
 
258 
 
 LIFE AND WRITINGS Of 
 
 II 
 
 -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 
 
 i: 
 
 ! 
 
 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 
 
 H 
 
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 
 
 1 
 
202 
 
 LIFE AND WRITINGS OF 
 
 , !■ 
 
 I 
 
 ff ' 
 
 1! if'. 1 
 
 I 
 
 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 
 
 J, 
 
 * , 
 
 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 
 
 I 
 
 m^ 
 
 m M 
 
 I 
 
 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 
 
R* 
 
 i 
 
 i\ 
 
 '111 
 
 Rii 
 
 ''Mil 
 
 .'ill 
 
 i 
 
 i 
 
 i 
 
 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- 
 
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 vf'- 
 
 I 
 
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 in* )i 
 
 II 
 
 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 
 
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 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 
 
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 LIFE AND WRITINGS OF 
 
 
 
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 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-^ 
 
1 
 
 
 
 
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 ^ li i 
 
 9 % 
 
 is i 
 
 I >a S' ?' ■ .■t 
 
 i 
 
 f! 
 
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 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. 
 

 11 
 
 .1 ■* if I > 
 
 ''•• 'ji i i 
 
 iOrrf 
 
 
 i 
 
 
 1 
 
 4' 
 
 •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, 
 

 
 I 
 
 
 » 
 
 p. n 
 
 11 
 
 
 ii 
 
 M 
 
 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* 
 
 19 
 

 m i'i \r;:'. 
 
 iv:\ 
 
 \i 
 
 
 i- 
 
 li 
 
 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 
 
^1 
 
 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 
 
 I 
 
 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 
 
 tm 
 
 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 
 
 I 
 
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 
 
 1. 
 
 1 
 
 re([uent consultations wore 
 
 held 
 
 on 
 
 tl 
 
 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 : 
 
 a 
 
 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 
 
 y 
 
 ours. 
 
 (t 
 
 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 
 
 i 
 
 ,._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 
 
 
 I 
 
 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 
 
 ii 
 
 "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'' 
 
 i 
 
 
 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 
 
 I 
 
 .J3il 
 
fl- 
 
 41 
 
 .9; 
 
 
 
 836 
 
 LIFE AND WRITINGS OP 
 
 ^'^^1 5 -vl 
 
 II 
 
 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. 
 
 nu 
 
 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 ; 
 
 I 
 
 
 ! 
 
 
344 
 
 LIFE AND WRITINGS OF 
 
 
 MM 
 
 " 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. 
 
 34 
 
 o 
 
 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 
 

 m^ 
 
 
 m] 
 
 
 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, 
 
 'a 
 

 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. 
 
 I 
 
 I! 
 
* ■* \^ ■♦p * f 
 
 
 352 
 
 LIFE AND WRITINGS OF 
 
 CHAPTEPw XL 
 
 J..:^: 
 
 i% 
 
 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 
 
 i^ 
 
 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 
 
 ■'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| 
 
 1^ 
 

 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; 
 
 n 
 
1 
 
 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." 
 
 
 I 
 
1- ' ■■ r. I 
 
 ."'1 'i; K 
 ■ 1:, ■: 
 
 i 
 
 
 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, 
 
 t' 
 

 ''X 
 
 i' 
 
 m 
 
 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 
 
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 WEBSTER, N.Y. 14580 
 
 (716) 872-4503 
 
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370 
 
 LiFfi AND WRITINGS OF 
 
 
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 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. 
 
 sn 
 
 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 
 
 I 
 
 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^'" 
 
 m 
 
 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 ; 
 
 H 
 
 l| 
 
 ffinntS 
 
 HXUJP ;' 
 
 v^HIh 
 
 B^^' ''' -' 
 
 1 
 
 1 
 
 1'^ 
 
 ^m 
 
 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 
 
^: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." 
 
 25 
 
 
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* 
 
 m 
 
 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." 
 
 :i 
 
 
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 
 
 I 
 
 *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 
 
 : ! 
 
 i 
 
 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\\ 
 
 1 
 
 1 
 
 *l 
 
400 
 
 LIFE AND WRITINGS OF 
 
 ir 
 
 
 '■ 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 
 
 
 
 i 
 
 pi 
 
 "if'- 
 
 i 
 
 I' 
 
 
 
 
 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 
 
 I 
 
 I 
 
404 
 
 LIFE AND WRITINGS OF 
 
 
 mm- 
 
 1 »?• 
 
 ml 
 
 
 all 
 
 mi 
 
 w 
 
 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: >? 
 
 
 
 H 
 
 t 
 
 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, 
 
 J 
 
m 
 
 V )i 
 
 
 *?« 
 
 ■i; ;; \.l 
 
 ^i 
 
 
 ^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 ; 
 
 11 
 
412 
 
 LIFE AND WRITINGS OF 
 
 
 m 
 
 •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, , 
 
 w 
 
 
 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 
 
 11 
 
 H 
 
 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. 
 
 1: 
 
 '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: 
 
 h 
 
 I . 
 
 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 ! 
 
 h 
 
 ■'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 ! 
 
 t| 
 
 \) 
 

 '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. 
 
 m 
 
 
 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. 
 
 I 
 
 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. 
 
m 
 
 
 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. 
 
 
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 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. 
 
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 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. 
 
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 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. 
 
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 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 
 
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 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." 
 
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 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." 
 
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 431 
 
 F DERRITHE SIEGE OF DERBY 
 
 1 
 
 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. " 
 
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