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 a
 
 RECREATIONS 
 
 OF 
 
 A LITERARY MAN 
 
 a 2
 
 REC REATION S 
 
 OF 
 
 A LITERARY MAN 
 
 OR 
 
 DOES WRITING PAY? 
 
 By PERCY FITZGERALD 
 
 IN TWO VOLUMES 
 VOL. I. 
 
 Hontion 
 CHATTO AND WINDUS, PICCADILLY 
 
 1882 
 
 \,All rii^kts rcservc(f\
 
 I'RINTliL) IIV WILI.IA.M LL()« hS AM) SUNS, H.Mlr Kl), LONDON AND niXCI.ES.
 
 fK 
 v.l 
 
 INSCRirED TO 
 
 MY MOTHER, 
 
 WHO WILL HEST APPRECIATE 
 THESE PAGES. 
 
 829442
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 These " Recreations " or Confessions may, I fear, 
 be accounted somewhat egotistical. This, however, 
 is unavoidable in a book of the kind. The object 
 has been to put before the reader, in the frankest 
 way, the experiences of a Literary Life, together 
 with some hints on the Art of Enjoying Trifles. 
 I have also been encouraged by the remark of 
 Lord Orford, that whoever set down truthfully 
 and simply what he had felt and observed, could 
 not fail of making an interesting book.
 
 CONTENTS OF VOL. I. 
 
 CHAPTER PAGE 
 
 I. The Study ... ... ... ... ... i 
 
 II. Paternoster Row ... ... ... 8 
 
 III. Charles Dicke.xs as an Editor ... ... 48 
 
 IV. Charles Dickens at Ho.me ... ... 97 
 
 V. Literary Friends : Forster — Carlyle ... 172 
 
 VI. Behind the Scenes ... ... ... 1S7 
 
 VII. The Diary ... ... ... ... ... 209 
 
 VIII. The Story ok a Waltz ... ... ... 226 
 
 IX. The Tavern ... ... ... ... .. 244 
 
 X. Entertain.ment for Breakiwst ... ... 2O3
 
 RECREATIONS 
 
 OF 
 
 A LITERARY MAN 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE STUDY. 
 
 Lifting the heavy curtain which hangs before 
 so many London interiors, very opposite views 
 will present themselves of the labouring literary 
 man at his work. With some there is the res 
 angiista domi, " the wolf at the door," the large 
 family above ; the weary pen is plied desperately, 
 like the spade, and the room is but another form of 
 workshop. Nothing is more curious than the con- 
 trast between the jocund Christmas story, in which 
 luxurious scenes of enjoyment are painted and 
 revels take place ; charming girls, gallant youths, 
 
 VOL. I. B
 
 2 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 and good-natured fathers and uncles, with their 
 ever-ready cheque-books, flit across — and the almost 
 rude room and well-inked desk at which the worn, 
 overworked writer Fits to conjure up these unreal 
 dreams. On the other hand, there are the happy- 
 few who have been successful, and are at their ease, 
 and who may use writing as their walking-stick, 
 and not as a crutch. 
 
 Most writers who own to a taste for their work 
 — and there is something fascinating in the calling 
 — can hardly help impressing their own fancies 
 on what surrounds them as they labour. The 
 room, its desk, the pictures, the very chair, are all 
 combined and associated with memorable thoughts, 
 ways, and works. The novel, the sketch, the 
 successful " life," all were formed and developed 
 here. Here were forgotten the world's troubles 
 outside, in those exciting, thrilling last chapters, 
 written at a white heat and at a stretch against 
 time, from morning all through the night until morn- 
 ing again — just as Ainsworth wrote his " Turpin's 
 Ride to York." Here are the little cherished 
 objects picked up in many a walk ; the portrait
 
 THE STUDY. 
 
 with autograph given by a greater author. In 
 short, in a course of long years there will be a 
 gathering of favourite things, each associated, it 
 may be, with something pleasant. A little taste — 
 not to a ridiculous and costly aesthetic excess — 
 does much. It can be known with a glance 
 when " things "—Queen Anne, Cinquecento, and 
 the rest — have been ordered home to give the 
 room an antique air, and when they have been 
 brought together in the slow natural process thus 
 described. 
 
 Charles Lamb described in a vivid cozy way the 
 scene when the day's work is done. The curtains 
 are drawn, " the world is shut out," the fire stirred, 
 the favourite book taken down, and, it may be 
 added, the pipe lit, the favourite dog snoozing 
 lazily on the rug. Those are the welcome, enjoy- 
 able hours, from, say, ten till midnight or past. 
 Such a scene is now before me ;— the room, the walls 
 of dark flowered green for three-fourths of the 
 height, the rest to the ceiling of a paler shade, the 
 border between both of a maroon velvet with an 
 oak moulding. Deep crimson curtains hang in
 
 4 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 heavy folds. Bookcases, not glazed (which, as Elia 
 would say, are heartless), run along one side some 
 five feet high — giving a sufficiency of long rows of 
 shelves. The rest of the walls are cheerful with 
 choice favourites, picked up as I have described. 
 In the corner a bronzed bust of Mr. Carlyle, 
 arrayed in his favourite broad-brimmed hat — no 
 indifferent likeness. Pictures on glass, richly 
 coloured ; a fine etching or two — the magnificent 
 " Mrs. Bischofifsheim " of Millais, vivid and brilliant 
 — are perpetual company. A bold blue bit of 
 colour, a Worcester dish, a few china figures on 
 brackets, complete the decorations. These things 
 cost but trifles — the etching but half-a-crown, 
 being one of the " L'Art " series. An old-fashioned 
 c^scritoire, its drawers wavy-lined, was a rare 
 bargain, " picked up " Islington-wards for thirty 
 shillings. For the same sum a corresponding 
 table, old French, was secured. A Turkey rug 
 and a stained oak floor may finish the catalogue. 
 All these things cost not nearly so much as the 
 ordinary showy things of commerce, but are much 
 more effective. A little taste really saves money ;
 
 THE STUDY. 5 
 
 and he who is iurnished with it can always indulge 
 it bon inarche. 
 
 From below, hark to the whirring w^heezing 
 sound of the cuckoo clock, with its friendly chirrup 
 of quail and cuckoo, which has thus sounded 
 quarterly — or every quarter — uninterrupted, almost, 
 for a course of twelve years, night and day. As 
 with a dog or faithful servant who has been with 
 you long, so with those two trusty little birds, one 
 gradually gains an affection and a sense of com- 
 panionship. There is something cheerful and 
 cheering in the tone, heard in the watches of the 
 night or at dawn, without any failure of duty 
 during that long period. At every quarter the 
 little door to the left flies open brusquely, and with 
 some clatter out leaps the little fluttering quail, 
 and with open mouth and flapping wing gives his 
 "Too-too! " and retires ; while his neighbour's door 
 bursts open and reveals the principal performer, 
 the cuckoo, who, attended by sonorous gong, 
 sounds the hour. This little performance, trivial 
 as it seems, lends a dramatic interest to so simple 
 an operation as striking the time. When contract-
 
 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 ing for the purchase long ago — it was on one of the 
 sylvan walks at Spa^there was a hesitation as to 
 the claims of another more elaborate time-keeper, 
 where the doors of two sentry-boxes flew open, 
 and two soldiers appeared, who, performing first a 
 flourish of trumpets, sounded the hour solemnly, 
 and then retired as they came. Later, recount- 
 ing these little phenomena to Mr. Dickens, ever 
 appreciative of such details, he entered into the 
 idea, and played with it in his own pleasant style. 
 He drew a picture of the soldiers coming out to 
 perform their solos ; but the invariable hitch would 
 come : the door would catch, and but partially 
 open, the niilitaire meanwhile vainly attempting to 
 get out, checked ; his arm, it might be, caught in 
 the act of being raised for the flourish — the result 
 being feeble wheezes and spasms behind the door, 
 which would throb at his ineffectual efforts, sub- 
 siding into total inaction ; his fellow, however, 
 coming up bravely to time and starting fairly, but 
 suddenly brought up motionless. Then a surgeon 
 sent for; when, on probing, and the release of some 
 catch behind, the struggling trumpeter would burst
 
 THE STUDY. 
 
 his door open and finish his suspended solo. This 
 seems trivial now, but his friends will recall how 
 thoroughly it was in his manner, and how it would 
 be set off by his expressive face and bright eyes 
 twinkling with humour.
 
 8 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 PATERNOSTER ROW. 
 
 For many years now, I have been an industrious 
 litterateur — of all work, I may add, and labouring 
 in all the departments. At the same time, this 
 work has not been what is called " hard," such as 
 that of a barrister in good practice, but of a rapid 
 and concentrated kind. The result is that I have 
 succeeded in earning by my brains a sum that I 
 fancy will surprise, though I delay naming it until 
 I have communicated my little experiences. These, 
 I fancy, will be a useful contribution to the 
 question, whether writing be a profitable profession. 
 And as for the greater portion of the time I have 
 kept a sort of fee-book, it is really no speculative 
 appraisement. 
 
 For at least half the period alluded to I followed
 
 PATERNOSTER ROW. 9 
 
 the profession of the bar ; and it may be said that 
 this word " following " is well chosen, for it en- 
 tailed daily attendance for a number of hours. 
 But the profession scarcely followed me as well 
 as I followed it, though it brought in certain 
 returns, and engrossed a share of attention. Yet 
 I contrived gaily and with a light heart to woo and 
 win the more engaging sister, who eventually 
 rewarded me in the satisfactory way described. 
 She gave me a return for the off-hand, rattling, and 
 somewhat careless attention bestowed upon her. 
 
 I do not put myself in the first rank, nor in the 
 second — I might modestly enter the third ; though 
 some might reasonably dispute with me even that 
 unpresuming place. What have I done .-' what is 
 my " literary baggage " } is naturally the next ques- 
 tion. Not long ago, an ingenious Dryasdust took 
 the trouble to hunt up the name of the person to 
 whom a well-known writer had addressed his letters. 
 There were private reasons for not mentioning the 
 name. But what did that concern the detective t 
 He set to work, and discovered it by following out 
 certain allusions in the text, hunting through news-
 
 lO RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 papers of the day, and arrived by a most exhaustive 
 process at its solution. Without being over con- 
 fidential, I may confess that this same " baggage " 
 consists of great biographical chests — heavy, per- 
 haps massive ; of light serial portmanteaux, or 
 novels and tales, three-, two-, and one- vol. ; hat- 
 boxes ; bags, Gladstone " collapsing," and some 
 collapsed, in the form of volumes of essays, short 
 stories, disquisitions, criticisms, etc. I have written 
 plays that have succeeded, and plays that have 
 failed, and have been paid sufficiently in both 
 categories. I have been a dramatic critic. I have 
 attended a music-hall opening, and an exhibition 
 of fans, as "our own reporter." I have contributed 
 to an advertising paper which was left gratuitously 
 at all doors, — and which dealt with its contributors 
 on the same principle. I have " gone special " to 
 the Continent for one of the great leading daily 
 papers, and I have written for almost every maga- 
 zine that has been born, died, or exists. I have 
 written on painting, music, building, decorative 
 art, dress, the classics, history, travels, my own life, 
 the lives of other people, dancing, etc. In short.
 
 PATERNOSTER ROW. II 
 
 like Swift and his broomstick, I have learned the 
 knack of writing decently and respectably on any 
 subject " briefed " to me. 
 
 It will be said, however, that this confession is, 
 as it were, Jiors concours, and of no value as a 
 contribution to the question, as a person with this 
 general versatility must gain money as a matter of 
 course. Not at all. It is the gaining of money 
 that has brought or stimulated these gifts, rather 
 than the gifts that have brought the money. This 
 may be paradoxical, but if I might liken myself to 
 so successful a personage, it is exactly akin to the 
 progress of the great Mr. William Whiteley — who 
 added to his departments, now a grocery, now a 
 butchery, now coals, etc., according as the demand 
 on him came. My wares I would not, of course, 
 pretend to be of the same quality as his, be they ■ 
 excellent or the reverse ; but the analogy holds. 
 I did all these things, and do them still, though 
 we all feel, like other entrepreneurs, the pressure 
 of the times. 
 
 The stock-in-trade for all this is, of course, first 
 a general taste for literature, and a familiarity with
 
 12 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 all the blind alleys, "wynds," crannies, and passages 
 of letters, which are invaluable in furnishing 
 subjects for essays. This is all amusing reading 
 to the person with the proper taste, and you can 
 go on for ever emptying the stuff out of the old 
 clumsy demijohns into nice modern flasks. There 
 are innumerable forgotten personages and episodes 
 which can be treated, and become new and in- 
 teresting in the treatment. This is all acquired. 
 So, too, is style — that ready, lively, and superficial 
 style, though it takes a long time. But I had 
 better begin at the beginning, and tell, " from the 
 ^g'g" how I became a writer. 
 
 This style, then, with a certain dramatic way of 
 putting things so as to present a picture without 
 the formal lines of a picture, which shall yet 
 interest, I unconsciously secured very early and 
 with little trouble. On leaving a great school 
 for which I had an extraordinary affection, and 
 where I had spent some happy and even romantic 
 days, I fell into the habit of trying to reproduce 
 the old impressions in writing, recalling the 
 pleasant scenes after as vivid a fashion as I could.
 
 PATERNOSTER ROW. 1 3 
 
 As this was often done, and earnestly done, 
 and with all sincerity, the same scene being de- 
 scribed and redescribed as often as the humour 
 seized me, there came to be a certain rude power 
 and vividness in the description which I recognize 
 now when turning over the innumerable volumes 
 with their crowded pages and minute writing. 
 What eyes one had then ! Even now the figures 
 move, the lights glitter, the pleasant fragrance of 
 the past exhales. Any one that saw this huge 
 mass of manuscript, and the mass of description, 
 characters, dialogues, and incidents therein con- 
 tained, would admit that here was an advantage in 
 the way of training of no inconsiderable kind. 
 
 So far, there was no advance. All the world has 
 written in private records, and in local papers, to 
 say nothing of the privately (and expensively) 
 printed volumes of poems. But in my case, as 
 indeed in most other cases, it is the first difiicult 
 step that costs, and that makes or mars. Just as in 
 mastering skating evolutions ; until you have fear- 
 lessly thrown yourself on the outside edge, nothing 
 can be done or ever will be done.
 
 14 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 Presently, of course, came the early contributions 
 to the local paper, and the delight of seeing it in 
 the local paper's type — the only form of recogni- 
 tion, too, known to the local papers. All writers 
 agree in the special and unique sweetness of this 
 sensation. I confess I always feel the charm of 
 print. 
 
 Every writer recalls with a peculiar delight that 
 first entering into print, be it even into the " Poet's 
 Corner " of the local newspapers. There is almost 
 a delicious intoxication connected with the sen- 
 sation. Every writer has probably this humble 
 beginning. To a local newspaper, distributed 
 gratis, half its surface being devoted to advertise- 
 ments, the rest filled in with abundant " literary 
 matters " (" We regret," generally sa}- the pro- 
 prietors, " that the circulation of the paper does not, 
 as yet, admit of offering remuneration to our contri- 
 butors ") — to such an organ was timorously offered 
 a story called "The Little Quarto," a scene re- 
 lating to the purchase, in an auction-room, of a 
 small volume, which the poverty, not the will, of 
 a bidder compelled him to deny himself How
 
 PATERNOSTER ROW. I 5 
 
 well I recall the actual terms of its acceptance in 
 the notices to correspondents! — "Your sketch is 
 happy and humorous. It shall appear." And 
 when it did appear, was not it read aloud in full 
 household — ay, read twice and thrice, lent with 
 pride to a select neighbour or two ; the news not 
 generally, however, published, as being likely to 
 be hurtful to one going to a learned profession .'' 
 I always look with infinite relish to that old drab- 
 coloured magazine, now actually before me, the 
 Monthly of February, 1834, which contains 
 " Horatio Sparkins " — Dickens's second contri- 
 bution — and think of his agitation only a few 
 weeks before, when he saw his first in the same 
 journal. It has a strange sacred interest, this 
 magazine of now nearly fifty years ago. 
 
 Not for some years did I venture on a bolder 
 flight. Mr. Leitch Ritchie's name I always hold 
 in regard and veneration, as it was from his hand 
 that the first of the golden showers began to 
 descend. A paper called "A Page of Professional 
 Life," describing that of a Belgian professor in the 
 sixteenth century, was despatched to Chambers's
 
 l6 RECREATIO^WS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 JoiD'fial, with but little hope, in truth ; but there 
 was returned speedily a letter in these words : 
 " Sir, there is something novel in your sketch, and 
 I shall try and find a place for it in the Journal. 
 The remuneration is one pound per printed page." 
 One pound ! A fortune ! A place was found 
 within a short time ; then came the almost ecstatic 
 delight of the post-office order, the first earned 
 money. The little story accidentally had merits 
 for success ; it was legible, short, and dramatic. I 
 have no doubt, too, some accident determined its 
 reception, akin to the turn of a card ; it might 
 have been tossed aside or returned with thanks, 
 A grave letter of approval was returned, and two 
 pounds ten. 
 
 I fear that nowadays this advantage of having 
 his contributions read for approval is lost to the 
 beginner, as the packets sent in are overwhelming. 
 Two or three other papers were accepted. I could 
 have poured them in or out as by machinery ; 
 but then began certain disagreeable checks — not 
 for cash — but "unsuitable," "no space," "so much 
 in type," which conveyed the first lesson in writing
 
 PATERNOSTER ROW. 1/ 
 
 profitably, that you must not merely put all your 
 eggs in one basket, but must have about as 
 many baskets as eggs. What will not suit one 
 will suit another; what there is not room for in one 
 there will be room for in another ; as a man with 
 many daughters offers his fairest to a man of means 
 and position, and gives his ugliest with money 
 to a man of good will though obscure. So I now 
 cast about for new channels, and tried and tried 
 till I was heartsick and angry, meeting for my 
 investment in paper and postage-stamps, certainly^ 
 large returns. I very soon saw that this system 
 would not do, and that one might go on posting 
 contributions for the term of one's natural life 
 without result, save the restoration of the com- 
 positions — about as disagreeable a thing as the 
 news of their loss A total reversal of this policy 
 and a brilliant coup in quite a new direction was 
 rewarded with success, and set me on the road to 
 fortune. 
 
 y There was at this time a well-known litterateur, 
 or critic and writer of authority and Johnsonian 
 prestige, who was engaged upon a most important 
 
 VOL. I. c
 
 1 8 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 work of biography, " The Life of Swift." This was 
 
 Mr. John Forster. " The Clarendon notes," he 
 
 wrote, " as reproduced by you, are most valuable, 
 
 and I observe several memoranda at the close, on 
 
 which I shall take another opportunity of writing 
 
 to you. If the memoranda you have taken of the 
 
 principal ' marked paragraphs ' enable you to tell 
 
 me what passages they seem to have been (apart 
 
 from those to which the marginal comments apply) 
 
 which most attracted his attention, perhaps you 
 
 will some time or other indicate them to me. A 
 
 mere general notice as to that is all I require. But 
 
 so delightful are these little sketches you send me, 
 
 so exactly what it comes within my plan to use 
 
 wherever we may yet be able to get upon his 
 
 actual footprints in this way, that I will not scruple 
 
 to ask you to add to them whatever may hereafter 
 
 occur to you. Though the tomb has been often 
 
 done, still your sketch I would rather have than 
 
 any other. If the actual house in Hoeys Court be 
 
 still standing too (it is sketched in ]\Ir. Wilde's 
 
 book), and if you could give me a little view of 
 
 the Deanery — in short, of any place or locality
 
 PATERNOSTER ROW. 1 9 
 
 associated with him of which actual living vestiges 
 remain — all will be very welcome to me. You see 
 how unscrupulous already your kindness has made 
 me; but I am sure I best show my sense of its 
 worth by receiving it as frankly as it is offered. 
 It will be a true pleasure to me to acknowledge 
 it in the edition it helps me to enrich." I was 
 at the time much interested in him and his sub- 
 ject, and as I lived in the city where his hero 
 had flourished, I set to work to collect matter 
 that would be useful to him. In particular, I 
 nearly blinded myself deciphering some " margi- 
 nalia," as they are called, in some huge folios 
 preserved in an old library, drew neat water- 
 colour sketches of localities, collected traditions, 
 and, in short, made myself rather useful, and 
 earned his grateful acknowledgment. That was 
 the beginning of a long friendship. 
 
 At this time also the amiable as well as gifted 
 Dickens was flourishing in the height of his 
 popularity, and directing his Household Words with 
 great success. To be a writer in that journal and 
 associated with so great a master was, in itself, an
 
 20 recreatiOaWs of a literary man. 
 
 enormous advantage, which writers in other perio- 
 dicals were devoid of. I ventured to presume on 
 the grateful feelings of my new friend in this useful 
 direction. Previously I had, indeed, essayed an 
 entrance to the Wellington Street Paradise, but 
 had been firmly but courteously repulsed by the 
 Peri who stood at the gate — the late Mr. W. H, 
 Wills, who returned their contributions to the con- 
 tributors with a lithographic circular, in which 
 they were assured their efforts had been read and 
 weighed, as was the custom of the office. This 
 may have been a good-natured exaggeration for 
 reading an extract or glancing at the whole ; for 
 the daily post brought pounds of such matters 
 which no staff could have grappled with. It was 
 long, however, a tradition of the place how my 
 patron strode in one morning, and, laying down 
 the document, required that it should "be scoi to at 
 once, and set up in type." He was a man not to be 
 trifled with. Within a fortnight it appeared. It 
 was a not undramatic tale, in the vein of Mr. 
 Wilkie Collins, then in high fashion. I had been 
 again lucky in the subject and treatment ; it was
 
 PATERNOSTER ROW. 21 
 
 short and telling. There seemed to be an empresse- 
 ment even to secure me. Had I anything else 
 ready } The Christmas Number was getting ready 
 — would I be able to send them something for thaf? 
 On that hint I set to work, and from that moment 
 to the present have never ceased to work for that 
 pleasant journal, the connection with which under 
 the regime of father and son has ever been agree- 
 able and satisfactory. The word " satisfactory " 
 recalls me to the point of this chapter, for it repre- 
 sents in this case many thousand pounds, as the 
 ledgers of Household Words and All the Year 
 Roimd can tell. The moral, also, is that other 
 agencies besides literary merit are essential in earn- 
 ing money ; there must be knowledge of men and 
 things. The assiduous showering in of papers will 
 not do. One might ply this method for a whole 
 life with, of course, the chance that a stray paper 
 on some timely and seasonable subject might arrest 
 the editor's eye and gain adoption. There must be 
 some contrived personal relation between the con- 
 tracting parties, otherwise there is no more interest 
 in you than in the manuscript itself. You are no
 
 22 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 more than one of many bundles of manuscript, 
 always an object of repulsion, to be put aside or 
 held over as long as possible, like the poor patients 
 at a doctor's. Hence the indifferent chance of 
 the tribe of governesses, clergymen's wives and 
 daughters, clerks and others, who write from pro- 
 vincial towns, who are made sick all the year round 
 with deferred hope, and receive back their produc- 
 tions which are " declined with thanks," as a sort of 
 favour. Hence, too, some courageous fellows who 
 have come to London to push their way personally, 
 like Johnson and others, have shown more wisdom 
 and policy than they have obtained credit for. I 
 have known not a few to succeed, not by their 
 literary merit, which was indifferent, but by the art 
 of making themselves useful and necessary, and of 
 doing some little job which a bare chance threw in 
 their way, in a style that they made especially satis- 
 factory. In short, friends and connection is the 
 basis. I know one instance, at least, of this sort 
 of energy and purpose being quite successful — a 
 young fellow marrying, and, after due deliberation, 
 selecting this profession. He set to work at once,
 
 PATERNOSTER ROW. 23 
 
 got introductions, and began his uphill task. He 
 had his qualities of care and industry, and could be 
 depended on. It seemed madness at the first, but 
 in two or three years he had " formed a connec- 
 tion," was found useful, and now, at the end of five 
 or six years, I find his name known, while he him- 
 self writes to me in the capacity of editor. He is 
 sure to succeed. 
 
 Once established on Household Words, I found 
 that the mere connection with that journal and its 
 director was a passport to other magazines. For 
 the first year my return was, I think, some four- 
 teen to fifteen pounds. The next year it rose to 
 sixty or seventy ; the next it grew into hundreds. 
 As to the paper itself, I saw that what was re- 
 quired was originality of subject, something fresh 
 and taking. I gave great thought to the selection 
 of what would be desirable. This is really in itself 
 an art and of the highest importance, for if it be 
 found that you are sending in what is unsuitable 
 your credit sinks, and your at last really suitable 
 article may share the fate of others. Where, too, 
 the contributor is to be depended on, his paper
 
 24 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 goes unread to the printers to be "setup." No- 
 thing used to be pleasanter than a periodical visit 
 to the office to "settle subjects " with the editor. 
 
 But to show how pleasant profit and pleasure 
 may be combined in this most agreeable of all 
 professions, I will note one " department," which 
 I have exploited systematically, to m^'' own great 
 enjoyment, and I hope to the satisfaction of others 
 concerned. I have travelled a great deal, but never 
 at my own cost : rather, to exceeding profit. I will 
 give some special instances. I once spent a single 
 week in Holland, and wrote twelve papers — "Down 
 among the Dutchmen ! " they were called — on the 
 country, for a journal, for which I received forty 
 pounds, the net profit being thirty. I went specially 
 to Rome at an interesting period, wrote observa- 
 tions on men and manners in a series of twenty 
 papers, for which I received sixty pounds. They 
 were also pubHshcd in a volume for which I had 
 received seventy — leaving a net profit after ex- 
 penses of eighty pounds. I have never made an 
 expedition to France, Belgium, Ireland, anywhere, 
 without turning it into cash. Nay, I have never
 
 PATERNOSTER ROW. 2$ 
 
 been anywhere or seen anything important with- 
 out making it take this agreeable shape of profit. 
 During the French war, when the Germans were 
 advancing on Paris, I was eager to put this 
 favourite principle in action. But special writers 
 and correspondents were abundant, and every one 
 was well supplied ; so the chance of seeing any- 
 thing as a commissioned writer was desperate. 
 However, a friendly editor in conversation was 
 excited by the prospect of a vivid sketch of the 
 unhappy city on the eve of a siege, and offered to 
 " stand " all railway expenses to the scene of 
 action, as well as the usual charge for an article. 
 I look back to that hurried and dramatic expedition 
 with infinite pleasure. There is something flattering 
 to the amour propre in being thus despatched at 
 the cost of others. 
 
 Another hurried expedition of the kind not only 
 forms a delightful recollection, but illustrates what 
 I said of the necessity of a certain judgment and 
 nice sense of what is " the psychological moment " 
 to secure success in writing. If any ordinary writer 
 of position were to offer himself as special corre-
 
 26 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 spondcnt to any of the greater daily journals, his 
 services would, to a certainty, be declined, on the 
 ground that their own staff was sufficient. Yet on 
 one occasion I was lucky enough to enter the 
 charmed circle, simply owing to a happy combina- 
 tion and prompt seizure of the " psychological 
 moment," as our neighbours call it. It was a few 
 days after Christmas Day, in the year of the sup- 
 pression of the gaming-houses in Germany. It 
 occurred to me that it would be interesting to 
 record the dying struggle of these institutions. I 
 wondered, would there be any chronicle thereof in 
 the great papers ? I resolved to address two lead- 
 ing ones with a suggestion of the subject. One 
 took no notice; from the other came a hurried 
 despatch acceding to the idea, and fixing an almost 
 midnight interview. The thought even now gives 
 me pleasure. There was no time to be lost. 
 How pleasant the hurried interview with the 
 editor, planning the arrangement ! I started, 
 travelling all night. It was a pleasant sense of im- 
 portance to find oneself in the German telegraph- 
 office at Homburg on that frosty day, the town
 
 PATERNOSTER ROW. 2"] 
 
 deserted, and writing a long telegraph message to 
 the newspaper — my newspaper — whereof I was the 
 special. I hurried back, got to town that night, 
 and instantly sat down to write a couple of " cols.," 
 which appeared next morning. The whole expedi- 
 tion by sea and land, there and back, the writing 
 of the long article, was all accomplished within sixty 
 to seventy hours. I received a most handsome 
 honor aire for what was really only a pleasure trip. 
 
 But now came the idea of a larger and more 
 profitable extension — the novel — which the success 
 of Miss Braddon, may be said to have opened 
 up for the average writer. Fifteen or twenty 
 years ago, the various topics of character and 
 incident — the "sensation," the wicked woman 
 of sensation, the hulking muscular man of un- 
 bridled passions, and the female with steel eyes, 
 cold heart, and yellow hair — were novelties, and 
 people loved to hear as much as possible about 
 them, and from any description of uriter. These 
 are now all hackneyed and " used up." Delinea- 
 tion of characters of the " Jane Eyre " model was 
 in fashion. Good prices were paid, and it was
 
 28 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 actually stated that, by the system at the libraries, 
 and owing to the voraciorus greed of readers, any 
 story in three volumes, by any writer, was certain 
 to " do "- to return even some meagre remunera- 
 tion to its writer. Thus inspired, I determined to 
 set my skiff afloat on the already crowded stream. 
 A friend who was directing a magazine that en- 
 joyed a gasping asthmatic sort of existence 
 furnished an opening, and allowed me to " run " 
 this first immature effort through his pages. The 
 remuneration was fixed at, I think, five-and-twenty 
 or thirty pounds. The production was issued in 
 two volumes by a firm which, awkwardly enough, 
 was at the moment in the agonies of death, so the 
 child actually perished with the mother that 
 brought it forth. The late Mr. Bentley was at 
 that time directing his firm, a man of energy and 
 spirit ; to him, as a desperate chance, it was sent 
 as a specimen of the author's powers. This 
 spirited man interposed with an act which seems 
 to belong to the romance of publishing, and, with 
 an intrepidity now unfamiliar to the Row, said, 
 " Write mc a novel in three volumes as good, and
 
 PATERNOSTER ROW. 29 
 
 I will give you one hundred and fifty pounds ! " 
 Trumpet-tongued words indeed, which I fear neither 
 Smith nor Jones nor clergyman's daughter is 
 ever likely to hear again. I complied with a 
 jocund alacrity. First the work went through my 
 friendly editor's journal, by which some thirty 
 pounds adhered to it ; it then came forth from 
 Burlington Street with a fictitious name attached 
 to it. It was called "BELLA DONNA," and was 
 given out as written by one Gilbert Dyce. It 
 was a success, and passed through two editions, and 
 still sells. With these credentials I applied to my 
 editor of Wellington Street ; he, having read my 
 successful venture, gave me an order for a story, 
 at what seemed a munificent remuneration — this, 
 too, without having seen a line of the story, and 
 with the further handsome treatment of accepting 
 merely a few chapters in hand as a sufficient instal- 
 ment, with which to start. 
 
 But, indeed, to the records of the generosity and 
 confidence of the " chief," as we would call him, 
 there was no end. To this, however, I shall return 
 later. Nothing, too, was more delightful than his
 
 30 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 hearty relish and appreciation of anything to be 
 approved, though indeed the chief merit of most 
 of these productions was that they were ingeniously 
 successful imitations of his own manner. All that 
 laboured, if it can be called labour, under such 
 auspices — "G, A. S,," Yates, Moy Thomas, Halliday 
 (defunct now), Button Cook, HolHngshead, and 
 myself (most industrious and perhaps making his 
 bow oftenest) — can, or could, tell the same story. 
 For this journal I have written no fewer than seven 
 novels, which have brought me, in their magazine 
 shape alone, two thousand pounds ; have altogether 
 written some fifteen stories, each contrived " a 
 double debt to pay," and first passed through the 
 periodical press before appearance in its orthodox 
 coat of three or two volumes. The total receipts 
 from this source have been close on three thousand 
 pounds. Many of the books have gone through 
 two editions, one has gone through four, and several 
 enjoy a steady annual sale — their titles familiar 
 enough at the railway bookstalls. 
 
 This, however, would have been but a poor result 
 spread over so many years. So the next golden
 
 PATERNOSTER ROW. 
 
 31 
 
 or profitable rule of the system soon suggested 
 itself, viz. while you kept literary fire all ablast 
 and crackling, to have a number of irons heating 
 in it. And I not only had a number of irons — I 
 once drove three novels abreast — but a number 
 of fires. Whether, as the wit said, your writings 
 should go where your irons are, is another im- 
 portant question, and might dispense with dis- 
 cussion of the matter at all. But this " versatility " 
 not only furnishes relief, but, as a source of profit, 
 is invaluable. I accordingly very soon had broken 
 new ground with my literary " pick," and started 
 writing the lives of important personages, neglected 
 unaccountably, as it seemed to me, till I took them 
 in hand. I am ashamed when I think of the free- 
 and-easy mode in which I selected these great men 
 for resurrection purposes ; but I am bound to own 
 that there was some art and nice judgment in the 
 choice. One, the most successful of the series, was 
 suggested by the publisher, taken in hand that 
 night, and completed — "polished off," the irreverent 
 would say — in three months. It was disposed of 
 — they were always respectable, portly, squire-
 
 32 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 looking things, two vols, octavo — to the tunc of 
 eight hundred copies at thirty shillings. In this 
 department I wrote ; for four or five of such 
 monuments I received nigh a thousand pounds, 
 most of them, however, having also paid the double 
 debt before alluded to. Again another stroke of 
 the pick, and I became " an editor " of works — a 
 laborious and unprofitable duty. I " edited " two 
 masters of English literature, but great favourites 
 of mine, for twenty pounds apiece. They filled 
 nine large volumes. But these were truly labours 
 of love, and, in the case of an author I was fond of, 
 I would cheerfully go through any such drudgery 
 unremunerated. There is nothing so fascinating 
 as working thus on an author, hunting up evidence, 
 and finding it, to illustrate obscure passages. 
 Nothing I ever did was more enjoyable to me than 
 preparing an edition of " Boswell's Johnson." 
 
 The "double debt to pay" principle is an ad- 
 mirable one, but requires some art to carry out. 
 A great difficulty, as it might seem at first sight, 
 would be the disposal in this wise of the innumer- 
 able short tales which the diligent writers turn out,
 
 PATERNOSTER ROW. 33 
 
 much as the diligent painter does his " pot-boilers." 
 These I used to collect in the old palmy days in 
 volumes, as Mr. Wilkie Collins might do now. 
 Publishers will now have nothing to do with such 
 miscellanies. But I was not daunted, and, after 
 issuing a volume, ventured on the familiar device 
 of collecting a number of persons on a journey 
 and making them tell stories. I was not, however, 
 mi botit, and had another and more original device 
 on my banner, namely, writing each short story in 
 such a way that it shall be complete and yet form 
 part of a whole — like the shield platform formed 
 by Rienzi's soldiers, in the late representation of 
 the opera. Each is carefully written in the same 
 character, and forms an episode in his experience. 
 Thus the casual reader is gratified, while I am 
 equally so. On this principle I lately issued a three- 
 volume novel which was itself a continuous story, 
 and yet was composed of all the short humorous 
 stories I had written during the past dozen years. 
 
 These various productions might fill from sixty 
 to seventy volumes of the official form, while the 
 scattered papers, if brought together, would raise 
 
 VOL. I. D
 
 34 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 the talc to nearly one hundred. The material with 
 which the literary baggage is packed is gathered 
 from the sources before mentioned, namely, 
 "curious" reading in all directions; but the chief 
 supply is drawn from myself It is not too much 
 to say that all the incidents of my life, such as it is 
 — feelings, thoughts, loves, sights, characters — have 
 been pressed in to do duty, more or less coloured 
 and treated, but giving a genuineness and vitality 
 which always quickened the pace of the pen. I 
 wrote an account of my school-days in a series of 
 papers for Mr. Dickens, with which he was much 
 pleased ; these figured duly in several numbers of 
 his Journal at a return of a good many pounds, 
 and, with some additions, reappeared as a little 
 volume which enjoyed much popularity, and ran 
 through three editions in a few months. For this, 
 however, I only received twenty pounds more ; but 
 then, we did not anticipate this success. I may be 
 pardoned for adding, that the Journal "written for 
 gentlemen " declared that my book was superior to 
 the popular "Tom Brown." Still, the outlay in 
 time and composition v/as far below the sum 1
 
 PATERNOSTER ROW. 35 
 
 received, as it amounted to little more than that 
 employed in writing letters to friends, or one's jour- 
 nal. Mr. James Payn lately started an interesting 
 discussion as to the springs from which the novelist 
 was to draw inspiration — whence gather his story, 
 characters, etc. The discussion also gave rise to 
 some ingenious suggestions as to story, etc. My 
 belief is, that no one can devise a character ; all 
 my own, such as they are, have been drawn from 
 real life. But I would say that there was art in this 
 process ; a literal copy is worthless and has small 
 effect. In my own case, the personages would not 
 recognize themselves. I have seen instances where 
 the very speeches and actions of certain eccentric 
 persons, producing extreme mirth in society, have 
 been literally set down, without any humorous 
 results. The art consists in abstracting the 
 peculiar phenomena of manner and speech, and 
 devising situations which would call them out far 
 more effectively. You see vividly, that personage 
 in the situation, and by a sort of inspiration it 
 supplies new language and actions corresponding. 
 It was thus that Mr. Dickens "worked out" Mrs.
 
 36 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 Gamp, whose oddities had no real existence, 
 though he had seen something analogous in the 
 hospital nurse. With me, having got my character, 
 the character was certain to supply the story, which 
 is only following the precedent of real life, where 
 strange characters really bring about strange events. 
 The great mistake in novel -writing, as a writer 
 only gradually discovers, is — confounding what 
 you find you have a knack of doing well and with 
 fluency, and as you fancy with telling effect, with 
 what will be relished by the public. It is thus that 
 " clever " dialogue, written con spirito and con amove 
 fills many pages. But the question is, is it to the 
 point } Does it help on the story, rouse attention, 
 excite the reader } But in truth, a good story is 
 all in all ; and in this the untiring, never-flagging 
 Miss Braddon is unapproachable. Many feel their 
 strength lies in character and dialogue, but these 
 without a story are worthless. You might as well 
 issue essays in the style of the old Spectator. Nor 
 is a good story so difiicult to find, even by a person 
 who has not the art of constructing stories. It is 
 a wonderful fact, that the same outline of story
 
 PATERNOSTER ROW. 37 
 
 will furnish to different minds, not merely the idea 
 of different treatment, but actually a different 
 story in the result. This often becomes a most 
 effective mode of supplying a want of originality. 
 I myself often, in reading a powerful tale, have 
 felt a sort of inspiration ; the whole fell into new 
 situations and new characters offered. In real life, 
 it will be seen how a particular situation would be 
 modified or altered, according as different cha- 
 racters were concerned in it. Some would control 
 the situation ; others would let the situation control 
 them. One writer would be inclined to show — auto- 
 biographically, as it were — how the leading person 
 was affected ; another would show the effect on 
 him from a bystander's view. I have often, reading 
 a French story, met with a situation which set 
 me tracing backwards what might lead to such a 
 situation, and forwards what might come from it, 
 until a complete and novel story lay before me. 
 But, as I said, a really good and striking character 
 will of itself suggest a story, if it be bold and 
 broad enough. I will give an illustration. Suppose 
 that character of which Mr. Toole is so fond — a
 
 38 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 retired tradesman or merchant going into society, 
 good-natured, sterling, and with a sensible dis- 
 position under the absurdities of his new situation. 
 Give him a daughter on whom he doats. Imme- 
 diately the story begins to crystallize. Let him 
 marry her to a man of rank, the man of her heart, 
 after many difficulties and opposition of his aristo- 
 cratic parents. This with many might be the end 
 of a story. But stay. It is in truth but the founda- 
 tion. For see how many interesting and exciting 
 elements must be at work to disturb and compli- 
 cate ! — the man of rank growing discontented, feel- 
 ing he has lost caste ; his " taking it out," as it 
 is called, of his father-in-law ; the latter submitting 
 for a time for the sake of his daughter ; the wish 
 of the aristocrat to recover his old position, by 
 ignoring his new connections, in which is gradually 
 included the wife ; the alienation of the latter ; the 
 anger of the father then roused and unrestrained, 
 because the only motive for restraint is removed ; 
 his punishment of his son-in-law by a manly as- 
 sertion of himself, and making the other feel the 
 meanness of being supported by one whom he
 
 PATERNOSTER ROW. 39 
 
 despises. It will be seen at once what capabilities 
 of treatment are here opened up, stretching in 
 many various directions. Half a dozen writers 
 would treat this in half a dozen ways. And yet 
 it is but a beginning. Here we have the founda- 
 tion of" Our Boys," " Crutch and Toothpick," " Le 
 Gendre de Monsieur Poirier." Sometimes you can 
 get a whole story from a mere dramatic opening. 
 Say that a railway accident has taken place at night 
 near a retired country house. A lady has fainted, 
 or is slightly injured, and is introduced to a 
 pleasant family party — a widower gentleman and 
 his two daughters, his son and his betrothed on a 
 visit. The lady is of a good family, but going to 
 be a governess. She stays a day — another day — a 
 week ; fixes herself; fascinates the young man, etc. 
 Or another way. A marriage is to take place in a 
 village church. The ceremony is about to com- 
 mence, when the gentleman is fetched out, and 
 returns saying it cannot be ; gives no explanation ; 
 owns his heartlessness and cruelty. I have a book 
 full of these crude hints, suggestions, names, and 
 characters.
 
 40 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 In many of Mr. Dickens's letters will be found 
 admirable counsels to the novelist ; one special 
 one — avoid painful and disagreeable endings. 
 The public likes everything pleasant. In certain 
 episodes, it is not a bad plan to let your characters 
 act for you; that is, plunge into the situation without 
 considering the distinct issue, and trust that some- 
 thing effective will suggest itself spontaneously. 
 Often something more brilliant is thus offered than 
 anything you yourself could devise thoughtfully 
 and laboriously. There is a curious passage in one 
 of the Lives of Alfred de Musset, in which he speaks 
 of the composition of his piece, " Les Caprices 
 de Marianne." In this there is a debate between 
 two persons, in which the woman presses the other 
 with an extraordinary and vigorous repartee. On 
 this the author confessed at the time that he was 
 himself silenced, bewildered by the power of tlie 
 being he had raised up, and whom he could not 
 answer. Yet the play was destroyed, unless the 
 victory was given to the other. " I myself," he 
 said, " would in real life have been beaten by such 
 a person." And by an immense mental exertion
 
 PATERNOSTER ROW. 4 1 
 
 or inspiration, he found the proper and triumphant 
 reply which gave his character the victory. 
 
 We may fairly speculate how far writing a par- 
 ticular passage would be affected by the circum- 
 stance that some one interrupts. You lay it aside 
 to resume it next day. Would the result be the 
 same .'' I fancy so, except under incidents of 
 particular enthusiastic inspiration, such as carried 
 Mr. Ainsworth through his "Turpin's Ride to 
 York," written without interruption. This, how- 
 ever, can be tested fairly enough. Once, having 
 mislaid a chapter, I had to rewrite it, and later, 
 finding the missing document, discovered that both 
 were nearly alike. 
 
 I have one favourite heroine that figures in six 
 or seven of these stories — drawn from one favourite 
 person. In the last of these I drew her career 
 as I intended it, and my own as I intended it, 
 bringing the two characters together at the close, 
 as is done in all novels ; and a few months later 
 the same history came about in the case of* the 
 living personages. 
 
 As to publishers, here is the result of my ex-
 
 42 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 perience. The most eminent, perhaps, have curi- 
 ously and invariably preferred that arrangement 
 of " sharing," or " half-profits," which consists in 
 tendering the author the shells, while the firms in 
 question swallow the oyster. I have had two 
 transactions of the " sharing " kind, but these were 
 in early salad days. The first was with an eminent 
 firm who had taken two of my works— one a novel 
 for which they had given a large price, the other a 
 biographical w^ork on " sharing " terms. But the 
 biography had to help to pay them for the novel. 
 The other transaction of the kind was with the 
 worthy publisher of Catherine Street, my old friend 
 and encourager, William Tinsley, who honestly and 
 faithfully divided the profits, and on a not very 
 successful work handed me some eighty pounds as 
 my share. I may add that with this excellent 
 man — and we have had innumerable transactions — 
 I have never had a scrap of writing in the shape 
 of an agreement. His word and my word were 
 sufficient and made the bond. At the same time, 
 it must be borne in mind that a publisher is 
 entitled to charge you all things as they would be
 
 PATERNOSTER ROW. 43 
 
 charged to him if he were not a pubHsher ; though, 
 owing to his position and responsibihties, he ob- 
 tains on printing, paper, and advertisements, dis- 
 counts and other advantages, which you cannot 
 enjoy. 
 
 All through this literary life nothing disagree- ' 
 able has occurred to me, and no unhandsome treat- 
 ment has been encountered, save in perhaps two 
 or three instances. I have always met with the 
 most scrupulous honesty in settlements ; and only 
 in the case of one or two obscure journals have 
 I been what is called " done." 
 
 From various illustrated journals and magazines 
 a woodcut often arrives, representing a young lady 
 at a fancy ball, two children on a ghostly staircase, 
 or something of the kind, with a request that I 
 will illustrate tJieni, instead of their illustrating 
 7ne, by a story. This often taxes one's ingenuity 
 sorely, as it will not do merely to bring in the scene 
 in question, but it must be made of the essence 
 of the story. This, however, is what is called 
 " knack." 
 
 Thus omnivorous, it may be assumed that the
 
 44 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 Stage was not likely to be overlooked. As a lesson 
 in perseverance, it desei-ves to be recorded that I was 
 fifteen years struggling to find entrance to that 
 jealously walled-up preserve. Once, after years of 
 effort, I succeeded in getting a piece accepted, but 
 the management collapsed at the critical moment, 
 and I had to begin again. For my first farce I 
 received ten pounds ; for my second, twenty ; and 
 for my grand drama, in which I had worked with 
 a partner, one hundred pounds. But I hope yet to 
 do considerably more in this direction. 
 
 A few guineas, I should say, would comprise all 
 my receipts in the direction of verse-making. Dis- 
 tinctly I fear little or nothing is to be made in this 
 way. Yet I console myself with the thought that 
 many who have published volumes of poems have 
 not made even that modest sum. 
 
 In addition to this pleasant and profitable life, 
 there are many personal advantages. Your mode- 
 rately successful author is often asked to sit for 
 his photograph for some "series," and is, of 
 course, never charged for it. In nine cases out of 
 ten, an application to any of the London managers
 
 PATERNOSTER ROW. 45 
 
 secures you a gratuitous stall. For years I have 
 been a constant playgoer on these easy terms. So 
 that now, when on a rare occasion I have to pay 
 for a stall, it seems to border on a cruel imposition, 
 as though the money had been taken from me 
 unfairly. Such is the force of habit. 
 
 A great mistake in the diplomacy of authors is 
 to be too grasping. Men cannot resist a present 
 advantage in hand, and so sacrifice what is in the 
 bush. One work of mine — a truly monstrous one 
 for its carelessness — failed utterly, — the only one 
 that met such a fate. I was to have sixty pounds ; 
 the publisher was in despair, but I held his signed 
 agreement. I nobly forbore, and tore my bond. 
 But mark ; when that was long forgotten, I repaired 
 to him with another work. He was good enough 
 to say I had behaved so handsomely that he was 
 ready to treat on satisfactory terms for the new 
 work. So I did not lose on the whole. 
 
 Publishers do not relish, any more than other 
 people, losing money. As to " corrections " they 
 are specially sore. I could tell a curious thing. 
 I was once the author of a work in two volumes,
 
 46 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 numbering in all over a thousand pages, the cor- 
 rections for which cost about as much as the original 
 printing ! The sums were, I think, one hundred 
 and forty and one hundred and fifty pounds. Yet 
 the generous publisher, before paying what he had 
 covenanted to pay, said he thought it right to put 
 it to me whether this style of " correcting " was 
 not excessive ? He good-naturedly mulcted me in 
 only forty pounds, as my legitimate share of the 
 cost. 
 
 As for the essays, sketches, descriptions, they are 
 simply innumerable. It is agreeable work, and so 
 lightly done. If you are sometimes extravagant 
 to the tune of five pounds, you sit down for a 
 morning (having found a subject in your last walk), 
 and the debt is paid. Indeed, during these walks, 
 it is wonderful how agreeable profit for mind and 
 purse can be made. Being ever of an artistic turn, 
 I began, some time ago, to work out, as I walked 
 along, principles of criticism as applied to the 
 buildings, houses, etc., in the streets, and soon 
 elaborated a pleasant series. Extending this idea, 
 I began to think how many unnoticed curious
 
 PATERNOSTER ROW. 47 
 
 things there were in the London streets, houses, 
 doorways, etc., and this I worked out in a more 
 elaborate series still. All this and more eoes on 
 with the greater labours, and used to represent 
 with me from one hundred and fifty to two hundred 
 pounds a year, — now not nearly so much. I put 
 the sums from this source at about four thousand 
 pounds. Adding all up, I should fix my total 
 earnings at fifteen or twenty thousand pounds. 
 
 Such is the earthy financial view of the calling — 
 " the seamy side," as some might think it — or the 
 most satisfactory answer to the question, " Does 
 writing pay .-' " But there is a yet larger view and 
 a wider sense in the phrase : Does it pay in the 
 sense of the enjoyment of the task, the new interests 
 it creates — in the troops of friends and acquaint- 
 ances it gathers } This is better worth inquiry.
 
 48 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 CHARLES DICKENS AS AN EDITOR. 
 
 The figure of the amiable, accomplished, and ever- 
 to-be-regretted Charles Dickens has been lately- 
 brought before us " even in his habit as he lived," 
 with abundance of detail and colour. Mr. Forster's 
 complete and admirable Biography, done with the 
 taste and workmanlike finish of a true "man of 
 letters," will be more and more esteemed as the 
 time from his death lengthens. Objection was 
 indeed taken to the biographer accompanying his 
 hero about as closely as Boswell did Johnson ; but 
 this really brought before the world much that 
 would otherwise have been lost or unseen ; and in 
 the last volume, where the author seems to have 
 accepted this criticism and to have become his- 
 torical, there is a sensible loss of dramatic vivid-
 
 CHARLES DICKENS AS AN EDITOR. 49 
 
 ness. Lately the world has received the closing 
 collection of his Letters, edited by Miss Hogarth 
 and Miss Dickens, and set off with a graphic and 
 most pleasing commentary w^hose only fault is 
 that of being too short. Here his gaiete de cmir 
 his unflagging spirit, wit, and genial temper, are 
 revealed in the most striking way. 
 
 There is, however, one view of him which has 
 scarcely been sufficiently dealt with, namely, his 
 relations with his literary brethren and friends, as 
 editor and otherwise. These exhibit him in a 
 most engaging light, and will perhaps be a sur- 
 prise even to those abundantly familiar with his 
 amiable and gracious ways. 
 
 In the old Hojisehold Words days, the " place 
 of business " was at a charming miniature office 
 in Wellington Street — close to the stage door of 
 the Gaiety Theatre. It seemed all bow window ; 
 at least, its two stories — it had only two — were 
 thus bowed. The drawing-room floor seemed a 
 sunshiny, cheerful place to work in. This is now 
 the workshop of another magazine, the Army and 
 Navy. But I always pass it with respect and 
 
 VOL. I. E
 
 50 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 affection. I never came away from it without 
 taking with me something pleasing. 
 
 Often, about eleven o'clock, he was to be seen 
 tramping briskly along the Strand, coming from 
 Charing Cross Station, fresh from his pleasant 
 country place in Kent, keen and ready for the day's 
 work, and carrying his little black bag full of 
 proofs and manuscripts. That daily journey from 
 Higham station, with the drive to it in his little 
 carriage or Irish car, took full an hour each way, 
 and was a serious slice out of his time. It has, 
 indeed, seemed always a problem to me why busi- 
 ness men, to whom moments are precious, should 
 be thus prodigal in time devoted to travelling — 
 coming from Brighton and returning at headlong 
 speed. At Bedford Street, by the bootmaker's 
 shop, he would turn out of the Strand — those in 
 the shops he passed would know his figure well, 
 and told me, after his death, how they missed this 
 familiar apparition — would then post along in the 
 same brisk stride through Maiden Lane, past 
 " Rule's," where he often had his oyster, through 
 Tavistock Street, till he emerged in Wellington
 
 CHARLES DICKENS AS AN EDITOR. 5 I 
 
 Street, the last house he passed before crossing 
 being "Major Pitt's," the hatter's. This mention 
 of "Major Pitt" suggests that it was always 
 pleasant to see what pride tradesmen took in 
 having him for a customer, and what alacrity they 
 showed in serving him or in obliging him in any 
 way. This I believe was really owing to his 
 charming hearty manner, ever courteous, cordial, 
 and zealous ; his cheery fashion of joking or jest, 
 which was irresistible. The average tradesman 
 has small sympathy or intelligence for the regular 
 literary man. He is sometimes caviare indeed to 
 him. 
 
 Our writer, however, was a serious personality 
 of living flesh and blood, and would have made 
 his way in life under any condition. His extra- 
 ordinary charm of manner, never capriciously 
 changed, the smile and laugh always ready — that 
 sympathy, too, which rises before me, and was 
 really unique — I can call no one to mind that 
 possessed it or possesses it now in the same degree. 
 Literary men, as a rule, have a chilliness as regards 
 their brethren ; every one is more or less working
 
 52 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 for his own hand. Yet, few men have had more 
 anxious responsibihties or troubles to disturb them, 
 or so much depending upon them, as he had in 
 many ways. I believe the number of people who 
 were always wanting " something done for them," 
 either in the shape of actual money advance, or 
 advice, or productions " to be taken," or to be seen, 
 or to have their letters answered, or who desired 
 letters from him in their interests, was perfectly in- 
 credible. Many a man takes refuge in a complete 
 ignoring of these worries, which would require a 
 life to attend to. An eminent and highly popular 
 man of our own day, who is thus persecuted, has 
 adopted this latter mode, and rarely takes notice 
 of a letter from a friend or stranger, unless he is 
 minded so to do. He is strictly in his right. You 
 are no more bound to reply to persons that do 
 not know you, than you are to acknowledge the 
 attentions of an organ-grinder who plays for an 
 hour before your window. 
 
 There were many little Household Words 
 traditions. The "chief" himself always wrote with 
 blue ink on blue paper. His was a singularly neat
 
 CHARLES DICKENS AS AN EDITOR. 53 
 
 and regular hand, really artistic in its conception, 
 legible — yet not very legible to those unfamiliar 
 with it. Here, as in everything else, was to be 
 noted the perfect finish, as it might be styled, 
 of his letter-writing — the disposition of the para- 
 graphs, even the stopping, the use of capitals, all 
 showing artistic knowledge, and conveying excel- 
 lent and valuable lessons. His "copy" for the 
 printers, written as it is in very small hand, much 
 crowded, is trying enough to the eyes, but the 
 printers never found any difficulties. It was much 
 and carefully corrected, and wherever there was 
 an erasure, it was done in thorough fashion, so that 
 what was effaced could not be read. Nearly all 
 the band followed his example in writing in blue 
 ink and on blue paper, and this for many years ; 
 but not without inconvenience. For, like the boy 
 and his button, described by Sir Walter Scott, 
 the absence of paper or ink of the necessary colour 
 affected the ideas, and one worked under serious 
 disabilities — strangeness, etc. Another idiosyncrasy 
 of his was writing the day of the month in full, as 
 " January twenty-sixth."
 
 54 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 It is in his relations with writers in his 
 periodical, and, indeed, in all connections with 
 his " literary brethren," as he modestly called 
 them, that this amiable and engaging man appears 
 to the most extraordinary advantage. As I read 
 over his many letters on those points, I am amazed 
 at the good-natured allowance, the untiring good 
 humour, the wish to please and make pleasant, 
 the almost deference, the modesty in one of his 
 great position as head, perhaps, of all living 
 writers — to say nothing of his position as director 
 of the periodical which he kindled with his own 
 perpetual inspirations. There was ever the same 
 uniform good nature and ardour, the eagerness to 
 welcome and second any plan, a reluctance to 
 dismiss it, and this done with apologies ; all, too, 
 in the strangest contrast to the summary and 
 plain-spoken fashion of the ordinary editor. I 
 fancy this view has scarcely been sufficiently 
 broucfht out in all the numerous estimates of this 
 most charming of men. And, at the risk of some 
 intrusion of my own concerns, I shall be enabled to 
 show him in even a more engaging and attractive
 
 CHARLES DICKENS AS AN EDITOR. 55 
 
 light. The various accounts have scarcely been 
 concerned with this side of his character. 
 
 This patient interest should, in these editorial 
 matters, be considered more wonderful when it is 
 remembered that his position as head of an im- 
 portant periodical made him a marked figure for 
 importunity. Many of his friends were tempted to 
 become " literary." They even had their friends 
 who desired to become literary, and under pressure 
 would introduce to this great writer immature and 
 unprofitable efforts, which he had to put aside with 
 what excuses he could. Then there were his 
 " literary brethren," each with his " novel " or short 
 paper, which it would occur to him some morning 
 " he would send off to Dickens." These had to be 
 considered, and his good nature or courtesy drawn 
 upon. As for the general herd of scribblers, the 
 postman on " this beat " could give due account of 
 the packages of manuscript that daily arrived. It 
 was no wonder that he had to compose a sort of 
 special circular answer, which was duly litho- 
 graphed and returned with their productions to 
 the various candidates. I believe every composition
 
 56 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 was seriously glanced at, and some estimate made 
 — and many an obscure clever girl was surprised to 
 find her efforts appreciated. The usual rejection 
 form was as follows : — 
 
 " Sir, 
 
 " I am requested by Mr. Charles Dickens 
 to express his regret that he cannot accept the 
 contribution you have had the goodness to offer 
 him for insertion in this periodical. So many 
 manuscripts are forwarded to this office, that Mr. 
 Dickens trusts it is only necessary to suggest to 
 you the impossibility of its business being trans- 
 acted if a special letter of explanation were ad- 
 dressed to every correspondent whose proffered 
 aid is declined. But he wishes me to convey to 
 you the assurance, — firstly, that your favour has 
 been honestly read, and secondly, that it is always 
 no less a pleasure to him than it is his interest to 
 avail himself of any contributions that are, in his 
 judgment, suited to the requirements of Household 
 Wordsr 
 
 The band of writers he assembled round him
 
 CHARLES DICKENS AS AN EDITOR. 5/ 
 
 and inspired was certainly remarkable. There was 
 HolHngshead, incisive, wonderful in collecting facts 
 where abuses were concerned, and in putting his 
 facts into vigorous, downright English. His strokes 
 always told, and a little paper of his conceived in 
 this spirit, entitled " The City of Unlimited Paper," 
 a simple subject, was copied at length into the 
 Times, and from the Times into other papers. 
 There was Moy Thomas, now the pleasant writer 
 of the Monday " Causeries " in the Daily News. 
 There was Walter Thornbury, with his extra- 
 ordinary knowledge of London antiquities and 
 curious " out-of-the-way " reading, an explorer of 
 old " wynds " and alleys, from " Booksellers' Row " 
 to Red Lion Square ; very dainty in his taste, as 
 his quaint bookplate, designed for him by Mr. 
 Marks, shows. He had great antiquarian know- 
 ledge, and yet, odd to say, a facile dramatic and 
 unantiquarian style. There was also the amiable 
 Charles Collins — our " Conductor's " son-in-law — a 
 man of a quiet pleasant humour with a flavour of 
 its own, and who was heartily liked by his friends. 
 He had a remarkably sweet disposition, though
 
 58 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 sorely tried by perpetual ill health. His humour 
 was stimulated by the companionship of his father- 
 in-law, and took somewhat the same cast. For 
 instance when he was appointed, during one of the 
 ereat exhibitions, to the odd function — but that era 
 of exhibitions engendered all sorts of fantastic 
 things— of making a collection of all the existing 
 newspapers of the kingdom, the oddities that 
 cropped up during this duty tickled his fancy and 
 that of his friends hugely. He noted that the 
 smaller and more obscure the place, the grander 
 and more commanding was the title of its organ — 
 witness The Skibbereen Eagle, a name that gave him 
 much delight. Writing he delighted in, but, by a 
 cruel fate, it was a labour, if of love, yet accompanied 
 by something like torture. Every idea or sentence 
 was wrung from him, as he said, like drops of 
 blood. Neither ideas nor words would flow. His 
 " Cruise upon Wheels," a record of a journey along 
 the French roads in a gig, is a most charming 
 travel-book, in which his quaint humour is well 
 shown. The late Andrew Halliday was another 
 useful writer that could be depended on to gather
 
 CHARLES DICKENS AS AN EDITOR. 59 
 
 hard facts, and set them out when gathered in 
 vivacious style. He enjoyed a fixed substantial 
 salary — think of that, ye occasional " contributors " 
 — and I have seen him arrive in his hansom with 
 his formal list of "subjects" for treatment, which 
 were carefully gone through, debated, and selected. 
 He afterwards made play-writing his regular voca- 
 tion, but was cut off in his prime, like many a 
 writer. There was Parkinson, and there was Pro- 
 fessor Morley ; above all, there was the always 
 brilliant George Augustus Sala, perhaps the only 
 writer in periodicals who writes a distinctly original 
 style, with personality and unflagging vivacity. I 
 have not space to dwell on his merits here, but I 
 may at least confess to looking with a sort of 
 wistful envy at his exquisite penmanship, that seems 
 never to depart from one steady standard of ex- 
 cellence. The surprising neatness and clear pic- 
 turesqueness of his calligraphy is the delight of 
 compositors, as with humiliation I have to confess 
 that mine is their despair. Indeed, I may make 
 a clean breast of it and further own that on one 
 journal of enormous circulation the men demanded.
 
 6p RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 and obtained, extra pay "for setting Mr. Fitzgerald's 
 copy ! " The old Household Words — a title in- 
 finitely superior to All the Year Round — has lately 
 been revived by the old editor's son, a capable, 
 energetic, and clever man, who has pushed his way 
 with success. One of the old guild thus writes of 
 the new venture in the Daily News : — 
 
 " One function of the original Household Words, 
 as of its legitimate successor All the Year Round, 
 has proved to be that of ushering in new claimants 
 to a place in the world of literature and journalism. 
 The great position enjoyed by Dickens in the 
 literary world, his early and intimate connection 
 with newspaper work as a man ' in the gallery,' 
 and his genial and helpful nature, attracted a 
 crowd of aspirants around him. He was immea- 
 surably more infested than ever was Pope by 
 ' frantic poetess ' and ' rhyming peer,' and the 
 'parson much bemused with beer' was assuredly 
 not wanting. Out of this crowd of claimants he 
 chose his ' young men ' with the skill of a born 
 leader, and helped them on by tongue and pen, 
 by shrewd counsel, and fierce ' cutting ' of their
 
 CHARLES DICKENS AS AN EDITOR. 6 1 
 
 articles. If he had any fault, it was the good 
 nature which prevented him from crushing un- 
 happy creatures, doubtless well fitted for every 
 pursuit but that of letters, who were induced 
 to persevere by his mistaken kindness, to their 
 own ultimate sorrow and discomfiture. Some had 
 written much or little before they came to him, 
 but the fact remains that it was under his leader- 
 ship that they achieved reputation. Beneath the 
 banner upheld by Charles Dickens and his faithful 
 friend, the late Mr. W. H. Wills, marched a bril- 
 liant array of writers, if not quite of the Titanic 
 proportions of the early contributors to Frasers 
 Magazine, yet noteworthy by their brilliant success 
 in the new periodical. Mr. Wilkie Collins had 
 previously written fiction, but his most famous 
 work, ' The Woman in White,' appeared in House- 
 hold Words. The late Mr. Charles Collins was 
 actually egged on by 'the chief into writing hi^ 
 remarkable ' Eye-Witness ' and other papers. 
 Mr. Sala's ' Key of the Street ' unlocked for him 
 the avenue to his successful career ; and Mr. Gren- 
 ville Murray spread his wings as ' The Roving
 
 62 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 Englishman,' and made his mark b}' a fierce 
 attack on the late Lord Stratford de Rcdcliffe, 
 whom he satirized as ' Sir Hector Stubble.' Mr. 
 Edmund Yates's best novel, ' Black Sheep,' and 
 scores of his best articles, appeared in the journal 
 ' conducted by Charles Dickens,' as did Lord 
 Lytton's ' Strange Story ; ' as well as ' Hard 
 Times,' ' Great Expectations,' the ' Uncommercial 
 Traveller,' and a regiment of Christmas stories by 
 the hand of the Master himself Among the writers 
 of poems and stories, short and long, essays and 
 descriptions, are the well-known names of Harriet 
 Martineau, Mrs. Gaskell, Peter Cunningham, Miss 
 Jewsbury, John Forster, Albert Smith, James 
 Hannay, and Mark Lemon." 
 
 The time when " the Christmas Number " had to 
 be got ready was always one of pleasant expectancy 
 and alacrity. It was an object for all to have a 
 seat in " a vehicle " which travelled every road 
 and reached the houses of a quarter of a million 
 persons. With his usual conscientious feeling of 
 duty to the public, he laboured hard, first, to secure 
 a good and telling idea ; and second, to work it
 
 CHARLES DICKENS AS AN EDITOR. 63 
 
 out on the small but effective scale with which he 
 had latterly grown unfamiliar, owing to his habit 
 of dealing with large canvases. Hence the labour 
 was in proportion, and at last became so irksome 
 that he gave the place up altogether, though it 
 must have been a serious loss of profit. Frappez 
 vite et frappez fort, was the system. I remember 
 his saying, when complaining of this tax, " I have 
 really put as much into Mrs. Lir riper as would 
 almost make a novel." He himself generally sup- 
 plied a framework and a couple of short stories, 
 and the rest was filled in by " other hands." I 
 have myself furnished two in a single number. 
 
 As the time drew near, a pleasantly welcome 
 circular went forth to a few of the writers of the 
 journal ; the paragraphs of which, as they exhibit 
 his lighter touches, will be welcome. They show, 
 too, the matter-of-fact, business-like style in which 
 the matter was conceived and carried out. 
 
 " In inviting you to contribute to our Christmas 
 Number, I beg to send you Mr. Dickens's memo- 
 randum of the range that may be taken this year. 
 You will see that it is a wide one.
 
 64 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 "The sHfjlit Icadinc;- notion of the Number being 
 devised with a view to placing as little restriction 
 as possible on the fancies of my fellow-writers in it, 
 there is a^ain no limitation as to scene or first 
 person or third person ; nor is any reference to the 
 season of the year essential. 
 
 " It is to be observed that the tales are not sup- 
 posed to be narrated to any audience, but are 
 supposed to be in writing. How they come to 
 be in writing requires no accounting for whatever. 
 Nothing to which they refer can have happened 
 within seven years. If any contribution should 
 be of a kind that would derive any force or play- 
 fulness, or suggestiveness of any sort, from the 
 pretence that it is incomplete — that- the beginning 
 is not there, or the end, or the middle, or any 
 other portion — the pretence will be quite consistent 
 with the general idea of the Number." 
 
 On another anniversary the circular ran : — 
 
 "Your tale may be narrated either in the first 
 or in the third person — may be serious or droll — 
 may be told by an individual of either sex, and of 
 any station. It is not essential to lay the scene
 
 CHARLES DICKENS AS AN EDITOR. 6$ 
 
 of action in England (though the tale is told in 
 England), and no reference whatever to Christmas 
 is desired. 
 
 "The tale is supposed to be related by word 
 of mouth to a man who has retired from the world 
 and shut himself up moodily, gloomily, and dirtily. 
 Generally it should have some latent bearing by 
 implication on the absurdity of such a proceeding 
 — on the dependence of mankind on one another — 
 and on the wholesome influences of the gregarious 
 habits of humanity." 
 
 A third was to this effect : — 
 
 " The tales may be in the first person or in the 
 third, and may relate to any season or period. 
 They may be supposed to be told to an audience 
 or to the reader, or to be penned by the writer 
 without knowing how they will come to light. 
 How they come to be told at all does not require 
 to be accounted for. If they could express some 
 new resolution formed, some departure from an old 
 idea or course that was not quite wholesome, it 
 might be better for the general purpose. Yet even 
 this is not indispensable." 
 
 VOL. I. F
 
 66 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 The following was more elaborate : — 
 "An English trading-ship (with passengers on 
 board), bound for California, is supposed to have 
 got foul of an iceberg, and becomes a wreck. The 
 crew and passengers, not being very many in 
 number, and the captain being a cool man with 
 his wits about him, one of the boats was hoisted 
 out, and some stores were got over the side into her 
 before the ship went down. Then all hands, with 
 a few exceptions, were got into the boat — an open 
 one — and they got clear of the wreck, and put their 
 trust in God. 
 
 " The captain set the course and steered, and the 
 rest rowed by spells when the sea \vas smooth 
 enough for the use of the oars. They had a sail 
 besides. At sea in the open boat for many days 
 and nights, with the prospect before them of being 
 swamped by any great wave, or perishing with 
 hunger, the people in the boat began, after a while, 
 to be horribly dispirited. The captain remember- 
 ing that the narration of stories had been attended 
 with great success on former occasions in similar 
 disasters, in preventing the shipwrecked persons'
 
 CHARLES DICKENS AS AN EDITOR. 6/ 
 
 minds from dwelling on the horrors of their con- 
 dition, proposed that such as could tell anything 
 to the rest should tell it. So the stories are 
 introduced. 
 
 " The adventures narrated need not of necessity 
 have happened in all cases to the people in the 
 boat themselves. Neither does it matter whether 
 they are told in the first or in the third person. 
 The whole narrative of the wreck will be given by 
 the captain to the reader in introducing the stories, 
 also the final deliverance of the people. There are 
 persons of both sexes in the boat. The writer of 
 any story may suppose any sort of person — or 
 none, if that be all — as the captain will identify 
 him if need be. But among the wrecked there 
 might naturally be the mate, the cook, the car- 
 penter, the armourer (or worker in iron), the boy, 
 the bride passenger, the bridegroom passenger, the 
 sister passenger, the brother passenger, the mother 
 or father passenger, or son or daughter passenger, 
 the runaway passenger, the child passenger, the old 
 seaman, the toughest of the crew, etc., etc." 
 
 This was the skeleton or ribs of " The Wreck of
 
 68 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 the Golden Mary" which had extraordinary success, 
 though some critics were merry on the idea of the 
 suffering passengers having to Hsten to such long 
 narratives — one adding that he wondered that it 
 did not precipitate the catastrophe. 
 
 Another was more general : — 
 
 " Mr. Dickens is desirous that each article in the 
 new year's Number of Household Words shall have 
 reference to something new, and I beg to ask you 
 to assist us in producing a paper expressive of that 
 always desirable quality. 
 
 " I can give you no better hint of the idea than 
 the roughest notion of what one or two of the titles 
 of the papers might be : A New Country ; A New 
 Discovery (in science, art, or social life) ; A New 
 Lover ; A New Play, or Actor, or Actress ; A 
 New Boy. 
 
 "Your own imagination will doubtless suggest a 
 topic or a story which would harmonize with the 
 plan." 
 
 Yet one more : — 
 
 " In order that you may be laid under as little 
 constraint as possible, ]\Ir. Dickens wishes to pre-
 
 CHARLES DICKENS AS AN EDITOR. 69 
 
 sent the requirements of the Number, in the 
 following general way : — 
 
 "A story of adventure — that is to say, involving 
 some adventurous kind of interest — would be best 
 adapted to the design. It may be a story of travel, 
 or battle, or imprisonment, or escape, or shipwreck, 
 or peril of any kind — peril from storm, or from 
 being benighted or lost ; or peril from fire or water. 
 It may relate to sea or land. It may be incidental 
 to the life of a soldier, sailor, fisherman, miner, 
 grave-digger, engineer, explorer, pedlar, merchant, 
 servant of either sex, or any sort of watcher — from 
 a man in a lighthouse, or a coastguardsman, to an 
 ordinary night nurse. There is no necessary limi- 
 tation as to the scene, whether abroad or at home ; 
 nor as to the time, within a hundred years. Nor 
 is it important whether the story be narrated in 
 the first person or in the third. Nor is there any 
 objection to its being founded on some expedition." 
 
 In connection with this matter, I may say that 
 nothing was more delightful than the unrestrained 
 way in which he confided his plans about his own 
 stories, or discussed others connected with mine.
 
 70 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 imparting quite a dramatic interest and colour to 
 what might, as mere business details, have been 
 left to his deputy. 
 
 Once, in a little town in Wales, I had seen a 
 quaint local museum, formed by an old ship 
 captain who had collected odds and ends of his 
 profession, mostly worthless, much like what is 
 described in " Little Pedlington." The oddest 
 feature was the garden, in which he had planted 
 various figure-heads of vessels, Dukes of York, 
 Queen Charlottes, and others, who gazed on the 
 visitors with an extraordinaiy stare, half ghastly, 
 half grotesque. This seemed to furnish a hint for 
 the machinery of one of the Christmas stories, and 
 was suggested to him. 
 
 " That notion of the shipbreaker's garden," he 
 wrote, November, 1865, "takes my fancy strongly. 
 If I had not been already at work upon the 
 Christmas Number when you suggested it, I think 
 I must have tried my hand upon it. As it is, I 
 often revert to it, and go about and about it, and 
 pat it into new forms, much as the buttermen in 
 the shops (who have something of a literary air
 
 CHARLES DICKENS AS AN EDITOR. 7 1 
 
 at their wooden desks) pat the butter. I have 
 been vexed at not being able to get your story 
 into ' Doctor Marigold.' I tried it again and again, 
 but could not adapt its length to the other require- 
 ments of the Number. Once I cut it, but was not 
 easy afterwards, and thought it best to restore the 
 excision and leave the whole for a regular Number. 
 The difficulty of fitting and adapting this annual 
 job is hardly to be imagined without trying it. 
 For the rest, I hope you will like the Doctor — and 
 know him at once — as he speaks for himself in the 
 first paper and the last. Also I commend to your 
 perusal a certain short story, headed ' To be taken 
 with a grain of salt' 
 
 " I hope you are in force and spirits with your 
 new story, and hope you noticed in the Times the 
 other day that our friend is married." 
 
 How amazing this modesty, and these excuses 
 for not using what another would have simply said 
 he found " unsuited to the magazine." 
 
 As I look over the records of his interest in my 
 undeserving scribblings, there comes, mingled with 
 pain and regret for this genial, never-flagging
 
 72 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 friend, something of a little pride in having gained 
 the interest of so true and genuine a nature. 
 It will be seen how he cHcouraged — how even 
 grateful he appeared to be for anything he thought 
 good or successful, and how patient and apolo- 
 getic he was under circumstances where his good 
 will and good nature were tried. It was so for 
 a long period of years ; he was the same from 
 beginning to end ; no caprice ; steady, firm, treu 
 und fest. Carlyle, in a single line, gave the truest 
 estimate of him. 
 
 Another trait in him was his unfailing pleasure 
 in communicating some little composition with 
 which he was particularly pleased ; or he w^ould tell 
 of some remarkable story that he had been sent, 
 or would send one of his own which he fancied 
 hugely. It was a source, too, of pleasant, welcome 
 surprise to find how he retained in his memory, 
 and would quote, various and sundry of one's own 
 humbler efforts — those that had passed into his 
 own stock associations. These generally referred 
 to some experience or humorous adventure, or it 
 might be some account of a dog.
 
 CHARLES DICKENS AS AN EDITOR. 73 
 
 After two or three years of industrious practice 
 in short stories and essays, I had fancied I could 
 succeed in novel-writing with a first attempt, and 
 timidly suggested that I might " try my hand " in 
 his weekly journal. He at once agreed, and good- 
 naturedly had about half a volume " set up," so 
 as to give the production every chance in the 
 reading. But the attempt was immature ; the 
 waxen wings melted, and he was obliged to de- 
 cline it. By-and-by I got a new pair, and, making 
 a more formal attempt in two volumes, was lucky 
 enough to make a success. 
 
 The history of this little transaction will be 
 found interesting, not, of course, from my own 
 share, but as illustrating that charm of hearty 
 good will which marked every act of his where 
 his friends were concerned. Here also enters on 
 the scene his faithful coadjutor and assistant, 
 W. H. Wills ; a sterling character, practical, 
 business-like, and yet never letting his naturally 
 friendly temper be overcome by the stern neces- 
 sities of his office. He had a vast amount of 
 business, as may be conceived ; yet his letters, of
 
 74 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 which I have some hundreds before me now, were 
 always playful, amusing, clever, and written in a 
 flowing lengthy style — even to " crossing." His 
 sagacity was heartily appreciated by his chief. He 
 ever appeared a most favourable specimen of the 
 successful literary man. 
 
 At the risk of becoming more personal, I may 
 enter a little at length on the subject of what 
 Lamb calls the " kindly engendure " of this story 
 — which, in truth, has some flavour of the romance 
 of authorship. I had sent my successful two- 
 volume venture to my friend. 
 
 " My dear Fitzgerald, 
 
 " Do not condemn me unheard (I know 
 you are putting on the black cap). I have been 
 silent, but only on paper ; for a fortnight after 
 you last heard from mc I was roaring with pain. 
 The first use of my convalescence was to read your 
 story — like a steam-engine. My impression is 
 that it is the best novel I have read for years ; 
 why I think so I need not tell you. I posted off 
 with it to Dickens, whose impression of it results
 
 CHARLES DICKENS AS AN EDITOR. 75 
 
 in this : that we should Hke you to write a novel 
 for All the Year Round. If you respond to that 
 wish, it will afford me very great pleasure. 
 
 " In that case, it would be very necessary for 
 you to begin at once ; for should you make a hit 
 with your plot, we would require to publish the 
 first instalment in September next. The modus 
 operandi I propose is this : let us have a rough 
 sketch of your plot and characters ; Dickens would 
 consider it, offer you suggestions for improvement 
 if he saw fit, or condemn it, or accept it as you 
 present it if he saw no ground for remark. In 
 case of a negative you would not mind, perhaps, 
 trjang another programme. I need not tell you 
 how great an advantage it would be for you to 
 work under so great a master of the art which 
 your novel shows you to know the difficulties of, 
 and your artistic sympathies will, I know, prompt 
 you to take full advantage of hints which he would 
 give you, not only in the construction and conduct 
 of your story, but in details, as you proceed with 
 it in weekly portions. 
 
 " Experience has shown us that the preappear-
 
 7^ RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 ance of a novel in our pages, instead of occupying 
 the field for after-publication in volumes, gives an 
 enormous stimulus to the issue in a complete form. 
 We can therefore insure you for your work, if it 
 will fill three volumes, five hundred pounds («^50o), 
 part of which we would pay for our use of your 
 manuscript, and part the publisher of the volumes 
 would pay ; but we would, in case of acceptance, 
 guarantee you ;^5oo, whatever the republication 
 may fetch. 
 
 "Think this over, and when your thoughts are 
 matured, let me have them in your next letter." 
 
 This was almost thrilling to read. Every word 
 was as inspiring as the blast of a trumpet. It will 
 be noted how pleased the writer is at the very 
 communication of his intelligence. And then the 
 pecnne ! Five hundred pounds ! The diligent 
 magazine-writer might exclaim with one of Jcr- 
 rold's characters, " Is there so much money in the 
 world ! " It was really liberal and generous. 
 
 No time was lost in setting to work. I had 
 soon blocked out a plan — what dramatists call a 
 scenario — and had, about as soon, set to work
 
 CHARLES DICKENS AS AN EDITOR. 'JJ 
 
 and written a good many chapters and sent them 
 in. 
 
 It will nov/ be characteristic to see what pains 
 were taken — how heads were laid together to im- 
 prove and make good — all under the master's 
 directions and inspirations, who, as he said often, 
 always gave to the public his best labour and best 
 work. This constancy always seemed to me won- 
 derful. He never grew fagged or careless, or 
 allowed his work to be distasteful to him. This is 
 a most natural feeling, and comes with success ; 
 and there is a tendency to " scamp " work when 
 the necessity for work is less. Mr. Thackeray con- 
 fessed to this sense — in the days when he became 
 recherche — and found a sort of distaste to his work 
 almost impossible to surmount. 
 
 The first questions started on this great busi- 
 ness came from my old friend the sub-editor, the 
 master's excellent auxiliary. It will be seen how 
 staunch he was, and true to both interests — that of 
 his journal and that of the writer. 
 
 " I am nearly as anxious as you are about your 
 story. I may tell you that my judgment is in
 
 78 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 favour of it, so far as it has gone ; but Dickens, 
 while never wholly losing sight of the main end, 
 object, and purpose of the story, often condemns 
 one because its details are ill done. He takes such 
 infinite pains with the smallest touches of his ozvn 
 word-pictures, that he gets impatient and disgusted 
 with repetitions of bad writing and carelessness 
 (often showing want of respect for, as well as 
 ignorance of, the commonest principles of art). I, 
 perhaps, sin too much on the other side. I say 
 that the general public — whom we address in our 
 large circulation — are rather insensible than other- 
 wise to literary grace and correctness ; that they 
 are often intensely excited by incidents conveyed 
 to their minds in the worst grammar. 
 
 "Mind, I only make these remarks for your 
 guidance. My advice to you is, write for all your 
 proofs, go over them very carefully. Take out as 
 many Carlyleisms as you can see (your writing 
 abounds with them), make clear that which is here 
 and there obscure without a reader's consideration 
 and retracing of the text — a labour which novel- 
 readers especially hate ; in short, put as high a
 
 CHARLES DICKENS AS AN EDITOR. 79 
 
 polish on your details as you can, and I may 
 almost promise you success. Dickens is vaga- 
 bondizing at present, and won't be back for ten 
 days ; get all ready by that time. 
 
 " It is not impossible that we may have to call 
 upon you suddenly to let us commence the story 
 in a week or two ; but it may be deferred for a 
 year. At all events, I can promise you a decision 
 on all points when C. D. shows up. 
 
 " I find a fault in your other novel which is 
 
 creeping into Miss 's : a want of earnestness ; 
 
 a Thackerayish pretence of indifference, which you 
 do not feel, to the stronger emotions and state- 
 ments of your characters. If you excite the 
 emotions of your readers, and convey the idea that 
 yoii feel a lofty contempt for emotion in general, 
 they feel sold, and will hate your want of taking 
 them in. 
 
 " I don't say a word in praise of your new ven- 
 ture, though I think a great deal. I want you and 
 your writing to make a hit, not only with C. D. but 
 with the public ; and what I have said (which will 
 make you detest me, at least till after church-time
 
 80 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 on Sunday) may be a small contribution towards 
 that object, which I do most earnestly desire. 
 About Monday, when your heart is open to for- 
 giveness of sins like mine (or before it prove less 
 obdurate), let me hear from you. 
 
 " One other thing. You see Sala's story lies 
 chiefly in Paris. Could you not adopt my sug- 
 gestion of giving your story its natural progression, 
 and postponing chapter the first to its natural 
 place in the story } My conviction is that you 
 would make an improvement thereby in all 
 respects." 
 
 After many debates, it was at last determined 
 to attempt the venture. 
 
 " Next let me convey to you the intelligence," 
 wrote our chief, " that I resolve to launch it, fully 
 confiding in your conviction of the power of the 
 story } On all business points Wills will com- 
 municate with you. 
 
 " The only suggestion I have to make as to the 
 MS. in hand and type is that Fermor wants relief. 
 It is a disagreeable character, as you mean it to be, 
 and I should be afraid to do so much with him, if
 
 CHARLES DICKENS AS AN EDITOR. 8 1 
 
 the case were mine, without taking the taste of 
 him here and there out of the reader's mouth. 
 It is remarkable that, if you do not administer 
 a disagreeable character carefully, the public 
 have a decided tendency to think that the story 
 is disagreeable, and not merely the fictitious 
 person. 
 
 " What do you think of this title, ' Never 
 Forgotten } ' It is a good one in itself, and 
 would express the eldest sister's pursuit, and, 
 glanced at now and then in the text, would hold 
 the reader in suspense. Let me know your opinion 
 as to the title. I need not assure you that the 
 greatest care will be taken of you here, and that 
 we shall make you as thoroughly well and widely 
 known as we possibly can." 
 
 Now, this was all encouraging and cordial to a 
 degree. Yet, I seem to see the editor here, more 
 or less ; and friendly and good-natured as these 
 assurances were, in the case of an acquiescence, it 
 will be seen what a difference there was in his tone 
 as time went on, and he was good enough to have 
 a " liking," as it is called, for the writer ; even the 
 
 \0L. I. G
 
 82 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 slightly authoritative air that is here disappeared. 
 I frankly confess that, having met innumerable 
 men, and having had dealings with innumerable 
 men, I never met one with an approach to his 
 genuine, unaffected, unchanging kindness, or one 
 that c\'er found so sunshiny a pleasure in doing 
 one a kindness, I cannot call to mind that any 
 request I ever made to him was ungranted, or left 
 without an attempt to grant it. 
 
 The letter just quoted conveys a most precious 
 lesson to the novel-writer — whose craft, indeed, 
 requires many lessons. Having written nearly 
 twenty novels myself, I may speak with a little 
 experience, and frankly own that it was not till I 
 had passed my dozenth that I began to learn some 
 few principles of the art ; having written, as so 
 many do, " as the spirit moved," or by fancied 
 inspiration. 
 
 The allusion to the " bold advertisement " was, 
 indeed, handsomely carried out. Few would have 
 such advantages of publicity as one writing a novel 
 for All the Year Round in those days. There was 
 the prestige of association with the master, while
 
 CHARLES DICKENS AS AN EDITOR. %l 
 
 the condition in which your work was brought 
 before the public was truly effective. 
 
 All this happily settled, the affair was duly 
 announced. No expense was spared. Vivid yellow 
 posters, six or seven feet long, proclaimed the name 
 of the new story in black brilliant characters on 
 every blank wall and hoarding in the kingdom ; 
 while smaller and more convenient-sized proclama- 
 tions, in quarto as it were, told this tale in a more 
 modest way. So that, if there was really any 
 light at all, it was not under a bushel. I had a 
 pride in, and fondness for, these testimonials, and 
 have religiously preserved all that dealt with my 
 own efforts, a kind of literature, as may be con- 
 ceived, of a bulky sort, and filling great space as 
 they accumulated. When debating effectual titles 
 for these and other writings, I recall his taking 
 me to his room without telling me what he had 
 selected, and, by way of test or surprise, exhibiting 
 one of these gigantic proclamations stretched at 
 full length across the floor of the room. " What do 
 you think } " he would ask. " You must know," 
 he would add, his eye beginning to twinkle with
 
 84 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 merriment, "that when Wills corrects the proofs 
 of these things, he has to go on his knees, with 
 a brush and pot of paint beside him ? " The cost 
 of this system of advertising was enormous in the 
 year, but everything was done magnificently at 
 " the office." 
 
 A little later I was informed that — 
 
 " The next Number we make up will contain 
 the first part of your story. I like what you 
 have done extremely. But I think the story flags 
 
 at 's 'chaff.' There is too much of it. A 
 
 few pregnant hits at would do all you want 
 
 better. Again, the C party requires, I think, 
 
 the exciseman up to the quadrille, where the real 
 business of the evening begins. You see, in pub- 
 lishing hebdomadally, any kind of alternation is 
 very dangerous. One must hit, not only hard, but 
 quick. 
 
 " Please look well to the passage revealing the 
 
 acceptance of F T , and overthrow of 
 
 V , in the bedroom, after the party. This is a 
 
 strong situation, and, to my mind, is confusedly 
 expressed — in fact, can only be vaguely guessed 
 at by the reader.
 
 CHARLES DICKENS AS AN EDITOR. 85 
 
 " More criticism ! Everything goes on well so 
 far ; but I tell you what we all yearn for — some 
 show of tenderness from somebody : the little 
 
 glimpse of B , a Number or two ago, with his 
 
 little touch of humour-feeling, was refreshing in 
 the highest degree. The characters seem to be all 
 playing at chess — uncommonly well, mind you — 
 but they neither do nor say anything sympathetic." 
 
 As the story advanced the councils multiplied, 
 as well as the suggestions and improvements. Ex- 
 periments even were made in particular directions, 
 and an episode was furnished " to see how it would 
 look in print ;" sheets being "set up" in this way 
 regardless of cost, and dismissed as unsatisfactory. 
 All this was laborious and troublesome, but, as was 
 said, the experiment was worth making, and few 
 sensible writers but would have welcomed the 
 opportunity of learning their craft under such, a 
 teacher. It would be impossible to describe the 
 fertility of his resources, the ingenuity exhibited, 
 the pains and thought he gave to the matter. 
 Under such auspices — and it was admitted that 
 I was a willing pupil, with equal readiness to adopt
 
 86 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 and to carry out all that was suggested — the work 
 benefited, it need hardly be said. 
 
 " Is it worth your while," wrote my sub-editor, 
 " to be bothered with a second scrawl merely to let 
 me say how admirable I think it ? Tender, true, 
 and too pathetic even for an old hack waiting for 
 his dinner to read with dry eyes. My first mouthful 
 would have choked rhe if I had not written this." 
 
 The end gained 'was satisfactory to all con- 
 cerned. The work was successful, passed through 
 several editions, and still sells. The copyright was 
 disposed of for a sum nearly equal to what was 
 allotted to me. Indeed, before it was concluded, 
 the following pleasant communication, as full of 
 sensible advice as it was agreeable, set me to work 
 again. One curious evidence of its success was the 
 fact that a firm of perfumers in Bond Street named 
 a new perfume after the story, which is largely sold 
 to this hour. 
 
 " lo Paean ! I congratulate you on being at last 
 able to flourish the word Finis. I have not yet 
 read a line of your ending, and this omission will 
 give you a better relish for what I am going to
 
 CHARLES DICKENS AS AN EDITOR. 8/ 
 
 say : dictated solely by the ' merits ' already 
 developed, Dickens's answer to the wish you ex- 
 press at the end of your letter was a glad and 
 eager 'Yes;' in which I heartily and cordially 
 concurred, as you may guess. Let your next novel 
 be for us. We shall want it in from twelve to 
 eighteen months' time ; and, if I may venture some 
 advice, let me urge upon you to employ at least a 
 quarter of it in constructing the skeleton of it from 
 the end of your story, or modifying any little 
 detail in the beginning of it — if you would set 
 yourself the task of at least seeing land before 
 you plunge into your voyage with no chance of 
 veering, or ' backing or filling,' or shortening sail. 
 
 " I am sure you have a great chance before you, 
 if you will only give your powers their full swing ; 
 especially if you will let us see a leetle of the good 
 side of human nature. 
 
 " Ever very faithfully yours, 
 
 "W. H. W." 
 
 I have many proof-sheets by me, corrected by 
 his own hand in the most painstaking and elabo-
 
 88 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 rate way. The way he used to scatter his bright 
 touches over the whole, the sparkHng word of his 
 own that he would insert here and there, gave a 
 surprising point and light. The finish, too, that 
 he imparted was wonderful ; and the " dashes," 
 stops, shiftings, omissions, were all valuable lessons 
 for writers. 
 
 On another occasion, when he did not " see," as 
 he says, the point of another attempt — and, indeed, 
 there was not much — he excuses himself in this 
 fashion for not using it : 
 
 " Don't hate me more than you can help, when 
 I say I have been reading ' Sixpenny Shake- 
 speare,' and that I don't see it. I don't think 
 this joke is worth the great ingenuity, and I don't 
 think the public would take it. 'Wills and Will- 
 making' most excellent. I have placed it in two 
 parts already. It is capital. Once again, don't 
 hate me more than you can help, and your 
 Petitioner will ever pray. (I don't know what 
 Petitioners pray for.) 
 
 " Ever yours, 
 
 "CD."
 
 CHARLES DICKENS AS AN EDITOR. 89 
 
 So also, when an unhappy monkey, trained to 
 ride in a circus, offered a tempting subject for a 
 paper which I had sent to him, he answers in the 
 same spirit : 
 
 " [ am afraid the monkey is anticipated. It has 
 been exceedingly well done by Buckland in Land 
 and Water, and would be the day after the fair. 
 I was going to place him to-day, but in the mean 
 time caught sight of Buckland's paper, which has 
 been extensively copied both in weekly and country 
 journals," 
 
 Indeed, the pleasant ardour with which he fol- 
 lowed the course of a story, anticipated its coming, 
 debated its name, and helped its writer over various 
 stiles, and even extricated him from bogs, was 
 all in the same spirit. His aid as to the name and 
 conduct of the story was, it may be conceived, 
 invaluable. Many and earnest were the consul- 
 tations upon this matter of naming. No one had 
 a nicer ear as to what would " hit " or suit the 
 taste of the town. 
 
 " I am glad to hear that the story is so far 
 advanced now that you think well of it, for I have
 
 90 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 no doubt that you are right. I don't Hke either of 
 your names, for the reason that they don't seem to 
 me solidly earnest enough for such a story. But 
 give me a little time to think of another, and I 
 flatter myself that I may suggest a good one." 
 
 And again : 
 
 " I think the plan of the story very promising, 
 
 and suggestive of a remarkably good, new, and 
 
 strong interest. What do you think of the pursuing 
 
 relative dying at last of the same disorder as the 
 
 baronefs daughter, and under such circumstances 
 
 as to make out the case of the clergyman's daughter 
 
 and clear up the story } As, for example, suppose 
 
 her husband Jiimsclf docs almost the same thing in 
 
 going for help ivhen the man is dying. I think I 
 
 see a fine story here. As to the name. No, 
 
 certainly not. * What could She do .-' ' No again. 
 
 'What will He do with It.?' 'Can He forgive 
 
 Her?' 'Put Yourself in His Place.' Remember 
 
 these titles." 
 
 And again : 
 
 July, iS6S. 
 
 " ' O where ! O where ! is the rest of " Tom 
 Butler " ? ' A hasty word. I prefer (without
 
 CHARLES DICKENS AS AN EDITOR. 9 1 
 
 the article). I cannot possibly answer the question 
 
 Mr. does me the honour to propose, without 
 
 knowing what length of story is meant. 
 
 " I answer your letter to myself. It is perfectly 
 understood between us that you write the long 
 
 serial story next after . That is a positive 
 
 engagement. When I told to write to you 
 
 respecting a shorter story meanwhile, I meant that 
 to be quite apart from, and over and above, the 
 aforesaid long one. May I look at the chapters 
 you speak of on Decoration .'' 
 
 " I am in a brilliant condition, thank God. Rest, 
 and a little care immediately, tmshook the Railway 
 shaking. 
 
 " I don't quite understand from your kind note 
 (forwarded here this morning) whether pur- 
 poses to write these papers or whether he suggests 
 them to you. In either case, I shall be delighted 
 to have them. It is necessary that they should 
 appear under separate headings, each with its own 
 title, as we have already three running titles. Your 
 
 story is going on famously, and I think will 
 
 make a hit. I had a letter from Wilkie Collins
 
 92 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 yesterday, much interested in perceiving your idea, 
 and in following your working of it out. We 
 purpose being in town on Thursday, and going on 
 that afternoon. I hope we shall find you in readi- 
 ness to go along with us." 
 
 "Your hint that you are getting on with your 
 story, and liked it, was more than golden in- 
 telligence to me in foreign parts. The intensity of 
 the heat in Paris and in the Provinces was such 
 that I found else so refreshing in the course of my 
 rambles. 
 
 " Make yourself quite easy. There is not the 
 slightest need to hurry, and you can take your own 
 time. I have a story in two parts still to place in 
 Numbers not yet made up. Until Wednesday, 
 and always. 
 
 So again : 
 
 " It strikes me that a quaintly expressive title for 
 
 such a book would be ' The .' What do you 
 
 think of it ? " 
 
 The " eminent literary personage," as he called 
 him, had now other ambitions — trying his hand at 
 a short dramatic piece. He took charge of it, and
 
 CHARLES DICKENS AS AN EDITOR. 93 
 
 sent it to his friend Webster. As it did not suit — 
 others did, in due time — he good-naturedly broke 
 the fall with the following : — 
 
 "The play goes very glibly, and merrily, and 
 smoothly, but I make so bold as to say you can 
 write a much better one. The most characteristic 
 part in it is much too like Compton in * The Un- 
 equal Match.' And the best scene in it, where he 
 urges his wife to go away, is so excessively dan- 
 gerous, that I think the chances would be very 
 many to one against an audience's acceptance of it. 
 Because, however drolly the situation is presented, 
 the fact is not to be got over that the lady seriously 
 supposes her husband to be in league with another 
 man." 
 
 With some humiliation I must own to trying the 
 tolerance of this most amiable of men with various 
 failures and sad carelessness on many occasions. 
 His printer would grumble at the perfunctory style 
 in which the copy was presented, and even in print 
 it was sometimes difficult to put matters in shape. 
 
 " My difficulty," he wrote, " about your story has 
 been a report from the Printer that the copy of
 
 94 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 some part of another story had got mixed with it, 
 and it was impossible to make sense. You were 
 then just gone. I waited until you should have 
 leisure — now that I hear from you, I tell you only 
 I have waited — and ask : Is the story made straight, 
 and is it at the Printer's .-' Reply, repl}-, reply, as 
 Bishop's duett say.s. Reply also to this : How 
 long is it .'' " 
 
 " Waited until you should have leisure ! " There 
 was alm.ost unlimited indulgence in the matter of 
 changing and revising printed pages, condemned 
 at the author's suggestion — new bits introduced 
 here and there. He had a pleasant joke in this 
 trying behaviour, and vowed that I had introduced 
 a new term in the printing-house " chapel," a 
 thing unknown for centuries in that most conserva- 
 tive of professions. These introduced columns and 
 half-columns had to be denominated, somehow to 
 distinguish them from the regular narrative A 
 number being brought by the foreman one day, 
 and in his asking what this was, he was told that 
 " they were my " Randoms." The delight he felt 
 in this seemed to compensate for any annoyance.
 
 CHARLES DICKENS AS AN EDITOR. 95 
 
 I see the exuberant twinkle in his bright eye, and 
 his hearty rehsh. I believe to this hour the term 
 obtains. At last, however, his patience would give 
 way. 
 
 " For my sake, if not for Heaven's," he would 
 write, "do, I entreat you, look at this manuscript 
 before I send it to the printer. And again, please 
 keep on abrupt transitions into the present tense 
 your critical eye. ' Tom Butler,' in type, is just 
 brought in. I will write to you of him to-morrow 
 or Sunday." 
 
 How gentle was this ! 
 
 Once, however, and only once, he delivered him- 
 self with a severity that I own was deserved. Two 
 novels were being actually written by "my facile 
 pen " at the same moment, much as a barebacked 
 rider, or rider of barebacked steeds, would ride the 
 same number of horses round the circus. At the 
 same time we were preparing for a long serial in 
 his journal, " You make me very uneasy," he 
 began, "on the subject of your new story here by 
 undertaking such an impossible amount of fiction 
 at one time."
 
 g6 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 How easily propitiated he was will be seen 
 when, on a mere undertaking to be careful, he 
 writes that — " Your explanation is (as it would be, 
 being yours) manly and honest, and I am both 
 satisfied and hopeful." Nay, some weeks later, he 
 recurred to the matter in this strain : 
 
 " I am very sorry I was not at home. It gives 
 me the greatest pleasure to receive such good 
 tidings of the new story, and I shall enter upon its 
 perusal in proof with the brightest appreciation. 
 Will you send as much of it as you can spare to 
 the office .'' " 
 
 Thus much for Charles Dickens in the editor's 
 chair.
 
 ( 97 ) 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 CHARLES DICKENS AT HOME. 
 
 A FEW further recollections of this most interesting 
 of men, changing the scene to his home and 
 fireside circle, will be received with welcome. It 
 will have been seen that I knew him very inti- 
 mately. I saw much of him ; indeed, I may feel a 
 sort of pride in saying he had a particular friend- 
 ship for me, and showed it in many substantial 
 ways. 
 
 I will first try to recall what he was like. 
 There never was a man so unlike a professional 
 writer: of tall, wiry, energetic figure; brisk in move- 
 ment ; a head well set on ; a face rather bronzed 
 or sunburnt ; keen, bright, searching eyes, and a 
 mouth which was full of expression, though hidden 
 behind a wiry moustache and grizzled beard. 
 
 VOL. I. H
 
 98 RECREATIONS OF A LI7ERARV MAN. 
 
 Thus the French painter's remark that " he was 
 more Hke one of the old Dutch admirals we see 
 in the picture galleries, than a man of letters," 
 conveyed an admirably true idea to his friends. 
 
 He had, indeed, much of the quiet resolute 
 manner of command of a captain of a ship. He 
 strode along briskly as he walked ; as he listened 
 his searching eye rested on you, and the nerves in 
 his face quivered, much like those in the delicately 
 formed nostrils of a finely bred dog. There was 
 a curl or two in his hair at each side which was 
 characteristic ; and the jaunty way he wore his 
 little morning hat, rather on one side, added to 
 the effect. But when there was anything droll 
 suggested, a delightful sparkle of lurking humour 
 began to kindle and spread to his mouth, so that, 
 even before he uttered anything, you felt that 
 something irresistibly droll was at hand. No one 
 ever told a story so drolly, and, what is not so 
 common, relished another man's story so heartily. 
 A man of his great reputation and position might 
 have chosen what company he pleased, and would 
 have been welcome in the highest circles ; but he
 
 CHARLES DICKENS AT HOME. 99 
 
 never was so happy as with one or two intimate 
 friends who understood him, who were in good 
 spirits or in good humour. He was always 
 grateful, as it were, to hear a good thing. 
 
 Gad's Hill, on the Rochester road, has been 
 often described. It is a snug old red-brick house 
 — quaint, too — with a belfry in the roof ; a little 
 lawn in front ; a cosy porch and bow windows. It 
 was old-fashioned and snug, and yet modern and 
 modernized — as the great plate-glass windows set 
 in the sound old brickwork seem to evidence. 
 The country about was charming : spreading out 
 pleasantly, well furnished, dotted here and there 
 with little' patches of red, other houses, as snug, 
 upon hills or in dells. Nothing was more agree- 
 able than a " run down " for a few days, or even 
 from Saturday till Monday, arranged at " the 
 office " in a hearty cheery style there was no 
 resisting. Even here, his accurate, business-like 
 mode would be shown ; the hour and train fixed, 
 or a leaf torn from his little book and the memo- 
 randum written down for guidance. His day was 
 mapped out ; there was haste but no scramble.
 
 100 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAM. 
 
 Then came the meeting at Charing Cross Station, 
 he posting up in good time. It was pleasant to 
 note the deep respect of the guards — much more 
 than a conventional greeting to a familiar passenger 
 of importance. 
 
 I do not recall anything more delightful than 
 one of these holidays. There is something in the 
 Kentish country — land of hop-poles and lanes — 
 that in the summer time has the most pleasing 
 associations. The basket carriage or car waited at 
 Higham ; the old village church, the road to 
 Gad's Hill, all had a special charm. The Medway, 
 Rochester, Chatham, all these opening out, are 
 ever associated with him. This tract of country 
 always seems to be painted in two colours : warm 
 brick, mellow red tiles or shingle roof, and a deep 
 green, as rich and mellow ; add to this a third tint, 
 the chill greys of the strangely bending river which 
 attend you side by side almost all the way. Nearly 
 opposite his gate was the old Falstaff Inn so often 
 described. 
 
 Bestowed here, in this charming circle, with the 
 pleasant gardens and flowers, the little croquet-
 
 CHARLES DICKENS AT HOME. lOI 
 
 ground — a recent acquisition — each day went by 
 like an hour. I seem to see him now, lying on the 
 grass, enjoying its calm, or standing about in his 
 resolute fashion and attitude. I recall one Sunday, 
 sultry even during the early hours, when I started 
 off on a walk before breakfast. I fancy that I may 
 quote a little description, written by myself, in his 
 own journal : 
 
 " The scene is a charming bit of double colour, 
 red brick and green sward on an English high- 
 road, or rather, in these railway times, green lane, 
 with an old tree or two, and a belfry in the roof; 
 and from this I start on a very bright Sunday 
 morning, making for a semi-military, semi-nautical 
 settlement some miles away. I have never seen 
 the nautico-military settlement, and do not know 
 the road, so the whole has a prospect of adventure. 
 Adventure there was to be none ; but the reader 
 will understand how pleasantly one turns back, 
 for reasons unmeaning as compared with the in- 
 cidents of other days, to little pictures of this sort. 
 The green lane went up and down, became a high- 
 road, encountering with gigs and a stray waggon
 
 I02 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 and a yellow van — there was to be a race or a fair 
 somewhere on the Monday — with a two-wheeled 
 show-cart of meaner pretensions ; the proprietor of 
 which walked by his vehicle in a Sunday cloak 
 made out of the gaudy and dappled oilcloth which 
 served on profane occasions as his roulette board. 
 There was distinctly the blue and the red, and 
 the less fortunate black, and the all lucky crown, 
 most gorgeous in its yellow, displayed upon the 
 proprietor's back. 
 
 " Next, I met ' tidy ' women, very smart, and 
 their lords in very roomy royal blue dress-coats 
 and brass buttons, and those extra-short double- 
 breasted waistcoats which honest but sorely tempted 
 children of the soil always wear in melodramas. 
 These were distinctly not going to church ; and 
 I could pardon them for turning aside to the rustic 
 inn, to which you mounted by steps, which had 
 two bow-windows with diamond panes and plenty 
 of flowers, and a sign well on the road, and called 
 the Jolly Waggoner. If it were a little later, I 
 should myself have liked to go up and make the 
 acquaintance of the Jolly Waggoner and his ale.
 
 CHARLES DICKENS AT HOME. IO3 
 
 After three or four miles, during which the sun was 
 growing a little strong, and the dust perhaps rather 
 acrimonious in its visits to the eyes, the great river 
 and bridge came in sight. And there, while the 
 spectator leaned on the bridge and looked in every 
 direction, was a view that might sanctify any 
 Sunday morning. A great full river, with that 
 most satisfactory briim7iing fulness which recalled 
 the Rhine, and a noble bridge of many arches, hill- 
 shaped according to the old pattern, and whose 
 piers seemed to stand firmly and confidently in 
 the water and to defy any winter's flood, as if they 
 were great granite calves of legs belonging to a 
 many-legged granite giant, who could stride up or 
 down the river with ease. At the opposite side 
 was the little old town, and the little old town's 
 ruined castle rising solemnly on the hill, and 
 the little old town's houses very much crowded, 
 and forced down to the edge of the water. And 
 then beyond the little old town was the nautico- 
 military town, which climbed up a hill laid out 
 in ancient ' lines ' and more ancient fosses ; and 
 beyond the hill, down far below, the river had
 
 104 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 got in again and was wading under that Sunday's 
 sun, glittering and glistening very far below, with 
 the dockyards at its edge and the great ship- 
 building sheds — monster coach-houses, but which 
 now looked like tiny mousetraps. A charming 
 view until modern man stepped in to spoil all, 
 or rather the cruel, rapacious, and ubiquitous 
 London, At'em, and Dashover Railway, running 
 amuck through the country, hurled a heavy iron 
 trough across the pretty river, and side by side 
 of the pretty bridge. As I looked at its raw lines 
 with disgust, and at its endless rivets, and heard 
 it reverberating and clanging with a passing train, 
 I seemed to hear it say, like an ugly bully, ' I've 
 as much right to be here as yo7i. I can go beside 
 you, if I like, or over you, or go anywhere I like ! ' 
 
 " Still pressing on, I entered the little old town, 
 which is all a snake-shaped street, with old rusty 
 inns, and old posting-yards, and a few old framed 
 houses ; their old bones and joints well looked to 
 and kept as fresh as paint could keep them. I 
 liked the way they projected over and covered the 
 pathway, and I liked their gables still more. I
 
 CHARLES DICKENS AT HOME. I OS 
 
 went out into the road to have a good stare : to the 
 amazement of the family, who were reading their 
 Bibles on a Sunday morning, and thought the 
 profane stranger might be better employed. Every- 
 thing looked as bright and clean as a Dutch town, 
 even to the one policeman, who, having little to 
 do, began an affable conversation. Taking another 
 bend, the little old town showed me some genuine 
 red-brick houses with yellow stone corners and high 
 French roofs — little Kensingtons, with a delightful 
 old clock that hung out over the street in a mass 
 of florid carving. Behind was a niche, and a 
 flamboyant statue of a naval officer in a wig and 
 gauntlets, pointing, I know, to the French — the 
 brave old admiral Sir Cloudesley, in whose honour 
 the red-brick tenement had been reared. Further 
 on was a famous almshouse where Six Poor 
 Travellers get their lodging and fourpences, and 
 which looked snug and clean enough to make one 
 wish to be a poor traveller ; and further on again 
 was an unmistakable edifice, in good repair, with 
 a portico and pillars, and some little dwindled bills 
 on the walls by which I was glad to see that the
 
 I06 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 Theatre Royal was in play. Approaching and 
 readincf with interest — the commonest booth of a 
 theatre has ever a fascination for me — (much to 
 the disgust of a sour middle-aged lady with her 
 husband and boy, who was making uncharitable 
 Sabbatarian remarks), I find that Mr. George 
 Jenby, the eminent character actor and vocalist, 
 would ' give two nights ' in this 
 
 "His Native Town. 
 " He was to be assisted by 
 
 Miss Marion Jenby, of the London Con- 
 certs ; by 
 Miss Susan Jenby, of the London and 
 
 Ealing Concerts ; by 
 Mr. Wilijam Jenby, on 'this occasion 
 only,' who was of no concerts at all ; 
 and by 
 The Infant Marie Jenby. 
 " The programme was ' rich and varied,' including 
 Miss Marion Jenby in her great character song of 
 the 'Battle of the Alma,' subdivided into 'The 
 Advance, Charge of the Heavy Brigade ! Quick 
 step, they run ! Prodigies of Valour ! The Naval
 
 CHARLES DICKENS AT HOME. 10/ 
 
 Brigade ; England's Wooden Walls ; ' the two 
 latter headings I suspected to be specially intro- 
 duced as adroit compliments to the dockyards. 
 Wished Jenby and his family all success, being 
 really worked into sympathy by a quotation con- 
 cerning ' coming home at last,' with which William 
 Jenby ended his bill — 
 
 As the hare whom hounds and horse pursue 
 Pants to the spot from which at first it flew. 
 
 "But I passed on, and began to meet soldiers. 
 Then I heard sounds of an organ coming out of 
 a pretty little building, and found my middle-aged 
 lady, her husband and boy, peeping in at the door 
 with disgust and alarm. For, doing the same, I 
 find this to be a chapel full of Irish soldiers, which 
 having a stained-glass window looked very tranquil 
 and cool and inviting on that Sunday morning. 
 But if I were to tell all I saw on that pleasant 
 Sunday morning, I should grow tedious — and so 
 I stop here." 
 
 He was particularly delighted with that quotation 
 of the actor's, likening himself to the "hare whom 
 hounds and horse pursue." Never, indeed, was
 
 I08 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 there a more appreciativ^e listener, or one that 
 welcomed a story more cordially. Many a walk 
 we took along those Kentish lanes in sun and 
 snow. He once " showed " Rochester Castle to me 
 — a subject he knew by heart, and most interesting 
 it was to hear him on this subject, as well as on all 
 Rochester and Chatham curiosities. 
 
 Sometimes he held little festivals in a field 
 attached to the house — a recent purchase, of which 
 he was rather proud, and which he humorously 
 styled " his estate." I recall a cricket match here 
 — "the Higham Eleven" against some other com- 
 petitors, and which drew an attendance of villagers 
 and others. He treated it with a grave solemnity 
 that was amusing, and enjoyed the proceedings 
 heartily. There was the " umpire's marquee " 
 pitched, chairs arranged, flags flying. We even got 
 up a sort of eager enthusiasm. Our host himself 
 officiated as marker. I see him in his white jean 
 coat, and his grey hat set a little on one side, his 
 double glasses on, going conscientiously through 
 his work ; scoring down " byes," and " overs," and 
 runs; at times cheering some indifferent "hit" with
 
 CHARLES DICKENS AT HOME. IO9 
 
 an encouraging " Well run ! well run ! " This he 
 kept up the whole day. He was partial to marking. 
 There were plenty of cooling drinks on the ground, 
 a cask of beer for the crowd, and some wonderful 
 cup, for which he had some special receipt — as he 
 had for everything else. I remembered this too 
 seductive drink to my cost next morning, for the 
 day was oppressively hot, and every one was athirst. 
 )ne Christmas time, when he was preparing 
 )me new Readings, he devised a pleasant enter- 
 tainment for his neighbours and guests, in the shape 
 of a sort of rehearsal, or experiment with, I think, 
 " Barbox Brothers " and " Mugby Junction." The 
 snow was very deep, and it was not the night for 
 distant journeys, but all within "a measurable 
 distance " assembled. His house was overflowing- 
 at the time, and numbers were billeted away with 
 much ingenuity. Among them was Mr. Otway, 
 and other Chatham notabilities. Even the dinner 
 tables had to develop into side tables, but all was 
 jovial and merry. After dinner his desk was 
 arranged, and he read ; but I fancy he was not 
 so pleased with " Barbox Brothers " as with his
 
 no RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 other public performances. After dinner we had 
 small plays, one in which he exhibited singular 
 cleverness, viz. that of guessing a subject fixed 
 on when he was out of the room, in half a dozen 
 questions, I have often seen this performed, but 
 never in so masterly a style, for it is a test of 
 character, and proves a power of getting at the 
 essence of things. His selection of subjects to 
 puzzle others when their turn came was charac- 
 teristically ingenious — " The Lantern in a Railway 
 Guard's Hand;" "The Powder used in the Gun- 
 powder Plot " (we got as far as " Guy Fawkes," 
 but no farther). He told how he piqued hirnself 
 on a former occasion on a great triumph — the 
 discovery of a regular poser : " The Boot on the 
 off leg of a Postilion." 
 
 I have by mc a little programme of another of 
 these festivals. It runs thus : — 
 
 45th Kentish Royal Volunteers. 
 
 Annual Sports, September 28th, 
 
 1st Race. 
 
 Scramble stakes. 300 yards. 1st Prize, Electro-plated Cup and Stand. 
 
 2nd Prize, a Cigar Case. 
 
 2nd Race. 
 
 200 yards. 1st Prize, a Gold Pencil Case. 2nd Prize, a Penknife.
 
 CHARLES DICKENS AT HOME. Ill 
 
 3rd Race. 
 80 yards. Three-legged Race, ist Prize, a Handsome Walking- Stick. 
 
 2nd Prize, Cigars. 
 
 4th Race. 
 
 A Quarter Mile (Walking), ist Prize, "Pickwick Papers," by 
 
 Charles Dickens. 2nd Prize, a new Drill Book. 
 
 These sports were held on " the estate." He 
 gave some of the prizes, and I think it was on 
 this occasion that his friend Mr. Layar.d assisted 
 heartily in keeping the course. 
 
 A great attraction of Gad's Hill were the dogs. 
 There were always three or four great dogs 
 prancing about — Linda one was named — great St. 
 Bernard dogs and others. He appreciated dogs, 
 and understood their ways and fine nature better 
 than any one, as we see from his writings. I recol- 
 lect his sort of comic grief as he related his visit 
 to the well-known monastery of St. Bernard, 
 when, in answer to his eager inquiries as to the 
 saving of life in the snow by the dogs, the good 
 monks had informed him that, like many two- 
 footed creatures, they enjoyed a reputation they 
 scarcely deserved, and rather followed the monks 
 than were followed by them. There was a little
 
 112 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 white fox-nosed Pomeranian, belonging to his 
 elder daughter, and which he had christened by 
 the name of the landlady in " Box and Cox," Mrs. 
 Bouncer, for, unlike all landladies, she had a dis- 
 relish for her lodgers. At one time I was offered 
 a magnificent Spanish mastiff — one of those awe- 
 inspiring buff-coloured creatures with a great coal- 
 black snout we sometimes meet stalking with 
 dignity through the street. This I made him a 
 present of, and it was accordingly despatched to 
 Gad's Hill, and he was much pleased at the idea 
 of receiving it. The animal spent the night at our 
 house, signifying his presence occasionally by long 
 melancholy baying. I had sundry misgivings, as 
 these beasts are of a ferocious kind, and are or were 
 used in their own country for the amiable occupa- 
 tion of hunting down escaped slaves. However, 
 he liked him ; and Sultan — such was his name — 
 though affecting a surly reserve to every one else, 
 was sagacious enough to show great affection to 
 the master of the house. Things went on very 
 well for a time : when a favourite kitten, admitted 
 to the drawing-room and much petted, one day
 
 CHARLES DICKENS AT HOME. II3 
 
 unaccountably disappeared. Search was made, 
 but it was never heard of again, and it was 
 assumed it had been stolen by one of the tramps 
 who were always passing the gate. No suspicion, 
 however, rested on the real culprit. The next 
 incident shall be related in his master's own 
 pleasant words, taken from a letter to myself:— 
 " Sultan has grown amazingly, and is a sight. But 
 he is so accursedly fierce to other dogs that I am 
 obliged to take him out muzzled. Also he has 
 an invincible repugnance to soldiers, which in a 
 military district like Chatham is inconvenient. 
 Such is his spirit, that with his muzzle tight on 
 he dashed into the heart of a company in heavy 
 marching order, and pulled down a private. 
 Except under such provocation he is as gentle 
 and docile with me as a dog can possibly be." 
 Later came another incident in Sultan's career : — 
 " Last night," he says, " the gardener fired at 
 some man in the garden upon whom he had come 
 suddenly, and who kicked him in a dangerous 
 manner. I immediately turned out, unloosed 
 Sultan, and hunted the vagabond. We couldn't 
 
 VOL. I. I
 
 114 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 get hold of him, but the intclHgence of the dog, 
 and the dehghted confidence he imparted to me, 
 as we tumbled across country into the dark, were 
 quite enchanting. Two policemen, appearing in 
 the distance and making a professional show of 
 energy, had a narrow escape. As he was in the 
 act of rushing at them, I was obliged to hold him 
 round the neck with both arms, and call on the 
 force to vanish in an inglorious manner." 
 
 " A friend," he wrote on another occasion, " has 
 sent me from America a thoroughbred young black 
 Newfoundland dog since you were here. Sultan 
 (who hates him mortally), Linda, I, and three or 
 four small dogs with the nature of canine parasites 
 and toadies, make a show in the lanes and woods 
 which I specially beseech you to come and see. 
 We only want the ' renowned dog Caesar ' (alluding 
 to a story of mine) to make us matchless." 
 
 He was making rapid way with his master. " I 
 cannot thank you too much," he wrote again, " for 
 Sultan. He is a noble fellow, has fallen into the 
 ways of the family with a grace and dignity that 
 denote the gentleman, and came down to the
 
 CHARLES DICKENS AT HOME. 115 
 
 railway to welcome me home, with a profound 
 absence of interest in my individual opinion of 
 him, which captivated me completely. I am going 
 home to-day to take him about the country and 
 improve his acquaintance. You will find a perfect 
 understanding between us, I hope, when you next 
 come. (He has only swallowed Bouncer once and 
 temporarily.) " 
 
 All this seemed friendly and encouraging; but in 
 the household, and among the neighbours, suspicion 
 was rife. It was alarming to hear of his having 
 broken loose muzzled, and coming home covered 
 with blood. 
 
 He went off one day to have a sort of prize- 
 fight with a dog of his own size, weight, and 
 age, residing some distance off, of whom he was 
 jealous, and after a terrible battle left him almost 
 dead. Yet his master still clung to him. In- 
 deed, no dog ever had such a chance, or was more 
 tolerated. But at last it came to a fatal point 
 beyond which toleration could not safely go. One 
 day a scream was heard at the gate, and those 
 who rushed out found that the dog had seized a
 
 Il6 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 neighbour's child by the leg. It was rescued just 
 in time, though mangled. This was an outrage for 
 which the country ever exacts one satisfaction. 
 The keeping of " a ferocious dog " is not tolerated. 
 Fortunately, the luckless creature did no serious 
 mischief. But he little guessed that he had sealed 
 his own doom. " The child's leg is sore and stiff, 
 but it has not presented a single bad symptom, 
 and she has very nearly recovered from her fright. 
 After such a warning, there could be no doubt 
 that so fierce an animal should not be kept. Mr. 
 Dickens, of course, immediately flogged him. 
 At the time he knew as well as possible how 
 guilty he was. He was muzzled and shut up for 
 the night, and yesterday morning the gardener 
 took him to the end of the meadow and shot him, 
 and he was buried in the field. The poor dog 
 dropped tvithout a struggle or even a cry, I am 
 happy to say — so the execution was performed 
 as skilfully and mercifully as it could be done. 
 The gardener took him as far away from the house 
 as he could to kill him, still we all heard the shot, 
 and I can't tell you how terrible it was. We all
 
 CHARLES DICKENS AT HOME. WJ 
 
 went to bed dreading it the night before, and I 
 don't think we, any of us, slept for an hour at 
 a time during the night, from the dread and 
 expectation of hearing the execution. We were 
 all afraid the poor dog would give a howl which 
 would be heard a long way. Every way, I think 
 he is better dead, for he led an unhappy life. 
 We never dared to take him out without a muzzle 
 since the time when he nearly killed our neigh- 
 bour's dog." 
 
 Such was the account of one of the family. But 
 to the master himself there was something curiously 
 dramatic in the affair. And he wrote of the 
 event — an important one in the district — to myself 
 and other friends : " Your mention of the late 
 Sultan touches me nearly. He was the finest dog 
 I ever saw, and between me and him there was a 
 perfect understanding. But, to adopt the popular 
 phrase, it was so very confidential that ' it went 
 no further.' He would fly at anybody else with 
 the greatest enthusiasm for destruction. I have 
 frequently seen him, muzzled, hold a great dog 
 down with his chest and feet. He has broken
 
 Il8 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 loose (muzzled) and come home covered with 
 blood, again and again. And yet he never dis- 
 obeyed me, unless he had first laid hold of a dog. 
 You heard of his going to execution, evidently 
 supposing the procession to be a party detached 
 in pursuit of something to kill or eat ? It was 
 very affecting. Also of his bolting a blue-eyed 
 kitten, and making me acquainted with the cir- 
 cumstance by his agonies of remorse (or indi- 
 gestion)." 
 
 And to his Swiss correspondent, Cerjat : " The 
 big dog on a day last autumn, having seized a 
 little girl (sister to one of the servants) whom he 
 knew and was bound to respect, was flogged by 
 his master and then sentenced to be shot at seven 
 next morning. He went out very cheerfully with 
 the half-dozen men told off for the purpose, 
 evidently thinking that they were going to be the 
 death of somebody unknown. But observing in 
 the procession an empty wheelbarrow and a 
 double-barrelled gun, he became meditative, and 
 fixed the bearer of the gun with his eyes. A 
 stone deftly thrown across him by the village
 
 CHARLES DICKENS AT HOME. I IQ 
 
 blackguard (chief mourner) caused him to look 
 round for an instant, and he then fell down dead, 
 shot through the heart." 
 
 Such was the fate of Sultan, 
 
 The Guild of Literature and Art brings back 
 another day spent with him in the greatest en- 
 joyment ; so charming and pleasant in all its 
 incidents, that it seemed like some school-holiday 
 in the country. Weather, scenery, company, good 
 spirits, everything combined to set off the little 
 junketing. We started betimes from Gad's Hill, 
 coming up through that ever-inviting Kentish 
 country which looks more inviting of a June 
 morning ; then, after an hour or so in town, re- 
 paired to the Great Northern Railway, where a 
 large crowd of visitors had assembled. Stevenage, 
 our destination, lay in the district of which Charles 
 Lamb talked so fondly, and where he placed 
 " Mackery End," in the green lanes of pleasant 
 Hertfordshire ; and green, rich enough it looked 
 on this holiday. As we drew up at the station, 
 there was the bustle of improvised vehicles, as 
 usual insufficient ; all that was handy or available
 
 120 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 in the way of transport being laid under contri- 
 bution. The Lord of Knebworth, on whose 
 demesne we were, had sent his carriage for his 
 friend and his party. Away we sped through 
 those green lanes, the stately country, and its 
 ancient trees stretching out beyond, a spectacle to 
 delight the author of " Rookwood," who I believe 
 was present. The first duty of the day was to 
 repair to the " College " itself — a pretty little 
 row of red-brick houses, a colonnade, with tiny 
 cheerful rooms into which every one insists on 
 pushing his or her way, as if determined to inspect 
 conscientiously and report under affidavit. Pre- 
 sently we were in the halls of the old mansion, 
 received by the host, whom I had then met for 
 the first time. I see the picturesque scene as we 
 drive up, the long antique front of the house as 
 background, like a scene in a play, while the steps 
 and broad space in front of the entrance were 
 crowded with a festive gaily dressed throng, in the 
 centre of which, leaning on his stick, stood the 
 host, who advanced to greet his famous guest. 
 That meeting would have made a picture. Yet
 
 CHARLES DICKENS AT HOME. 121 
 
 it would be difficult to meet him under more in- 
 teresting circumstances — the host of the day in 
 his own ancient castle, and surrounded by what 
 one of the newspapers in a generous and allitera- 
 tive enthusiasm called " all the leaders of litera- 
 ture," an expression that amused some of the 
 " leaders " themselves hugely. 
 
 He was a strangely interesting man, with his 
 dreamy manner, and low voice and curious eyes, 
 and the tranquil yet effective way in which he 
 acquitted himself showed what quiet force and 
 dignity there was in him. I always admired the 
 genuine interest he took in the craft of letters, 
 having always that delight in the old profession 
 which never leaves a man. He read ever}''thing 
 that came out, and with enjoyment. A story of 
 my own he was good enough thus to appreciate : 
 
 " I want to tell you," he wrote to his friend, 
 " that I greatly admire the novel now running. 
 It strikes me to be a really great novel, which 
 is a very rare thing. There are bits about the 
 heroine which show wholesale knowledge of the 
 human heart, and the plot seems hitherto deeply
 
 122 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 planned and well carried out. It is impossible 
 for any writer who comes after you to escape 
 some obligations to you, and this is shown in 
 one of the characters. But I like the work 
 altogether, and it is original. I am the more sur- 
 prised at its merit, because I had read some other 
 work by the same reputed writer and had not been 
 much struck by it. It is a better work than ' Felix 
 Holt.' " I know what risk I run in printing these 
 lines ; but the motive may be understood. It 
 served as a flattering encouragement ; but it is 
 really a proof of the hearty eagerness with which 
 this interesting man followed the common course 
 of the publications of the day ; not accepting 
 merely the official rccogni;:ed productions, but 
 examining for himself, on the chance of finding 
 what would be entertaining and have merit. In 
 a letter to myself, he explained that he had been 
 " exceedingly struck by the depth of power in all 
 the earlier portions ; but with the later Numbers 
 I am not quite so well pleased or satisfied ; and I 
 believe the reason to be, not in any fault of mere 
 construction, but because towards the close the
 
 CHARLES DICKENS AT HOME. 123 
 
 antagonistic or disagreeable element overpowers 
 
 the sympathetic or agreeable. I do not know 
 
 whether you quite understand what I mean." I 
 
 shall only say that the story was called "The 
 
 Second Mrs. Tillotson," and return to Knebworth. 
 
 The numbers gathered there were extraordinary, 
 
 and of all departments. There were actors, like 
 
 Webster and Buckstone, dramatists, novelists, 
 
 " press men," etc. A plain, white-haired looking 
 
 man was the venerable Charles Knight, while 
 
 near him was to be seen Peter Cunningham 
 
 — two persons whom it was impossible not to 
 
 regard with deep interest and respect, and to 
 
 whom " Old London " owes so much. Inquiries 
 
 being in a short time made for " Peter," it was 
 
 found that he had disappeared ; and I read the 
 
 roguish delight of our chief as he expatiated on 
 
 the characteristic cause of the absence. Presently 
 
 we were in the quaint and antique gardens, where 
 
 a band was performing, and where soon our host 
 
 had organized quadrilles and waltzes, sultry as it 
 
 was. And I recall my own vis-a-vis in the former 
 
 of these measures — a pleasant Cabinet Minister,
 
 124 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 who footed it merrily, with many a jest, though 
 he has since become very serious, and cast off that 
 "old man." The day sped on thus al fresco. In 
 the afternoon we repaired to the great hall, where 
 a banquet, or "collation," was set out. In due 
 course our host made his speech, graceful and 
 cultured, as everything that came from his hand 
 was. Then rose the bright, keen, brilliant figure, 
 as if on his main-deck in the breeze, and offering 
 a curious contrast to the Moslem-like tranquillity 
 of the person who preceded him ; and with sin- 
 gular dramatic and incisive tones, he spoke : — 
 
 " Ladies and gentlemen, it was said by a 
 very sagacious person, whose authority I am sure 
 my friend of many years will not impugn, 
 seeing that he was named Augustus Tomlinson, 
 the kind friend and philosopher of Paul Clifford 
 — it was said by that remarkable man, ' Life is 
 short, and why should speeches be long } ' An 
 aphorism so sensible under all circumstances, and 
 particularly in the circumstances in which we are 
 placed, with this delicious weather and such 
 charming gardens near us, I shall practically
 
 CHARLES DICKENS AT HOME. I25 
 
 adopt on the present occasion ; and the rather so 
 because the speech of my friend was exhaustive 
 of the subject, as his speeches always are, though 
 not in the least exhaustive of his audience. . . . 
 
 " Now, I am sure I shall be giving utterance to 
 the feelings of my brothers and sisters in litera- 
 ture in proposing ' Health, long life, and pro- 
 sperity to our distinguished host." Ladies and 
 gentlemen, you know very well that when the 
 health, life, and beauty now overflowing these 
 halls shall have fled, crowds of people will come 
 to see the place where he lived and wrote. Setting 
 aside the orator and statesman — for happily we 
 know no party here but this agreeable party — 
 setting aside all this, you know very well that this 
 is the home of a very great man whose connection 
 with Hertfordshire every other county in England 
 will envy for many long years to come. You 
 know that when this hall is dullest and emptiest 
 you can make it, when you please, brightest and 
 fullest by peopling it with the creations of his 
 brilliant fancy. Let us all wish together that 
 they may be many more — for the more they are
 
 126 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 the better it will be, and, as he always excels him- 
 self, the better they will be. I ask you to listen to 
 their praise and not to mine, and to let them, not 
 me, propose his health." 
 
 It is impossible to describe the effect of these 
 well-chosen words, delivered with every grace that 
 fitted the scene, the gala dresses, the sunlight 
 through the stained glass, and the cheerful board. 
 I know I found myself, with many others, shouting 
 at its close with enraptured delight. The day 
 stole by too fast, for now it was evening ; we had 
 to depart. Our host seemed to retire and fade 
 out, as it were ; and as I wandered from room to 
 room I would come on him, seated at a little 
 table, in his somewhat fantastic dress a la D'Orsay, 
 looking at some mystic volume, or languidly 
 showing it. However, at last we drove away in 
 the slow-setting sunlight. Near the station a 
 new inn or " public " had been opened, named, 
 in compliment to the guest, "OuR Mutual 
 Friend;" on approaching which, in our stately 
 equipage, we noted that the green benches, set 
 outside for the comfort of the traveller, were full
 
 CHARLES DICKENS AT HOME. 12/ 
 
 to overflowing. As we swept by, all rose, and, 
 with uplifted goblets, gave stentorian cheers. The 
 favourite twinkle of enjoyment came into his eyes 
 at this compliment, and a mixed or compound 
 expression of amusement, restraint, and gravity 
 passed over his face. " My literary brethren," he 
 said, " offering homage to genius." After all, who 
 but must confess " he still has found his warmest 
 welcome at an inn " ! And so all had sensibly 
 adjourned to the Mutual Friend. Somewhere 
 about ten o'clock at night we were all at the rooms 
 of " the office " — a convenient, pleasant pied-d-terre 
 for such transitory passage — when, according to 
 his hospitable thought, we must have a short, 
 hurried but satisfactory supper before going down 
 to " Gad's," some time about eleven o'clock. 
 " Just a morsel," he said ; which took the shape of 
 a noble tongue from Fortnum's, and a lobster 
 salad, and a bottle of the " sparkling." He himself 
 used to invest such delicacies with an extra flavour 
 and sparkle. A few phrases from him, and you 
 thought of wassail and the feasting at Dingley Dell : 
 though, apart from this, everything he set down
 
 128 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 or ordered was really choice, and marked by his 
 own good taste and judgment. If it was a cigar, 
 it was out of a parcel the present of an American 
 captain, or some one competent to buy. If it 
 were cognac or whisky, it was from one best com- 
 petent to know such things. And yet no one was 
 more really moderate in such matters ; his per- 
 formance did not correspond to his anticipatory 
 gusto. He liked talking in a cosy way of such 
 things. 
 
 At last we got to Charing Cross Station, hence 
 to Gravesend about midnight, where his Irish 
 jaunting-car was waiting, which he drove him- 
 self; and so, in the midnight air, we rolled along 
 these Kentish green lanes, and after a short, swift 
 run, reached " home." The work of that day 
 seems a dream ; and dream it is in one sad sense. 
 Though not so long since, how many figures are 
 wanting to the group ! Host, and the great guest ; 
 many, many of the " leaders of literature," real and 
 sham, who assisted ; John Forster, who was de- 
 puted to receive guests and organize the whole ; 
 Charles Knight; "Peter" Cunningham, who dis-
 
 CHARLES DICKENS AT HOME. 1 29 
 
 appeared ; Halliday, etc. The said houses, so 
 sportively inaugurated, I beHeve never sheltered a 
 tenant, and have since been sold to private persons. 
 His house was on the line between London and 
 Paris, and he could be in France, a country of 
 which he was very fond, almost in a couple of 
 hours. The dreadful, well-remembered Staplehurst 
 accident, which occurred on his return from one of 
 these favourite expeditions, had, as is well known, 
 a serious effect on his system ; but he had another 
 narrow escape, some years later, which has never 
 been noted. After giving his Readings in Belfast, 
 he started for Dublin by the mid-day limited mail, 
 the party consisting of himself, his agent, his sister- 
 in-law, and myself As we were walking up and 
 down the platform, I remember the station-master 
 coming to make a request on the part of a local 
 functionary that he might be allowed to share the 
 compartment, "for the pleasure of enjoying Mr. 
 Dickens's society." This, however, was politely 
 declined, simply from the awkwardness and con- 
 straint which such a companionship would involve. 
 The train consisted but of three or four carriages, 
 VOL. I. ■ K
 
 I30 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 with a coupe next the engine which was kept for 
 the great author and his party. It was somewhere 
 beyond Portadown, I think, that there came a 
 crash or bang on the top of the carriage, which 
 was followed by a grinding of the wheels and 
 violent exertion and excitement on the part of 
 the engine-driver and his mates, who suddenly 
 brought the train to a stop. Every one got out 
 and gathered round the engine, when -it appeared 
 that the tire of the great driving-wheel had flown 
 in huge fragments, one of which, a couple of feet 
 long, had struck the top of our carriage, C7i face, 
 just over the glass. A little lower, and it would 
 have been in among us, and must certainly have 
 struck dead a couple of the party. The prompt 
 action of the driver had brought all to a halt before 
 the train could get off the rails, though I think the 
 engine did. It was a curious scene, at that lonely 
 part of the road, the dozen or so passengers stand- 
 ing round the engine, wrecked, the broken frag- 
 ments jammed into the works or scattered about. 
 A guard went on behind with a flag, to stop an 
 expected train coming in the other direction. We
 
 CHARLES DICKENS A T HOME. 1 3 1 
 
 waited nearly half an hour, when it arrived and 
 drew up. The engine was taken off, and took us 
 on. I have often thought since of the horrible 
 and unusual form of death by a second " railway 
 accident " from which he certainly had escaped. 
 
 On another occasion I found myself at Gad's 
 Hill, with the late excellent, worthy George Moore 
 — a simple, earnest man, whose simplicity was, I 
 know, welcome to the host. I recollect telling this 
 gentleman a piece of news about some friend in a 
 distant part of the kingdom, which gave him an 
 agreeable surprise, on which our host shook his 
 head significantly. " There, again ! " he said, " what 
 I always say : the world is so much narrower and 
 smaller than is believed." This was a favourite 
 theory of his : that people were more nearly and 
 curiously connected than appeared. He had many 
 of these little theories, illustrated, not by any 
 means solemnly, but with a sort of bright and 
 smiling mystery, and, indeed, they added a charm 
 to his conversation : — to wit, his account of 
 "averages," such as that a particular number of 
 people must be killed on the railways within the
 
 132 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 year. Once he told me tliat I had been seen 
 walking by the office, and that I had looked at 
 him fixedly, walked on, and disappeared, at the 
 time being at the other end of the kingdom. lie 
 was thus fond of the mysterious in a small way, 
 and had generally a store of something curious in 
 this direction. 
 
 The following are some extracts from his ever- 
 pleasing letters : — 
 
 "VV is ordered away for rest and change,. 
 
 The Paris paper is welcome, and ' Theodore of 
 
 Corsica' shall receive unbounded hospitality in these 
 
 halls. I am ready for him as soon as he likes. 
 
 . . Regarding the Readings, thus the case stands. 
 
 I mean to take farewell of this great occupation 
 
 in the ending winter and spring. I shall not fail 
 
 to claim your promise to join the pilgrimage. 
 
 Dolby begs me to tell you that he is full of joyful 
 
 anticipations. He has been utterly hardened by 
 
 his American bullying, and has none but private 
 
 feelino-s left. Many thanks for your kind welcome 
 
 home. Always cordially yours. , . ." 
 
 " I shall be delighted to see you at Gad's Hill,
 
 CHARLES DICKENS AT HOME. 1 33 
 
 and hope you will bring a bag with you." He then 
 added that they "were but a small party," for one 
 
 of the family had " been decoyed away to for 
 
 the election week — in the Conservative interest ! 
 
 Think of my feelings as a Radical parent. M " 
 
 (the person in question) " is at this moment help- 
 ing to receive (and deceive) the voters — which 
 
 is very awful But in the week after this 
 
 next we shall be in great croquet force, so I shall 
 then hope to persuade you to come back for a few 
 days, and we will try to make you some amends 
 for a dull Sunday. Turn it over in your mind, and 
 try to manage it. . . . 
 
 " I ought to have written to \-ou days and days 
 ago to thank you for your charming book ; to 
 tell you with what interest and pleasure I read it 
 as soon as it came here, and to add that, honestly 
 affected (far more so than your modesty will readily 
 believe) by your intimate knowledge of those 
 touches of mine concerning childhood, it has 
 become a matter of real feeling with me, and I 
 postponed its expression because I couldn't satis- 
 factorily get it out of myself, and at last I came to 
 the conclusion it must be left in. . . .
 
 134 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 '"Tom Butler' is in print, and I like him very- 
 much. But I do not understand how long you 
 propose to make him. How tall is he to grow } 
 With how many parts is he to expand .' Enlighten 
 me, there's a dear fellow, and I will presently 
 respond. . . . 
 
 " I am glad you like the Children, and am par- 
 ticularly glad that you like the Pirate. I remember 
 very well when I had a general idea of occupying 
 that place in history — at the same age. But I 
 loved more desperately than Boldheart. Enclosed 
 is the American story." 
 
 This was in reference to an audience that had 
 been strangely and ignorantly cold : 
 
 " It was very considerate and thoughtful in you 
 to write to me, and I have been much gratified by 
 your note. It is extraordinarily difficult to under- 
 stand (from the point of action) an audience that 
 does not express itself, and I certainly mistook 
 mine on Wednesday night. When the murder 
 was done in London the people were frozen while 
 it went on, but came to life when it was over, and 
 rose to boiling point. I have now told D
 
 CHARLES DICKENS AT HOME. I35 
 
 that henceforth it must be set apart from all our 
 other efifects, and judged by no other 'Reading' 
 standard. . . . 
 
 "Meantime — and till you come here for a few 
 days — please consider that the dreadful epithet 
 and description are not withdrawn, but cleave to 
 you. ... I hope you haven't forgotten what the 
 Honourable Charles Townshend vowed — ' She w^as 
 beautiful.' 
 
 " I hope that has wrought miracles in the 
 
 way of diabolically direct and persistent decision 
 on the part of an eminent literary personage. It 
 will be the crowning triumph and glory of the 
 great institution. 
 
 " As to walls and will-making, I think the 
 
 case altogether too grimly dismal and too recent 
 
 for revival with the B family. I will have 
 
 nothing to do in possession, remainder, or ex- 
 pectancy." 
 
 One of the pleasantest of his suggestions was 
 a proposal to go with him on one of his reading 
 tours. I was only able to carry out this plan 
 partially, as other matters interrupted the plan,
 
 136 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 but I know how much I lost. I hear him now 
 expatiating, laying out the attractions and enjoy- 
 ments, as though such seductions were not needed. 
 He spoke of a saloon-carriage which had been 
 promised him to make the journey from London 
 to Edinburgh — which would be victualled with 
 baskets of dainties a la Fortnum and Mason. 
 Arrived at Edinburgh, there were introductions 
 and friends and sights galore held out. This part 
 of the programme had to be set aside, as far as 
 I was concerned, by some business matters, but I 
 was enabled to go with him in another direction, 
 and a most enjoyable time it was. There was 
 with us the energetic and useful Dolby, ever on 
 the qui vive where business was concerned. Our 
 destination was a great northern manufacturing 
 town. The incidents, apart from the interest of 
 his companionship, were most novel and enter- 
 taining, and reminded one of his own stories. 
 The curiosity at the hotel ; the awkward attempts 
 at accidental meeting on the stairs and lobby with 
 a view of having a good look ; the general stare 
 from the less delicate-minded ; the little attentions
 
 CHARLES DICKEXS AT HOME. 137 
 
 and offerings going on, incessantly imparted some- 
 thing dramatic. 
 
 It must, however, have been a weary business, 
 tedious and monotonous for such a man ; yet the 
 most delightful thing to note was that he was ever 
 buoyant, full of spirits and animation. He never 
 flagged. Few could conceive what a delightful 
 and dramatic story-teller he w^as, calling up a 
 situation before you by a few touches of a high 
 dramatic kind — the eyes twinkling and sparkling ; 
 the cheeks, the mouth, wTcathcd over and over 
 again in jocund smiles. Nor was he a mimic in 
 the common sense, but carried away by a sort 
 of intense expression which lighted all up. It was 
 this which gave such a dramatic force to any story 
 that he told. In the railway I recall his filling 
 more than an hour with some sketches of " Old 
 Rogers," the poet, and of his mode of telling a 
 story. Those who attended the Readings will 
 recall Justice Stareleigh : the strangely obtuse and 
 owl-like expression, and the slow, husky croak 
 with which the words were projected. This was 
 borrowed from the " Poet of Memory," and many
 
 138 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAM. 
 
 were the stories he told in his manner. The old 
 man would relate his cut-and-dried "tales," always 
 in the same fashion, and "go on," like a wheezy 
 musical-box, on the smallest invitation. Some- 
 times he would go and dine with him, and he 
 described the scene as piteously grotesque, a 
 faithful man-servant cheerily suggesting the old 
 stories which they knew by heart. Thus : " Tell 
 Mr. Dickens, sir, the story of the Honourable 
 Charles Townshend and the beautiful Miss Cur- 
 zon." The old poet would start in a slow, almost 
 Gregorian tone, and in curious old-fashioned 
 phrase : " The Hon — our — able Charles Towns- 
 hend " (this name will serve as well as another) — 
 " became enamoured of Miss Curzon. She was 
 beeyewtiful. He beribed her maid to conceal him 
 in her cheeamber, and when she arrived to dress for 
 a ball, emerged from his hiding-place. She looked 
 at him fixedly, then said, ' Why don't you begin t ' 
 She took him for the 'air-dresser" This, in this 
 place, has not much effect, but with the face that 
 was supplied, twisted so strangely, and the mourn- 
 ful unchanging voice, it became a histrionic feat 
 of high order.
 
 CHARLES DICKENS AT HOME. 1 39 
 
 One day, from breakfast until almost past the 
 afternoon, was spent at the table, when he was 
 in extraordinary spirits and full of enjoyment, 
 and told stories and drew fanciful sketches of droll, 
 far-fetched situations, which he played with and 
 touched and heightened in the most farcical 
 style. 
 
 In nothing was he more delightful, or " in his 
 element," as it is called, than in talking of all 
 matters connected with the stage. He delighted 
 in the very scent of the place, and welcomed any 
 bits of news or gossip connected with it. It was 
 enjoyable to watch his keen interest even in the 
 obscurest histrionic elements. On this little expe- 
 dition, as there was a free evening, it was under- 
 stood, almost as of course, that we should visit 
 the little local theatre, where he sat out very 
 patiently some rather crude and ancient melo- 
 drama. Next morning at breakfast he was in 
 possession of ail local histrionic information — how 
 the manager's wife engrossed all the leading 
 characters for herself, and would let no one have 
 any of the "fat," which was true almost literally;
 
 140 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 the manager a patient being. These things were 
 pleasantly retailed and set off in his own lively- 
 way over the tea and cofifce — and these things to 
 hear one did seriously incline — for those who like 
 the stage can never dismiss this sort of interest 
 and reverence, and the sight of the meanest 
 country theatre always raises curiosity and respect. 
 In this view, he enjoyed allusions and stories con- 
 nected with the melodramas of old times, and had 
 some good ones to relate : as of the actor of 
 Rochester Theatre, who forgot his part and could 
 not attract or hear the prompter. At last, in 
 desperation, he said to his comrade with deep 
 " no-meaning," " / zvill return anon ! " and then 
 went off to consult his book. Another of his 
 stories was connected with the " Castle Spectre," 
 where an actor had taken the part of the im- 
 prisoned Earl on an emergency. He was told 
 to say anything expressive of his condition and 
 sufferings — fifteen years' imprisonment, etc. " For 
 fifteen years have I been imprisoned here " (here 
 a stop, with hoarse prompting, " Say you were 
 starved ! "), " and during tJie ivhole of that period
 
 CHARLES DICKENS AT HOME. I4I 
 
 not a morsel of food has passed my lips ! " I recall 
 his delight when "The Miller and his Men" was 
 announced at Drury Lane. We were to have a 
 regular night's enjoyment of this old fossil, the 
 first words of which he used to quote, " more sacks 
 for the mill ! " A box was secured, and we went ; 
 but here again there was disappointment. It was 
 not absurd, as we had hoped ; it was simply 
 tedious — there was nothing to laugh at. We came 
 away looking a little ruefully at each other, and 
 a more dramatically expressive face than his it 
 would be hard to conceive, especially for those 
 neutral or compounded expressions, half sly, half 
 serious. "A merrier man within the limits of 
 becoming mirth," etc. 
 
 One day he was not very well, and said he 
 would lie on his sofa at the hotel and nurse him- 
 self. As a great treat, he had sent for a copy of 
 "The Bride of Lammermoor," a work, he said, he 
 had not read for a vast number of years, and of 
 which he had almost forgotten the details. It 
 would be a rare treat, therefore. It was amazing 
 to find at the close of that long day how he had
 
 142 RECREATIOXS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 been dcsillusionnc, and it was pleasant and in- 
 structive to hear his criticism. The strength of 
 the story was there : but, he said, the clumsy shifts 
 and inartistic treatment of the machinery ! Many 
 have felt the same feeling on returning to some 
 old favourite. And there can be no doubt that 
 much of the Wavcrley Novels would fall under 
 the slang definition of " padding." A favourite 
 book of his, and one which he always delighted in, 
 was " Tom Cringle's Log," and I think, too, " Two 
 Years before the Mast " — both these books having 
 the true briny element. Another work he relished 
 was " Little Pedlington," whose author he knew 
 well, and assisted charitably. There is a breath of 
 humour akin to that in " Pickwick." " Little Ped- 
 lington " is a work too good and fine in its humour 
 for the present generation, and indeed worthy of 
 the " old masters." It was spoiled by clumsy 
 additions and unnecessary episodes dragged in 
 anyhow and everyhow ; but the humours are after 
 the best old style. I always, however, set the 
 author down as belonging to an era at the be- 
 ginning of the century ; and, indeed, the fact that
 
 CHARLES DICKENS AT HOME. 1 43 
 
 Listen " created " Paul Pry shows that he was 
 remote enough. Once, talking in a railway car- 
 riage on this subject, he joined in the praises of 
 this novel, saying that he was always particularly 
 delighted with the parody of " The Guide-Book " 
 — amazing me by telling me he had just been to 
 see the author. It was hard to believe that he was 
 actually alive, though in a sadly decayed state 
 of body, mind, and condition. He then, with that 
 singular power which he possessed, brought him 
 before me, as it were, by a few touches. This, 
 however, was not a mimicry — it was an intellectual 
 operation ; he gave the air and tone of the person. 
 He went to see him regularly and aided him. 
 
 Looking back to the incidents of my knowledge 
 of him, there is nothing, as I have so often said, 
 but w^hat is pleasant and agreeable to think of. 
 He was ever ready, not so much with a jest or 
 joke, as with a sympathetic good humour so much 
 more welcome. On a certain occasion going 
 abroad, we had found cash flying with alarming 
 rapidity, and from Folkestone I had written to him 
 to ask him to come to my aid with whatever was
 
 144 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 Standing to my credit in his books. From him 
 came at once : 
 
 " I enclose a clieque. ' The little victims play ' 
 — with ready money — always under those circum- 
 stances, I am told ! Ever your Venerable Sage, 
 
 " C. D." 
 
 I remember, too, a great and important event on 
 the commencement of housekeeping — his coming 
 with his sister-in-law to dine, to a special dinner 
 of inauguration : a nervous business. He was never 
 so cheerful and good humoured at this experi- 
 ment ; and there were many things about it that 
 must have suggested David Copperfield's attempt. 
 As when, in the middle of the banquet, a splashing 
 sound seemed to come from the hall, or rather 
 from the roof down to the hall. The " new 
 servant " had forgotten to turn off the water-cock 
 at the top of the house, and the stream, soon over- 
 charging and overflowing the tank, made its way 
 on to the landing, and thence gushing downwards 
 as a shower-bath. The distress caused by this con- 
 tretemps may be conceived, as it was assumed that
 
 CHARLES DICKENS AT HOME. I45 
 
 " all the pipes had burst ! " But he soon made all 
 pleasant. He entered into all these little inci- 
 dents, and long since I had found that what 
 pleased myself pleased him. I can safely say that 
 no one of all my acquaintance so heartily enjoyed 
 a story or adventure. So with stories about him- 
 self " Concerning the Green Covers, I find their 
 leaves to be budding on unquestionable newspaper 
 authority ; but, upon my soul, I have no other 
 knowledge of their being in embryo. I cannot 
 find that there is any one in Rochester (a sleepy 
 old city) who has anything to tell about Garrick, 
 except what is not true. His brother the wine 
 merchant would be more in Rochester way, I 
 think." I recollect one story he was genuinely 
 delighted with — the debate over the inscription for 
 a monument to a Dublin physician, to be erected 
 in a cemetery, and some one suggesting that one 
 in St. Paul's to Wren : " Si momimentum quceris, 
 circumspice !'' 
 
 I have now on my shelves a complete set of his 
 works, in, I think, thirty volumes, which came to 
 me in a curious and pleasant way. I had pre- 
 
 VOL. I. L
 
 146 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 pared a series of papers on some popular subject, 
 the execution of which was not what he intended, 
 though they were duly printed and filled a large 
 space. In the next settlement a very handsome 
 sum was set down for this, which I firmly declined 
 to accept. When this resolution was not to be 
 shaken, his delicate mind hit on what he knew, 
 would be most acceptable. I have also a fine 
 copy of his " Copperfield," bound according to his 
 directions in mazarine blue. Finally, on the desk 
 before me is his well-worn paper-knife, sprinkled 
 with blue ink, and his paper-weight — some of those 
 articles which he directed by his will to be dis- 
 tributed among a few friends. 
 
 During the last season of his life, as it was to 
 prove, he had taken a house in town, at the Marble 
 Arch, — a house which belonged to Mr. Milner 
 Gibson. Here he found opportunity to be most 
 hospitable, as he ever was, and gave dinner-parties 
 and a concert. At one of those dinner-parties I 
 found myself next to Sir Edwin Landseer, then, like 
 his host, almost close on his term. The house had 
 been, it is well known, associated with Mr. Home's
 
 CHARLES DICKENS AT HOME. 1 47 
 
 feats, and an amusing discussion arose between the 
 host and the painter, who had witnessed some of 
 them. Nay, it was affirmed that on the draw- 
 ing-room ceiling there was still to be seen the 
 medium's signature in pencil, written while he was 
 aloft floating in the air. Sir Edwin was an 
 agreeable neighbour. Not very long before, he 
 had gone to an artist, of whom I knew something, 
 and who also painted animals. Noticing the 
 lumps of paint — " scrapings " of the palette — on a 
 piece of board, he took it up, and carelessly, but 
 with art, worked all into a spirited dog's head. 
 
 But the concert was a more ambitious effort, 
 and a very interesting thing indeed it was, to 
 see his rooms filled with a mixture of the town 
 elements — artistic, literary, and fashionable. His 
 friend Joachim came to play for him, with also 
 various singers of eminence, gratified to give him that 
 proof of their regard. There were Santley, Halle, 
 Cummings, and the Glee Union. So the music 
 was admirable. He himself was in good spirits, 
 though not looking well ; but was genial, doing 
 his host-duties everywhere with animation, taking
 
 148 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 ladies up and down to supper. I am looking now 
 at a little cosaque, which I saw him merrily "ex- 
 ploding " at the supper-table, holding it out to a 
 lady, who carefully treasured it. Almost that day 
 two months he was gone for ever. 
 
 Indeed, at this time he knew not what was on 
 him. And yet, as was indeed to be expected with 
 a man of his position, he was pursued with invita- 
 tions to dinners and parties. 
 
 " I have delayed," he wrote, two days after his 
 own party, " answering your kind note on the 
 chance of discovering some loophole in my engage- 
 ments for to-night. But I am sorry to say that I 
 have got into a complicated state of engagements. 
 This almost always happens in the last month of 
 my term or stay in town, but this year it is worse 
 than ever. Pray accept a dismal absentee's best 
 
 wishes for a great success to-night, and give 
 
 my kindest regards. To crown my distresses, I 
 write with a steel pen (which I can never use), 
 closely hemmed in on each side " (he was writing 
 from a club) " by a talkative person of disagreeable 
 opinions."
 
 CHARLES DICKENS AT HOME. 1 49 
 
 Every letter he thus contrived to make pleasant 
 by some little stroke or picture in his own manner. 
 Within a few days, he had written at his favourite 
 country place : 
 
 " I have been obliged to fly for a time from the 
 dinings and other engagements of this London 
 season, and to take refuge here to get myself into 
 my usual gymnastic condition, where I am looking 
 forward to the pleasure of welcoming you and 
 
 to this pretty country. I have been subject 
 
 for a few years past to a neuralgic attack in the 
 foot, originating in overwalking in deep snow, and 
 revived by a hard winter in America. For the 
 last three weeks it has made me dead-lame, and it 
 now obliges me to beg absolution from all the 
 social engagements I had made. Deprivation of 
 my usual walks is a very serious matter to me, as I 
 cannot work unless I have my constant exercise. 
 Your kind note, therefore, finds me helpless and 
 moody, but virtuously virtuous. I shall hope to be 
 vicious again soon, and to report myself to you as 
 a good example of dissipation and free living, until 
 when and always, yours," etc.
 
 150 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 On the 2nd of June, just before this letter was 
 written, Mr. Freake's pretty theatre in Cromwell 
 Road was filled to overflowing by a large and 
 fashionable company, to witness a dramatic per- 
 formance in which his daughter, Miss Dickens, and 
 Mrs. Charles Collins took part. The pieces were 
 got up with extraordinary pains — the first being a 
 French one, " The Prima Donna," with a blind 
 girl as heroine. The scenery was arranged and 
 designed by Mr. Millais. 
 
 CROMWELL HOUSE. 
 Thursday, June 2, 1870. 
 
 "A HAPPY PAIR." 
 
 CHARACTERS. 
 
 Mr. Honeyton ... ... Mr. Augustus Spalding. 
 
 Mrs. Honeyton ... ... Miss Harriet Young. 
 
 "PRIMA DONNA." 
 
 characters. 
 
 Dr. Holbein ... ... Mr. Hastings Hughes. 
 
 Eric ... ... ... Mr. Crawford Grove, 
 
 Rouble ... ... ... Mr. Herman Merivale. 
 
 Stella ... ... ... ... Miss Dickens. 
 
 Alice ... ... ... Mrs. Charles Collins. 
 
 "LE MYOSOTIS." 
 
 Boitffonerie. 
 Corbillon (Empaillcur) ... ... Mr. Harold Power. 
 
 Schuitzberg (Violoncelliste) ... Mr. Alfred Thompson.
 
 CHARLES DICKENS A T HOME. I 5 I 
 
 The acting of the two ladies was exceedingly 
 touching and clever — as was indeed to be expected, 
 with so skilled and painstaking an instructor, who 
 had taken enormous pains. He was behind the 
 scenes the whole time, but no one saw him ; and 
 he got home as speedily as he could, and away to 
 the country to the soft restoring breezes of his 
 loved Kentish home. That night of the play was 
 Thursday. On the following Thursday he was 
 seized with the last fatal attack. 
 
 Mr. Forster speaks of " that blithe face " — a 
 happy word. " ' It is almost thirty years,' Mr, 
 Carlyle wrote, ' since my acquaintance with him 
 began ; and on my side, I may say, every new 
 meeting ripened it into more and more clear 
 discernment of his rare and great worth as a 
 brother man : a most cordial, sincere, clear-sighted, 
 quietly decisive, just and loving man : till at 
 length he had grown to such a recognition with 
 me as I have rarely had for any man of my time. 
 This I can tell you three, for it is true and will 
 be welcome to you : to others less concerned I 
 had as soon not speak on such a subject.' ' I
 
 152 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 am profoundly sorry for yoii', Mr. Carlyle at 
 the same time wrote to me ; ' and indeed for 
 myself and for us all. It is an event world- 
 wide ; a unique of talents suddenly extinct ; and 
 has " eclipsed," we too may say, " the harmless 
 gaiety of nations." No death since 1866 has fallen 
 on me with such a stroke. No literary man'.s 
 hitherto ever did. The good, the gentle, high- 
 gifted, ever-friendly, noble Dickejis, — every inch of 
 him an Honest Man' " Those five words, and that 
 last sentence, always seem the happiest and most 
 recalling description of him that has been penned. 
 
 The last time I saw him was some three or four 
 weeks before his death, at the Wellington Street 
 office. I see now the spare, almost feminine 
 shoulders (this always recurred to me), in which 
 there was much expression — the line was so 
 delicate and nervous. But he was a little de- 
 pressed. I had called about some amateur plays 
 to which I asked him to come, and he spoke of the 
 innumerable invitations which were being showered 
 on him. That was the last glimpse of my true 
 and genial friend.
 
 CHARLES DICKENS AT HOME. I 53 
 
 But I shall not forget his kindly hearty look, as 
 he seemed to say, " This does not apply to you." 
 He had to dine somewhere ; " but I'll come in to 
 you afterwards if I can." He spoke then cheer- 
 fully of various things, and of his friend Regnier 
 the actor — how he had seen him play in the 
 " Vieux Gargon : " but how he had got too old for 
 the stage ; " in fact," he added, with his old merry 
 twinkle, " he is a vieux garqon himself ! " The last 
 thing was to take me into another room, to show 
 me one of the huge yellow placards — announcing 
 one of my new stories — hung up against the wall, 
 which he thought would please me. 
 
 On June 14, 1870, one of the most fiercely hot 
 days of that summer, I walked into the cool and 
 shaded aisles of Westminster. On that morning 
 had been his funeral, and many were going in, too, 
 for the same purpose. At the end of the transept 
 some forms covered with a black drapery had 
 been brought together to make a fence round 
 the opening in the pavement. Down below, 
 and not very far down, lay the oak coffin — hand- 
 some, solid, and panelled ; while in bright bold
 
 154 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 characters the famih'ar cheery name " CHARLES 
 Dickens " looked up with a sort of hint of the 
 bright face below. There was a wreath of white 
 roses at his feet, ferns at his head, rows of white 
 and red roses down the side. It was a pleasing 
 and gracious thing to leave all this visible, which, I 
 believe, was done for some days. 
 
 Illustration is one of the most flattering forms 
 of homage. The public must have its favourite 
 in convenient shape to frame. One would have 
 thought, in a photographic age, that this taste 
 could be more than satisfied ; but the woodcut 
 and lithograph are called even more abundantly 
 in aid. 
 
 To prove what may be done in a small way, so 
 as to form an always agreeable souvenir of a 
 person we liked, I will show here what I have done 
 with the rather slender materials that I possess 
 connected with the memory of Mr. Dickens. 
 These I arranged, not very scientifically, in a large 
 volume ; and as I turn them over, they are truly 
 suggestive. For there arc some forty letters, most
 
 CHARLES DICKENS AT HOME. 1 55 
 
 interesting and confidential. There are playbills, 
 and a vast number of engravings, sketches, and 
 innumerable other little souvenirs. Indeed a very 
 interesting essay might be written on his various 
 portraits. In his youth he seems to have had a 
 bright, brilliant face, full of spirit and intelligence, 
 set off by the abundance of hair and the pic- 
 turesque stock then in fashion, and which threw out 
 a face effectively. I have got together as many of 
 these records of him, at different periods of his life, 
 as I could discover. The first is a very brilliant 
 head by Lane, in 1838, done with a free black 
 brilliant touch : a fine forehead, round speaking 
 eyes, out of which the hair is with difficulty kept. 
 The lips seem thick. Something like this is the 
 one given in Home's book. Then comes the profile 
 sketch by D'Orsay, showing an almost feminine 
 outline, and dated 1841. Next come those of 
 Maclise, who sketched him often. The most 
 charming and elegant of these is a little airy 
 profile placed by Mr. Forster at the head of his 
 sonnet to his friend at the beginning of the " Life 
 of Goldsmith," and which is also given in a trio
 
 156 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 of profiles —himself, his wife, and sister-in-law — 
 in the " Life." There is here a refined boyish 
 delicacy of outline that is charming. Then there 
 is the well-known Maclise portrait — often engraved 
 — with the stock and pin ; but here the face has 
 got more firm and solid. Of this I have a fine 
 proof, it being re-engraved in the boldest style 
 by Graves. Next there comes a drawing, one by 
 Lehmann, done at a time when the author had 
 begun to let his beard and moustache grow, which 
 considerably altered his look. This drawing has 
 been photographed and published in various sizes 
 in Germany. Next there is one of the same cha- 
 racter and effect, though rather heavy, by the once 
 fashionable and now forgotten Baugniet, who 
 lithographed everybody that was worth lithograph- 
 ing. Then there is the charming characteristic 
 scene in Maclisc's sketch of his reading his work to 
 his friends, admirable for the vividness of the draw- 
 ings of Forster, Carlylc, and others ; while with sly 
 compliment he sets a faint halo round the reader's 
 head. Now comes Leslie's capital and splendid 
 theatrical picture of Bobadil in costume, in which
 
 CHARLES DICKENS AT HOME. 1 57 
 
 the eyes speak and the Hkeness is perfect. There 
 is the large engraving after Frith's portrait, which 
 did not give satisfaction, but ahvays seemed to me 
 to convey his quick, keen, piercing gaze admirably. 
 Ary Schefifer's portrait of him may be seen at 
 the National Portrait Gallery ; but there is a 
 gentle feebleness about it, a mediaeval spiritual- 
 ness which the artist imparted. It is more like 
 the pictures of Hawthorne, and lacks spirit ; in 
 fact, it is unrecognizable, at first. These are the 
 more official portraits. It is something to have 
 been painted by Ary Schefifer, Leslie, Maclise, and 
 Frith ! Some time ago, a drawing by Cruikshank 
 of him was bought for twenty or thirty pounds, 
 and a clever etching of it published by Mr. 
 Kerslake, who had for sale more curious things — 
 " seven original portraits, in pencil, by George 
 Cruikshank, one full length, five heads, and a slight 
 preliminary sketch (from the artist's private col- 
 lection)." The price asked was ten guineas — not by 
 any means excessive. The date was about 1837, 
 when both belonged to a club where his sketches 
 were said to have been executed. Then there is
 
 158 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 a curious etching of him by " Phiz," with an 
 extravagant length of limb and rather insipid 
 expression, a Punch and Judy in the background. 
 Most of the later engravings have been done from 
 photographs. He always said himself that what 
 he thought the best likeness was one of these 
 gigantic heads on tiny legs, a form once in high 
 favour, the original, by " Sem," which I saw in a 
 dealer's shop. I have also two French coloured 
 pictures of the same kind by " Gill." A pleasing 
 picture is the photo-lithograph published in Life, 
 " Charles Dickens reading to his Daughters at 
 Gad's Hill," which recalls him very forcibly. 
 
 But "Dickens" has now become quite a depart- 
 ment for collectors and booksellers : witness the 
 following list of " curios," and the prices 
 demanded : — 
 
 " ' A Christmas Carol,' ' The Chimes,' ' The 
 Poor Traveller,' Boots at the Holly Tree Inn, 
 and Mrs. Gamp. In i vol., i2mo, stamped bind- 
 ing. £2 2s. 1858. Being the versions arranged 
 by the author for his own Readings. This was 
 his own set, and some of the pages have excisions,
 
 CHARLES DICKENS AT HOME. I 59 
 
 underlines, and other marks denoting emphasis in 
 reading, while the fly-leaf bears his autograph, 
 ' Charles Dickens, at Plymouth, Tuesday, Seventh 
 January, 1862." The binding has flaps for pro- 
 tecting the book while in use. 
 
 " A collection of six pencil drawings by George 
 Cruikshank, being original designs for plates in 
 the first edition of ' Sketches by Boz,' signed by 
 the artist, framed and glazed. ^21. 1836-37. 
 Comprising, among others, ' May Day in the 
 Evening,' ' Horatio Sparkins,' ' The Boarding 
 House,' 'The Great Winglebury Duel,' 'The 
 Bloomsbury Christening.' Being the same size 
 as the plates, they are admirably adapted for 
 insertion in the book, thus making a copy of high 
 interest. 
 
 " Address on the issuing of a new edition of his 
 works, the original manuscript in Charles Dickens's 
 autograph, signed, 3 pages, 4to, with the same 
 printed. £6 6s. Accompanying the manuscript 
 are two portraits of Dickens and a plate of his 
 grave. 
 
 " Dickens's Christmas Books, viz. ' Christmas
 
 l6o RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 Carol,' 1845 ; 'The Chimes,' a goblin story, 1845 ; 
 ' Cricket on the Hearth,' a fairy tale of home, 
 1846; 'Battle of Life,' a love story, 1846; 
 'Haunted Man and the Ghost's Bargain,' 1848. 
 Together 5 vols., i2mo, all first editions, fine set 
 in the original red cloth, gilt edges, i^io io.y. 
 1843-48. Perhaps the most interesting set ever 
 offered for sale. At the last page of ' A Christ- 
 mas Carol,' the following, on a sHjd of paper, is 
 inserted, '" And so, as Tiny Tim observed, God 
 bless us every one ! " Charles Dickens, Twenty- 
 ninth May, 1846.' The 'Cricket on the Hearth' 
 has a playbill of the first performance at York of 
 the drama founded upon it, with an elaborate 
 analysis of the piece, and extracts from the book, 
 April 15, 1846. The 'Battle of Life' contains 
 an autograph letter signed by Dickens, dated from 
 Rosemont, Lausanne, Switzerland, August 31, 
 1846, addressed, per favour of John Forster, Esq., 
 to Robert Keeley, Esq., respecting the dramatiza- 
 tion by him of the book in time to act on the 
 night of its publication. It contains also the play- 
 bill of its production as a Christmas piece by
 
 CHARLES DICKENS AT HOME. l6l 
 
 Keeley at the Lyceum Theatre, as foreshadowed 
 in Dickens's letter, and announced as being 
 adapted, by the express permission of the author, 
 from the proof-sheets, by Albert Smith. It is 
 the more interesting being dated from Switzer- 
 land, in that the dedication reads : ' This Christ- 
 mas Book is cordially inscribed to my English 
 friends in Switzerland.' 
 
 "'Oliver Twist.' — A collection of four original 
 drawings by George Cruikshank, illustrating this 
 work ; one a finished design in sepia, the others 
 in pencil, one signed, and all framed and mounted. 
 £,10 los. 1838. Comprising — i. 'The Evidence 
 destroyed ' (vol. iii. page 20) ; 2. ' Monks and the 
 Jew ' (vol. ii. page 260), varying from the finished 
 engraving considerably ; 3. ' Oliver escapes being 
 bound Apprentice to the Sweep ' (vol. i. page 48), 
 comprising two sketches for the plate, each varying 
 from the other and from the engraving ; 4. A 
 series of sketches, on one sheet, signed, and 
 bearing in the artist's autograph the following : — 
 ' Sketches for " Oliver Twist." Suggestions to Mr. 
 C. Dickens, the writer.' It was upon this dispute 
 
 VOL. I. M
 
 1 62 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 that Dickens and Cruikshank parted company, 
 and it will be remembered that in 1872 the latter 
 issued a very acrid pamphlet, entitled ' Artist and 
 Author,' dealing with the question of the origin 
 of this and other books illustrated by him. 
 
 " ' Pickwick Papers.' With fine original impres- 
 sions of the forty-three plates by Seymour and 
 ' Phiz.' First edition, 8vo, uncut copy in the 
 original parts, with all the green paper wrappers. 
 ;^8 Zs. 1843. Containing the characteristic address 
 issued with Part 10, which is often wanting. 
 
 " Playbill of an amateur performance at Kneb- 
 worth, on November 18, 1850, of Ben Jonson's 
 ' Every Man in his Humour,' and Inchbald's farce 
 'Animal Magnetism.' \^s. 1850. Dickens playing 
 Captain Bobadil and the Doctor, other parts being 
 taken by Sir Henry Hawkins, Mark Lemon, John 
 Forster, Douglas Jerrold, John Leech, Frederick 
 Dickens, Miss Hogarth, and Mrs. Mark Lemon, 
 'who has most kindly consented to act, in lieu 
 of Mrs. Charles Dickens, disabled by an accident' 
 Accompanying the playbill is a four-page ' Epi- 
 logue, written for the occasion, by Mr. Delme 
 Radcli ffe.'
 
 CHARLES DICKENS AT HOME. 1 63 
 
 " Playbill of an amateur performance of the Guild 
 of Literature and Art, at the Hanover Square 
 Rooms, on June 18, 185 1. The play, Lytton's 
 ' Not so Bad as We seem,' and a Farce, by Charles 
 Dickens and Mark Lemon, entitled ' Mr. Nightin- 
 gale's Diary ; ' the whole produced under the 
 direction of Mr. Charles Dickens, los. 6d. 185 1. 
 Among the performers were Dickens, John Forster, 
 Douglas Jerrold, Mark Lemon, R. H. Home, 
 Wilkie Collins, John Tenniel, Dr. Westland 
 Marston, etc. 
 
 "Playbill of an amateur performance of the Guild 
 of Literature and Art, before the Queen and 
 Prince Albert, at Devonshire House, Piccadilly, 
 on May 16, 185 1. The play, Lytton's 'Not so 
 Bad as We seem,' for the first time ; the whole 
 produced under the direction of Mr. Charles 
 Dickens. 15^. 185 1. With the same cast as at 
 the Hanover Square Rooms, Dickens playing the 
 part of Lord Wilmot. The Duke of Devonshire's 
 private band performed an overture composed for 
 the occasion. 
 
 " ' Sketches by Boz.' First octavo edition, extra
 
 164 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 copy, containing a duplicate coloured set of the 
 forty plates by George Cruikshank. 8vo, fine 
 copy in polished calf, super extra, gilt edges. 
 ^10 \os. 1839. Twelve of the designs are en- 
 tirely new, not having appeared in the first and 
 smaller edition, while all the plates are engraved 
 in a larger and better style. There is no record 
 of any copy having been sold with two sets of 
 plates — plain and coloured. 
 
 " ' Sunday under Three Heads,' As it is. As 
 Sabbath Bills would make it, and As it might 
 be made, by Timothy Sparks. With six illus- 
 trations by 'Phiz,' first edition, i2mo, fine copy in 
 the original wrapper, uncut (presentation copy), 
 very rare. £\2 \2s'' 
 
 Returning now to my volume, I find proof- 
 sheets of my own, corrected by him in his neat 
 hand and familiar blue ink. Here are tickets and 
 programmes for the Readings in red ink ; original 
 wrappers of the " Pickwick " and " Nickleby " 
 numbers, which have an odd air ; and, which is 
 curious enough, the February number, 1834, of the 
 Monthly Magazine, with its head of Milton, the
 
 CHARLES DICKENS AT HOME. 1 65 
 
 fifth article in which is " Horatio Sparkins," which 
 was his second contribution to hterature — and a 
 spirited and amusing one it is. Here also is a 
 memorandum written after dinner at a friend's 
 house : " You go by the North Kent Railway, by 
 the train nearest to twelve o'clock, and take tickets 
 for Higham station ; " and here is the ticket itself, 
 preserved I know not how. Then there are pictures 
 of all his various residences : Tavistock House, 
 Gad's Hill, Doughty Street, at the Marble Arch, 
 Broadstairs, and many others. Here is the Raven ; 
 bills of fare ; report of the dinner given to him on 
 going to America ; the songs, toasts, etc., and card 
 that marked one's place ; a thick folio pamphlet, 
 the auctioneer's sale catalogue of Gad's Hill ; the 
 catalogue of his library, of the sale at Christie's, 
 and pictures of scenes from his plays ; and, more 
 interesting still, some bills of those early dramas 
 written when a young man. Pictures of him 
 giving his Readings, and, saddest of all, the last 
 procession to Westminster Abbey. 
 
 But one of the most interesting souvenirs is an 
 almost complete " file," if it may be so called, of a
 
 1 66 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 little journal which one of his younger children, 
 now a clever and prospering barrister, conducted 
 and published. A friend had made him a present 
 of a boy's printing press, and his father was glad 
 to encourage this dawning literary taste. The 
 little enterprise was maintained for a very long 
 time, and was a pleasant official record for 
 acquaintances of what went on at Gad's Hill. A 
 single specimen will not be an undue violation of 
 confidence.
 
 THE 
 
 GAD S HILL GAZETTE 
 
 August 5th 1865 Price 2d 
 
 Tlie management of the railway com- 
 
 -panies seems still to be in the same 
 
 blundering: & neglisrent state as it has 
 0,00 
 
 been for some time, and more especi- 
 -allj that of the Great Northern, As 
 an instance of this, we annex the fol- 
 -lowing. On Saturday evening, Chas 
 Dickens Esqre, accompanied by the 
 rest of the residents & visitors at Gad's 
 Hill (who had been to Knebworth for 
 the day)'" were returning to London, 
 when their journey was delayed by 
 some wandering luggage trains, caus 
 -ing some danger & much inconvenience. 
 
 * For their visit to Knebworth see next page 
 
 Arrivals & Departures 
 P Fitzgerald Esqre left on Tuesday 1st. The 
 visitors and residents of Gad's Hill, compri 
 -sing P Fitzgerald Esqre, Mr & Mrs C Col 
 -lins, C Dickens Esqre, Miss Dickens, and 
 Miss Hogarth left on Saturday and returned 
 very early next morning (1 o' clock a.m). 
 C Dickens junr Esqre arrived on Friday and 
 left on the next day.
 
 Miscellaneous 
 
 The Gad's Hill party went to Kneb- 
 -wortli on Saturday morning to view 
 the new houses, built by the society 
 of the Guild, Literature, & Art. 
 A very handsome lunch was given by 
 Sir E B Lytton Bart, in the course of 
 which he, and C Dickens Esqre deli 
 -vered two brilliant speechs. Dancing 
 then followed, and the Gad's Hill par- 
 -ty, who had spent a very pleasant day 
 returned late at niorht. 
 
 Since we published our list, we are 
 proud to annex the names of two new 
 subscribers to it viz Mrs Stunt and A 
 Halliday Esqre. 
 
 We beg to acknowledge the receipt 
 of letters on business from The Dean of 
 Bristol, Miss Ely, C Kent Esqre, A Halli- 
 -day Esqre, ]\Iiss Boyle and W H Humphe- 
 -ry Esqre M P. 
 
 We are fflad to inform our readers that Lin 
 
 o 
 
 -da is much better. 
 
 The school children were to have had their 
 annual treat on Tuesday last ; but owing to 
 the inclemency of the weather, it was post- 
 poned till next week.
 
 Cricket 
 Upper V Lower Higliam 
 
 This match was played on Friday Ju- 
 -ly 28th and resulted in favour of the 
 latter by 6 wickets. 
 
 In the first innings of both sides no- 
 -body distinguished himself except S 
 Ford, who played very well. In the se 
 -cond innings, the Upper made a bet 
 
 ter stand, Messrs Gouge and Hindle 
 playing best. Annexed is the score. 
 
 Upper 
 
 1st Innings 2nd Innings 
 
 Blackman bd Barnes bd Barnes 4 
 Mr H Dickens bd Lewis 3 bd Lewis 1 
 Whiting bd Barnes bd Lewis 3 
 Gouge bd Barnes 5 bd Darkey 19 
 
 Mr Hindle ct & bd Barnes bd Darkey 11 
 Mr C D junr bd Lewis bd Barnes 
 Eussell ct & bd Lewis 4 ct Barnes 
 
 Mr E Dickens ct & bd Lewis 1 bd Darkey 1 
 Ring bd Barnes 2 bd Darkey 
 
 Brooker bd Barnes 1 bd Barnes 
 
 Marsh Not out 1 Not out 
 
 Extras 11 Extras 21 
 
 Total— 28 — Total — 60 
 
 Grand Total — 88 —
 
 Lower 
 1st Innings 
 Lewis ct & bd Hindle 4 
 Ford bd Hindle 9 
 
 Barnes bd Hindle 9 
 
 Batclielor Run out 
 
 Wriglit bd Gouge 
 
 Mr Stunt junr ct E D 
 Strino-er st Hindle 1 
 
 Read Not out 
 
 Darkey st Russell 
 
 Mr H Cobb ct C Dickens 
 Collier ct C Dickens junr 
 
 Extras 20 
 Total — 43 
 
 2nd Innings 
 Run out 2 
 
 ct & bd GougeS 
 Not out 28 
 
 st H Dickens 1 
 bd Hindle 2 
 Not out 3 
 
 Extras 7 
 Total — 46 
 
 Grand Total — 89- 
 
 LATEST INTELLIGENCE. 
 
 Miss Dickens and Mrs Collins went 
 to London, this morning (Friday) and 
 are to return this evening, accompa- 
 -nied by M Stone Esqre. Ch Dickens 
 Esqre left on Wednesday . 
 
 In Page 2, there is a missprint. Instead 
 of The Guild, Literature & Art, read — 
 The Guild 'OF' &c. 
 
 H Dickens is the present champion at billiards.
 
 CHARLES DICKENS AT HOME. IJl 
 
 Some of the other members had a greater and 
 more " grown up " interest, there being grotesque 
 controversies carried on between the editor's 
 father, who delighted in such an occasion, and 
 some friend, such as the late (alas ! this is a word 
 I find myself using very often) Mr. Chorley. 
 This gentleman wrote as to some coined griev- 
 ance — it may have been real — of obstruction in 
 the grounds, I think, over which he had fallen. 
 Our host replied in his most delightful strain. 
 Here, when unofficial, he was ever at his best.
 
 172 RECREATIOXS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 LITERARY FRIENDS : FORSTER — CARLYLE. 
 
 During the last dozen years, it is wonderful 
 what a mortality there has been among men of 
 mark in art and letters : Dickens, Lytton, Mac- 
 cready, Landseer, Mark Lemon, Leech, Wills, 
 Thornbury, Torn Taylor, Landor, Harness, Peter 
 Cunningham, Carlyle, Chorley, Procter, and more 
 having passed away. One of the most remarkable 
 figures in his circle was John Forster, who 
 seems to offer one of the most characteristic and 
 telling specimens of a successful literary career, 
 achieved by honest work and force of character. 
 No one fought his way so resolutely from the 
 days when he came up to town — like Johnson, 
 determined to succeed — to learn in the lines of his 
 own sonnet to his friend Dickens, that :
 
 CHARLES DICKENS AT HOME. 1 73 
 
 " Genius and its rewards are briefly told — ■ 
 A liberal nature and a niggard doom." 
 
 All his friends knew that story of his intrepid, 
 steadily forward course, his determination to get 
 on — not to be denied, as may be seen in that 
 remarkable head, full of character and purpose. 
 He always seemed to be the exemplar of the 
 true literary man — no mere writer, like so 
 many, able to write and write at any notice, and 
 about everything or anything. He was a diligent 
 student, and laboured hard to cultivate his talent. 
 The most gratifying thing in his course was to 
 note his work : conscientious throughout, in every- 
 thing he did his best, looking on ^^ giving anything 
 to the press" as a sort of solemn, responsible thing, 
 not to be lightly attempted. His " Life of Gold- 
 smith " and his " Life of Dickens " are most 
 artistic specimens of the craft. They are written 
 with a " style," the sentences are varied and con- 
 structed for effect, and the facts are admirably 
 selected. The abundance of letters used would 
 have been treated by an ordinary writer in the 
 ordinary way — inserted wholesale, all being pre-
 
 174 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 sumed to be of equal value. But he has doubled, 
 by the selection of passages chosen with cultivated 
 tact and interwoven with the text. This gift is 
 gained only by long experience and longer study. 
 A more entertaining book than the " Life of 
 Dickens " was never written ; even the type, paper, 
 and size are exceptional. It forms one of the 
 handsomest works issued in our time. There was, 
 indeed, a complaint that, in the first two volumes, 
 he had made himself too prominent ; and I have 
 always fancied that, in the third, he yielded some- 
 what to this view, and with a loss of effect. On 
 the contrary, the charm of the first volume seemed 
 to be in this constant revelation to a single mind, 
 and the confidential relations between the two 
 showed us Dickens's real character far better than 
 any more conventional communications. His 
 hopes and fears were thus shown as they rose 
 and fell all through his life ; and the study of two 
 minds thus operating on each other was really 
 interesting, and brought out character effectively. 
 His " Goldsmith," in its last finally revised shape, 
 is a truly wonderful work, for the amount of in-
 
 CHARLES DICKENS AT HOME. 1 75 
 
 formation it contains and the vast amount of 
 interesting facts given in the notes and text ; all, 
 too, set out in an agreeable style, marked by- 
 constant displays of shrewd observation, judgment, 
 and valuable criticism. Any one about to take 
 on himself the duty of writing a memoir may find 
 himself full of reasonable doubts after reading this 
 work, and he will at least learn here the art of 
 judging facts or drawing conclusions from them. 
 His other books — those dealing with the Crom- 
 wellian times, the " Life of Landor," etc. — are 
 less attractive, as the subjects are somewhat dry ; 
 but they involved enormous labour, research, and 
 expense. Witness the " Life of Sir John Elliot," 
 based on diaries in a crabbed old English hand, 
 which had to be deciphered and written out. All 
 his books, too, were models of scientific and logical 
 arrangement. He was fond of that admirable 
 plan of giving at the beginning of his book an 
 abstract of each chapter in due order, also of 
 giving side-notes for each paragraph, besides the 
 fullest possible index at the close. These things 
 are easy to do ; but to do well, so that the abstract
 
 1/6 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 shall merely describe the sense, requires time, 
 thought, and judgment, as well as care, pains, and 
 labour. 
 
 No man had such enjoyment in society and in 
 gathering his friends about him ; and, when in good 
 spirits, he had a hearty, vigorous humour that was 
 enlivening. He was truly hospitable. At his fine 
 mansion, Palace-Gate House, at Kensington, built 
 by himself, stored with a well-chosen and inter- 
 esting collection of modern pictures, it was pleasant 
 to be welcomed by him in his spacious and hand- 
 some library. The catalogue of his collection, 
 just completed at his death, filled a closely 
 printed octavo. Here were rare manuscripts^ 
 volumes that had belonged to great men — en- 
 gravings, water-colours, sketches of friends by 
 Maclise and other painters. Hither he would bid 
 his friends and entertain them right hospitably, 
 and on such nights would forget his troubling 
 cough, which harassed him all night long. What 
 pleasant meetings were these ! Here we would 
 meet Charles Reade, Robert Browning, Mr. Robert 
 Lytton, the genial, cultivated Elwyn, and, above
 
 LITERARY FRIENDS: FORSTER — CARLYLE. I// 
 
 all, on a rare day, THOMAS Carlyle. This was 
 a privilege which, as he grew old, was accorded 
 to but few, and I recall certain festal days when 
 it was a sacred custom that the sage of Chelsea 
 should come to dine. Most pleasant were those 
 nights, and delightful to hear his placid, grim com- 
 ments; while our " dear Foosther," as he became in 
 that dialect, listened with delight and artfully en- 
 couraged. I see him now by the fireside puffing 
 his long pipe, uttering his dry humorous sayings, 
 and hear his quaint phrases and melodious burr. 
 Sometimes he rose to vehemence. 
 
 He was scarcely ever induced to dine out save 
 at one or two houses, and then on a very rare 
 occasion. I am speaking of a time about six or 
 seven years ago. The few that were invited had 
 a rare treat ; for the occasion came but once or 
 twice in the year, notably on a Christmas Day, 
 when he went to his old friend's. It was a 
 privilege to be asked to meet him. On this 
 high solemnity a servant was despatched to pur- 
 chase and select with care a yard-long "church- 
 warden," with a screw of the seer's favourite 
 
 VOL. I. N
 
 1 78 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 tobacco, our host finding a pleasure and sacrifice in 
 thus consenting to what was perhaps odious to 
 him. On this high solemnity we would have 
 Browning or Rcadc, or it might be the present 
 Lord Lytton. And after dinner the sage drew in 
 his chair, and the " churchwarden " being lit, a 
 picturesque figure enough he looked as he puffed 
 and discoursed his quaint wisdom. Once, an Irish 
 gentleman being present, the state of his country 
 was discussed, whereon the sage thus delivered him- 
 self, I recollect well, in his not unmusical tones : 
 
 "Ye see the Airish may have their grievances, 
 and they have been hairshly treated ; but I tell 
 you, sairs, before I'd listen to one waird from 'em, 
 I'd just, wi' sword and gun, shoot and cut and 
 hew them a' until I'd taught them to respect 
 human life, and give up their murdering. Then 
 I'd listen to 'em." The Irish gentleman proceeding 
 to argue that they would not accept the existing 
 domination or be reconciled to it — "Then what 
 would ye propose, sir t There is no remedy," 
 said the sage. " Yes," said the gentleman ; " they 
 think you ought to go away — go home." With
 
 LITER A R V FRIENDS : FORSTER — CARL YLE. 1 79 
 
 flashing eyes and fierce burst, " We'll cut a' your 
 throats first ! " cried the sage. Those present — 
 Mr. Browning was — will recall the roar which the 
 vehement sally evoked. It was like Johnson 
 assailing Boswell on Scotland before company. 
 
 He then went on to dwell in a very interesting 
 way on that country, and the reader will not be 
 surprised to find him deploring the abolition of the 
 Irish Church. He said that the grievance of an 
 educated clergyman in the wilder districts was a 
 wholesome evidence of civilization. 
 
 En revanche, as the subject of Ireland is interest- 
 ing now, the following characteristic " screed " may 
 be given here : — 
 
 " Dear Sir,— 
 
 " I am much obliged by your goodness 
 to me. If the French pamphlet is of any value 
 to you, as I suppose likely, then please do not 
 send it hither : I could get little or no use of 
 it, except what is already got, what is implied in 
 your kind offer of it. You mistake much if you 
 consider me blind to the beautiful natural faculties
 
 l8o RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 and capabilities of the Irish character, or other 
 than a loving friend to Ireland (from a very old 
 date now), though I may have my own notions 
 as to what would be real friendship to Ireland and 
 what would be only sham friendship. 
 
 " Believe me yours, 
 " With many thanks and wishes, 
 
 " T. Carlyle." 
 
 In the drawing-room he would listen with de- 
 light to his favourite Scotch songs, sung by a 
 Scotch lady, illustrating each with quaint gesture 
 and subdued remarks. His face and figure were 
 truly characteristic and original — grim and grizzled, 
 yet mild and gentle. It was sad to see the decay 
 coming on, after these pleasant days. In this 
 very room again, scene of such hospitality, I met 
 him, one dismal morning, we with others assembled 
 to attend our dear friend to his grave, around us 
 his favourite books, his desk ! A year or two 
 later, having a fancy for modelling, I ventured to 
 ask him to let me " do " his fine head, and he 
 consented cheerfully, giving me two hours of his
 
 LITERARY FRIENDS: FORSTER — CARLYLE. l8l 
 
 time, descanting on "our Jew Premier," as he 
 called him, recalling his friend Irving and many- 
 more departed. But at that time he seemed 
 shrunk, chilled inwardly, and suffering. It was 
 the last time that I saw him ; but I have the bust, 
 accounted like, arrayed in the favourite broad- 
 brimmed hat. 
 
 Once asking our friend and host what his 
 genuine opinion was of Carlyle's style and writing 
 generally, he sent me the following admirable 
 criticism : — 
 
 " Don't permit yourself to be laughed out of an 
 honest admiration of Carlyle's way of writing. No 
 doubt it is well to have models of a pure and per- 
 fectly correct style (which his is not) for general 
 imitation — for those, that is, who must imitate, 
 and cannot originate. If there were any chance, 
 indeed, of his becoming the object of such imita- 
 tion, the language might soon be corrupted : but 
 there is this protection against such a danger, — 
 that whereas any one, in as far as in him lies, may 
 ground himself upon Swift or Addison, and give to 
 such thoughts as he has the most easy and natural
 
 1 82 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 flow of which they are capable, to imitate Car- 
 lyle, with nothing of his genius, is to make your- 
 self simply repulsive. The great merit of Carlyle's 
 style is that it so wonderfully reflects the man 
 himself ; it is really a part of his individuality — 
 a part of that quality in a man which marks him 
 out for the chance of surviving his generation. 
 You have but to talk with Mr. Carlyle himself for 
 an hour to see that he does not put it on as an 
 actor would his dress, but that his thoughts take 
 (for the most part) necessarily that form, and 
 zV/voluntarily move in harmonious, but often very 
 abrupt numbers. If he were a more logical 
 reasoner he would probably be a clearer writer, 
 but if he gets his result he cares little by what 
 means — and, like Luther's, his words are less 
 arguments than blows. The final test, after all, is 
 whether a man's style helps him to the very best 
 method of saying what he has to say ; and in 
 this case I think it does, and that the meaning 
 would be less perfect even if the brevity, abrupt- 
 ness, and indefiniteness were wholly away. There 
 never was such a style for pictures. ' The French
 
 LITERARY FRIENDS: FORSTER — CARLYLE. 1 83 
 
 Revolution ' is quite marvellous in that respect. 
 Even without the connections and explanations 
 that might have been thought absolutely essential, 
 the succession of scenes flash all their philosophy 
 and meaning into you as if by intuition ; and I 
 have often thought that old Samuel Johnson must 
 have had writing of this sort in view, when he told 
 Boswell one day that he fancied mankind might 
 come in time to write all aphoristically, growing 
 weary of preparation, and connection, and illustra- 
 tion, and all those arts by which a big book is 
 made. Nor let me conclude this brief and hasty 
 note on a writer of the truest genius without say- 
 ing that I hold him — however grotesque or un- 
 couth he may sometimes seem to be — for one of 
 the greatest masters of English now living. He 
 can write sentences heavier with thought, richer 
 with humour, and of deeper pathos, than any other 
 man, though he never lays himself out for mere 
 writing. His narrative of the flight and capture 
 of Varennes was never excelled — seldom I think 
 equalled — for vigour, animation, and enthralling 
 interest. Nor can any man, in my opinion, blend
 
 184 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 in the same passage so many opposite yet quite 
 natural qualities — the earnest with the sarcastic, 
 the jocular and pathetic. But here I am in clanger 
 of repeating what I have already sufficiently said ; 
 but if you compare some of his earlier essays (his 
 life of Schiller, for instance, or such papers as his 
 first on Voltaire) with his later things, you may be 
 interested to observe how his later style has grown 
 upon him with the growth and enlargement of his 
 mind. As to his estimation or 'true appreciation' 
 of his work here in England, it has greatly in- 
 creased of late years, if you measure it by the sale 
 of his works. But, as happens with all men of 
 originality, especially when they run amuck at 
 everybody, and delight never so much as when 
 in a minority of one (which is too much Carlyle's 
 weakness), his detractors arc as fierce as his 
 disciples are earnest. Opinion about him will 
 always be so divided, but I should say that, 
 while few of the old school tolerate him at all, 
 most men that have entered literature more 
 recently, and are thoughtful men, admire and 
 profit by him. At our universities he has made
 
 LITER AR Y FRIENDS : FORSTER— CARL YLE. 1 8 5 
 
 considerable way ; and you would probably ob- 
 serve, the other day, that his ' Cromwell ' was made 
 a class-book with Guizot's in Sir James Stephen's 
 'Examination for Modern History.'" 
 
 I always relished hugely, as having an olive-like 
 taste, one of the best specimens of his humour, 
 that letter to the Scotch boot and shoe maker at 
 Charing Cross. What gives me a more particular 
 interest in the matter is that I had heard him 
 descant on the decay of shoemaking. It was like 
 a bit of the " Sartor ; " and he would tell " hoo 
 there was a mon i' Doomfrees, who mad' me 
 shoes the like o' which the world had never seen. 
 And when I cam' bock in eight years, I took him 
 the shoes," etc. Read by this light, how quaint is 
 the following, nor do I wonder that the worldly 
 handicraftsman makes it as widely known as he 
 can. 
 
 " To Mr. Dowie, Boot and Shoe Maker, Charing 
 Cross (or whatever the right address is). 
 " Dear Sir, 
 
 " Not for your sake alone, but for that
 
 1 86 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 of a public suffering much in its feet, I am willing 
 to testify that you have yielded me complete and 
 unexpected relief in that particular ; and, in short, 
 on trial after trial, that you seem to me to possess, 
 in signal contrast to so very many of your brethren, 
 the actual art of making shoes ivhich are easy to 
 the wearer. My thanks to you are emphatic and 
 sincere. 
 
 "T. Caria'LE. 
 
 "5, Cheyne Row, Chelsea, loth July, 1868."
 
 ( is; ) 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 BEHIND THE SCENES. 
 
 After all, the truest fascination is in the drama 
 and in being connected with the stage. As of old 
 the green curtains, the smell of sawdust and 
 oranges, and the lampblacked bills, the ink of 
 which came off on the gloves, had this charm, so 
 now the gossip concerning actors, the new theatres, 
 and new scenery and plays have a certain indescrib- 
 able attraction. At this moment of writing, some- 
 what blase as one is after a good many campaigns, 
 I know nothing that gives such secret pleasure as, 
 in a daily walk through the Strand, to see one's 
 name to a little piece on the board that reclines 
 against the entrance to the playhouse. Every 
 night to know that some hundreds are listening to
 
 1 88 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 your thunder, ay, and laughing heartily — this is a 
 pleasing, complacent thought. Such is true pub- 
 licity. How pleasant, too, the rehearsals ; the denii- 
 jour of the stage in the morning ; the carpenters 
 busy hammering at the scenes laid flat on the floor; 
 the passing in by the mysterious hatch of the stage 
 — delightful privilege! — greeted by the crabbed 
 old Cerberus, who is invariably on guard ! Who 
 does not like actors ? They are always agreeable 
 and good-humoured and good-natured. Actresses 
 are for the most part inferior, but indeed there 
 are so iow worthy of the name, though there are 
 quantities of " ladies on the stage," but very few 
 actresses. Irving, Toole, Lionel Brough, Farren, 
 to take a few specimens, are men of force of 
 character. Of those who are passed away, who 
 was like Charles Mathews } How airy, how de- 
 lightful was his talk ! His tongue seemed to 
 trip over all subjects with a French grace. I did 
 not know him very intimately, but there was no 
 one one would have liked to have cultivated more. 
 His remarks had a quaint flavour. I see him 
 sitting in a chair before me, telling some pleasant
 
 BEHIND THE SCENES. 1 89 
 
 story, his cab waiting. Our acquaintance began 
 in an odd way. 
 
 Once I was writing a series of criticisms on all 
 the leading performers of the day, and these ap- 
 peared month by month. In one of these rather 
 juvenile performances — perhaps jejune also — I had 
 taken occasion to object to his reading of Balzac's 
 Mercadet, which, after seeing Got, appeared some- 
 what airy and not tragic enough. The good and 
 sound critic of the Observer was the first to find 
 fault with my view, while in that paper I came 
 forward to vindicate it. 
 
 "As regards Mercadet," I said, "and Mr. Ma- 
 thews, we are on other ground, and I differ totally 
 from your critic. This is a subject where there 
 can be little or no dispute ; and really your critic 
 has himself disposed of the matter, for he says 
 that Mr. Mathews took care to avoid anything 
 tragic in his view of the character. This English 
 conception is utterly foreign to the whole meaning 
 of the piece, and a student of Balzac would only 
 smile, or rather groan, to see a subject worthy of 
 ^schylus nicely trimmed and polished into a gay,
 
 190 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 farcical piece of comedy, to be glided over by the 
 pleasant and ever-juvenile Charles. ' A version of 
 Balzac from the Charles Mathews point of view,' 
 says your critic— 'a great play, should be fitted, 
 like a garment, to the ways and humour of a par- 
 ticular actor.' This statement alone would show 
 how erroneous the theory is. Let any one who, 
 however deficient in dramatic knowledge, has 
 studied his Balzac conscientiously, explain what 
 Mercadet is. Imagine some great English specu- 
 lator, living in princely style, to have staked nearly 
 all his fortune on some Stock Exchange operation, 
 the result of which he cannot know until, say, to- 
 morrow. To-day he is giving a State dinner-party 
 to lords and great political men, and one of the 
 former he hopes to secure for his daughter. 
 Imagine him through the dinner smiling ghastly 
 smiles, affecting merriment, telling stories ; imagine, 
 too, the sickly agitation of his heart ! No more 
 tragic situation could be conceived. We should 
 smile to think of Charles Mathews, with all his 
 gifts, pourtraying such a character. Yet this is 
 Balzac's Mercadet ! This is the Mercadet of Got
 
 BEHIND THE SCENES. I9I 
 
 and the great French actors ; this is the tradition 
 of the great Theatre Frangais, where they reH- 
 giously preserve the author's traditions ; and this, 
 as any reader of Balzac feels by instinct, is Balzac 
 himself. Instead of this we have — what ? The 
 great play adapted in twenty-four hours, or some 
 such time, by ' Slingsby Laurence,' Mr. G. H. 
 Lewes, who, excellent critic as he is, is yet the 
 author of some indifferent novels, and is by no 
 means guaranteed against failure in dramatic 
 matters. Then we hear of Got's having one way 
 of interpreting the character and Mr. Mathews 
 another ; i.e. a tragic and a comic way. When 
 French pieces are every day put forward as being 
 ' by ' the adapters and translators, there is nothing 
 out of keeping in a great piece like Balzac's being 
 pared down and altered so as to suit the 'touch- 
 and-go' style of a rattling comedian. But to return 
 whence I started. Your critic might find in the 
 essays which I have written on the various actors 
 something not unprofitable. In spite of a few 
 mistakes I venture to say that the principles they 
 contain are sound, and impartial judges might
 
 192 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 hold that they are at least carefully considered and 
 equal to those current. I will be generous, and 
 say I think your critic's performances are superior 
 to the average. 
 
 "The Author of the Articles." 
 
 This criticism, as it stands, seems to me to 
 commend itself. In the following week the lively 
 Charles himself rushed into the arena, and in a 
 warm letter, of good length, assailed his assailant. 
 Here are some extracts from this amusing com- 
 position. 
 
 *' I claim," he said, " to assert that I have not 
 mistaken Balzac's idea, ... for I defy the writer or 
 any one else to show the slightest pretence that 
 Balzac has afforded for any such view. That it 
 may be the Mercadet of Got I don't dispute, 
 but that it is the Mercadet of the great French 
 actors I deny." He then goes on to state that 
 the only other actor who played it in Paris, 
 Geoffroy, was so far from taking a lachrymose view 
 of the character, that he made it a sort of off-hand 
 Robert Macaire. " Is the gentleman who makes
 
 BEHIND THE SCENES. 1 93 
 
 these assertions aware that the great Theatre 
 Frangais refused Balzac's piece, that it was never 
 acted there till twenty years after the actor's 
 death, and that consequently it could not have 
 been in possession of any of his traditions ? " 
 He adds that it was put into dramatic shape by 
 D'Ennery, and that I was not justified in assert- 
 ing that it was the Mercadet of Balzac. 
 
 " I am perfectly convinced of two things First, 
 that the writer never saw the * Game of Specu- 
 lation ' at all, and that he never read Balzac's 
 original play. 
 
 " As to the tragic view of the idea, it is simply 
 ridiculous. M. Got has no greater admirer than 
 myself, but if he takes a tragic view of the charac- 
 ter and plays it with pathos, in my humble opinion 
 he has for once made a mistake. Mercadet is 
 depicted by Balzac as a hard, sarcastic man of the 
 world, stopping at no baseness, revelling in false- 
 hood. Fancy such a man being pourtrayed from 
 a tragic point of view ! Fancy Jeremy Diddler 
 crying while endeavouring to do Sam the waiter 
 out of his tenpence." He then asks, How can his 
 
 VOL. I. o
 
 194 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 hypocritical tears with the asides, " He's yielding ! " 
 be reconciled with tragedy ? * 
 
 There was, however, a curious " note " in his 
 character which many must have remarked. Viva- 
 cious and hard hitting as he could be, he was in 
 truth timorous, and as soon as he had made the 
 stroke, " back recoiled," alarmed at " the sound 
 himself had made." Almost with the publication 
 in the newspaper, a letter reached me of a different 
 complexion : 
 
 "37, Half-Moon Street, December loth, 1872. 
 
 "My dear Sir, 
 
 " The first lawyers in the land bully 
 each other in public, and then walk off together 
 arm-in-arm to dinner, the best friends in the 
 world. With such high precedents, I address 
 you as a man and a brother, and boldly ask 
 
 * Mr. Dutton Cook has, curiously enough, just discussed this 
 question in his recently published "Hours with the Players." It 
 will be seen at once that the actor misapprehended the point, his 
 mistake turning on the meaning of "tragic." Tragedy, that is, a 
 bitter earnestness, must certainly underlie even the buffoonery and 
 jesting that he speaks of. Such a scheming speculator, had he 
 power at all, must have felt his desperate situation, as he found his 
 edifice toppling. He was playing his last stake.
 
 BEHIND THE SCENES. 1 95 
 
 you, as a favour to me, to do in earnest what 
 I only proposed in jest, viz. to come and see 
 the ' Game of Speculation.' I will keep you a 
 stall for any night this week you will select. 
 You write too well not to make it a laudable 
 ambition to obtain your honest and, if possible 
 revised criticism. I promise to play the part 
 exactly as I have always done, and if, after 
 seeing it patiently from beginning to end, you still 
 condemn, I will meekly bow my head and regret 
 my inability to please you ; while, should I succeed 
 in inducing you to change your opinion, I shall 
 feel sincere pride in causing you to modify your 
 verdict. 
 
 " I give you my word that I do not know 
 whom I am addressing, beyond the fact of your 
 being the author of the papers in question ; but, 
 as a writer worthy of attention, I am naturally 
 anxious to obtain your matured criticism, which I 
 hope you will as freely give as I will resignedly 
 receive. 
 
 " My dear sir, faithfully yours, 
 
 " C. J. Mathews.
 
 196 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 " I find I have written on two sheets of paper. I 
 will not re-copy — it may make my request the 
 more emphatic." 
 
 This little discussion — not unpleasant — made us 
 friends. I accepted his stall, though his charge of 
 my never having seen him in the part was un- 
 founded, and went to the performance. There was 
 something quaint in the idea of his playing to his 
 unknown critic, thus asked to revise his judgment. 
 Of course, in the case of so admirable a veteran, 
 one was not to stand on a conscientious rigour. A 
 cordial letter was despatched to him, with some 
 acknowledgment of hasty judgment and of great 
 admiration. 
 
 But, in truth, what an extraordinary charm there 
 is in the stage and in all that concerns actors. I 
 never can look on an actor without a certain 
 reverence, and without calling up the wonderful 
 fairyland in which they move and have their being 
 by night. There they always seem to lose their 
 earthiness, hackneyed as the spectacle is. 
 
 What shall be said of dramatic criticism
 
 BEHIND THE SCENES. l()7 
 
 generally ? In fairness it must be owned that the 
 average critic is cruelly hampered, and in certain 
 papers it is rather difficult to give a true verdict 
 according to the evidence. In some instances 
 the proprietor is lie with the theatre, or knows 
 the manager. His play must not, therefore, be 
 abused. I confess that there are cases, when 
 one thinks of the vast outlay in dresses, mounting, 
 and salaries that has been incurred on some play, 
 that it seems almost cruelty to assail the perform- 
 ance. Some explanation, too, may be found in 
 the fact that nowadays the essential part for the 
 public is the skozv, not the play. The critic's 
 position is embarrassing ; and, I must say, many 
 extricate themselves with skill, contriving to praise 
 a good deal, and good-naturedly deprecate defects 
 as if they were spots on the sun. They are, with 
 one or two exceptions, good-natured, and are never 
 " down " on a writer, where they see good intentions 
 and a genuine attempt at work. Most are really 
 cultivated men, and know the principles of their 
 art thoroughly. 
 
 Doctors and critics disagree, and once I could
 
 198 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 not resist publishing, in the St. James's Gazette, 
 as a Httle bit of raillery — harmless enough — a col- 
 lection of these opposing judgments. The occa- 
 sion was the performance of Modjeska in Juliet, 
 and I assumed the character of a visitor from Little 
 Pedlineton sent to London to make out what was 
 really thought of her. 
 
 " I was able to get away last week from Little 
 Pedlington for a couple of days — from Saturday 
 till Monday. At the station I met Yawkins, for- 
 merly of the circulating library, but now managing 
 our theatre with much spirit, and who said to me, 
 ' I wish you to go and sec the new foreign actress, 
 Modjeska, and find out what is thought of her, and 
 if she would go down in Little Pedlington.' He 
 added that if she did, he would not mind giving 
 the highest salary ever given in Little Pedlington 
 — namely, £2, a night ; that is, for a single night. 
 It is this sort of prompt spirit that has dis- 
 tinguished Yawkins's management. ' Find out 
 exactly what the London press thinks,' he went 
 on ; ' for I don't go much by what our local organs 
 say, or indeed their London correspondents.' And
 
 BEHIND THE SCENES. 1 99 
 
 I fancy myself it would be foolish to ' go much,' 
 or even a little, on the reports of these latter 
 gentlemen, whom we all knew as regular residents 
 at Little Pedlington, which, by the way, is pro- 
 nounced Li'pleton. His idea was sound. The 
 London press and London critics would be the 
 best guides in the case of the Modjeska. I went 
 to see her ; waited impatiently, and next day con- 
 sulted them all patiently. 
 
 "The first I took up — and took up eagerly — was 
 the Daily Telegraph. In an instant my doubts 
 were confirmed. It was but a partial success — the 
 first portion good, the second bad. The balcony 
 scene beautiful and inartificial. ' It is not,' I read, 
 ' a tricky scene of theatrical flirtation. . . . All 
 was natural, charming, and graceful here, and 
 seldom have the mere artifices of acting been so 
 well disguised.' It was ' charming, ideal, and 
 poetical' Modjeska was, in short, ' a Juliet that 
 thoroughly satisfied to the close of the balcony 
 scene, flickered, waned, and died out before the 
 end. Gradually she lost her influence and as- 
 cendancy. A certain monotony prevailed, and
 
 200 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 grew till it became distracting.' This was all 
 clear and distinct : there could be no mistake in 
 so positive a judgment ; and, looking back, I began 
 to see the thing as he so described it. It did 
 flicker, and die out towards the end. We all felt 
 the growing monotony until it became distracting. 
 I knew now what I would tell Yawkins ; first 
 glancing at one or two of the others — say the 
 Morning Post, organ of the aristocracy. But what 
 was this } 'In no respect could it be accounted 
 a success.' It w^as all * strained, cold, artificial, 
 destitute of grace, and fraught with no true pas- 
 sion.' Her English was ' flawed and fractured.' 
 In the balcony scene, 'Juliet was manifestly con- 
 scious of the presence of some hundreds of spec- 
 tators, to whom, much more than to her enraptured 
 lover, she addressed her appeals.' Heavens ! 
 Why, had not the other said that the balcony scene 
 was all natural and graceful, and without artifice "i 
 
 " Well, here is a paper written by revolutionaries 
 for revolutionists, and likely to take a firm uncom- 
 promising view. It considers it ' one of the most 
 interesting experiments our stage ever witnessed.
 
 BEHIND THE SCENES. 201 
 
 No one could have anticipated the success that 
 was achieved.' There ! then it zi^as successful 
 The balcony scene ' supreme tenderness.' (Ah ! 
 then it wasiit artificial.) And ' the entire per- 
 formance, whether in the delicacy of the early 
 scenes, or intensity of the lattci', is alike admirable, 
 and full of beauty and charged with passion.' 
 Come, come, this is better. But how about the 
 ' monotony ' and failure of the last portion — the 
 'consciousness of the presence of the audience' — 
 the ' flickering out.' Stay : here is Truth. ' A 
 most gracious and graceful lady, certainly, and a 
 very sincere and industrious artist ; but one who 
 had no electricity in her touch. Juliet exhibits this 
 clever lady at her best and at her worst. She 
 can suggest, but she cannot sustain. Her style is 
 poetical and pure, but her power is easily spent. 
 As she floats through the earlier acts in those 
 gauzy robes, she is as pleasant to the eye as an 
 escaped butterfly on a spring morning, but when 
 the test-acts of Juliet come, the actress is nowhere. 
 Her strength is never spontaneous ; her power, 
 such as it is, is an obvious effort.' Upset again !
 
 202 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 I am growing bewildered. ' Actress nowhere : no 
 electricity ' — but the others said she Jiad. Ah ! I 
 fear she can't do. The St. James s Gazette will 
 say the same. ' Her interpretation of it was an 
 exquisitely finished whole, everywhere marked by 
 originality. . . . And in the balcony scene in the 
 next act she gave full and admirable expression to 
 the voluptuous nature, the passionate sensibility, 
 combined with maiden innocence, and marred by 
 no touch of self-co7isciousness or coyness or coquetry. 
 So, too, in the third act, the morning after her 
 marriage, the " sweet, girlish lingering, and busy 
 movement " of the hapless bride were charmingly 
 rendered.' But then she fell off at the end — ' was 
 nowhere ' in the tragic portion. But the ' shudder- 
 ing horror with which she thinks of her being laid 
 in the tomb, culminating in the appalling vision 
 which she conjures up of " the bloody Tybalt " seek- 
 ing out Romeo — in all this Mdme. Modjeska cer- 
 tainly showed herself a tragedian of no mean order. 
 . . . So much must suffice as to the new Juliet. 
 It is not enough to do her justice. But it may be 
 enough to convey some faint impression of the
 
 BEHIND THE SCENES. 203 
 
 highly finished and artistic character of her im- 
 personation.' Oh, this is conclusive — the rest 
 were all wrong. But I may as well look at the 
 Standard : ' On the whole, she perhaps agreeably 
 surprised the more judicious of her admirers ; but 
 it cannot be called an unmitigated triumph.' 
 What a douche — how chilling and distrustful ! 
 ' Exceedingly graceful and charming she was in 
 the balcony scene, but not wholly spontaneous : ' 
 there was something ' artificial.' One did not feel 
 that 'she was under the spell of overwhelming 
 love.' The last critic speaks of ' passionate 
 sensibility,' with ' no touch of self-consciousness ; ' 
 and yet the other talks of artificiality and some- 
 thing ' not wholly spontaneous ' — ' it was in the 
 later and more powerful scenes she did best ; ' 
 'not until the potion scene did she create anything 
 like enthusiasm.' Yet the Telegraph critic says 
 she fell off, and so does Truth. 
 
 " Stay : now for the Globe. ' Few suspected how 
 much illumination she would cast on it. It was 
 obvious that the light of a clever and exquisitely 
 feminine perception had been brought to bear on
 
 204 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 it.' As the play proceeded, ' a new revelation was 
 to be afforded.' The love-scenes in the balcony 
 were ' immured in tones of delicious tenderness. 
 From first to last she carried the audience with 
 her.' Yet his predecessor said it was not until the 
 potion scene that she succeeded in raising' enthu- 
 siasm. Still he qualifies his praise. It was ' not 
 complete,' he says, ' and it lacked the flavour of 
 girlhood.' 
 
 "But to go on. The Momi;?£- Advertiser found 
 it ' not an emanation of commanding genius.' 
 There was a certain suggestion of preparation — 
 and, strangest of all (what all the fault-finders 
 had been satisfied with), ' the potion scene was a 
 little forced.' On the other hand, ' the balcony 
 scene was given with a refined charm and delicacy 
 we have never seen surpassed.' More rapturous 
 still the Ec/w : ' It will rank as one of her finest 
 impersonations. The living, moving embodiment 
 of loving, unfortunate Juliet is before the audience.' 
 Further, she triumphed over ' difficulties of the 
 English.' Come, come, this is comforting ; and 
 perhaps on the whole Ah ! the Bai/y News.
 
 BEHIND THE SCENES. 205 
 
 ' It was not wanting,' he says, ' in force, refinement, 
 or depth of feeHng, though it can hardly be said 
 to be distinguished by girhsh impulse.' The 
 balcony scene was ' full of subtle touches.' Cold 
 again : only ' subtle touches.' Her utterance, too, 
 was ' indistinct.' My Echo friend thought she 
 triumphed over the difficulties of the English. 
 The Sunday Times can only say that her Juliet 
 was of ' surpassing and many gifts,' without going 
 into particulars. The Observer s critic, for whom 
 I have a sincere respect, declares that in the 
 balcony scene she showed ' exquisite delicacy and 
 grace.' But there was ' no spontaneity or girlish 
 impulse.' On the other hand, the first act is 
 ' less within her range than the potion scene.' 
 
 "But I grow bewildered as these various judges 
 crowd upon me and thrust their contradictory 
 verdicts in my face. The Athenmim holds that 
 in the earlier scenes she stirs the spectator, and 
 in the later fails to recommend herself. The 
 balcony scene, however, 'never possessed more 
 enchantment.' There is much 'freshness,' but 
 'little girlishness or impulse.' I turn to my
 
 206 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 Saturday Revieiv for light, and find, to my amaze- 
 ment, that she ' lacks freshness.' ' In the potion 
 scene she finally persuaded us that Juliet is a 
 character she should never attempt to personate. 
 . The eccentricities of the performance seem to us 
 monotonous and dispiriting in the highest degree.' 
 'Seldom,' says C. S.. in the Illustrated London 
 News, 'has such a fragrant sense of poetry been 
 instilled into the opening scenes.' The Whitehall 
 Review holds that she had all the naivete and 
 freshness of a young girl by whom love was first 
 welcomed. She was 'wayward,' natural, etc. 
 Yet another paper and another verdict: 'As to 
 what are usually considered the two best scenes — 
 the balcony and the sleeping-draught scenes — there 
 can be no tzvo opinions zvhatever : there is all the 
 tender poetic feeling that can be desired in the 
 one and all the dramatic intensity in the other.' 
 Rachel might not have disdained to learn from 
 'the potion scene.' 'Creditable,' but 'not a 
 success,' says the Academy. ' Juliet's girlish 
 rapture' (mark!) she is unable to exhibit. 'On 
 the other hand,' urges the Graphic, ' the suddenness
 
 BEHIND THE SCENES. 20/ 
 
 of her girlish love and all its absorbing truthful- 
 ness are depicted with a very natural truth. All 
 through the act of the balcony scene her delivery 
 was remarkably free from the errors of accent 
 and emphasis.' Yet another, the clever ' D. C.,' in 
 the World, calling a spade a spade, thus breaks 
 out : — ' She is a conventional and artificial actress, 
 gifted, graceful, and accomplished, well qualified 
 to present the heroines of modern drama, able at 
 times to display vehemence of a special kind, but 
 absolutely incompetent to cope with the heroines 
 of Shakspeare. As Juliet, her airs of ingenuous- 
 ness become almost grimaces, her smiles degene- 
 rate into smirks ; she would render the juvenility 
 of the character by crossing the stage now and 
 again with a certain skipping, ambling, skittish 
 gait ; she cannot reconcile the apparent incon- 
 sistency of Juliet's intensity of passion and innate- 
 ness of purity. In her hands Juliet's love for 
 Romeo declines into an intrigue ; it is attended 
 by so much calmness and calculation, it is so 
 completely made a matter of deliberation and self- 
 consciousness. Of the wild transport of sudden
 
 208 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 love, the intoxication of a first passion, no snggcs- 
 tions arc fortJicoming. In fine, Mdme. Modjeska's 
 Juliet lacks youth and truth, nature, freshness, 
 passion, and poetry.' 
 
 " Now, I wish to know, what am I to say to 
 Yawkins when I get back to Little Pedlington ? 
 How can this lady be all this at once? 'Girlish,' 
 and yet ' old and conventional ; ' ' fresh,' and yet 
 ' lacking freshness ; ' exactly Shakspeare's Juliet, 
 and yet utterly unsuited to Shakspeare ; speaking 
 English clearly, and yet utterly unintelligible ; ex- 
 cellent at the beginning and falling off at the end ; 
 excellent at the end, but not at the beginning ; 
 good in the potion scene and bad in the balcony 
 one ; good in the balcony one, but bad in the 
 other, etc. Please, sir, help me."
 
 ( 209 ) 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 THE DIARY. 
 
 That invaluable private friend and confidant, the 
 DIARY, should be " entreated " by every literary 
 man. Nothing is more useful. I do not mean 
 one of those ridiculous records of Nothings — 
 "Walked out; paid bills; dinner, roast mutton; 
 Smith called ; spoke to James about the water- 
 pipes, etc." As I have hitherto done in these . 
 confessions, I will illustrate this by my own 
 practice. A " Letts's Diary " should be kept for 
 official entries of absences and returns, and of 
 other various important acts — payments, etc., and 
 even of dinings out, the company met, etc. Such 
 things are useful, and show how life has gone 
 by. But the real sort of diary, and which I have 
 tried to keep, is not ordered on such regular 
 
 VOL. I. p
 
 2IO RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 principles. In it is entered everything of interest 
 that occurs: "ideas " that may occur to the mind, 
 thoughts, speculations — all set down as shortly 
 as possible, a habit gained by practice ; descrip- 
 tions of little scenes visited, which gave pleasure, 
 and which offered something remarkable ; the 
 curious little incidents which occur occasionally or 
 are related by others ; and those good stories — bon 
 mots — we often hear, and which, being unprintcd, 
 are often lost. It is astonishing what a pleasant, 
 valuable (to one's self) collection is thus made. As 
 I have said, too, practice furnishes the shortest but 
 most sufficient mode of setting down these matters. 
 A few well-chosen words will reveal a whole scene. 
 This is, of course, a very different thing from the 
 Diaries of Moore, Crabbe, Robinson, and others, 
 professedly written for publication, and which 
 are really "books." The value of a diary, too, 
 is in its opportunity for setting down the curious 
 little adventures and mishaps — not very important 
 certainly — we all encounter. These are forgotten : 
 but there is no doubt one who "goes about a 
 good deal," and keeps his eyes open, sees a good 
 many strange things, and — forgets them.
 
 THE DIARY. 211 
 
 Take house-hunting. What singular people one 
 meets ! what surprises, pleasant and disagreeable ! 
 .Once, when looking for a house at Chiselhurst, 
 I was directed to a charming villa, exquisitely 
 furnished and decorated. Being shown over, I 
 find the young ladies busy with their governess, 
 but astonished at the inspection : difficulties made 
 as to showing the bedrooms by the seemingly 
 bewildered maid : everything, after stern examina- 
 tion, found complete and even elegant, yet the 
 price absurdly low. It was the wrong house ! It 
 belonged to very opulent people, gone into town, 
 and who would be confounded to learn that their 
 house " was to be let." The scene was like a bit 
 of comedy. Here are some other scenes dramatic 
 in their way. Thus, when engaged in this pursuit, 
 I met with an eminently desirable investment near, 
 say, Wilton Crescent — everything in the house- 
 taking or house-letting direction is "desirable" — 
 which was "dirt cheap" at one thousand pounds 
 premium, and one hundred and fifty pounds per 
 annum. The locality was aristocratic. Still, for 
 such an outlay, there was an air of " squeeze." The
 
 212 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 hall was as a little tunnel. But, subject to these 
 narrow conditions, there was an elegant air about 
 the tenement, even in spite of the stair, which was 
 like a ladder leading to a loft. A distinguished- 
 looking menial, powdered, led the way. He 
 assumed that the tenant was a visitor ; at least, he 
 would not see him in the other light. He threw 
 open the drawing-room door, announced him by his 
 name, and threw the rest of the degrading office on 
 those whom it most concerned. He made some 
 remark about " a pusson," and retired. Now this 
 was what I saw as I entered. A richly dressed 
 lady, good-looking, and with two or three children 
 about her, was at the fire, busy, I think, with some 
 department of their toilet. A maid aide-de-camp 
 was in attendance. The room seemed handsome, 
 with a great deal of velvet and gilding. I never 
 shall forget the haughty and angry stare she 
 
 gave me. 
 
 "What do you want.?" she said. "What is 
 
 this t 
 
 The tenant faltered out some explanation, at 
 the same time tendering the order which the
 
 THE DIARY. 213 
 
 agent, or some one else, had drawn in his 
 favour. 
 
 " Oh, more of Mr. Wilkinsons doings" the 
 haughty lady said, turning to her attendant, her 
 eyes flashing and her cheeks flushing. " It is in- 
 tolerable. This house, sir, is not to be let. I 
 shall 7tot give my consent to it. It's quite a 
 mistake — I shall not stir out of it. It is getting 
 intolerable." 
 
 Rather bewildered, the desirable tenant, seeing 
 himself quite undesirable, protested he would not 
 wish to be the cause of such discordant views 
 between the two persons most concerned, and 
 withdrew hurriedly, the lady rustling her stiff silk, 
 fuming, and darting fierce looks at an imaginary 
 Mr. Wilkinson. There was a whole story behind 
 that significant little episode. 
 
 One of the most curious features in these 
 visits was the surprise, as the servant rashly 
 showed you into the midst of some highly do- 
 mestic scene ; an entire family at lunch, for 
 instance, a very fat leg of mutton steaming on 
 the board, black bottles, sentry-wise, scattered up
 
 214 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 and down the tabic. The resentful looks at being 
 thus surprised were indescribable ; the family in- 
 dignation, strange to say, passing entirely over 
 their own menial, whose fault it was, and settling 
 on the desirable tenant. 
 
 I recall another awkward intrusion, where a pale 
 sickly lady was discovered, with a bearded man 
 on his knees before her, who rose and asked 
 angrily " what I wanted there." To enter into 
 explanation that " you came to see the house " 
 appeared too absurd — the best thing to do was to 
 withdraw abruptly. A good-natured but untidy 
 maid-of-all-work explained confidentially " that it 
 was Mr. and Mrs. Littlejohn, who had at last 
 come together, and Miss Mew had put them in 
 the front parlour for the day." I felt that a 
 mansion hallowed by such a sacred reconciliation 
 was not to be lightly profaned, so I took my way 
 hurriedly from the place. 
 
 Another little incident. Not very long ago, 
 passing through Dcptford, nautically flavoured, 
 with a friend, I noted an ugly bull-dog, ill-favoured, 
 with the usual patch on his eye, and a strap doing
 
 THE DIARY. 21$ 
 
 duty as a collar. He had come up a lane, and 
 was walking on briskly in front, turning occa- 
 sionally to give a short bark at some one, no 
 doubt, following — his master possibly. But, pre- 
 sently, as we turned to the right or left, it was 
 clear he was doing the same : his greetings, still 
 kept up, were addressed to us. For an experiment 
 we tried turning back, or striking suddenly down 
 a lane ; he would turn back as hurriedly, and was 
 beside us in an instant. A mile and more had 
 been thus covered. It was clear the odious animal 
 was resolute to hold by us. We were now far from 
 his native home ; the evening was drawing on. 
 We were about to walk to London, and it seemed 
 something ghostly or hobgoblinish that this un- 
 clean spirit should thus haunt us. He would 
 probably beset the hall-door — rush in at its first 
 opening. If we took the Greenwich tram-car, he 
 would, no doubt, race the whole way. Nothing 
 was more curious than the tenacity with which he 
 kept by us ; if we lagged, he waited in the middle 
 of the road. He disdained threats ; he belonged 
 to us by adoption, or rather we to him.
 
 2l6 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 What was to be done ? Suddenly an idea 
 occurred. Here was a coal-store, with a small 
 door in the greater door, fortunately half open. 
 With an affectation of curiosity, as if to see the 
 yard, we entered. The brute, some way on before, 
 instantly marked it, and returned with all speed to 
 see what was the delay. The moment he entered 
 the coal-store, we issued forth, and hurriedly 
 closing the door after us, posted away. However, 
 a crowd of little boys was to be noted, attracted 
 by the odd, mysterious nature of the proceeding. 
 Not an instant was to be lost ; fortunately here 
 were some of those curious windings of Green- 
 wich town, into which we struck, out of the high 
 road. And not an instant too soon ; for the prying 
 boys had opened the door, out of which our enemy 
 leaped and set off in pursuit of his companions. 
 Looking up the retired lane, we saw him scamper 
 by at full speed, his eager eyes ranging in all 
 directions save one. We were saved, and never 
 saw him more ! 
 
 Again, lately one dark night, entering a Han- 
 som cab, I was duly encased within the glass and
 
 THE DIARY. 21/ 
 
 shutters. As the vehicle shot off on its course, 
 something white appeared to flash on the foot- 
 board in front, which by-and-by resolved itself 
 into the outline of a greyish-white cur dog, who 
 had leaped up in a half-professional way, much as 
 the little tigers of another generation used to 
 skip up behind the cabriolet. There this curious 
 creature remained, poising itself at the edge, like 
 some spectral dog, and balancing itself with ease, 
 as a circus rider might. When the cab stopped, 
 he was gone as suddenly as he came. " Oh ! he 
 were there, were he .-'" the driver merely exclaimed, 
 in answer to a question. It turned out that this 
 lean and unkempt pariah had drawn near the cab 
 a few nights before, had received less churlish 
 greeting than what he was accustomed to, and had 
 attached himself to the cab in this mysterious way. 
 He was now actually to be seen hovering in the 
 shadow afar off. There was something ghostly in 
 the fashion in which he came out of the night 
 and appeared upon the footboard. I was once 
 acquainted with a dog that had a no less singular 
 penchant for seeing a train pass under an arch at
 
 2l8 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 a particular hour each day. Punctually at five 
 o'clock he would rouse himself and set off at full 
 speed to keep his appointment, using cunning 
 devices when he suspected he might be detained. 
 Having seen his train go by,' and looked down with 
 a wary and critical air to watch that the passage 
 was performed properly, he jogged home with a 
 contented mind. The mystery was how he knew 
 the hour so exactly. 
 
 Again, every morning there comes to the door 
 a little trap, in the service of the butterman. 
 It is drawn by a frisky, waggish little pony, 
 evidently a pet ; and on the pony's back rides 
 a vivacious little terrier, who, from practice, can 
 balance himself in a secure and dashing style. 
 Both pony and terrier understand each other, 
 though the terrier capers about the pony's neck 
 in an inconvenient fashion. On cold days pony 
 has his cloth, while the terrier has a miniature 
 covering of the same kind, securely fitted to his 
 person. When the butterman comes up the area 
 the sly pair are watching him, and if in his 
 hurry he incautiously slam the back-door of his
 
 THE DIARY. 219 
 
 cart, a pretence is made of accepting the noise 
 as a signal, and off starts the pony galloping, 
 the terrier barking and almost erect on pony's 
 neck, while the driver is running along frantically 
 striving to climb into his vehicle as it goes. 
 Another dog, a red Irish retriever, whose ac- 
 quaintance I made lately, was sent down forty 
 miles into Kent, shut up in a dog-box. On his 
 first day's sport, he took offence at the keeper's 
 
 m 
 
 using a whip to him : a freedom he perhaps 
 thought was not justified by so short an ac- 
 quaintance. The following morning he was at 
 the door of his house in Victoria Street ! How 
 was this accomplished ? He must have come 
 straight across the country, guided by some 
 faculty that his two-legged superiors have not. 
 
 A favourite dog was accidentally killed ; on 
 which the poetical gardener in our family wrote an 
 epitaph : 
 
 " Beneath this yew-tree, in this Oval so completely. 
 Lies Hector, our dog, whom his master loved dearly. 
 He barked and he yeowled when the children went a-walking ; 
 He was shot by Peter on Christmas morning. 
 / blame Aixhie Tobin for not feeding him regularly, 
 And Mullins at the gate, who was in the constabulary, "
 
 220 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 As to letters. Many people destroy every letter 
 that is not important, or relating to business. 
 Not long before his death, Mr. Dickens thus sacri- 
 ficed all his accumulated papers, which made a 
 remarkable collection of interesting autographs, 
 and, in actual money, worth a great deal. The 
 dilemma is, unless you destroy at once, you must 
 keep ; for it is difficult to find time, and the task 
 is distasteful also, to go over an enormous mass 
 of papers. A good plan is to put aside, as they 
 arrive, anything of interest or from interesting 
 people. Acting on this principle, one may form a 
 very entertaining volume or collection of volumes, 
 the letters being from all sorts of persons. It 
 is astonishing how excellent and entcrtainin"" 
 some letters are, and how admirably written ; 
 and I have noted that clever litterateurs write 
 their letters as though they were writing "copy," 
 possibly because they cannot resist the inspira- 
 tion. Mr. Sala and Mr. Burnard are of this class, 
 and their letters are ever full of spirit and wit and 
 gaiety. The former's beautiful penmanship is well 
 known, and is the delight of the printers, as my 
 own, I fear, is the reverse.
 
 THE DIARY. 221 
 
 It is astonishing what an interesting and enter- 
 taining gathering may be thus made. In the large 
 volumes before me I find letters from every writer 
 of note — novelists, poets, players, statesmen, musi- 
 cians ; and as most of these persons have had 
 their portraits given in illustrated papers, these 
 I have set opposite, so that face, handwriting, 
 and mind are there before me. Nothing, too, is 
 more agreeable, when engaged on a literary task, 
 than to see how cordially your brethren come 
 to your aid with such knowledge as falls within 
 their department, communicated in a pleasant 
 style. 
 
 It is curious what odd incidents turn up in one's 
 literary course. Once, having written a series of 
 Italian sketches, duly published, I was astonished 
 to see, in a well-known journal, a full description 
 of some ceremony at St. Peter's, taken textually 
 from my series, but " written by an architect who 
 was studying there." On pointing this out to 
 the editor, the following explanation was sent by 
 its author : — 
 
 " I have this morning received a letter, saying
 
 222 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 the shell has burst which I have expected so long. 
 I wrote the ' Easter at Rome.' 
 
 " I am in verity an architectural student, and was 
 busy all that week doing the sights like everybody 
 else, and then was bound to write an account 
 home of them ; so, like a schoolboy, having read 
 your Roman paper, I thought it very good — 
 that it would interest my father and mother, and 
 save me lots of time and bother, answering every 
 purpose. An original account would have been 
 awfully dry. I need hardly say I never had the 
 slightest conception it would ever cross the thres- 
 hold of our house. That would have been too 
 green, as I had also interpolated passages from 
 ' Rubicond Murray ' and Dickens. 
 
 " It was a common thing for the fellows at the 
 Cafife Greco, when they wanted to fill a letter, to 
 write a page of Murray ; but that's no excuse 
 for me. 
 
 " I did not hear till I was in Naples that it had 
 been sent to the papers and published ; and I 
 have felt like Damocles ever since. I was dread- 
 fully vexed, but hoped it might blow over.
 
 THE DIARY. 22$ 
 
 " I regret exceedingly if it has caused you any 
 annoyance, and am heartily sorry for it, but it 
 was quite unintentional. I have also written to 
 the editor of the journal to explain. 
 
 " Therefore I hope you will accept my apology, 
 and say no more about it ; though, as I have made 
 a fool of myself, I will only subscribe myself your 
 obedient servant." 
 
 It is not to be supposed that " Grub Street " and 
 its privations, and the struggles for existence — 
 "garret toil and London loneliness" — must be put 
 back to the days of Johnson and Savage. There 
 are innumerable instances of desperate battle and 
 piteous succumbing, as every literary worker knows 
 from the appeals sent to him. Sometimes it comes 
 to a terrible crisis, in many instances drink unfortu 
 nately helping or leading to the catastrophe. I 
 am not speaking now of the almost professional 
 out-of-elbows writer, who really lives and thrives 
 in a sort of fashion, but of the genuine hard 
 worker, with the traditional wife and four or six 
 children. Not long ago came a despairing, plead- 
 ing letter from such a one, a clever man, on
 
 224 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 whom an execution was impending ; if it fell, 
 destruct'on was the result. The sum, however, was 
 too large, and only a contribution could be made 
 to it. He contrived to surmount his difficulties. 
 
 But here was a truly dramatic instance. Some 
 years ago, when Homburg was in the flush of all 
 its gaieties, I met there a good-looking gentle- 
 man — a leading writer on the press, a poet, with 
 a university education — altogether a very accom- 
 plished and agreeable person. He was, indeed, 
 rather rcchercJu^. I had before known of him, as 
 he had of me, and we became friends. I lost sight 
 of him, as one so often does of hastily made water- 
 ing-place acquaintances — the duration being in 
 proportion to the intensity. Later, I heard he had 
 gone to the war as a correspondent. Later again 
 by some j-cars, I read an inquest on a person who 
 had died in the most abject condition in one of 
 those lodging-houses where fourpence is charged for 
 a night's accommodation. A letter was found in 
 his pocket from a gentlemen, a son of a nobleman 
 and an old friend — a touching, manly production — 
 enclosing some money, adding that he could do
 
 THE DIARY. 225 
 
 little for him, but begging him, if in worse diffi- 
 culties, to apply to his friend. It proved to be my 
 old acquaintance, who had sunk lower and lower, 
 and, being afflicted with some dreadful malady and 
 without friends, had chosen to hide himself in this 
 squalid place, and there had died ! Lately there 
 was an eminent scholar thus reduced. No one 
 who is connected with the societies formed for 
 helping literary men is surprised by these things, 
 so strange and unexpected are the applications. 
 The truth is the competition is so great that, if 
 there be any interruption, by illness or otherwise, 
 their place is likely to be filled up. On the other 
 hand, connection with the press is a laborious 
 business, and leaves little time for magazine or 
 novel writing. 
 
 VOL. I.
 
 226 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE STORY OF A WALTZ. 
 
 In a career of hard work, and often of drudgery, 
 there arises sometimes little strange unexpected 
 turns of fortune, not very marvellous of their kind, 
 but still welcome and encouraging, and often 
 flavoured with a little romance. I have noted 
 lately, in those colloquial columns of gossip which 
 arc a special feature of the newspapers of the time, 
 allusions to a certain waltz, which came into exist- 
 ence under odd circumstances. Now, it may be 
 found entertaining to relate what really took place. 
 Of waltzes the world is full, and overstocked it 
 may be. The amateur writes his waltz, of which 
 a copy is never sold. The professional musician 
 brings out his waltz, which may not take, or drops 
 still-born. Waldteufel, and Strauss, and Gungl,
 
 THE STORY OF A WALTZ. 22/ 
 
 Coote and Tinney, and Godfrey are or were past 
 masters in the art, and they command a sale. A 
 true waltz, such as Waldteufel, the most popular 
 now, writes, is a poem, and might engage the 
 talent of the first composers. There is infinite art 
 and dramatic feeling required, a melancholy de- 
 spairing strain, strange to say, best quickening the 
 dancers' motions ; there is the artful contrast of 
 rough and uninteresting passages introduced like 
 bitters, so as to make return to the more exquisite 
 bits longed for and welcomed when they do arrive. 
 On this account there are but few really good 
 waltzes. Sometimes a popular and good air will 
 carry the whole waltz through, and the taking tune 
 of Mr. Sullivan's " Sweethearts " — a song turned 
 into a waltz — has formed one of the most suc- 
 cessful of this day. The " Soldaten Lieder," the 
 " Beautiful Blue Danube," are perfect poems in 
 their way, and have been little fortunes to their 
 publishers — probably not to their authors. 
 
 Half a dozen years ago, I was getting ready for 
 Christmas, that is to say, for furnishing those jovial 
 festival stories which were until lately as indis-
 
 228 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 pensablc as the plum-pudding on the day itself. 
 Now these matters seem to be avoided. There 
 are no outcast brothers to come home exactly on 
 Christmas Eve in the snow, and look in at the 
 squire's window — the Hall — where everybody is 
 merry-making. There are no making-ups of old 
 enemies, and the like, all which have gone out. 
 But still a certain amount of jovial narrative is in 
 demand, for annuals and the like. Being busy 
 one October night with this sort of provender, a 
 letter came in from one of the great illustrated 
 papers — the more important of the two, which is 
 said to enjoy a vast circulation — rather its pro- 
 prietors enjoy it. This was a request to furnish a 
 large contribution suited to the festival, but to be 
 done at once, as there was not an hour to be lost. 
 Two large but effective engravings accompanied it, 
 one of which pourtraycd a lady in ball dress, 
 fastening her glove ; the other the outside of 
 " The Grange," its muUioned windows all lit up — 
 picturesque enough as a subject. This is lifting 
 the corner of the curtain a little discreetly or the 
 reverse ; but the fact is so, that more often the
 
 THE STORY OF A WALTZ. 229 
 
 story illustrates the illustration rather than the 
 illustration the story. In the days of the old 
 " Annuals " the elaborate copper-plate engravings 
 were done first and sent to contributors to write up 
 to. This was a pleasing office. Working at white 
 heat, I had soon produced a tale of some length — 
 a genuine thing, based on that best of all founda- 
 tions, one's own experiences ; of course, varied a 
 little for drammatic effect. It was despatched — 
 in both senses, that is, completed and sent in in 
 a short period of time. 
 
 Now, this story was called " LovED and LoST 
 (Geliebt und Verloren) ; or, the Last Waltz." It 
 turned on what might be suggested by some of 
 those pathetic melancholy airs or tunes we hear at 
 a ball in the small hours. A man had met a 
 young girl some years before at such a ball, and 
 during this waltz had declared his affection. 
 Events, however, had interposed and parted the 
 lovers. Some years pass by and he returns. One 
 night he is accidentally at another ball at the 
 Grange — the building with the lit-up mullions — 
 looking on sadly at the dancing, when this very
 
 230 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 waltz, played again, brings him back to the old 
 scene. But I quote a short passage. 
 
 " Here indeed was the scene ; ' Skipper's band * 
 was the orchestra. So it went on the rather mono- 
 tonous round — now quadrille, now lancers, now 
 waltz and headlong galop, wild Balaclava charges ; 
 the more sober dances were gradually becoming 
 extinct, to the annoyance of what might be called 
 the Quakers and Methodists of the ball-room, who, 
 with their discreet measures, were coolly put aside 
 in defiance of all law and agreement. At that 
 time of night, to be ' wading ' patiently through 
 steps and slow measures was unendurable ; and, 
 accordingly, here were the greedy waltzers and 
 galopers devouring dance after dance ; while the 
 aggrieved quadrillers, partners on arm, looked on, 
 rueful and indignant. And now I see Skipper bend- 
 ing down in earnest talk with a sort of deputation, 
 who had waited on him, and now came back with 
 alacrity and rejoicing, ready for fresh exertion. 
 
 " Hark ! What was it that kindled for me a 
 sudden interest in the proceedings .? that made the 
 nerves thrill and the pulse quicken } Where had
 
 THE STORY OF A WALTZ. 23 1 
 
 I heard it ? It seemed a strain lent from Para- 
 dise ! How it rose, and fell, and swelled, and died 
 away; growing tender, pleading, and pathetic ; 
 now turning into a fierce clash and whirl, as 
 though impelled by despair and driven by furies ; 
 then becoming soothed into piteous entreaty, and 
 winding out in a dying fall. It was, in short, one 
 of those divine waltzes, as they may be called. 
 Where, when, had I heard it } I knew it. There 
 are a few of these that seem part of your life, like 
 a poem. It may have happened that one of those 
 tender, complaining measures has been the accom- 
 paniment to some important act. It is then no 
 longer mere vulgar music. Some, such as the 
 newer German waltzes, touch strange mysterious 
 themes, reaching beyond this earth. The time of 
 night or morning, when it winds out, the lights 
 whirling round in rings, the bewildering motion, 
 the floating sylphs, the nebulous tulle, the flowers, 
 the jewels, all join to make up the scene of wild 
 festivity, and it would be enough, one might think. 
 But the artful enchanter then suddenly dissolves 
 into a sad and pathetic strain, for, merry as
 
 232 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 the dance is, a merry tune would not be in 
 keeping ; alternated with the crash of cymbals 
 are desperate protests, as it were, appeal for mercy 
 or reckless defiance, to be succeeded even by gro- 
 tesque and reckless antic, all, however, to revert to 
 the pleading of the original strains, led by the sad 
 and winding horn ! Such was the ' last waltz ' of 
 this night, which thrilled me, yet seemed to thrill 
 Skipper himself far more, who led, as some one 
 near me said, now ' like a demon,' and now like 
 a suppliant begging for mercy. What was it ? 
 Where had I heard it ? It was charged brimful 
 of agitating memories. Some dancer near me said 
 flippantly, ' Oh, that's the " Loved and Lost " — 
 pretty thing, isn't it } ' And, looking down on the 
 card, I read : 
 
 " ' Walzer, " Geliebt und Verloren (Loved and Lost)." JlJii/Ur.' 
 
 " Again, where had I heard it .-' For it was music 
 that seemed to belong to other spheres far away, 
 and to time quite distant. There it was again, 
 returning to the original sad song — a complaining 
 horn, full of grief and pathos, which invited such
 
 THE STORY OF A WALTZ. 233 
 
 dancers as were standing or sitting down to turn 
 hurriedly, seize their partners, and once more rush 
 into the revolving crowd ! It was slow, and yet 
 seemed fast as the many twinkling feet of the 
 dancers. Skipper, mournfully sympathetic, beat 
 time in a dreamy way, as though he were himself 
 travelling back into the j^ast, searching up some 
 tender memories. Then turns briskly, and calls 
 vehemently on his men, dashing into a frantic 
 strophe, with crashing of cymbals and grass- 
 hopper tripping of violins ; dancers growing frantic 
 with their exertions, and all hurrying round like 
 bacchantes ; the strain presently relaxing and 
 flagging a little, as though growing tired — to halt 
 and jerk — then, after a pause, the sad horn winds 
 out the original lament in the old pathetic fashion. 
 For how long would it go on .'* Skipper knew well 
 its charm, and was ungrudging in his allowance — 
 would probably go over and over it again, so long 
 as there were feet able to twirl. I know I could 
 have listened till past the dawn. 
 
 "Airy, cloudy thoughts and recollections came 
 with the music; it floats to him with a ' dying fall/
 
 234 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 it rises again as the brass crashes out, and then, 
 suddenly, flits by him the figure of his old love ! " 
 
 That night all is made straight and the past 
 forgotten. As much depended on the waltz, a 
 sort of vivid description of the music and its alter- 
 nations was thus attempted. "Word-painting" is 
 the phrase. We hear the soft inviting sad song 
 with which it began, the strange fluttering trippings 
 into Avhich it strayed — aside as it were from its 
 original purpose — the relaxing, the sudden de- 
 lirious burst which sent every one whirling round 
 in headlong speed, and the last return to the sad 
 song of the opening. 
 
 The story was duly printed, and went forth with 
 a highly coloured portrait of a child, hung up in 
 every shop window. I received a very handsome 
 sum for my services, and was content. 
 
 Now begins the story of the waltz. With 
 that curious litcralness which characterizes our 
 public or publics — for there are many — and the 
 paper having so large a circulation, there were 
 found persons to assume that there must be some 
 waltz of the kind existing, and which had been
 
 THE STORY OF A WALTZ. 235 
 
 performed, if not at the ball in question, at least 
 somewhere else ! Orders were accordingly sent 
 to various music-sellers for copies, which, as was 
 natural, could not be supplied. A sagacious 
 vendor thus applied to, wrote to the author in 
 question, asking for a copy. It could be pub- 
 lished, he said ; and suggesting that if only per- 
 formed in the author's brain hitherto, it could 
 be brought into more tangible and profitable shape 
 for all concerned. 
 
 On this hint I went to work, and having a fair, 
 perhaps unscientific, musical taste — having before 
 now written " little things of my own," yea, and 
 sung them too — I soon put together a string of 
 waltzes. A near relative, also with a taste, had 
 devised a tune which was popular in the family, 
 and this I fashioned into- an introduction. It was 
 sent off; a clever professional artist took it in hand, 
 shaped and trimmed and re-arranged, added some- 
 thing of his own, and to my astonishment declared 
 that the introduction — a sad slow measure — was 
 the very thing to be shaped for the rapid step 
 of a waltz. This was somewhat of a surprise, and
 
 236 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 it was believed that, in consequence, the whole 
 would make certain shipwreck. 
 
 In due course the waltz made its appearance. 
 The publisher was an enterprising person and 
 knew how to advertise. Everyhere appeared 
 " Loved and Lost." I think something was quoted 
 from the newspaper in question. It began to be 
 asked for — to sell. The next step was to have 
 it arranged for any stringed orchestra. Next for 
 the military bands, in what is known as " Boosey's 
 Journal." Next it was arranged as a duet, a quatre 
 mains. Next, in easy fashion for the juveniles. 
 Next, our publisher came mysteriously to ask 
 would I, " being a literary man, and, of course, a 
 poet," write words for a " vocal arrangement " } I 
 agreed to do so, and supplied the lines : — 
 
 "LOVED AND LOST 
 
 ('GELIEBT UND VERLOREN ' ). 
 
 " Now the city sleepeth, 
 
 The night is calm and sweet, 
 The dying embers rustle — 
 
 There's silence in the street. 
 Oh, my heart feels lonely 
 
 As all the shadows fall ;
 
 THE STORY OF A WALTZ. 237 
 
 The spirits softly whisper, 
 I hear their voices call : 
 
 Loved and Lost ! they sigh, 
 For grief shall never die. 
 Through weary, weary Time, 
 Sounds the dismal chime, 
 Loved and Lost ! 
 
 ' Now sinks the failing lamp — 
 Through the lagging night, 
 I hear the tender accents — 
 
 I see a figure bright. 
 Return, ye golden hours — 
 
 Sweet vision, linger ! stay ! 
 The spirits softly whisper, 
 And all dissolves away — 
 
 Loved and Lost ! they sigh. 
 For grief shall never die. 
 All through the weary time 
 Hark to the dismal chime. 
 Loved and Lost ! 
 
 ' So pass the heavy hours, 
 
 I chide the long delay. 
 The night so chill and dark — 
 
 I wait the lingering day. 
 At last, the blissful summons, 
 
 What notes my heart enthrall ! 
 I'm coming, I am ready ! — 
 I hear their voices call — 
 
 Loved, not Lost ! they cry. 
 For love shall never die. 
 And so, through endless time, 
 Shall swell the joyful chime. 
 Loved, not Lost ! "
 
 238 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 Presently the song was being sung at the Aqua- 
 rium, Brighton. In short, the arrangements in 
 every shape and form now fill a very respectable 
 volume. But what strain was more refreshing 
 than the first grind on the organ, coming round 
 the street corner ; or, later, its regular performance 
 by the German bands, and by the grand orchestra 
 at the Covent Garden Concerts. Yet all this 
 could be referred to the story itself, which was 
 like the whirl of a waltz, dreamy and romantic 
 and sad. When we came to reckon up the results, 
 some sixty or seventy thousand copies had been 
 disposed of And some time later, on the copy- 
 right changing hands, it was disposed of for a 
 sum of two hundred pounds. 
 
 Such is the highly satisfactory story of a 
 waltz. 
 
 I may add one of the most amusing, original 
 literary incidents of this generation, which was 
 the foundation of that great enterprise, "England 
 in the Nineteenth Century." An enterprising 
 gentleman, well known from his giving " bold 
 advertisement " of many things, some years ago
 
 THE STORY OF A WALTZ. 239 
 
 conceived the idea of a purely literary venture — 
 a vast cyclopaedia which should pourtray England 
 in all its aspects. For this purpose all the "emi- 
 nent " literary ones of the day — which, of course, 
 included many that had no claim at all to the 
 title — were called on to supply descriptions ; and, 
 under the direction of the vivacious GEORGE 
 Augustus Sala, England was to be shown 
 as it had never before been shown — its fashion- 
 able, theatrical, "seamy," and other sides. To 
 open the venture with all eclat, the hospitable 
 speculator invited all his future contributors to 
 the appropriate hostelry of the Albion, to a 
 magnificent banquet, at which, I suppose, some 
 hundred and fifty persons must have " sat down " 
 to table. It was a curious miscellany of guests ; 
 for our hospitable host had gathered, not merely 
 litterateurs, musicians, and artists, but many who 
 were connected with his own profession, and who 
 would be eager to push " England " by every legi- 
 timate means. Our chairman, who has a special 
 happy vein for after-dinner speaking, opened the 
 business in one of his best efforts, expounding
 
 240 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 the plan, complimenting our host on his enterprise, 
 and announcing, with much humour, that the 
 venture would be started on a particular day from 
 the offices of Messrs. Tinsley, in Catherine Street, 
 Strand — "God willing" \\q added devoutly. Other 
 speeches followed, everybody lavishly showering 
 praise on the " enterprising " host ; though, looking 
 round at the \-ast number of litterateurs engaged, it 
 seemed a puzzle how room was to be found for 
 all in the ranks. It was a pleasant evening, and 
 withal a merry one. There were French speeches 
 and French songs, though news came in during the 
 night that " poor Hodder " had been overset — an 
 accident of which he died. Notwithstanding this 
 flourishing, " England," while expecting every man 
 to do his duty, unaccountably failed in hers. Arti- 
 cles were written — the first number even printed 
 — when it was announced abruptly that the plan 
 was given up. Everybody was paid handsomely. 
 I confess I admired this proof of the good sense, 
 and even wisdom, of our host. The truth was, 
 on reflection, he had seen that the scheme could 
 only end in loss.
 
 THE STORY OF A WALTZ. 24 1 
 
 From the Diary, too, I take a record of one of 
 the drollest scenes conceivable. The officers of 
 the garrison at a provincial town had hired the 
 theatre for a performance. On the night it was 
 crowded, and between the acts a lady that taught 
 elocution had kindly consented to come forward to 
 recite Edgar Allan Poe's poem of " The Bells." 
 It will be remembered that the piece describes 
 various descriptions of bells with singular power, 
 the first strophe being devoted to the " wedding 
 bells." We listened with pleasure to the melodious 
 lines — 
 
 "Hear the music of the bells, 
 Wedding bells. 
 How they," etc. 
 
 She imparted a sort of tender nuptial tone, with a 
 kind of conjugal grace, to the lines, and when the 
 burden came she chimed it out : 
 
 "Bells, bells, bells. 
 Bells, bells, bells, bells," 
 
 beginning to peal them as if she were a bell-ringer 
 herself! Her voice fell into a sing-song ; her hand 
 was raised to her ear as if to catch the distant 
 chiming. Some few behind tittered, but we were 
 
 VOL. I. K-
 
 242 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 all more astonished than amused. The effect was 
 odd. But at the next verse, which dealt with 
 funeral bells, the lady became mortuary and dead- 
 cart-like. She turned suddenly into a ghoul, and 
 when it came to the burden we seemed to hear the 
 chimes of an adjoining tower : 
 
 " To the pealing of the bells, 
 Bee-yells, beeyulls, 
 Boolls, boolls, bulls, bulls, bulls, 
 Boles — Bowles — Bowles ! " 
 
 Between each " toll " of " be-ells ! " there was a 
 long pause. She boomed out the words, as it were, 
 while her hands, holding an imaginary rope, slowly 
 and sadly drew it down at every peal. As this 
 extraordinary mimetic representation set in, some 
 began to look wonderingly at each other, then to 
 smile, and at last a wave of tittering began to 
 spread away even to the last benches. People 
 roared and roared again. For myself, I can say 
 I never witnessed anything more diverting, the 
 exquisite sense being increased, since as the peals 
 of laughter rose, the fair elocutionist was to be 
 seen still slowly and gently pulling the rope, the 
 booming being unheard, until, at last, her grasp
 
 THE STORY OF A WALTZ. 243 
 
 seemed to relax and an air of deep reproach and 
 wounded sensibility, mixed with wonder, spread 
 over her face. The better bred felt the reproach 
 and hushed down the ill-timed merriment. We 
 composed ourselves for the concluding verses, those 
 on the alarm of fire, when the fire bells ring out 
 and rouse the population. She began calmly — 
 
 " Hear the music of the bells, 
 Fiery bells ! " 
 
 But as the conflagration spread, her agitation 
 increased, the peals of the bell followed short and 
 fast, and when she got to the refrain — 
 
 " Bells, bells, bells ! " 
 
 her arms worked at the rope, up and down, with 
 frantic energy, and with every stroke came the 
 word " bells ; " but contending with this were the 
 hearty roars of laughter that rose again and again, 
 some falling back in almost hysterical agonies : 
 amid which the poor lady, wounded to the very 
 heart, retired.
 
 244 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE TAVERN. 
 
 The litterateur, if he be not a mere workman, has 
 a number of plain entertainments which form the 
 contemplative man's recreation, as old Isaac has it. 
 He may live by himself, yet he is not solitary. 
 He can people his room. His day goes by 
 swiftly ; at evening there is the dinner at the Club, 
 or he can afford himself the chop at the old 
 tavern, the Cock, on the sanded floor near to 
 the hob. Thence home to the cheerful fire, the 
 curtains drawn close, the friendly comforting pipe, 
 and from, say, nine till midnight the pleasant book 
 of Memoirs or novel. For as a certain versifier 
 chants — 
 
 "The student is not lonely — 
 
 His children lie can call ; 
 His books are his companions, 
 
 His pictures on the wall. 
 For him the kindly past unrolls 
 
 Rich tapestries and rare ;
 
 THE TAVERN. 245 
 
 At night he hears the sad patrols, 
 The footsteps on the stair ! 
 
 The footsteps on the stair, 
 
 As though a crowd were there ! 
 
 " The student is not lonely — 
 His clock is on the wall ; 
 His thoughts are ever company, 
 
 His pipe is all in all. 
 What visions in its fumes. 
 
 What dreamings in his chair. 
 And whisperings from the tombs, 
 The footsteps on the stair ! 
 
 The footsteps on the stair, 
 
 As though a crowd were there ! " 
 
 No student will disdain the ancient charm of 
 tavern life, which, oddly, still endures after a 
 fashion. One can relish a visit to these places 
 — not, of course, for companionship, but for the 
 tranquil air and old-fashioned solitude amid 
 numbers. The excellent Boswell says in his 
 journal: "We dined at an excellent inn, where 
 Johnson expatiated on the felicity of England in its 
 taverns and inns, and triumphed over the French 
 for not having, in any perfection, the tavern life. 
 ' There is no private house,' said he, ' in which 
 people can enjoy themselves so well as at a capital 
 tavern. Let there be ever so great plenty of good
 
 246 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 things, ever so much grandeur, ever so much 
 elegance, ever so much desire that everybody 
 should be easy ; in the nature of things it cannot 
 be : there must always be some degree of care 
 and anxiety. The master of the house is anxious 
 to entertain his guests ; the guests are anxious 
 to be agreeable to him ; and no man but a very 
 impudent dog indeed can as freely command 
 what is in another man's house as if it was his 
 own. Whereas, at a tavern, there is a general 
 freedom from anxiety. You are sure you are 
 welcome : and the more noise you make, the more 
 trouble you give, the more good things you call 
 for, the welcomer you are. No servants will attend 
 you with the alacrity which waiters do who are 
 incited by the prospect of an immediate reward 
 in proportion as they please. No, sir; there is 
 nothing which has yet been contrived by man by 
 which so much happiness is produced as by a 
 good tavern or inn.' He then repeated, with great 
 emotion, Shenstone's lines : — 
 
 ' Whoe'er has travell'd life's dull round, 
 Where'er his stages may have been, 
 May sigh to think he still has found 
 The warmest welcome at an inn.' "
 
 THE TAVERN. 247 
 
 Many and many a pleasant contemplative 
 hour have been spent there, during many a 
 year. To persons who have never entered a 
 tavern in their lives, the CoCK in Fleet Street 
 has a certain charm of association, mainly owing 
 to its having been celebrated in verse by the 
 Poet Laureate : though perhaps few are familiar 
 with what he has said or sung upon the subject, 
 and fancy he has contented himself with the oft- 
 quoted hnes to the " plump head waiter at the 
 Cock," which gave that personage an immortality 
 as unexpected as perhaps it was undeserved. The 
 lines on " Will Waterproof's " visit give no actual 
 description of the place, but they have an extra- 
 ordinary charm of pensive retrospect and solitary 
 m.editation, and convey an idea of the tone of the 
 old place, and of the fancies it is likely to engender 
 in some solitary and perhaps depressed guest. 
 A series of pictures and moods is unfolded in 
 this charming poem, with a dreamy rumination 
 and pleasant sadness ; visions float upwards in 
 
 the curling fumes of the smoker's " long clay." 
 
 • 
 But only a great poet could extract a refined
 
 248 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 quintessence from the mixed vapours of chops 
 and steaks. It was called, it will be remembered, 
 " Will Waterproofs Lyrical Monologue, made at 
 the Cock," and began — 
 
 " O plump head waiter at the Cock, 
 
 To which I most resort, 
 How goes the time ? 'Tis five o'clock. 
 
 Go fetch a pint of port : 
 But let it not be such as that 
 
 You set before chance comers. 
 But such whose father-grape grew fat 
 
 On Lusitanian summers." 
 
 We could wish that Doctor Johnson, who 
 haunted Fleet Street, had been a frequenter of 
 the Cock, an excellent subsisting specimen of 
 the old taverns. Temple Bar passed away to 
 utter indifference, and even some derision ; the 
 old monument was abused, jeered at ; why did it 
 cumber the ground .'' Yet it was certainly an at- 
 traction. That rumbling under the old gateway, 
 as you entered Fleet Street, had a certain piquancy. 
 Though it was giving way, it was but an idle 
 pretext to say that nothing could be done to 
 repair it. As you passed beneath, you felt you 
 came within the precincts — you entered the City.
 
 THE TAVERN. 249 
 
 There was the Temple to the right ; the old 
 gilt cock, not without a certain air of strut and 
 spirit, over the little stunted doorway of the tavern 
 on the left. Now all is open and clear — the City 
 has no beginning. 
 
 You go through a little squeezed and panelled 
 passage to enter, and at the end of the passage 
 you pass the little window of the " snuggery," or 
 bar, of a most inviting sort on a winter's night, 
 with something simmering on the hob. There 
 sits one whom Ave might call " Miss Abbey " — 
 like Dickens's directress of the "Fellowship Por- 
 ters " — to whom come the waiters, to receive the 
 good hunches of bread, " new or stale," which she, 
 according to old unvarying rule, chalks down, or 
 up, on the mahogany sill of the door. All is 
 duly sawdusted. The ceiling of the long low 
 tavern room is on our heads. The windows are 
 small, like skylights, and give upon the hilly pas- 
 sage or lane outside. There are "boxes" or pews 
 all round, with green curtains, of mahogany black 
 as ebony. But the coveted places — say, about 
 a sharp Christmas time — are the two that face the
 
 250 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 good fire, on which sings a huge kettle. The 
 curious old chimney-piece over it is of carved oak, 
 with strange grinning faces, one of which used to 
 delight Dickens, who invited people's attention to 
 it particularly. There is a quaintness, too, in the 
 china trays for the pewter mugs, each decorated 
 with an effigy of a cock. On application, those 
 in office produce to you a well-thumbed copy of 
 Defoe's " History of the Plague," where the allu- 
 sion is made to the establishment, and also a 
 little circular box, in which is carefully preserved 
 one of the copper tokens of the house — a little 
 lean, battered piece, with the device of a cock, 
 and the inscriptions " The Cock Alehouse " and 
 "C H. M. ATT. TEMPLE BARR. 1655." 
 
 It is a pity to see that there is not the con- 
 servative continuity in the line of waiters, which 
 should be found in such a place. They seem to 
 come and go — go rather than come. They used 
 to be all "in key," as it were — had grown stout 
 and old in the service. Latterly, time, in its 
 whirligig changes, has brought round changes 
 almost revolutionary, and we find strange, unsuit-
 
 THE TAVERN. 2$ I 
 
 able beings in office. One was a Ary, wiry man 
 of despotic character, who administered on new 
 modern principles, unsuited to the easy-going 
 manners of the place. He dealt with the cus- 
 tomers in a prompt, almost harsh style. He knew 
 and recognized no distinction between old fre- 
 quenters and new. I fancy he was not popular. 
 I believe his place was in the new "restaurants ;" 
 but here, among the " boxes " and pews, and on 
 the sanded floor, he was an anachronism. With 
 the old habitue's he was a perfect fly in the oint- 
 ment. When he found himself distasteful, he 
 adopted a strange device to recommend himself 
 — the compounding a curious sauce, which he 
 called " pick-ant," and which he invited guests 
 to try. It did not much avail him, and death 
 has since removed him to pay his own score. 
 The good old " brown stout " is to be had in 
 perfection at the Cock, and port good in its kind. 
 To stray into this cheerful hostelry of a chill 
 winter's evening, finding snug shelter, Avith snow 
 or rain outside, recalls one of those scenes in old 
 inn parlours which Dickens was so fond of
 
 252 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 describing. Here arc cosy red curtains ; the 
 world shut out ; warmth and Hght. Many of the 
 creations of the great writer will be found here ; 
 the Temple clerk, the retired solicitor — dry, quiet 
 men of the Perker class, that have come across 
 from their lonely chambers, and sit solitary, con- 
 tent with themselves, while they mix comforting 
 brew of " hot Scotch " or " Irish." These beings 
 are interesting of their kind. At times there will 
 hardly be a sound in the place, so placid is the 
 old-world temper of the tavern. An old frequenter 
 of the Cock remembers the tankards hung round 
 in shining rows, each the special property of a 
 customer. 
 
 The " all-knowing " Timbs — now, with Peter 
 Cunningham, passed into the domain of the anti- 
 quities they both explored so well — was a fre- 
 quenter of the place. 
 
 There are old rites and customs of service here 
 which are maintained according to the tradition. 
 Your good clay pipe is brought to you, and your 
 twist of good and fragrant tobacco. And an 
 anchorite would find it hard to resist the appa-
 
 THE TAVERN. 2=; 
 
 DJ 
 
 ratus for mixing the "brew" of "hot drink" or 
 " Scotch," the little pewter " noggin," the curling 
 rind of lemon with the more juicy fragment of 
 the interior, and the tiny glass holding a suffi- 
 ciency of sugar, with the neat block-tin jug filled 
 from the copper kettle boiling on the hob. 
 
 There are two other taverns almost vis-a-vis, 
 and each with antique claims. One, the Rainbow, 
 which boasts a remote pedigree. But though you 
 enter in the favourite Fleet Street style through 
 a narrow passage, the place itself has undergone 
 much restoration. " Dicks'," the other, is down 
 one of the Temple lanes, dark and grimed, and 
 somewhat rudely appointed, as though it wished 
 to rest its claims entirely upon its " chops and 
 steaks," and upon nothing else. " Dicks' " is 
 labelled outside " Ben Jonson's Noted House," 
 and boasts with reason, or without, to have enjoyed 
 the custom of that eminent man. But the art 
 and science of cooking chops is not nearly so 
 highly esteemed as it used to be in the last cen- 
 tury, when noblemen and gentlemen frequented 
 taverns, and clubs did not exist, save at taverns.
 
 2 54 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 I confess to loving Fleet Street — interesting in 
 so many ways — almost as much as Dr. Johnson. 
 It is remarkable for the curious little courts 
 and passages into which you make entry, under 
 small archways. These are Johnson's Court, Bolt 
 Court, Racquet Court, and the like. Indeed, it 
 is evident that the strange little passage which 
 leads into the Cock must have been originally 
 an entrance to one of these courts, on which the 
 tavern gradually encroached. Much the same are 
 found in the Borough, only these lead into great 
 courts and inn yards. But in Fleet Street they 
 are specially interesting. We can fancy the 
 Doctor tramping up to his favourite tavern. Pass- 
 ing into the dark alley known as Wine Office 
 Court, we come to the Old Cheshire Cheese, in 
 a narrow flagged passage, the house or wall on 
 the other side quite close and excluding all light. 
 The Cheese looks, indeed, a sort of dark den, an 
 inferior public-house — its grimed windows like 
 those of a shop which we can look in at from the 
 passage. On entering, there is the little bar facing 
 us, and always the essence of snugness and cosi-
 
 THE TAVERN. 255 
 
 ness ; to the right a small room, to the left a 
 bigger one. The Cheshire Cheese offers its dirty- 
 walls and sawdusted floor, a few benches put 
 against the wall, and two or three rude tables of 
 the plainest kind against the wall. The grill is 
 heard hissing in some back region, where the chop 
 or small steak is being prepared ; and it may be 
 said, en passant, that the flavour and treatment of 
 the chop and " small dinner steak " are there — 
 breakfast and luncheon steaks also i* — are quite 
 different from those done on the more pretentious 
 grills which have lately sprang up. On the wall 
 is a testimonial portrait of a rather bloated waiter 
 — Todd, I think, by name — quite suggestive of 
 the late Mr. Liston. He is holding up his cork- 
 screw of office to an expectant guest, either in a 
 warning or exultant way, as if he had extracted 
 the cork in a masterly style. Underneath is a 
 boastful inscription that it was painted in 1812, to 
 be hung up as an heirloom and handed down, 
 having been executed under the reign of Dola- 
 more, who then owned the place. Strange to say, 
 the waiter at the Cheshire Cheese has been suner.
 
 256 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 like his brother of the Cock, but not by such 
 a bartl. There is a certain irreverence ; but the 
 parody is a good one. It has its regular habitues ; 
 and on Saturday or Friday there is a famous 
 " rump-steak pie," which draws a larger attend- 
 ance ; for it is considered that you may search 
 the wide world round without matching that suc- 
 culent delicacy. Hither it was that Dr. Johnson 
 used to repair. True, neither Boswell, nor Haw- 
 kins, nor after them Mr. Croker, take note of 
 the circumstance ; but there were many things 
 that escaped Mr. Croker, diligent as he was. 
 
 The left-hand room on entering, it seems, 
 and the table on the right on entering that 
 room, having the window at the end, was the 
 table occupied by Johnson and his friends almost 
 uniformly. This table and the room are now as 
 they were when I first saw them, having had 
 the curiosity to visit them recently. They were, 
 and are, too, as Johnson and his friends left them 
 in their time. Johnson's scat was always in the 
 window, and Goldsmith sat on his left hand." 
 
 On the other side of Fleet Street wc can see
 
 THE TAVERN. 257 
 
 the Mitre Tavern, closing up the end of a court 
 — but not the old original Mitre where Johnson 
 sat with Boswell. It was pulled down within living 
 memory, and with it the corner in which the sage 
 used to sit, and which was religiously marked by 
 his bust. Yet even as it stands in its restoration, 
 there is something quaint in the feeling as you 
 enter through a low covered passage from Fleet 
 Street, and see its cheerful open door at the end. 
 There are other taverns with such approaches in 
 the street. The Old Bell is curiously retired. 
 The passage to the Mitre is as it was in John- 
 son's day, and his eyes must have been often 
 raised to the old beams that support its roof. 
 Even in its modern shape it retains much that 
 is old-fashioned and rococo. It is like a country 
 tavern in London, with its " ordinary " at noon — 
 and a good one too — and its retirement so close 
 and yet so far from the hum and clatter of Fleet 
 Street. 
 
 We have yet another tavern to which we can 
 track him, and which still " stands where it did." 
 We pass from the open Place where St. Clement 
 
 VOL. I. s
 
 25S RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 Danes stands — one of the most Dutch-like spots 
 in London, to which idea the quaint and rather 
 elegant tower lends itself. To hear its chimes, not 
 at midnight, but on some frosty evening nigh 
 to Christmas, when the steeple is projected on a 
 cool blue background, while you can see the 
 shadows of the ringers in the bell-tower, is a pic- 
 turesque feeling. They fling out their janglings 
 more wildly than any peal in London ; they are 
 nearer the ground, and the hurly-burly is melo- 
 dious enough. Those tones the Doctor often 
 heard in Gough Square and Bolt Court, and inside 
 he had his favourite seat, to this day reverently 
 marked by a plate and inscription. Yet St. 
 Clement's is in a precarious condition, and when 
 the Law Courts are completed its fate will be 
 
 decided. 
 
 It is, perhaps, GoUGH SQUARE, to which one 
 of the little passages out of Fleet Street leads, that 
 most faithfully preserves the memory of Johnson. 
 It is rather a court than a square ; so small is it 
 that carriages could never have entered, and it is 
 surrounded with good old brick houses that in
 
 THE TAVERN. 259 
 
 their day were of some pretension. A worthy- 
 society has fixed a tablet in the wall, recording 
 that " Here lived Samuel Johnson." The houses 
 are of the good sound old brick ; some have carved 
 porticoes, and one is set off by two rather elegant 
 Corinthian pilasters. There is a pleasant flavour 
 of grave old fashion and retirement about the 
 place, and little has, as yet, been touched or pulled 
 down. Johnson's house faces us, and is about the 
 most conspicuous. He had, of course, merely 
 rooms, as it is a rather large mansion, a little 
 shaken and awry, queerly shaped about the upper 
 story, but snug and compact. It is now a " com- 
 mercial family boarding-house," and the hall is 
 " cosy " to a degree, with its panelled dado running 
 round and up the twisted stairs in short easy 
 lengths of four or five steps, with a landing — 
 which would suit the Doctor's chest. The whole 
 is in harmony. We can see him labouring up 
 the creaking stairs. A few peaceful trades are in 
 occupation of the place — printers, and the like. 
 It is an old-world spot, has an old-world air, and 
 suggests a snug country inn.
 
 26o RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 But, turning to Essex Street, and not many- 
 doors down on the left, at the corner of a little 
 cross-passage, leading to the pretty Temple gate, 
 with its light ironwork, we come on the ESSEX 
 Head Tavern, an old, mean public-house of well- 
 grimed brick. It was here, in his decay, that 
 Johnson set up a kind of inferior club. Boswell is 
 angry with Hawkins for calling it " an alehouse," 
 as if in contempt ; but certainly, while the Cheshire 
 Cheese, the Mitre, and the Cock are taverns, 
 this seems to have been more within the category 
 of an ale- or public-house. It has been so re- 
 arranged and altered to suit the intentions and 
 purposes of the modern " public," that there is no 
 tracing its former shape. In the passage there is 
 a little room knowni as the " parlour," underneath 
 which accommodation has been found for a cob- 
 bler's stall. They should surely have Johnson's 
 " rules " hung up. Probably they never heard of 
 his name, viewing it much as did an officer of the 
 Morning Advertiser when notice of a birth was 
 sent from an eminent novelist's family — it was then 
 customary to insert such without charge in tne
 
 THE TAVERN. 26 1 
 
 case of eminent litterateurs — " Oo is he ? " was the 
 reply ; " what 'ouse does he keep ? " 
 
 There is a strange sense in living in a large 
 house, many rooms above untenanted, alone, the 
 world abed. Yet, as I have said, this is not 
 solitude. The turning over the old letters and 
 diaries at midnight works as an enchanter's spell, 
 and calls up figures and events shadowy enough. 
 There is a little cabinet within easy reach, filled 
 with such records — with memorials, relics even. 
 These supply company. 
 
 " THE LITTLE SHOE ! 
 
 " Little Blue Shoe ! sad little shoe ! 
 Face that was tender, heart that was true ! 
 
 " Full many and many a year has flown 
 
 Since into the sunlight she came : 
 And one there is left, and one there is gone — 
 
 The tender, bright little Dame. 
 I see her now — with the dancing eyes. 
 
 The sea-shell tint, the glance so sweet. 
 The fluttering lip and laugh of surprise — 
 
 And the bright blue shoes on the little feet. 
 Little Blue Shoe ! gay little shoe ! 
 Face that was tender, heart that was true ! 
 
 *' Full many and many a year has flown 
 Since the sunny day in June
 
 262 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 ■\\Ticn she brightened the house that was now her own 
 
 Her laugh as gay as a tune. 
 For up the stair, and down the stair, 
 
 And busily through the street, 
 Fluttered fast, in matronly care. 
 
 The little blue shoes and restless feet. 
 Little Blue Shoe ! bright little shoe ! 
 Face that was tender, heart that was true ! 
 
 " Now, many and many a year has flown. 
 
 Each bringing a colder chill ; 
 And one there is left, and one there is gone — 
 
 The little feet are still. 
 All in the days of November gloom 
 
 The house I wander through, 
 And find in a lone, forgotten room, 
 
 Lost in a corner, the little Shoe ! 
 Little Blue Shoe ! sad little shoe ! 
 Face that was tender, heart that was true ! "
 
 ( 263 ) 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 ENTERTAINMENT FOR BREAKFAST. 
 
 I HAVE of late often found a diverting pastime in 
 watching for and noting, at the pleasant morning 
 meal, the eccentric mistakes which for the last few 
 years have given the Leading Journal a reputation 
 of its own. An explorer of ordinary diligence can 
 scarcely have failed every week to have lit upon 
 some strange oddity or solecism in history, topo- 
 graphy, tradition, or English grammar. Murder, 
 or supposed murder, used to be headed " Murder," 
 the idea being that the inverted commas left the 
 description indistinct and the case unprejudiced ; 
 and where a boy has fired a gun into a crowd, 
 the incident has been introduced ironically as 
 " Accident ? " 
 
 It was amusing to find the late Cardinal Cullen
 
 264 RECREATIOXS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 described as the "Pope's Lega/^^" in Ireland, and 
 no less entertaining to hear that the Rev. Mr. 
 Carlyon — who becomes further on the Rev. Mr. 
 Collier — had been suspended for his " views on 
 the Real Referee'' {i.e. Real Presence). Herr Krupp 
 once cast a singular cannon, weighing so many 
 \d\ometres (as who should say weighing so many 
 yai'ds I). We are told of a wonderful volume of 
 plays, sold at the Didot sale, " revised by Moliere 
 after his death ; " of " a collection of fine arts" sent 
 to Paris for exhibition ; of Mr. and Mrs. Gladstone 
 having gone down to Mentojie, the seat of Lord 
 Rosebery ; of a ship ordered to be " removed, 
 repaired, and replaced " — the allusion being to its 
 broken shaft. A funeral is described, which " had 
 a picturesque though melancholy effect ; " while 
 praise is given to the late Pope worthy of an 
 eminent City man — "/« spite of many losses he 
 retained respect." Presently we hear of "innoxious," 
 instead of innocuous, pleasures; of Protection being 
 at its last " grasp ; " of something taking place in 
 the year 7847 ; of " Henri Monmir, the well-known 
 novelist and dramatist, i.e. Henri Monnier ; of
 
 ENTERTAINMENT FOR BREAKFAST. 265 
 
 " the Prince and Princess of Walse ; " of " M. 
 Mamel," the well-known baritone. Allusion is 
 made to the " hatchet with which Captain Cook 
 was killed " as being in some museum ; but the 
 navigator, it is well known, was stabbed. An 
 accident is described as having occurred to "a 
 retired gentleman." The Duke of Guise, not De 
 Guiche, is spoken of as the Duke of Aumale's 
 son ; Sir H. Drummond Wolff is made into a 
 baronet ; Lord Dorchester appears as an Earl, and 
 Lord Lurgan as a Knight of the Garter. One Lady 
 Cooper died not long ago, and was bewailed as 
 Lady Cowper. A picture of Delaunay, painted by 
 the composer Gounod, is pronounced an interesting 
 effort ; but it turns out that it is Gounod who had 
 sat to Delaunay. To convey that Lord Hartington 
 put a question in the House, to which he received 
 an answer, the following phrase is used : — " Lord 
 Hartington asked, and asked successfully" i.e. had 
 succeeded in asking, or in getting an answer, or 
 in getting such an answer as he thought was a 
 success. An agreement for the carriage of the 
 mails was made in consort with Mr. Inman. A
 
 266 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 very droll effect was produced by the appearance 
 of a letter from the Prince of Wales's Secretary. 
 No doubt the foreman had told the compositor, 
 " Here is Mr. Knollys' letter," giving the correct 
 pronunciation ; and it was accordingly printed 
 with the signature, " W. KXOWLES." A prisoner 
 is indicted with certain felonious acts ; and a 
 personage, or site — I forget which — is declared, 
 in an artistic sense, to be capable of "obeliskal 
 treatment." 
 
 Equally droll are the allusions to the Caudine 
 Forks, which it is declared used to be solemnly 
 erected every session in Lord John Russell's day, 
 in order that the Dissenters might be forced to 
 pass under them. These " forks," of course, were 
 nothing but a mountain pass. The writer had, no 
 doubt, some hazy notion of passing under the yoke. 
 Then we have an allusion to that curious " list 
 of Darius' instruments of music in the Book of 
 Daniel;" the instruments being Nebuchadnezzar's, 
 not Darius'. In a more poetical vein the Leading 
 Journal talks feelingly of the bells of Shandon 
 sounding "so grand on" Shannon's shore. They
 
 ENTERTAINMENT FOR BREAKFAST. 26/ 
 
 were, or are, heard on the river Lee. Speaking of 
 a debate which it said " began at a quarter to four 
 in the afternoon, and ended at a quarter to six 
 next morning," it says, with contempt, " If it be 
 asked what passed in this long interval, the answer 
 must be, twenty-six hours." There is no "must" 
 in the case, for the interval was fourteen hours. 
 Not long after there was a description of a play 
 called "New Babylon;" and a scene is mentioned in 
 which two vessels appear to come in collision. "A 
 steamer going down before the outraged red-and- 
 green light of the other." A steamer that " col- 
 lides " may be said to " outrage " the other ; but 
 why should the " red-and-green light " be made 
 the centre of this sentiment ? 
 
 On the death of Count Palikao there was the 
 usual mortuary retrospect, in which was the 
 singular blunder : " It was he who during the fatal 
 days of July and August, 1870, made himself 
 famous by his boiiton de gnetre. It was he who 
 narrated a story of the Prussian dragoons, and who 
 said ' if Paris knew,' " etc. Now, it was Lebceuf 
 who spoke of " the button on the gaiters ; " and it
 
 268 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 became evident it was merely a slip, and not a 
 very heinous one ; but it is characteristic of the 
 writer that, instead of owning the mistake, he 
 should attempt to justif}' his own exactness. 
 " Owing to the telegraphic omission of a line" he 
 wrote, " a remark was attributed to him (Palikao) 
 which was uttered by his predecessor." An allu- 
 sion to Leboeuf had been dropped out, and the 
 whole should run, " It was he who during the fatal 
 days of 1870, even after Marshal Leboeuf had made 
 himself famous by the bouton de guetre, narrated 
 the story of the Prussian dragoons," etc. It will 
 be seen at once that this could never have been the 
 original shape, as the " even after " is nonsense. 
 There is no connection whatever between Leboeuf 
 and his bouton and Palikao's declaration. Certain 
 Madrid festivities are described in the following 
 jargon: — "From nine o'clock in the evening the 
 hall was crowded from the stalls to the fourth 
 gallery, the front boxes being filled with all that 
 Madrid contains of noble, elegant, beautiful, and 
 yojing. . . . Here the mingled magnificence ex- 
 ceeded in picturesque and elegant variety every-
 
 ENTERTAINMENT FOR BREAKFAST. 269 
 
 thing imaginable." Then one sentence, after 
 describing the ladies' toilettes, ends thus : These, 
 " and a hundred others, whose names Spain repeats 
 with pride and admiration, looking about them and 
 regarded zvith cnriosity, formed round the Royal 
 Lodge the most beantifnl and seductive circle a 
 romantic imagination could devise." The word 
 " Lodge " is, of course, meant as a translation of 
 " Loge." On another day it spoke with pitying 
 contempt of the " apocryphal signal which has 
 become as religiously held an article of faith in 
 the English navy as the ' Vive la Republique ' 
 of the sinking Vengeur in the French." This, it 
 seems, alludes to Nelson's signal, "England expects 
 every man to do his duty." Apocryphal ! No 
 doubt the writer has some hazy idea of Cam- 
 bronne's speech and the Duke's " Up, guards ! " 
 but the immortal signal is historical, and vouched 
 for. by captains of the fleet and others. 
 
 The use of metaphors is even more extraor- 
 dinary. Unlike Lord Castlereagh, who made the 
 " features of a case hinge," the gentleman who 
 chiefly deals in similes in Printing-house Square
 
 2/0 RECREATIONS OF A LITERARY MAN. 
 
 carries them out with audacious precision. Thus, 
 after Hkening the European Assurance Office to 
 a shark, the details were elaborated with scientific 
 consistency. " The societies it had successively 
 swallowed down," it seems, " had themselves sub- 
 jected others to the same process. The British 
 Nation Life Assurance Association, for instance, 
 contained inside it ten other life-offices which it was 
 endeavouring to digest." " A strange and horrible 
 spectacle was presented when it was ripped up. 
 Other fishes, great and small, were disinterred in 
 handfuls from their living tomb, and lay writhing 
 and mouthing at each other in a fashion even to 
 astound an Equity barrister." " It was impossible 
 to say where they ended and the European Society 
 began. Heads and tails and scales were sticking 
 here and there out of their stepmother's carcass in 
 every direction." At the same time elaborate 
 metaphor is often dangerous ; and when a country 
 is likened to a man deprived of his arms and legs 
 it is a mistake to employ a nut as the simile of a 
 body. "It will be evident that when arrangements 
 of this kind are made, Turkey will be reduced at
 
 ENTERTAINMENT FOR BREAKFAST. 2/ 1 
 
 its extremities, but will retain a solid kernel of rude 
 territory." * 
 
 These specimens will show that much entertain- 
 ment, independently of its news and notes, can 
 be extracted from the columns of the Leading 
 Journal by the observant reader. 
 
 * I do not assume the credit of discovering all these diverting mis- 
 takes, many of them having been noted in the journals, The Pall 
 Mall and S/. Jatnes's Gazelle, under Mr. Greenwood's direction. 
 
 END OF VOL. I. 
 
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