school in the High Town at Boulogne was excellent. The boys all English,
the two proprietors an old Eton master and one of the Protestant
clergymen of the town. The teaching unusually sound and good. The manner
and conduct developed in the boys quite admirable. But I have never
seen a gentleman so perfectly acquainted with boy-nature as the Eton
master. There was a perfect understanding between him and his charges;
nothing pedantic on his part, nothing slavish on their parts. The result
was, that either with him or away from him, the boys combined an ease
and frankness with a modesty and sense of responsibility that was really
above all praise. Alfred went from there to a great school at Wimbledon,
where they train for India and the artillery and engineers. Sydney went
from there to Mr. Barrow, at Southsea. In both instances the new masters
wrote to me of their own accord, bearing quite unsolicited testimony to
the merits of the old, and expressing their high recognition of what
they had done. These things speak for themselves.
Sydney has just passed his examination as a naval cadet and come home,
all eyes and gold buttons. He has twelve days' leave before going on
board the training-ship. Katie and her husband are in France, and seem
likely to remain there for an indefinite period. Mary is on a month's
visit in Scotland; Georgina, Frank, and Plorn are at home here; and we
all want Mary and her little dog back again. I have sold Tavistock
House, am making this rather complete in its way, and am on the restless
eve of beginning a new big book; but mean to have a furnished house in
town (in some accessible quarter) from February or so to June. May we
meet there.
Your handwriting is always so full of pleasant memories to me, that when
I took it out of the post-office at Rochester this afternoon it quite
stirred my heart. But we must not think of old times as sad times, or
regard them as anything but the fathers and mothers of the present. We
must all climb steadily up the mountain after the talking bird, the
singing tree, and the yellow water, and must all bear in mind that the
previous climbers who were scared into looking back got turned into
black stone.
Mary Boyle was here a little while ago, as affectionate at heart as
ever, as young, and as pleasant. Of course we talked often of you. So
let me know when you are established in Halfmoon Street, and I shall be
truly delighted to come and see you.
For my attachments are strong attachments and never weaken. In right of
bygones, I feel as if "all Northamptonshire" belonged to me, as all
Northumberland did to Lord Bateman in the ballad. In memory of your
warming your feet at the fire in that waste of a waiting-room when I
read at Brighton, I have ever since taken that watering-place to my
bosom as I never did before. And you and Switzerland are always one to
me, and always inseparable.
Charley was heard of yesterday, from Shanghai, going to Japan, intending
to meet his brother Walter at Calcutta, and having an idea of beguiling
the time between whiles by asking to be taken as an amateur with the
English Chinese forces. Everybody caressed him and asked him everywhere,
and he seemed to go. With kind regards, my dear Mrs. Watson,
Ever affectionately yours.
[Sidenote: Mr. Edmund Yates.]
GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,
_Sunday, Sept. 23rd, 1860._
ON THE DEATH OF HIS MOTHER.
MY DEAR E. Y.,
I did not write to you in your bereavement, because I knew that the
girls had written to you, and because I instinctively shrunk from making
a form of what was so real. _You_ knew what a loving and faithful
remembrance I always had of your mother as a part of my youth--no more
capable of restoration than my youth itself. All the womanly goodness,
grace, and beauty of my drama went out with her. To the last I never
could hear her voice without emotion. I think of her as of a beautiful
part of my own youth, and this dream that we are all dreaming seems to
darken.
But it is not to say this that I write now. It comes to the point of my
pen in spite of me.
"Holding up the Mirror" is in next week's number. I have taken out all
this funeral part of it. Not because I disliked it (for, indeed, I
thought it the best part of the paper), but because it rather grated on
me, going over the proof at that time, as a remembrance that would be
better reserved a little while. Also because it made rather a mixture of
yourself as an individual, with something that does not belong or attach
to you as an individual. You can have the MS.; and as a part of a paper
describing your own juvenile remembrances of a theatre, there it is,
needing no change or adaption.
Ever faithfully.
[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]
GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,
_Sunday, Sept. 23rd, 1860._
MY DEAREST MAMIE,
If you had been away from us and ill with anybody in the world but our
dear Mrs. White, I should have been in a state of the greatest anxiety
and uneasiness about you. But as I know it to be impossible that you
could be in kinder or better hands, I was not in the least restless
about you, otherwise than as it grieved me to hear of my poor dear
girl's suffering such pain. I hope it is over now for many a long day,
and that you will come back to us a thousand times better in health than
you left us.
Don't come back too soon. Take time and get well restored. There is no
hurry, the house is not near to-rights yet, and though we all want you,
and though Boy wants you, we all (including Boy) deprecate a fatiguing
journey being taken too soon.
As to the carpenters, they are absolutely maddening. They are always at
work, yet never seem to do anything. Lillie was down on Friday, and said
(his eye fixed on Maidstone, and rubbing his hand to conciliate his
moody employer) that "he didn't think there would be very much left to
do after Saturday, the 29th."
I didn't throw him out of the window. Your aunt tells you all the news,
and leaves me no chance of distinguishing myself, I know. You have been
told all about my brackets in the drawing-room, all about the glass
rescued from the famous stage-wreck of Tavistock House, all about
everything here and at the office. The office is really a success. As
comfortable, cheerful, and private as anything of the kind can possibly
be.
I took the Admiral (but this you know too, no doubt) to Dollond's, the
mathematical instrument maker's, last Monday, to buy that part of his
outfit. His sextant (which is about the size and shape of a cocked hat),
on being applied to his eye, entirely concealed him. Not the faintest
vestige of the distinguished officer behind it was perceptible to the
human vision. All through the City, people turned round and stared at
him with the sort of pleasure people take in a little model. We went on
to Chatham this day week, in search of some big man-of-war's-man who
should be under obligation to salute him--unfortunately found none. But
this no doubt you know too, and all my news falls flat.
I am driven out of my room by paint, and am writing in the best spare
room. The whole prospect is excessively wet; it does not rain now, but
yesterday it did tremendously, and it rained very heavily in the night.
We are even muddy; and that is saying a great deal in this dry country
of chalk and sand. Everywhere the corn is lying out and saturated with
wet. The hops (nearly everywhere) look as if they had been burnt.
In my mind's eye I behold Mrs. Bouncer, still with some traces of her
late anxiety on her faithful countenance, balancing herself a little
unequally on her bow fore-legs, pricking up her ears, with her head on
one side, and slightly opening her intellectual nostrils. I send my
loving and respectful duty to her.
To dear Mrs. White, and to White, and to Clara, say anything from me
that is loving and grateful.
My dearest Mamie,
Ever and ever your most affectionate Father.
[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]
OFFICE OF "ALL THE YEAR ROUND,"
_Monday Night, Sept. 24th, 1860._
MY DEAREST GEORGY,
At the Waterloo station we were saluted with "Hallo! here's Dickens!"
from divers naval cadets, and Sir Richard Bromley introduced himself to
me, who had his cadet son with him, a friend of Sydney's. We went down
together, and the boys were in the closest alliance. Bromley being
Accountant-General of the Navy, and having influence on board, got their
hammocks changed so that they would be serving side by side, at which
they were greatly pleased. The moment we stepped on board, the "Hul-lo!
here's Dickens!" was repeated on all sides, and the Admiral (evidently
highly popular) shook hands with about fifty of his messmates. Taking
Bromley for my model (with whom I fraternised in the most pathetic
manner), I gave Sydney a sovereign before stepping over the side. He was
as little overcome as it was possible for a boy to be, and stood waving
the gold-banded cap as we came ashore in a boat.
There is no denying that he looks very small aboard a great ship, and
that a boy must have a strong and decided speciality for the sea to take
to such a life. Captain Harris was not on board, but the other chief
officers were, and were highly obliging. We went over the ship. I should
say that there can be little or no individuality of address to any
particular boy, but that they all tumble through their education in a
crowded way. The Admiral's servant (I mean our Admiral's) had an idiotic
appearance, but perhaps it did him injustice (a mahogany-faced marine by
station). The Admiral's washing apparatus is about the size of a
muffin-plate, and he could easily live in his chest. The meeting with
Bromley was a piece of great good fortune, and the dear old chap could
not have been left more happily.
Ever, my dearest Georgy, your most affectionate.
[Sidenote: Miss Power.]
OFFICE OF "ALL THE YEAR ROUND,"
_Tuesday, Sept. 25th, 1860._
MY DEAR MARGUERITE,
I like the article exceedingly, and think the translations
_admirable_--spirited, fresh, bold, and evidently faithful. I will get
the paper into the next number I make up, No. 78. I will send a proof to
you for your correction, either next Monday or this day week. Or would
you like to come here next Monday and dine with us at five, and go over
to Madame Celeste's opening? Then you could correct your paper on the
premises, as they drink their beer at the beer-shops.
Some of the introductory remarks on French literature I propose to
strike out, as a little too essayical for this purpose, and likely to
throw out a large portion of the large audience at starting, as
suggesting some very different kind of article. My daring pen shall have
imbued its murderous heart with ink before you see the proof.
With kind regards,
Ever affectionately.
[Sidenote: Mr. John Forster.]
GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,
_Thursday, Oct. 4th, 1860._
MY DEAR FORSTER,
It would be a great pleasure to me to come to you, an immense pleasure,
and to sniff the sea I love (from the shore); but I fear I must come
down one morning and come back at night. I will tell you why.
Last week, I got to work on a new story. I called a council of war at
the office on Tuesday. It was perfectly clear that the one thing to be
done was, for me to strike in. I have therefore decided to begin a
story, the length of the "Tale of Two Cities," on the 1st of
December--begin publishing, that is. I must make the most I can out of
the book. When I come down, I will bring you the first two or three
weekly parts. The name is, "GREAT EXPECTATIONS." I think a good name?
Now the preparations to get ahead, combined with the absolute necessity
of my giving a good deal of time to the Christmas number, will tie me to
the grindstone pretty tightly. It will be just as much as I can hope to
do. Therefore, what I had hoped would be a few days at Eastbourne
diminish to a few hours.
I took the Admiral down to Portsmouth. Every maritime person in the town
knew him. He seemed to know every boy on board the _Britannia_, and was
a tremendous favourite evidently. It was very characteristic of him that
they good-naturedly helped him, he being so very small, into his hammock
at night. But he couldn't rest in it on these terms, and got out again
to learn the right way of getting in independently. Official report
stated that "after a few spills, he succeeded perfectly, and went to
sleep." He is perfectly happy on board, takes tea with the captain,
leads choruses on Saturday nights, and has an immense marine for a
servant.
I saw Edmund Yates at the office, and he told me that during all his
mother's wanderings of mind, which were almost incessant at last, she
never once went back to the old Adelphi days until she was just dying,
when he heard her say, in great perplexity: "I can _not_ get the words."
Best love to Mrs. Forster.
Ever, my dear Forster, affectionately.
[Sidenote: Mr. W. Wilkie Collins.]
OFFICE OF "ALL THE YEAR ROUND,"
_Wednesday, Oct. 24th, 1860._
MY DEAR WILKIE,
I have been down to Brighton to see Forster, and found your letter there
on arriving by express this morning. I also found a letter from
Georgina, describing that Mary's horse went down suddenly on a stone,
and how Mary was thrown, and had her riding-habit torn to pieces, and
has a deep cut just above the knee--fortunately not in the knee itself,
which is doing exceedingly well, but which will probably incapacitate
her from walking for days and days to come. It is well it was no worse.
The accident occurred at Milton, near Gravesend, and they found Mary in
a public-house there, wonderfully taken care of and looked after.
I propose that we start on Thursday morning, the 1st of November. The
train for Penzance leaves the Great Western terminus at a quarter-past
nine in the morning. It is a twelve hours' journey. Shall we meet at the
terminus at nine? I shall be here all the previous day, and shall dine
here.
Your account of your passage goes to my heart through my stomach. What a
pity I was not there on board to present that green-visaged, but
sweet-tempered and uncomplaining spectacle of imbecility, at which I am
so expert under stormy circumstances, in the poet's phrase:
As I sweep
Through the deep,
When the stormy winds do blow.
What a pity I am not there, at Meurice's, to sleep the sleep of infancy
through the long plays where the gentlemen stand with their backs to the
mantelpieces. What a pity I am not with you to make a third at the Trois
Freres, and drink no end of bottles of Bordeaux, without ever getting a
touch of redness in my (poet's phrase again) "innocent nose." But I must
go down to Gad's to-night, and get to work again. Four weekly numbers
have been ground off the wheel, and at least another must be turned
before we meet. They shall be yours in the slumberous railway-carriage.
I don't think Forster is at all in good health. He was tremendously
hospitable and hearty. I walked six hours and a half on the downs
yesterday, and never stopped or sat. Early in the morning, before
breakfast, I went to the nearest baths to get a shower-bath. They kept
me waiting longer than I thought reasonable, and seeing a man in a cap
in the passage, I went to him and said: "I really must request that
you'll be good enough to see about this shower-bath;" and it was Hullah!
waiting for another bath.
Rumours were brought into the house on Saturday night, that there was a
"ghost" up at Larkins's monument. Plorn was frightened to death, and I
was apprehensive of the ghost's spreading and coming there, and causing
"warning" and desertion among the servants. Frank was at home, and
Andrew Gordon was with us. Time, nine o'clock. Village talk and
credulity, amazing. I armed the two boys with a short stick apiece, and
shouldered my double-barrelled gun, well loaded with shot. "Now
observe," says I to the domestics, "if anybody is playing tricks and has
got a head, I'll blow it off." Immense impression. New groom evidently
convinced that he has entered the service of a bloodthirsty demon. We
ascend to the monument. Stop at the gate. Moon is rising. Heavy shadows.
"Now, look out!" (from the bloodthirsty demon, in a loud, distinct
voice). "If the ghost is here and I see him, so help me God I'll fire at
him!" Suddenly, as we enter the field, a most extraordinary noise
responds--terrific noise--human noise--and yet superhuman noise. B. T.
D. brings piece to shoulder. "Did you hear that, pa?" says Frank. "I
did," says I. Noise repeated--portentous, derisive, dull, dismal,
damnable. We advance towards the sound. Something white comes lumbering
through the darkness. An asthmatic sheep! Dead, as I judge, by this
time. Leaving Frank to guard him, I took Andrew with me, and went all
round the monument, and down into the ditch, and examined the field
well, thinking it likely that somebody might be taking advantage of the
sheep to frighten the village. Drama ends with discovery of no one, and
triumphant return to rum-and-water.
Ever affectionately.
[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]
BIDEFORD, NORTH DEVON, _Thursday Night, Nov. 1st, 1860._
MY DEAREST GEORGY,
I write (with the most impracticable iron pen on earth) to report our
safe arrival here, in a beastly hotel. We start to-morrow morning at
nine on a two days' posting between this and Liskeard in Cornwall. We
are due in Liskeard (but nobody seems to know anything about the roads)
on Saturday afternoon, and we purpose making an excursion in that
neighbourhood on Sunday, and coming up from Liskeard on Monday by Great
Western fast train, which will get us to London, please God, in good
time on Monday evening. There I shall hear from you, and know whether
dear Mamie will move to London too.
We had a pleasant journey down here, and a beautiful day. No adventures
whatever. Nothing has happened to Wilkie, and he sends love.
We had stinking fish for dinner, and have been able to drink nothing,
though we have ordered wine, beer, and brandy-and-water. There is
nothing in the house but two tarts and a pair of snuffers. The landlady
is playing cribbage with the landlord in the next room (behind a thin
partition), and they seem quite comfortable.
Ever, my dearest Georgy, your most affectionate.
[Sidenote: Miss Mary Boyle.]
OFFICE OF "ALL THE YEAR ROUND,"
_Friday, Dec. 28th, 1860._
MY DEAR MARY,
I cannot tell you how much I thank you for the beautiful cigar-case, and
how seasonable, and friendly, and good, and warm-hearted it looked when
I opened it at Gad's Hill. Besides which, it is a cigar-case, and will
hold cigars; two crowning merits that I never yet knew to be possessed
by any article claiming the same name. For all of these reasons, but
more than all because it comes from you, I love it, and send you
eighteen hundred and sixty kisses, with one in for the new year.
Both excellent stories and perfectly new. Your Joe swears that he never
heard either--never a word or syllable of either--after he laughed at
'em this blessed day.
I have no news, except that I am not quite well, and am being doctored.
Pray read "Great Expectations." I think it is very droll. It is a very
great success, and seems universally liked. I suppose because it opens
funnily, and with an interest too.
I pass my time here (I am staying here alone) in working, taking physic,
and taking a stall at a theatre every night. On Boxing Night I was at
Covent Garden. A dull pantomime was "worked" (as we say) better than I
ever saw a heavy piece worked on a first night, until suddenly and
without a moment's warning, every scene on that immense stage fell over
on its face, and disclosed chaos by gaslight behind! There never was
such a business; about sixty people who were on the stage being
extinguished in the most remarkable manner. Not a soul was hurt. In the
uproar, some moon-calf rescued a porter pot, six feet high (out of which
the clown had been drinking when the accident happened), and stood it on
the cushion of the lowest proscenium box, P.S., beside a lady and
gentleman, who were dreadfully ashamed of it. The moment the house knew
that nobody was injured, they directed their whole attention to this
gigantic porter pot in its genteel position (the lady and gentleman
trying to hide behind it), and roared with laughter. When a modest
footman came from behind the curtain to clear it, and took it up in his
arms like a Brobdingnagian baby, we all laughed more than ever we had
laughed in our lives. I don't know why.
We have had a fire here, but our people put it out before the
parish-engine arrived, like a drivelling perambulator, with _the beadle
in it_, like an imbecile baby. Popular opinion, disappointed in the fire
having been put out, snowballed the beadle. God bless it!
Over the way at the Lyceum, there is a very fair Christmas piece, with
one or two uncommonly well-done nigger songs--one remarkably gay and
mad, done in the finale to a scene. Also a very nice transformation,
though I don't know what it means.
The poor actors waylay me in Bow Street, to represent their necessities;
and I often see one cut down a court when he beholds me coming, cut
round Drury Lane to face me, and come up towards me near this door in
the freshest and most accidental way, as if I was the last person he
expected to see on the surface of this globe. The other day, there thus
appeared before me (simultaneously with a scent of rum in the air) one
aged and greasy man, with a pair of pumps under his arm. He said he
thought if he could get down to somewhere (I think it was Newcastle), he
would get "taken on" as Pantaloon, the existing Pantaloon being "a
stick, sir--a mere muff." I observed that I was sorry times were so bad
with him. "Mr. Dickens, you know our profession, sir--no one knows it
better, sir--there is no right feeling in it. I was Harlequin on your
own circuit, sir, for five-and-thirty years, and was displaced by a boy,
sir!--a boy!"
So no more at present, except love to Mrs. Watson and Bedgey Prig and
all, from my dear Mary.
Your ever affectionate
JOE.
P.S.--DON'T I pine neither?
P.P.S.--I did my best to arouse Forster's worst feelings; but he had got
into a Christmas habit of mind, and wouldn't respond.
FOOTNOTES:
[6] With whom Mr. and Mrs. Wills were staying at Aberystwith.
NARRATIVE.
1861.
This, as far as his movements were concerned, was again a very unsettled
year with Charles Dickens. He hired a furnished house in the Regent's
Park, which he, with his household, occupied for some months. During the
season he gave several readings at St. James's Hall. After a short
summer holiday at Gad's Hill, he started, in the autumn, on a reading
tour in the English provinces. Mr. Arthur Smith, being seriously ill,
could not accompany him in this tour; and Mr. Headland, who was formerly
in office at the St. Martin's Hall, was engaged as business-manager of
these readings. Mr. Arthur Smith died in October, and Charles Dickens's
distress at the loss of this loved friend and companion is touchingly
expressed in many of his letters of this year.
There are also sorrowful allusions to the death of his brother-in-law,
Mr. Henry Austin, which sad event likewise happened in October. And the
letter we give to Mrs. Austin ("Letitia") has reference to her sad
affliction.
In June of this year he paid a short visit to Sir E. B. Lytton at
Knebworth, accompanied by his daughter and sister-in-law, who also
during his autumn tour joined him in Edinburgh. But this course of
readings was brought rather suddenly to an end on account of the death
of the Prince Consort.
Besides being constantly occupied with the business of these readings,
Charles Dickens was still at work on his story of "Great Expectations,"
which was appearing weekly in "All the Year Round." The story closed on
the 3rd of August, when it was published as a whole in three volumes,
and inscribed to Mr. Chauncey Hare Townshend. The Christmas number of
"All the Year Round" was called "Tom Tiddler's Ground," to which Charles
Dickens contributed three stories.
Our second letter in this year is given more as a specimen of the claims
which were constantly being made upon Charles Dickens's time and
patience, than because we consider the letter itself to contain much
public interest; excepting, indeed, as showing his always considerate
and courteous replies to such constant applications.