Tooley Street. The "Morgan" was an American sea-captain, well known in
those days, and greatly liked and respected. It may interest our readers
to know that the character of Captain Jorgan, in the Christmas number of
the previous year, was suggested by this pleasant sailor, for whom
Charles Dickens had a hearty liking. Young Mr. Morgan was, during the
years he passed in England, a constant visitor at Gad's Hill. The
"Elwin" mentioned in the letter written from Bury St. Edmunds, was the
Rev. Whitwell Elwin, a Norfolk gentleman, well known in the literary
world, and who was for many years editor of "The Quarterly Review."
The explanation of the letter to Mr. John Agate, of Dover, we give in
that gentleman's own words:
"There are few public men with the strain upon their time and energies
which he had particularly (and which I know better now that I have read
his life), who would have spared the time to have written such a long
courteous letter.
"I wrote to him rather in anger, and left the letter myself at The Lord
Warden, as I and my family were very much disappointed, after having
purchased our tickets so long before, to find we could not got into the
room, as money was being received, but his kind letter explained all."
[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]
OFFICE OF "ALL THE YEAR ROUND,"
_Wednesday, Jan. 9th, 1861._
MY DEAREST GEORGY,
"We" are in the full swing of stopping managers from playing "A Message
from the Sea." I privately doubt the strength of our position in the
Court of Chancery, if we try it; but it is worth trying.
I am aware that Mr. Lane of the Britannia sent an emissary to Gad's Hill
yesterday. It unfortunately happens that the first man "we" have to
assert the principle against is a very good man, whom I really respect.
I have no news, except that I really hope and believe I am gradually
getting well. If I have no check, I hope to be soon discharged by the
medico.
Ever affectionately.
P.S.--Best love to Mamie, also to the boys and Miss Craufurd.
OFFICE OF "ALL THE YEAR ROUND," 26, WELLINGTON STREET, W.C.,
_Tuesday Evening, Jan. 9th, 1861._
DEAR SIR,
I feel it quite hopeless to endeavour to present my position before you,
in reference to such a letter as yours, in its plain and true light.
When you suppose it would have cost Mr. Thackeray "but a word" to use
his influence to obtain you some curatorship or the like, you fill me
with the sense of impossibility of leading you to a more charitable
judgment of Mr. Dickens.
Nevertheless, I will put the truth before you. Scarcely a day of my life
passes, or has passed for many years, without bringing me some letters
similar to yours. Often they will come by dozens--scores--hundreds. My
time and attention would be pretty well occupied without them, and the
claims upon me (some very near home), for all the influence and means of
help that I do and do not possess, are not commonly heavy. I have no
power to aid you towards the attainment of your object. It is the simple
exact truth, and nothing can alter it. So great is the disquietude I
constantly undergo from having to write to some new correspondent in
this strain, that, God knows, I would resort to another relief if I
could.
Your studies from nature appear to me to express an excellent
observation of nature, in a loving and healthy spirit. But what then?
The dealers and dealers' prices of which you complain will not be
influenced by that honest opinion. Nor will it have the least effect
upon the President of the Royal Academy, or the Directors of the School
of Design. Assuming your supposition to be correct that these
authorities are adverse to you, I have no more power than you have to
render them favourable. And assuming them to be quite disinterested and
dispassionate towards you, I have no voice or weight in any appointment
that any of them make.
I will retain your packet over to-morrow, and will then cause it to be
sent to your house. I write under the pressure of occupation and
business, and therefore write briefly.
Faithfully yours.
[Sidenote: M. de Cerjat.]
OFFICE OF "ALL THE YEAR ROUND," _Friday, Feb. 1st, 1861._
MY DEAR CERJAT,
You have read in the papers of our heavy English frost. At Gad's Hill it
was so intensely cold, that in our warm dining-room on Christmas Day we
could hardly sit at the table. In my study on that morning, long after a
great fire of coal and wood had been lighted, the thermometer was I
don't know where below freezing. The bath froze, and all the pipes
froze, and remained in a stony state for five or six weeks. The water in
the bedroom-jugs froze, and blew up the crockery. The snow on the top of
the house froze, and was imperfectly removed with axes. My beard froze
as I walked about, and I couldn't detach my cravat and coat from it
until I was thawed at the fire. My boys and half the officers stationed
at Chatham skated away without a check to Gravesend--five miles off--and
repeated the performance for three or four weeks. At last the thaw came,
and then everything split, blew up, dripped, poured, perspired, and got
spoilt. Since then we have had a small visitation of the plague of
servants; the cook (in a riding-habit) and the groom (in a dress-coat
and jewels) having mounted Mary's horse and mine, in our absence, and
scoured the neighbouring country at a rattling pace. And when I went
home last Saturday, I innocently wondered how the horses came to be out
of condition, and gravely consulted the said groom on the subject, who
gave it as his opinion "which they wanted reg'lar work." We are now
coming to town until midsummer. Having sold my own house, to be more
free and independent, I have taken a very pretty furnished house, No. 3,
Hanover Terrace, Regent's Park. This, of course, on my daughter's
account. For I have very good and cheerful bachelor rooms here, with an
old servant in charge, who is the cleverest man of his kind in the
world, and can do anything, from excellent carpentery to excellent
cookery, and has been with me three-and-twenty years.
The American business is the greatest English sensation at present. I
venture to predict that the struggle of violence will be a very short
one, and will be soon succeeded by some new compact between the Northern
and Southern States. Meantime the Lancashire mill-owners are getting
very uneasy.
The Italian state of things is not regarded as looking very cheerful.
What from one's natural sympathies with a people so oppressed as the
Italians, and one's natural antagonism to a pope and a Bourbon (both of
which superstitions I do suppose the world to have had more than enough
of), I agree with you concerning Victor Emmanuel, and greatly fear that
the Southern Italians are much degraded. Still, an united Italy would be
of vast importance to the peace of the world, and would be a rock in
Louis Napoleon's way, as he very well knows. Therefore the idea must be
championed, however much against hope.
My eldest boy, just home from China, was descried by Townshend's Henri
the moment he landed at Marseilles, and was by him borne in triumph to
Townshend's rooms. The weather was snowy, slushy, beastly; and
Marseilles was, as it usually is to my thinking, well-nigh intolerable.
My boy could not stay with Townshend, as he was coming on by express
train; but he says: "I sat with him and saw him dine. He had a leg of
lamb, and a tremendous cold." That is the whole description I have been
able to extract from him.
This journal is doing gloriously, and "Great Expectations" is a great
success. I have taken my third boy, Frank (Jeffrey's godson), into this
office. If I am not mistaken, he has a natural literary taste and
capacity, and may do very well with a chance so congenial to his mind,
and being also entered at the Bar.
Dear me, when I have to show you about London, and we dine _en garcon_
at odd places, I shall scarcely know where to begin. Only yesterday I
walked out from here in the afternoon, and thought I would go down by
the Houses of Parliament. When I got there, the day was so beautifully
bright and warm, that I thought I would walk on by Millbank, to see the
river. I walked straight on _for three miles_ on a splendid broad
esplanade overhanging the Thames, with immense factories, railway works,
and what-not erected on it, and with the strangest beginnings and ends
of wealthy streets pushing themselves into the very Thames. When I was a
rower on that river, it was all broken ground and ditch, with here and
there a public-house or two, an old mill, and a tall chimney. I had
never seen it in any state of transition, though I suppose myself to
know this rather large city as well as anyone in it.
* * * * *
[Sidenote: Mr. E. M. Ward, R.A.]
3, HANOVER TERRACE, REGENT'S PARK,
_Saturday Night, March 9th, 1861._
MY DEAR WARD,
I cannot tell you how gratified I have been by your letter, and what a
splendid recompense it is for any pleasure I am giving you. Such
generous and earnest sympathy from such a brother-artist gives me true
delight. I am proud of it, believe me, and moved by it to do all the
better.
Ever faithfully yours.
[Sidenote: Mr. W. C. Macready.]
"ALL THE YEAR ROUND" OFFICE, _Tuesday, June 11th, 1861._
MY DEAREST MACREADY,
There is little doubt, I think, of my reading at Cheltenham somewhere
about November. I submit myself so entirely to Arthur Smith's
arrangements for me, that I express my sentiments on this head with
modesty. But I think there is scarcely a doubt of my seeing you then.
I have just finished my book of "Great Expectations," and am the worse
for wear. Neuralgic pains in the face have troubled me a good deal, and
the work has been pretty close. But I hope that the book is a good book,
and I have no doubt of very soon throwing off the little damage it has
done me.
What with Blondin at the Crystal Palace and Leotard at Leicester Square,
we seem to be going back to barbaric excitements. I have not seen, and
don't intend to see, the Hero of Niagara (as the posters call him), but
I have been beguiled into seeing Leotard, and it is at once the most
fearful and most graceful thing I have ever seen done.
Clara White (grown pretty) has been staying with us.
I am sore afraid that _The Times_, by playing fast and loose with the
American question, has very seriously compromised this country. The
Americans northward are perfectly furious on the subject; and Motley the
historian (a very sensible man, strongly English in his sympathies)
assured me the other day that he thought the harm done very serious
indeed, and the dangerous nature of the daily widening breach scarcely
calculable.
Kindest and best love to all. Wilkie Collins has just come in, and sends
best regard.
Ever most affectionately, my dearest Macready.
[Sidenote: Mr. John Forster.]
GAD'S HILL, _Monday, July 1st, 1861._
MY DEAR FORSTER,
* * * * *
You will be surprised to hear that I have changed the end of "Great
Expectations" from and after Pip's return to Joe's, and finding his
little likeness there.
Bulwer (who has been, as I think I told you, extraordinarily taken by
the book), so strongly urged it upon me, after reading the proofs, and
supported his views with such good reasons, that I resolved to make the
change. You shall have it when you come back to town. I have put in a
very pretty piece of writing, and I have no doubt the story will be more
acceptable through the alteration.
I have not seen Bulwer's changed story. I brought back the first month
with me, and I know the nature of his changes throughout; but I have not
yet had the revised proofs. He was in a better state at Knebworth than I
have ever seen him in all these years, a little weird occasionally
regarding magic and spirits, but perfectly fair and frank under
opposition. He was talkative, anecdotical, and droll; looked young and
well, laughed heartily, and enjoyed some games we played with great
zest. In his artist character and talk he was full of interest and
matter, but that he always is. Socially, he seemed to me almost a new
man. I thoroughly enjoyed myself, and so did Georgina and Mary.
The fire I did not see until the Monday morning, but it was blazing
fiercely then, and was blazing hardly less furiously when I came down
here again last Friday. I was here on the night of its breaking out. If
I had been in London I should have been on the scene, pretty surely.
You will be perhaps surprised to hear that it is Morgan's conviction
(his son was here yesterday), that the North will put down the South,
and that speedily. In his management of his large business, he is
proceeding steadily on that conviction. He says that the South has no
money and no credit, and that it is impossible for it to make a
successful stand. He may be all wrong, but he is certainly a very shrewd
man, and he has never been, as to the United States, an enthusiast of
any class.
Poor Lord Campbell's seems to me as easy and good a death as one could
desire. There must be a sweep of these men very soon, and one feels as
if it must fall out like the breaking of an arch--one stone goes from a
prominent place, and then the rest begin to drop. So one looks towards
Brougham, and Lyndhurst, and Pollock.
I will add no more to this, or I know I shall not send it; for I am in
the first desperate laziness of having done my book, and think of
offering myself to the village school as a live example of that vice for
the edification of youth.
Ever, my dear Forster, affectionately.
[Sidenote: The Hon. Mrs. Watson.]
GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,
_Monday, July 8th, 1861._
MY DEAR MRS. WATSON,
I have owed you a letter for so long a time that I fear you may
sometimes have misconstrued my silence. But I hope that the sight of the
handwriting of your old friend will undeceive you, if you have, and will
put that right.
During the progress of my last story, I have been working so hard that
very, very little correspondence--except enforced correspondence on
business--has passed this pen. And now that I am free again, I devote a
few of my first leisure moments to this note.
You seemed in your last to think that I had forgotten you in respect of
the Christmas number. Not so at all. I discussed with them here where
you were, how you were to be addressed, and the like; finally left the
number in a blank envelope, and did not add the address to it until it
would have been absurd to send you such stale bread. This was my fault,
but this was all. And I should be so pained at heart if you supposed me
capable of failing in my truth and cordiality, or in the warm
remembrance of the time we have passed together, that perhaps I make
more of it than you meant to do.
My sailor-boy is at home--I was going to write, for the holidays, but I
suppose I must substitute "on leave." Under the new regulations, he must
not pass out of the _Britannia_ before December. The younger boys are
all at school, and coming home this week for the holidays. Mary keeps
house, of course, and Katie and her husband surprised us yesterday, and
are here now. Charley is holiday-making at Guernsey and Jersey. He has
been for some time seeking a partnership in business, and has not yet
found one. The matter is in the hands of Mr. Bates, the managing partner
in Barings' house, and seems as slow a matter to adjust itself as ever I
looked on at. Georgina is, as usual, the general friend and confidante
and factotum of the whole party.
Your present correspondent read at St. James's Hall in the beginning of
the season, to perfectly astounding audiences; but finding that fatigue
and excitement very difficult to manage in conjunction with a story,
deemed it prudent to leave off reading in high tide and mid-career, the
rather by reason of something like neuralgia in the face. At the end of
October I begin again; and if you are at Brighton in November, I shall
try to see you there. I deliver myself up to Mr. Arthur Smith, and I
know it is one of the places for which he has put me down.
This is all about me and mine, and next I want to know why you never
come to Gad's Hill, and whether you are never coming. The stress I lay
on these questions you will infer from the size of the following note of
interrogation[HW: =?=]
I am in the constant receipt of news from Lausanne. Of Mary Boyle, I
daresay you have seen and heard more than I have lately. Rumours
occasionally reach me of her acting in every English shire incessantly,
and getting in a harvest of laurels all the year round. Cavendish I have
not seen for a long time, but when I did see him last, it was at
Tavistock House, and we dined together jovially. Mention of that
locality reminds me that when you DO come here, you will see the
pictures looking wonderfully better, and more precious than they ever
did in town. Brought together in country light and air, they really are
quite a baby collection and very pretty.
I direct this to Rockingham, supposing you to be there in this summer
time. If you are as leafy in Northamptonshire as we are in Kent, you are
greener than you have been for some years. I hope you may have seen a
large-headed photograph with little legs, representing the undersigned,
pen in hand, tapping his forehead to knock an idea out. It has just
sprung up so abundantly in all the shops, that I am ashamed to go about
town looking in at the picture-windows, which is my delight. It seems to
me extraordinarily ludicrous, and much more like than the grave portrait
done in earnest. It made me laugh when I first came upon it, until I
shook again, in open sunlighted Piccadilly.
Pray be a good Christian to me, and don't be retributive in measuring
out the time that shall pass before you write to me. And believe me
ever,
Your affectionate and faithful.
[Sidenote: Mr. W. Wilkie Collins.]
OFFICE OF "ALL THE YEAR ROUND,"
_Wednesday, Aug. 28th, 1861._
MY DEAR WILKIE,
I have been going to write to you ever since I received your letter from
Whitby, and now I hear from Charley that you are coming home, and must
be addressed in the Rue Harley. Let me know whether you will dine here
this day week at the usual five. I am at present so addle-headed (having
hard Wednesday work in Wills's absence) that I can't write much.
I have got the "Copperfield" reading ready for delivery, and am now
going to blaze away at "Nickleby," which I don't like half as well.
Every morning I "go in" at these marks for two or three hours, and then
collapse and do nothing whatever (counting as nothing much cricket and
rounders).
In my time that curious railroad by the Whitby Moor was so much the more
curious, that you were balanced against a counter-weight of water, and
that you did it like Blondin. But in these remote days the one inn of
Whitby was up a back-yard, and oyster-shell grottoes were the only view
from the best private room. Likewise, sir, I have posted to Whitby.
"Pity the sorrows of a poor old man."
The sun is glaring in at these windows with an amount of ferocity
insupportable by one of the landed interest, who lies upon his back with
an imbecile hold on grass, from lunch to dinner. Feebleness of mind and
head are the result.
Ever affectionately.
P.S.--The boys have multiplied themselves by fifty daily, and have
seemed to appear in hosts (especially in the hottest days) round all the
corners at Gad's Hill. I call them the prowlers, and each has a
distinguishing name attached, derived from his style of prowling.
[Sidenote: Mr. Arthur Smith.]
GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,
_Tuesday, Sept. 3rd, 1861._
MY DEAR ARTHUR,
I cannot tell you how sorry I am to receive your bad account of your
health, or how anxious I shall be to receive a better one as soon as you
can possibly give it.
If you go away, don't you think in the main you would be better here
than anywhere? You know how well you would be nursed, what care we
should take of you, and how perfectly quiet and at home you would be,
until you become strong enough to take to the Medway. Moreover, I think
you would be less anxious about the tour, here, than away from such
association. I would come to Worthing to fetch you, I needn't say, and
would take the most careful charge of you. I will write no more about
this, because I wish to avoid giving you more to read than can be
helped; but I do sincerely believe it would be at once your wisest and
least anxious course. As to a long journey into Wales, or any long
journey, it would never do. Nice is not to be thought of. Its dust, and
its sharp winds (I know it well), towards October are very bad indeed.
I send you the enclosed letters, firstly, because I have no circular to
answer them with, and, secondly, because I fear I might confuse your
arrangements by interfering with the correspondence. I shall hope to
have a word from you very soon. I am at work for the tour every day,
except my town Wednesdays.
Ever faithfully.
P.S.--Kindest regards from all.
[Sidenote: Mr. John Watkins.]
GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,
_Saturday Night, Sept. 28th, 1861._
DEAR MR. WATKINS,
In reply to your kind letter I must explain that I have not yet brought
down any of your large photographs of myself, and therefore cannot
report upon their effect here. I think the "cartes" are all liked.
A general howl of horror greeted the appearance of No. 18, and a riotous
attempt was made to throw it out of window. I calmed the popular fury
by promising that it should never again be beheld within these walls. I
think I mentioned to you when you showed it to me, that I felt persuaded
it would not be liked. It has a grim and wasted aspect, and perhaps
might be made useful as a portrait of the Ancient Mariner.
I feel that I owe you an apology for being (innocently) a difficult
subject. When I once excused myself to Ary Scheffer while sitting to
him, he received the apology as strictly his due, and said with a vexed
air: "At this moment, _mon cher_ Dickens, you look more like an
energetic Dutch admiral than anything else;" for which I apologised
again.
In the hope that the pains you have bestowed upon me will not be thrown
away, but that your success will prove of some use to you, believe me,
Faithfully yours.
[Sidenote: Mr. Edmund Yates.]
GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,
_Sunday, Oct. 6th, 1861._
AFTER THE DEATH OF MR. ARTHUR SMITH.
MY DEAR EDMUND,
Coming back here to-day, I find your letter.
I was so very much distressed last night in thinking of it all, and I
find it so very difficult to preserve my composure when I dwell in my
mind on the many times fast approaching when I shall sorely miss the
familiar face, that I am hardly steady enough yet to refer to the
readings like a man. But your kind reference to them makes me desirous
to tell you that I took Headland (formerly of St. Martin's Hall, who has
always been with us in London) to conduct the business, when I knew that
our poor dear fellow could never do it, even if he had recovered
strength to go; and that I consulted with himself about it when I saw
him for the last time on earth, and that it seemed to please him, and he
said: "We couldn't do better."
Write to me before you come; and remember that I go to town Wednesday
mornings.
Ever faithfully.
[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]
OFFICE OF "ALL THE YEAR ROUND,"
_Thursday, Oct. 10th, 1861._
MY DEAREST MAMIE,
I received your affectionate little letter here this morning, and was
very glad to get it. Poor dear Arthur is a sad loss to me, and indeed I
was very fond of him. But the readings must be fought out, like all the
rest of life.
Ever your affectionate.
[Sidenote: Mr. W. C. Macready.]
GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,
_Sunday, Oct. 13th, 1861._
MY DEAREST MACREADY,
This is a short note. But the moment I know for certain what is designed
for me at Cheltenham, I write to you in order that you may know it from
me and not by chance from anyone else.
I am to read there on the evening of Friday, the 3rd of January, and on
the morning of Saturday, the 4th; as I have nothing to do on Thursday,
the 2nd, but come from Leamington, I shall come to you, please God, for
a quiet dinner that day.
The death of Arthur Smith has caused me great distress and anxiety. I
had a great regard for him, and he made the reading part of my life as
light and pleasant as it _could_ be made. I had hoped to bring him to
see you, and had pictured to myself how amused and interested you would
have been with his wonderful tact and consummate mastery of arrangement.
But it's all over.