may have been a little heightened by Headland's way of sending them the
tickets to sell in the first instance.
Now, as I must read again in Edinburgh on Saturday night, your
travelling arrangements are affected. So observe carefully (you and
Mamie) all that I am going to say. It appears to me that the best course
will be for you to come to _Edinburgh_ on Saturday; taking the fast
train from the Great Northern station at nine in the morning. This would
bring you to the Waterloo at Edinburgh, at about nine or so at night,
and I should be home at ten. We could then have a quiet Sunday in
Edinburgh, and go over to Carlisle on the Monday morning.
The expenditure of lungs and spirits was (as you may suppose) rather
great last night, and to sleep well was out of the question; I am
therefore rather fagged to-day. And as the hall in which I read to-night
is a large one, I must make my letter a short one.
My people were torn to ribbons last night. They have not a hat among
them, and scarcely a coat.
Give my love to Mamie. To her question, "Will there be war with
America?" I answer, "Yes;" I fear the North to be utterly mad, and war
to be unavoidable.
[Sidenote: Mr. W. H. Wills.]
VICTORIA HOTEL, PRESTON, _Friday, Dec. 13th, 1861._
MY DEAR WILLS,
The news of the Christmas number is indeed glorious, and nothing can
look brighter or better than the prospects of the illustrious
publication.
Both Carlisle and Lancaster have come out admirably, though I doubted
both, as you did. But, unlike you, I always doubted this place. I do so
still. It is a poor place at the best (you remember?), and the mills are
working half time, and trade is very bad. The expenses, however, will be
a mere nothing. The accounts from Manchester for to-morrow, and from
Liverpool for the readings generally, are very cheering indeed.
The young lady who sells the papers at the station is just the same as
ever. Has orders for to-night, and is coming "with a person." "_The_
person?" said I. "Never _you_ mind," said she.
I was so charmed with Robert Chambers's "Traditions of Edinburgh" (which
I read _in_ Edinburgh), that I was obliged to write to him and say so.
Glasgow finished nobly, and the last night in Edinburgh was signally
successful and positively splendid.
Will you give my small Admiral, on his personal application, one
sovereign? I have told him to come to you for that recognition of his
meritorious services.
Ever faithfully.
[Sidenote: Mr. W. H. Wills.]
ADELPHI HOTEL, LIVERPOOL, _Sunday, Dec. 15th, 1861._
MY DEAR WILLS,
I sent you a telegram to-day, and I write before the answer has come to
hand.
I have been very doubtful what to do here. We have a great let for
to-morrow night. The Mayor recommends closing to-morrow, and going on on
Tuesday and Wednesday, so does the town clerk, so do the agents. But I
have a misgiving that they hardly understand what the public general
sympathy with the Queen will be. Further, I feel personally that the
Queen has always been very considerate and gracious to me, and I would
on no account do anything that might seem unfeeling or disrespectful. I
shall attach great weight, in this state of indecision, to your
telegram.
A capital audience at Preston. Not a capacious room, but full. Great
appreciation.
The scene at Manchester last night was really magnificent. I had had the
platform carried forward to our "Frozen Deep" point, and my table and
screen built in with a proscenium and room scenery. When I went in
(there was a very fine hall), they applauded in the most tremendous
manner; and the extent to which they were taken aback and taken by storm
by "Copperfield" was really a thing to see.
The post closes early here on a Sunday, and I shall close this also
without further reference to "a message from the" W. H. W. being
probably on the road.
Radley is ill, and supposed to be fast declining, poor fellow. The house
is crammed, the assizes on, and troops perpetually embarking for Canada,
and their officers passing through the hotel.
Kindest regards, ever faithfully.
[Sidenote: Miss Mary Boyle.]
GAD'S HILL, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,
_Saturday, Dec. 28th, 1861._
MY DEAR MARY,
On Monday (as you know) I am away again, but I am not sorry to see land
and a little rest before me; albeit, these are great experiences of the
public heart.
The little Admiral has gone to visit America in the _Orlando_, supposed
to be one of the foremost ships in the Service, and the best found, best
manned, and best officered that ever sailed from England. He went away
much gamer than any giant, attended by a chest in which he could easily
have stowed himself and a wife and family of his own proportions.
Ever and always, your affectionate
JOE.
1862.
NARRATIVE.
At the beginning of this year, Charles Dickens resumed the reading tour
which he had commenced at the close of the previous year and continued
up to Christmas. The first letter which follows, to Mr. Wills, a New
Year's greeting, is written from a railway station between one town and
another on this journey. Mr. Macready, who had married for the second
time not very long before this, was now settled at Cheltenham. Charles
Dickens had arranged to give readings there, chiefly for the pleasure of
visiting him, and of having him as one of his audience.
This reading tour went on until the beginning of February. One of the
last of the series was in his favourite "beautiful room," the St.
George's Hall at Liverpool. In February, he made an exchange of houses
with his friends Mr. and Mrs. Hogge, they going to Gad's Hill, and he
and his family to Mr. Hogge's house in Hyde Park Gate South. In March he
commenced a series of readings at St. James's Hall, which went on until
the middle of June, when he, very gladly, returned to his country home.
A letter beginning "My dear Girls," addressed to some American ladies
who happened to be at Colchester, in the same inn with him when he was
reading there, was published by one of them under the name of "Our
Letter," in the "St. Nicholas Magazine," New York, in 1877. We think it
best to explain it in the young lady's own words, which are, therefore,
appended to the letter.
Mr. Walter Thornbury was one of Charles Dickens's most valuable
contributors to "All the Year Round." His letters to him about the
subjects of his articles for that journal, are specimens of the minute
and careful attention and personal supervision, never neglected or
distracted by any other work on which he might be engaged, were it ever
so hard or engrossing.
The letter addressed to Mr. Baylis we give chiefly because it has, since
Mr. Baylis's death, been added to the collection of MSS. in the British
Museum. He was a very intimate and confidential friend of the late Lord
Lytton, and accompanied him on a visit to Gad's Hill in that year.
We give an extract from another letter from Charles Dickens to his
sister, as a beautiful specimen of a letter of condolence and
encouragement to one who was striving, very bravely, but by very slow
degrees, to recover from the overwhelming grief of her bereavement. Mr.
Wilkie Collins was at this time engaged on his novel of "No Name," which
appeared in "All the Year Round," and was threatened with a very serious
breakdown in health. Charles Dickens wrote the letter which we give, to
relieve Mr. Collins's mind as to his work. Happily he recovered
sufficiently to make an end to his own story without any help; but the
true friendship and kindness which suggested the offer were none the
less appreciated, and may, very likely, by lessening his anxiety, have
helped to restore his health. At the end of October in this year,
Charles Dickens, accompanied by his daughter and sister-in-law, went to
reside for a couple of months in Paris, taking an apartment in the Rue
du Faubourg St. Honore. From thence he writes to M. Charles Fechter. He
had been greatly interested in this fine artist from the time of his
first appearance in England, and was always one of his warmest friends
and supporters during his stay in this country. M. Fechter was, at this
time, preparing for the opening of the Lyceum Theatre, under his own
management, at the beginning of the following year.
Just before Christmas, Charles Dickens returned to Gad's Hill. The
Christmas number for this year was "Somebody's Luggage."
[Sidenote: Mr. W. H. Wills.]
AT THE BIRMINGHAM STATION, _Thursday, Jan. 2nd, 1862._
MY DEAR WILLS,
Being stationed here for an hour, on my way from Leamington to
Cheltenham, I write to you.
Firstly, to reciprocate all your cordial and affectionate wishes for the
New Year, and to express my earnest hope that we may go on through many
years to come, as we have gone on through many years that are gone. And
I think we can say that we doubt whether any two men can have gone on
more happily and smoothly, or with greater trust and confidence in one
another.
A little packet will come to you from Hunt and Roskell's, almost at the
same time, I think, as this note.
The packet will contain a claret-jug. I hope it is a pretty thing in
itself for your table, and I know that you and Mrs. Wills will like it
none the worse because it comes from me.
It is not made of a perishable material, and is so far expressive of our
friendship. I have had your name and mine set upon it, in token of our
many years of mutual reliance and trustfulness. It will never be so full
of wine as it is to-day of affectionate regard.
Ever faithfully yours.
[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]
CHELTENHAM, _Friday, Jan. 3rd, 1862._
MY DEAREST GEORGY,
Mrs. Macready in voice is very like poor Mrs. Macready dead and gone;
not in the least like her otherwise. She is perfectly satisfactory, and
exceedingly winning. Quite perfect in her manner with him and in her
ease with his children, sensible, gay, pleasant, sweet-tempered; not in
the faintest degree stiff or pedantic; accessible instantly. I have very
rarely seen a more agreeable woman. The house is (on a smaller scale)
any house we have known them in. Furnished with the old furniture,
pictures, engravings, mirrors, tables, and chairs. Butty is too tall for
strength, I am afraid, but handsome, with a face of great power and
character, and a very nice girl. Katie you know all about. Macready,
decidedly much older and infirm. Very much changed. His old force has
gone out of him strangely. I don't think I left off talking a minute
from the time of my entering the house to my going to bed last night,
and he was as much amused and interested as ever I saw him; still he
was, and is, unquestionably aged.
And even now I am obliged to cut this letter short by having to go and
look after Headland. It would never do to be away from the rest of them.
I have no idea what we are doing here; no notion whether things are
right or wrong; no conception where the room is; no hold of the business
at all. For which reason I cannot rest without going and looking after
the worthy man.
[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]
TORQUAY, _Wednesday, Jan. 8th, 1862._
You know, I think, that I was very averse to going to Plymouth, and
would not have gone there again but for poor Arthur. But on the last
night I read "Copperfield," and positively enthralled the people. It was
a most overpowering effect, and poor Andrew[7] came behind the screen,
after the storm, and cried in the best and manliest manner. Also there
were two or three lines of his shipmates and other sailors, and they
were extraordinarily affected. But its culminating effect was on
Macready at Cheltenham. When I got home after "Copperfield," I found him
quite unable to speak, and able to do nothing but square his dear old
jaw all on one side, and roll his eyes (half closed), like Jackson's
picture of him. And when I said something light about it, he returned:
"No--er--Dickens! I swear to Heaven that, as a piece of passion and
playfulness--er--indescribably mixed up together, it does--er--no,
really, Dickens!--amaze me as profoundly as it moves me. But as a piece
of art--and you know--er--that I--no, Dickens! By ----! have seen the
best art in a great time--it is incomprehensible to me. How is it got
at--er--how is it done--er--how one man can--well? It lays me on
my--er--back, and it is of no use talking about it!" With which he put
his hand upon my breast and pulled out his pocket-handkerchief, and I
felt as if I were doing somebody to his Werner. Katie, by-the-bye, is a
wonderful audience, and has a great fund of wild feeling in her. Johnny
not at all unlike Plorn.
I have not yet seen the room here, but imagine it to be very small.
Exeter I know, and that is small also. I am very much used up, on the
whole, for I cannot bear this moist warm climate. It would kill me very
soon. And I have now got to the point of taking so much out of myself
with "Copperfield," that I might as well do Richard Wardour.
You have now, my dearest Georgy, the fullest extent of my tidings. This
is a very pretty place--a compound of Hastings, Tunbridge Wells, and
little bits of the hills about Naples; but I met four respirators as I
came up from the station, and three pale curates without them, who
seemed in a bad way.
Frightful intelligence has just been brought in by Boylett, concerning
the small size of the room. I have terrified Headland by sending him to
look at it, and swearing that if it's too small I will go away to
Exeter.
[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]
ADELPHI HOTEL, LIVERPOOL, _Tuesday, Jan. 28th, 1862._
The beautiful room was crammed to excess last night, and numbers were
turned away. Its beauty and completeness when it is lighted up are most
brilliant to behold, and for a reading it is simply perfect. You
remember that a Liverpool audience is usually dull, but they put me on
my mettle last night, for I never saw such an audience--no, not even in
Edinburgh!
I slept horribly last night, and have been over to Birkenhead for a
little change of air to-day. My head is dazed and worn by gas and heat,
and I fear that "Copperfield" and "Bob" together to-night won't mend it.
Best love to Mamie and Katie, if still at Gad's. I am going to bring the
boys some toffee.
[Sidenote: The Misses Armstrong]
GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,
_Monday, Feb. 10th, 1862._
MY DEAR GIRLS,
For if I were to write "young friends," it would look like a
schoolmaster; and if I were to write "young ladies," it would look like
a schoolmistress; and worse than that, neither form of words would look
familiar and natural, or in character with our snowy ride that
tooth-chattering morning.
I cannot tell you both how gratified I was by your remembrance, or how
often I think of you as I smoke the admirable cigars. But I almost think
you must have had some magnetic consciousness across the Atlantic, of my
whiffing my love towards you from the garden here.
My daughter says that when you have settled those little public affairs
at home, she hopes you will come back to England (possibly in united
states) and give a minute or two to this part of Kent. _Her_ words are,
"a day or two;" but I remember your Italian flights, and correct the
message.
I have only just now finished my country readings, and have had nobody
to make breakfast for me since the remote ages of Colchester!
Ever faithfully yours.
OUR LETTER.
By M. F. ARMSTRONG.
"From among all my treasures--to each one of which some pleasant history
is bound--I choose this letter, written on coarse blue paper.
The letter was received in answer to cigars sent from America to Mr.
Dickens.
The 'little public affairs at home' refers to the war of the Rebellion.
At Colchester, he read 'The Trial' from 'Pickwick,' and selections from
'Nicholas Nickleby.'
The lady, her two sisters, and her brother were Mr. Dickens's guests at
the queer old English inn at Colchester.
Through the softly falling snow we came back together to London, and on
the railway platform parted, with a hearty hand-shaking, from the man
who will for ever be enshrined in our hearts as the kindest and most
generous, not to say most brilliant of hosts."
[Sidenote: M. de Cerjat.]
16, HYDE PARK GATE, SOUTH KENSINGTON GORE,
_Sunday, March 16th, 1862._
MY DEAR CERJAT,
My daughter naturally liking to be in town at this time of year, I have
changed houses with a friend for three months.
My eldest boy is in business as an Eastern merchant in the City, and
will do well if he can find continuous energy; otherwise not. My second
boy is with the 42nd Highlanders in India. My third boy, a good steady
fellow, is educating expressly for engineers or artillery. My fourth
(this sounds like a charade), a born little sailor, is a midshipman in
H.M.S. _Orlando_, now at Bermuda, and will make his way anywhere.
Remaining two at school, elder of said remaining two very bright and
clever. Georgina and Mary keeping house for me; and Francis Jeffrey (I
ought to have counted him as the third boy, so we'll take him in here as
number two and a half) in my office at present. Now you have the family
bill of fare.
You ask me about Fechter and his Hamlet. It was a performance of
extraordinary merit; by far the most coherent, consistent, and
intelligible Hamlet I ever saw. Some of the delicacies with which he
rendered his conception clear were extremely subtle; and in particular
he avoided that brutality towards Ophelia which, with a greater or less
amount of coarseness, I have seen in all other Hamlets. As a mere _tour
de force_, it would have been very remarkable in its disclosure of a
perfectly wonderful knowledge of the force of the English language; but
its merit was far beyond and above this. Foreign accent, of course, but
not at all a disagreeable one. And he was so obviously safe and at ease,
that you were never in pain for him as a foreigner. Add to this a
perfectly picturesque and romantic "make up," and a remorseless
destruction of all conventionalities, and you have the leading virtues
of the impersonation. In Othello he did not succeed. In Iago he is very
good. He is an admirable artist, and far beyond anyone on our stage. A
real artist and a gentleman.
Last Thursday I began reading again in London--a condensation of
"Copperfield," and "Mr. Bob Sawyer's Party," from "Pickwick," to finish
merrily. The success of "Copperfield" is astounding. It made an
impression that _I_ must not describe. I may only remark that I was half
dead when I had done; and that although I had looked forward, all
through the summer, when I was carefully getting it up, to its being a
London sensation; and that although Macready, hearing it at Cheltenham,
told me to be prepared for a great effect, it even went beyond my hopes.
I read again next Thursday, and the rush for places is quite furious.
Tell Townshend this with my love, if you see him before I have time to
write to him; and tell him that I thought the people would never let me
go away, they became so excited, and showed it so very warmly. I am
trying to plan out a new book, but have not got beyond trying.
Yours affectionately.
[Sidenote: Mr. Walter Thornbury.]
OFFICE OF "ALL THE YEAR ROUND,"
_Friday, April 18th, 1862._
MY DEAR THORNBURY,
The Bow Street runners ceased out of the land soon after the
introduction of the new police. I remember them very well as standing
about the door of the office in Bow Street. They had no other uniform
than a blue dress-coat, brass buttons (I am not even now sure that that
was necessary), and a bright red cloth waistcoat. The waistcoat was
indispensable, and the slang name for them was "redbreasts," in
consequence.
They kept company with thieves and the like, much more than the
detective police do. I don't know what their pay was, but I have no
doubt their principal complements were got under the rose. It was a very
slack institution, and its head-quarters were The Brown Bear, in Bow
Street, a public-house of more than doubtful reputation, opposite the
police-office; and either the house which is now the theatrical costume
maker's, or the next door to it.
Field, who advertises the Secret Enquiry Office, was a Bow Street
runner, and can tell you all about it; Goddard, who also advertises an
enquiry office, was another of the fraternity. They are the only two I
know of as yet existing in a "questionable shape."
Faithfully yours always.
[Sidenote: Mr. Baylis.]
GAD'S HILL, ETC., _Wednesday, July 2nd, 1862._
MY DEAR MR. BAYLIS,
I have been in France, and in London, and in other parts of Kent than
this, and everywhere but here, for weeks and weeks. Pray excuse my not
having (for this reason specially) answered your kind note sooner.
After carefully cross-examining my daughter, I do NOT believe her to be
worthy of the fernery. Last autumn we transplanted into the shrubbery a
quantity of evergreens previously clustered close to the front of the
house, and trained more ivy about the wall and the like. When I ask her
where she would have the fernery and what she would do with it, the
witness falters, turns pale, becomes confused, and says: "Perhaps it
would be better not to have it at all." I am quite confident that the
constancy of the young person is not to be trusted, and that she had
better attach her fernery to one of her chateaux in Spain, or one of her
English castles in the air. None the less do I thank you for your more
than kind proposal.
We have been in great anxiety respecting Miss Hogarth, the sudden
decline of whose health and spirits has greatly distressed us. Although
she is better than she was, and the doctors are, on the whole, cheerful,
she requires great care, and fills us with apprehension. The necessity
of providing change for her will probably take us across the water very
early in the autumn; and this again unsettles home schemes here, and
withers many kinds of fern. If they knew (by "they" I mean my daughter
and Miss Hogarth) that I was writing to you, they would charge me with
many messages of regard. But as I am shut up in my room in a ferocious
and unapproachable condition, owing to the great accumulation of letters
I have to answer, I will tell them at lunch that I have anticipated
their wish. As I know they have bills for me to pay, and are at present
shy of producing them, I wish to preserve a gloomy and repellent
reputation.
My dear Mr. Baylis, faithfully yours always.
[Sidenote: Mrs. Henry Austin.]
GAD'S HILL, _Tuesday, Oct. 7th, 1862._
* * * * *
I do not preach consolation because I am unwilling to preach at any
time, and know my own weakness too well. But in this world there is no
stay but the hope of a better, and no reliance but on the mercy and
goodness of God. Through those two harbours of a shipwrecked heart, I
fully believe that you will, in time, find a peaceful resting-place even
on this careworn earth. Heaven speed the time, and do you try hard to
help it on! It is impossible to say but that our prolonged grief for the
beloved dead may grieve them in their unknown abiding-place, and give
them trouble. The one influencing consideration in all you do as to
your disposition of yourself (coupled, of course, with a real earnest
strenuous endeavour to recover the lost tone of spirit) is, that you
think and feel you _can_ do. I do not in the least regard your change of
course in going to Havre as any evidence of instability. But I rather
hope it is likely that through such restlessness you will come to a far
quieter frame of mind. The disturbed mind and affections, like the
tossed sea, seldom calm without an intervening time of confusion and
trouble.
But nothing is to be attained without striving. In a determined effort
to settle the thoughts, to parcel out the day, to find occupation
regularly or to make it, to be up and doing something, are chiefly to be
found the mere mechanical means which must come to the aid of the best
mental efforts.
It is a wilderness of a day, here, in the way of blowing and raining,
and as darkly dismal, at four o'clock, as need be. My head is but just
now raised from a day's writing, but I will not lose the post without
sending you a word.