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THE LETTERS
OF
Charles Dickens
[Illustration]
THE LETTERS
OF
CHARLES DICKENS.
EDITED BY
HIS SISTER-IN-LAW AND HIS ELDEST DAUGHTER
VOL. III.
1836 TO 1870.
London:
CHAPMAN AND HALL, LIMITED,
11, HENRIETTA STREET, COVENT GARDEN.
1882.
[_The Right of Translation is Reserved._]
CHARLES DICKENS AND EVANS,
CRYSTAL PALACE PRESS.
PREFACE.
Since our publication of "The Letters of Charles Dickens" we have
received the letters addressed to the late Lord Lytton, which we were
unable to procure in time for our first two volumes in consequence of
his son's absence in India. We thank the Earl of Lytton cordially for
his kindness in sending them to us very soon after his return. We also
offer our sincere thanks to Sir Austen H. Layard, and to the senders of
many other letters, which we now publish for the first time.
With a view to making our selection as complete as possible, we have
collected together the letters from Charles Dickens which have already
been published in various Biographies, and have chosen and placed in
chronological order among our new letters those which we consider to be
of the greatest interest.
As our Narrative was finished in our second volume, this volume consists
of Letters _only_, with occasional foot-notes wherever there are
allusions requiring explanation.
MAMIE DICKENS.
GEORGINA HOGARTH.
LONDON: _September, 1881._
ERRATA.
VOL. III.
Page 87, line 5. For "J. W. Leigh Murray," _read_ "Mr. Leigh Murray."
" 111, line 8. For "annoying," _read_ "amazing."
" 243, line 10. For "Tarass Boulla," _read_ "Tarass Boulba."
" 259, line 6, and in footnote. For "Hazlett," _read_ "Hazlitt."
" 261, line 2. For "procters," _read_ "proctors."
THE
LETTERS OF CHARLES DICKENS.
1836 to 1839.
[Sidenote: Mr. John Hullah.]
FURNIVAL'S INN, _Sunday Evening (1836)_ (?).
MY DEAR HULLAH,
Have you seen _The Examiner_? It is rather depreciatory of the opera;
but, like all inveterate critiques against Braham, so well done that I
cannot help laughing at it, for the life and soul of me. I have seen
_The Sunday Times_, _The Dispatch_, and _The Satirist_, all of which
blow their critic trumpets against unhappy me most lustily. Either I
must have grievously awakened the ire of all the "adapters" and their
friends, or the drama must be decidedly bad. I haven't made up my mind
yet which of the two is the fact.
I have not seen the _John Bull_ or any of the Sunday papers except _The
Spectator_. If you have any of them, bring 'em with you on Tuesday. I am
afraid that for "dirty Cummins'" allusion to Hogarth I shall be reduced
to the necessity of being valorous the next time I meet him.
Believe me, most faithfully yours.
[Sidenote: The same.]
FURNIVAL'S INN, _Monday Afternoon, 7 o'clock (1836)._
MY DEAR HULLAH,
Mr. Hogarth has just been here, with news which I think you will be glad
to hear. He was with Braham yesterday, who was _far more full_ of the
opera[1] than he was; speaking highly of my works and "fame" (!), and
expressing an earnest desire to be the first to introduce me to the
public as a dramatic writer. He said that he intended opening at
Michaelmas; and added (unasked) that it was his intention to produce the
opera within _one month_ of his first night. He wants a low comedy part
introduced--without singing--thinking it will take with the audience;
but he is desirous of explaining to me what he means and who he intends
to play it. I am to see him on Sunday morning. Full particulars of the
interview shall be duly announced.
Perhaps I shall see you meanwhile. I have only time to add that I am
Most faithfully yours.
[Sidenote: The same.]
PETERSHAM, _Monday Evening (1836)._
DEAR HULLAH,
Since I called on you this morning I have not had time to look over the
words of "The Child and the Old Man." It occurs to me, as I shall see
you on Wednesday morning, that the best plan will be for you to bring
the music (if you possibly can) without the words, and we can put them
in then. Of course this observation applies only to that particular
song.
Braham having sent to me about the farce, I called on him this morning.
Harley wrote, when he had read the whole of the opera, saying: "It's a
sure card--nothing wrong there. Bet you ten pound it runs fifty nights.
Come; don't be afraid. You'll be the gainer by it, and you mustn't mind
betting; it's a capital custom." They tell the story with infinite
relish. I saw the fair manageress,[2] who is fully of Harley's opinion,
so is Braham. The only difference is, that they are far more
enthusiastic than Harley--far more enthusiastic than ourselves even.
That is a bold word, isn't it? It is a true one, nevertheless.
"Depend upon it, sir," said Braham to Hogarth yesterday, when he went
there to say I should be in town to-day, "depend upon it, sir, that
there has been no such music since the days of Sheil, and no such piece
since "The Duenna."" "Everybody is delighted with it," he added, to me
to-day. "I played it to Stansbury, who is by no means an excitable
person, and he was charmed." This was said with great emphasis, but I
have forgotten the grand point. It was not, "I played it to Stansbury,"
but, "I sang it--_all through_!!!"
I begged him, as the choruses are to be put into rehearsal directly the
company get together, to let us have, through Mrs. Braham, the necessary
passports to the stage, which will be forwarded. He leaves town on the
_8th of September_. He will be absent a month, and the first rehearsal
will take place immediately on his return; previous to it (I mean the
first rehearsal--not the return) I am to read the piece. His only
remaining suggestion is, that Miss Rainforth will want another song when
the piece is in rehearsal--"a bravura--something in the 'Soldier Tired'
way." We must have a confab about this on Wednesday morning.
Harley called in Furnival's Inn, to express his high delight and
gratification, but unfortunately we had left town. I shall be at
head-quarters by 12 Wednesday noon.
Believe me, dear Hullah,
Most faithfully yours.
P.S.--Tell me on Wednesday when you can come down here, for a day or
two. Beautiful place--meadow for exercise, horse for your riding, boat
for your rowing, room for your studying--anything you like.
[Sidenote: Mr. George Hogarth.]
[3]13, FURNIVAL'S INN, _Tuesday Evening, January 20th, 1837._
MY DEAR SIR,
As you have begged me to write an original sketch for the first number
of the new evening paper, and as I trust to your kindness to refer my
application to the proper quarter, should I be unreasonably or
improperly trespassing upon you, I beg to ask whether it is probable
that if I commenced a series of articles, written under some attractive
title, for _The Evening Chronicle_, its conductors would think I had any
claim to some additional remuneration (of course, of no great amount)
for doing so?
Let me beg of you not to misunderstand my meaning. Whatever the reply
may be, I promised you an article, and shall supply it with the utmost
readiness, and with an anxious desire to do my best, which I honestly
assure you would be the feeling with which I should always receive any
request coming personally from yourself. I merely wish to put it to the
proprietors, first, whether a continuation of light papers in the style
of my "Street Sketches" would be considered of use to the new paper;
and, secondly, if so, whether they do not think it fair and reasonable
that, taking my share of the ordinary reporting business of _The
Chronicle_ besides, I should receive something for the papers beyond my
ordinary salary as a reporter.
Begging you to excuse my troubling you, and taking this opportunity of
acknowledging the numerous kindnesses I have already received at your
hands since I have had the pleasure of acting under you,
I am, my dear Sir, very sincerely yours.
[Sidenote: Mrs. Hogarth.]
DOUGHTY STREET, _Thursday Night, October 26th, 1837._
MY DEAR MRS. HOGARTH,
I need not thank you for your present[4] of yesterday, for you know the
sorrowful pleasure I shall take in wearing it, and the care with which I
shall prize it, until--so far as relates to this life--I am like her.
I have never had her ring off my finger by day or night, except for an
instant at a time, to wash my hands, since she died. I have never had
her sweetness and excellence absent from my mind so long. I can solemnly
say that, waking or sleeping, I have never lost the recollection of our
hard trial and sorrow, and I feel that I never shall.
It will be a great relief to my heart when I find you sufficiently calm
upon this sad subject to claim the promise I made you when she lay dead
in this house, never to shrink from speaking of her, as if her memory
must be avoided, but rather to take a melancholy pleasure in recalling
the times when we were all so happy--so happy that increase of fame and
prosperity has only widened the gap in my affections, by causing me to
think how she would have shared and enhanced all our joys, and how proud
I should have been (as God knows I always was) to possess the affections
of the gentlest and purest creature that ever shed a light on earth. I
wish you could know how I weary now for the three rooms in Furnival's
Inn, and how I miss that pleasant smile and those sweet words which,
bestowed upon our evening's work, in our merry banterings round the
fire, were more precious to me than the applause of a whole world would
be. I can recall everything she said and did in those happy days, and
could show you every passage and line we read together.
I see _now_ how you are capable of making great efforts, even against
the afflictions you have to deplore, and I hope that, soon, our words
may be where our thoughts are, and that we may call up those old
memories, not as shadows of the bitter past, but as lights upon a
happier future.
Believe me, my dear Mrs. Hogarth,
Ever truly and affectionately yours.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] "The Village Coquettes."
[2] Mrs. Braham.
[3] Printed in "Forty Years' Recollections of Life, Literature, and
Public Affairs," by Charles Mackay.
[4] A chain made of Mary Hogarth's hair, sent to Charles Dickens on the
first anniversary of her birthday, after her death.
[5]DIARY--1838.
_Monday, January 1st, 1838._
A sad New Year's Day in one respect, for at the opening of last year
poor Mary was with us. Very many things to be grateful for since then,
however. Increased reputation and means--good health and prospects. We
never know the full value of blessings till we lose them (we were not
ignorant of this one when we had it, I hope). But if she were with us
now, the same winning, happy, amiable companion, sympathising with all
my thoughts and feelings more than anyone I knew ever did or will, I
think I should have nothing to wish for, but a continuance of such
happiness. But she is gone, and pray God I may one day, through his
mercy, rejoin her. I wrote to Mrs. Hogarth yesterday, taking advantage
of the opportunity afforded me by her sending, as a New Year's token, a
pen-wiper of poor Mary's, imploring her, as strongly as I could, to
think of the many remaining claims upon her affection and exertions, and
not to give way to unavailing grief. Her answer came to-night, and she
seems hurt at my doing so--protesting that in all useful respects she is
the same as ever. Meant it for the best, and still hope I did right.
_Saturday, January 6th, 1838._
Our boy's birthday--one year old. A few people at night--only Forster,
the De Gex's, John Ross, Mitton, and the Beards, besides our
families--to twelfth-cake and forfeits.
This day last year, Mary and I wandered up and down Holborn and the
streets about for hours, looking after a little table for Kate's
bedroom, which we bought at last at the very first broker's which we had
looked into, and which we had passed half-a-dozen times because I
_didn't like_ to ask the price. I took her out to Brompton at night, as
we had no place for her to sleep in (the two mothers being with us); she
came back again next day to keep house for me, and stopped nearly the
rest of the month. I shall never be so happy again as in those chambers
three storeys high--never if I roll in wealth and fame. I would hire
them to keep empty, if I could afford it.
_Monday, January 8th, 1838._
I began the "Sketches of Young Gentlemen" to-day. One hundred and
twenty-five pounds for such a little book, without my name to it, is
pretty well. This and the "Sunday"[6] by-the-bye, are the only two
things I have not done as Boz.
_Tuesday, January 9th, 1838._
Went to the Sun office to insure my life, where the Board seemed
disposed to think I work too much. Made Forster and Pickthorn, my
Doctor, the references--and after an interesting interview with the
Board and the Board's Doctor, came away to work again.
_Wednesday, January 10th, 1838._
At work all day, and to a quadrille party at night. City people and
rather dull. Intensely cold coming home, and vague reports of a fire
somewhere. Frederick says the Royal Exchange, at which I sneer most
sagely; for----
_Thursday, January 11th, 1838._
To-day the papers are full of it, and it _was_ the Royal Exchange,
Lloyd's, and all the shops round the building. Called on Browne and went
with him to see the ruins, of which we saw as much as we should have
done if we had stopped at home.
_Sunday, January 14th, 1838._
To church in the morning, and when I came home I wrote the preceding
portion of this diary, which henceforth I make a steadfast resolution
not to neglect, or _paint_. I have not done it yet, nor will I; but say
what rises to my lips--my mental lips at least--without reserve. No
other eyes will see it, while mine are open in life, and although I
daresay I shall be ashamed of a good deal in it, I should like to look
over it at the year's end.
In Scott's diary, which I have been looking at this morning, there are
thoughts which have been mine by day and by night, in good spirits and
bad, since Mary died.
"Another day, and a bright one to the external world again opens on us;
the air soft, and the flowers smiling, and the leaves glittering. They
cannot refresh her to whom mild weather was a natural enjoyment.
Cerements of lead and of wood already hold her; cold earth must have her
soon. But it is not . . . (she) who will be laid among the ruins. . . .
She is sentient and conscious of my emotions _somewhere_--where, we cannot
tell, how, we cannot tell; yet would I not at this moment renounce the
mysterious yet certain hope that I shall see her in a better world, for
all that this world can give me.
* * * * *
"I have seen her. There is the same symmetry of form, though those limbs
are rigid which were once so gracefully elastic; but that yellow masque
with pinched features, which seems to mock life rather than emulate it,
can it be the face that was once so full of lively expression? I will
not look upon it again."
I know but too well how true all this is.
_Monday, January 15th, 1838._
Here ends this brief attempt at a diary. I grow sad over this checking
off of days, and can't do it.
* * * * *
[Sidenote: Mr. W. L. Sammins.]
48, DOUGHTY STREET, LONDON, _January 31st, 1839._
SIR,
Circumstances have enabled me to relinquish my old connection with the
"Miscellany"[7] at an earlier period than I had expected. I am no longer
its editor, but I have referred your paper to my successor, and marked
it as one "requiring attention." I have no doubt it will receive it.
With reference to your letter bearing date on the 8th of last October,
let me assure you that I have delayed answering it--not because a
constant stream of similar epistles has rendered me callous to the
anxieties of a beginner, in those doubtful paths in which I walk
myself--but because you ask me to do that which I would scarce do, of my
own unsupported opinion, for my own child, supposing I had one old
enough to require such a service. To suppose that I could gravely take
upon myself the responsibility of withdrawing you from pursuits you have
already undertaken, or urging you on in a most uncertain and hazardous
course of life, is really a compliment to my judgment and inflexibility
which I cannot recognize and do not deserve (or desire). I hoped that a
little reflection would show you how impossible it is that I could be
expected to enter upon a task of so much delicacy, but as you have
written to me since, and called (unfortunately at a period when I am
obliged to seclude myself from all comers), I am compelled at last to
tell you that I can do nothing of the kind.
If it be any satisfaction to you to know that I have read what you sent
me, and read it with great pleasure, though, as you treat of local
matters, I am necessarily in the dark here and there, I can give you the
assurance very sincerely. With this, and many thanks to you for your
obliging expressions towards myself,
I am, Sir,
Your very obedient Servant.
[Sidenote: Mr. J. P. Harley.]
DOUGHTY STREET, _Thursday Morning._[8]
MY DEAR HARLEY,
This is my birthday. Many happy returns of the day to you and me.
I took it into my head yesterday to get up an impromptu dinner on this
auspicious occasion--only my own folks, Leigh Hunt, Ainsworth, and
Forster. I know you can't dine here in consequence of the tempestuous
weather on the Covent Garden shores, but if you will come in when you
have done Trinculizing, you will delight me greatly, and add in no
inconsiderable degree to the "conviviality" of the meeting.
Lord bless my soul! Twenty-seven years old. Who'd have thought it? I
_never_ did!
But I grow sentimental.
Always yours truly.
[Sidenote: Mr. Edward Chapman.]
1, DEVONSHIRE TERRACE, _27th December, 1839._
MY DEAR SIR,
The place where you pledge yourself to pay for my beef and mutton when I
eat it, and my ale and wine when I drink it, is the Treasurer's Office
of the Middle Temple, the new building at the bottom of Middle Temple
Lane on the right-hand side. You walk up into the first-floor and say
(boldly) that you come to sign Mr. Charles Dickens's bond--which is
already signed by Mr. Sergeant Talfourd. I suppose I should formally
acquaint you that I have paid the fees, and that the responsibility you
incur is a very slight one--extending very little beyond my good
behaviour, and honourable intentions to pay for all wine-glasses,
tumblers, or other dinner-furniture that I may break or damage.
I wish you would do me another service, and that is to choose, at the
place you told me of, a reasonable copy of "The Beauties of England and
Wales." You can choose it quite as well as I can, or better, and I shall
be much obliged to you. I should like you to send it at once, as I am
diving into all kinds of matters at odd minutes with a view to our
forthcoming operations.
Faithfully yours.
FOOTNOTES:
[5] This fragment of a diary was found amongst some papers which have
recently come to light. The Editors give only those paragraphs which are
likely to be of any public interest. The original manuscript has been
added to "The Forster Collection," at the South Kensington Museum.
[6] "Sunday, under Three Heads," a small pamphlet published about this
time.
[7] "Bentley's Miscellany."
[8] No other date, but it must have been 7th February, 1839.
1840.
[Sidenote: Mr. H. G. Adams.[9]]
1, DEVONSHIRE TERRACE, YORK GATE, REGENT'S PARK,
_Saturday, Jan. 18th, 1840._
DEAR SIR,
The pressure of other engagements will, I am compelled to say, prevent
me from contributing a paper to your new local magazine.[10] But I beg
you to set me down as a subscriber to it, and foremost among those whose
best wishes are enlisted in your cause. It will afford me real pleasure
to hear of your success, for I have many happy recollections connected
with Kent, and am scarcely less interested in it than if I had been a
Kentish man bred and born, and had resided in the county all my life.
Faithfully yours.
[Sidenote: Mr. Thompson.[11]]
DEVONSHIRE TERRACE, _Tuesday, 15th December, 1840._
MY DEAR THOMPSON,
I have received a most flattering message from the head turnkey of the
jail this morning, intimating that "there warn't a genelman in all
London he'd be gladder to show his babies to, than Muster Dickins, and
let him come wenever he would to that shop he wos welcome." But as the
Governor (who is a very nice fellow and a gentleman) is not at home this
morning, and furthermore as the morning itself has rather gone out of
town in respect of its poetical allurements, I think we had best
postpone our visit for a day or two.
Faithfully yours.
FOOTNOTES:
[9] Mr. Adams, the Hon. Secretary of the Chatham Mechanics' Institute,
which office he held for many years.
[10] "The Kentish Coronal."
[11] An intimate friend.
1841.
[Sidenote: Rev. Thomas Robinson.[12]]
1, DEVONSHIRE TERRACE, YORK GATE, REGENT'S PARK,
_Thursday, April 8th, 1841._
DEAR SIR,
I am much obliged to you for your interesting letter. Nor am I the less
pleased to receive it, by reason that I cannot find it in my conscience
to agree in many important respects with the body to which you belong.
In the love of virtue and hatred of vice, in the detestation of cruelty
and encouragement of gentleness and mercy, all men who endeavour to be
acceptable to their Creator in any way, may freely agree. There are more
roads to Heaven, I am inclined to think, than any sect believes; but
there can be none which have not these flowers garnishing the way.
I feel it a great tribute, therefore, to receive your letter. It is most
welcome and acceptable to me. I thank you for it heartily, and am proud
of the approval of one who suffered in his youth, even more than my poor
child.
While you teach in your walk of life the lessons of tenderness you have
learnt in sorrow, trust me that in mine, I will pursue cruelty and
oppression, the enemies of all God's creatures of all codes and creeds,
so long as I have the energy of thought and the power of giving it
utterance.
Faithfully yours.
[Sidenote: The Countess of Blessington.]
[13]DEVONSHIRE TERRACE, _June 2nd, 1841._
DEAR LADY BLESSINGTON,
The year goes round so fast, that when anything occurs to remind me of
its whirling, I lose my breath, and am bewildered. So your handwriting
last night had as startling an effect upon me, as though you had sealed
your note with one of your own eyes.
I remember my promise, as in cheerful duty bound, and with Heaven's
grace will redeem it. At this moment, I have not the faintest idea how,
but I am going into Scotland on the 19th to see Jeffrey, and while I am
away (I shall return, please God, in about three weeks) will look out
for some accident, incident, or subject for small description, to send
you when I come home. You will take the will for the deed, I know; and,
remembering that I have a "Clock" which always wants winding up, will
not quarrel with me for being brief.
Have you seen Townshend's magnetic boy? You heard of him, no doubt, from
Count D'Orsay. If you get him to Gore House, don't, I entreat you, have
more than eight people--four is a better number--to see him. He fails in
a crowd, and is _marvellous_ before a few.
I am told that down in Devonshire there are young ladies innumerable,
who read crabbed manuscripts with the palms of their hands, and
newspapers with their ankles, and so forth; and who are, so to speak,
literary all over. I begin to understand what a blue-stocking means, and
have not the smallest doubt that Lady ---- (for instance) could write
quite as entertaining a book with the sole of her foot as ever she did
with her head. I am a believer in earnest, and I am sure you would be if
you saw this boy, under moderately favourable circumstances, as I hope
you will, before he leaves England.
Believe me, dear Lady Blessington,
Faithfully yours.
[Sidenote: Mr. L. Gaylord Clark.]
_September 28th, 1841._
MY DEAR SIR,
I condole with you from my heart on the loss[14] you have sustained, and
I feel proud of your permitting me to sympathise with your affliction.
It is a great satisfaction to me to have been addressed, under similar
circumstances, by many of your countrymen since the "Curiosity Shop"
came to a close. Some simple and honest hearts in the remote wilds of
America have written me letters on the loss of children--so numbering my
little book, or rather heroine, with their household gods; and so
pouring out their trials and sources of comfort in them, before me as a
friend, that I have been inexpressibly moved, and am whenever I think of
them, I do assure you. You have already all the comfort, that I could
lay before you; all, I hope, that the affectionate spirit of your
brother, now in happiness, can shed into your soul.
On the 4th of next January, if it please God, I am coming with my wife
on a three or four months' visit to America. The British and North
American packet will bring me, I hope, to Boston, and enable me, in the
third week of the new year, to set my foot upon the soil I have trodden
in my day-dreams many times, and whose sons (and daughters) I yearn to
know and to be among.
I hope you are surprised, and I hope not unpleasantly.
Faithfully yours.
[Sidenote: Mrs. Hogarth.]
[15]DEVONSHIRE TERRACE, _Sunday, October 24th, 1841._
MY DEAR MRS. HOGARTH,
For God's sake be comforted, and bear this well, for the love of your
remaining children.
I had always intended to keep poor Mary's grave for us and our dear
children, and for you. But if it will be any comfort to you to have poor
George buried there, I will cheerfully arrange to place the ground at
your entire disposal. Do not consider me in any way. Consult only your
own heart. Mine seems to tell me that as they both died so young and so
suddenly, they ought both to be buried together.
Try--do try--to think that they have but preceded you to happiness, and
will meet you with joy in heaven. There _is_ consolation in the
knowledge that you have treasure there, and that while you live on
earth, there are creatures among the angels, who owed their being to
you.
Always yours with true affection.
[Sidenote: Mr. Washington Irving.]
MY DEAR SIR,[16]
There is no man in the world who could have given me the heartfelt
pleasure you have, by your kind note of the 13th of last month. There is
no living writer, and there are very few among the dead, whose
approbation I should feel so proud to earn. And with everything you have
written upon my shelves, and in my thoughts, and in my heart of hearts,
I may honestly and truly say so. If you could know how earnestly I write
this, you would be glad to read it--as I hope you will be, faintly
guessing at the warmth of the hand I autobiographically hold out to you
over the broad Atlantic.
I wish I could find in your welcome letter some hint of an intention to
visit England. I can't. I have held it at arm's length, and taken a
bird's-eye view of it, after reading it a great many times, but there is
no greater encouragement in it this way than on a microscopic
inspection. I should love to go with you--as I have gone, God knows how
often--into Little Britain, and Eastcheap, and Green Arbour Court, and
Westminster Abbey. I should like to travel with you, outside the last of
the coaches down to Bracebridge Hall. It would make my heart glad to
compare notes with you about that shabby gentleman in the oilcloth hat
and red nose, who sat in the nine-cornered back-parlour of the Masons'
Arms; and about Robert Preston and the tallow-chandler's widow, whose
sitting-room is second nature to me; and about all those delightful
places and people that I used to walk about and dream of in the daytime,
when a very small and not over-particularly-taken-care-of boy. I have a
good deal to say, too, about that dashing Alonzo de Ojeda, that you
can't help being fonder of than you ought to be; and much to hear
concerning Moorish legend, and poor unhappy Boabdil. Diedrich
Knickerbocker I have worn to death in my pocket, and yet I should show
you his mutilated carcass with a joy past all expression.
I have been so accustomed to associate you with my pleasantest and
happiest thoughts, and with my leisure hours, that I rush at once into
full confidence with you, and fall, as it were naturally, and by the
very laws of gravity, into your open arms. Questions come thronging to
my pen as to the lips of people who meet after long hoping to do so. I
don't know what to say first or what to leave unsaid, and am constantly
disposed to break off and tell you again how glad I am this moment has
arrived.
My dear Washington Irving, I cannot thank you enough for your cordial
and generous praise, or tell you what deep and lasting gratification it
has given me. I hope to have many letters from you, and to exchange a
frequent correspondence. I send this to say so. After the first two or
three I shall settle down into a connected style, and become gradually
rational.
You know what the feeling is, after having written a letter, sealed it,
and sent it off. I shall picture your reading this, and answering it
before it has lain one night in the post-office. Ten to one that before
the fastest packet could reach New York I shall be writing again.
Do you suppose the post-office clerks care to receive letters? I have my
doubts. They get into a dreadful habit of indifference. A postman, I
imagine, is quite callous. Conceive his delivering one to himself,
without being startled by a preliminary double knock!
Always your faithful Friend.
FOOTNOTES:
[12] A Dissenting minister, once himself a workhouse boy, and writing on
the character of Oliver Twist. This letter was published in "Harper's
New Monthly Magazine," in 1862.
[13] This, and all other Letters addressed to the Countess of
Blessington, were printed in "Literary Life and Correspondence of the
Countess of Blessington."
[14] The death of his correspondent's twin-brother, Willis Gaylord
Clark.
[15] On the occasion of the sudden death of Mrs. Hogarth's son, George.
[16] This, and all other Letters addressed to Mr. Washington Irving,
were printed in "The Life and Letters of Washington Irving," edited by
his nephew, Pierre M. Irving.
1842.
[Sidenote: Professor Felton.]
FULLER'S HOTEL, WASHINGTON, _Monday, March 14th, 1842._
MY DEAR FELTON,[17]
I was more delighted than I can possibly tell you, to receive (last
Saturday night) your welcome letter. We and the oysters missed you
terribly in New York. You carried away with you more than half the
delight and pleasure of my New World; and I heartily wish you could
bring it back again.
There are very interesting men in this place--highly interesting, of
course--but it's not a comfortable place; is it? If spittle could wait
at table we should be nobly attended, but as that property has not been
imparted to it in the present state of mechanical science, we are rather
lonely and orphan-like, in respect of "being looked arter." A blithe
black was introduced on our arrival, as our peculiar and especial
attendant. He is the only gentleman in the town who has a peculiar
delicacy in intruding upon my valuable time. It usually takes seven
rings and a threatening message from ---- to produce him; and when he
comes he goes to fetch something, and, forgetting it by the way, comes
back no more.
We have been in great distress, really in distress, at the non-arrival
of the _Caledonia_. You may conceive what our joy was, when, while we
were dining out yesterday, H. arrived with the joyful intelligence of
her safety. The very news of her having really arrived seemed to
diminish the distance between ourselves and home, by one half at least.
And this morning (though we have not yet received our heap of
despatches, for which we are looking eagerly forward to this night's
mail)--this morning there reached us unexpectedly, through the
Government bag (Heaven knows how they came there!), two of our many and
long-looked-for letters, wherein was a circumstantial account of the
whole conduct and behaviour of our pets; with marvellous narrations of
Charley's precocity at a Twelfth Night juvenile party at Macready's; and
tremendous predictions of the governess, dimly suggesting his having got
out of pot-hooks and hangers, and darkly insinuating the possibility of
his writing us a letter before long; and many other workings of the same
prophetic spirit, in reference to him and his sisters, very gladdening
to their mother's heart, and not at all depressing to their father's.
There was, also, the doctor's report, which was a clean bill; and the
nurse's report, which was perfectly electrifying; showing as it did how
Master Walter had been weaned, and had cut a double tooth, and done many
other extraordinary things, quite worthy of his high descent. In short,
we were made very happy and grateful; and felt as if the prodigal father
and mother had got home again.
What do you think of this incendiary card being left at my door last
night? "General G. sends compliments to Mr. Dickens, and called with two
literary ladies. As the two L. L.'s are ambitious of the honour of a
personal introduction to Mr. D., General G. requests the honour of an
appointment for to-morrow." I draw a veil over my sufferings. They are
sacred. We shall be in Buffalo, please Heaven, on the 30th of April. If
I don't find a letter from you in the care of the postmaster at that
place, I'll never write to you from England.
But if I _do_ find one, my right hand shall forget its cunning, before I
forget to be your truthful and constant correspondent; not, dear Felton,
because I promised it, nor because I have a natural tendency to
correspond (which is far from being the case), nor because I am truly
grateful to you for, and have been made truly proud by, that
affectionate and elegant tribute which ---- sent me, but because you are
a man after my own heart, and I love you _well_. And for the love I bear
you, and the pleasure with which I shall always think of you, and the
glow I shall feel when I see your handwriting in my own home, I hereby
enter into a solemn league and covenant to write as many letters to you
as you write to me, at least. Amen.
Come to England! Come to England! Our oysters are small, I know; they
are said by Americans to be coppery; but our hearts are of the largest
size. We are thought to excel in shrimps, to be far from despicable in
point of lobsters, and in periwinkles are considered to challenge the
universe. Our oysters, small though they be, are not devoid of the
refreshing influence which that species of fish is supposed to exercise
in these latitudes. Try them and compare.
Affectionately yours.
[Sidenote: Mr. Washington Irving.]
WASHINGTON, _Monday Afternoon, March 21st, 1842._
MY DEAR IRVING,
We passed through--literally passed through--this place again to-day. I
did not come to see you, for I really have not the heart to say
"good-bye" again, and felt more than I can tell you when we shook hands
last Wednesday.
You will not be at Baltimore, I fear? I thought, at the time, that you
only said you might be there, to make our parting the gayer.
Wherever you go, God bless you! What pleasure I have had in seeing and
talking with you, I will not attempt to say. I shall never forget it as
long as I live. What would I give, if we could have but a quiet week
together! Spain is a lazy place, and its climate an indolent one. But if
you have ever leisure under its sunny skies to think of a man who loves
you, and holds communion with your spirit oftener, perhaps, than any
other person alive--leisure from listlessness, I mean--and will write to
me in London, you will give me an inexpressible amount of pleasure.
Your affectionate friend.
[Sidenote: Professor Felton.]
MONTREAL, _Saturday, 21st May, 1842._
MY DEAR FELTON,
I was delighted to receive your letter yesterday, and was well pleased
with its contents. I anticipated objection to Carlyle's[18] letter. I
called particular attention to it for three reasons. Firstly, because he
boldly _said_ what all the others _think_, and therefore deserved to be
manfully supported. Secondly, because it is my deliberate opinion that I
have been assailed on this subject in a manner in which no man with any
pretensions to public respect or with the remotest right to express an
opinion on a subject of universal literary interest would be assailed in
any other country. . . .
I really cannot sufficiently thank you, dear Felton, for your warm and
hearty interest in these proceedings. But it would be idle to pursue
that theme, so let it pass.
The wig and whiskers are in a state of the highest preservation. The
play comes off next Wednesday night, the 25th. What would I give to see
you in the front row of the centre box, your spectacles gleaming not
unlike those of my dear friend Pickwick, your face radiant with as broad
a grin as a staid professor may indulge in, and your very coat,
waistcoat, and shoulders expressive of what we should take together when
the performance was over! I would give something (not so much, but still
a good round sum) if you could only stumble into that very dark and
dusty theatre in the daytime (at any minute between twelve and three),
and see me with my coat off, the stage manager and universal director,
urging impracticable ladies and impossible gentlemen on to the very
confines of insanity, shouting and driving about, in my own person, to
an extent which would justify any philanthropic stranger in clapping me
into a strait-waistcoat without further inquiry, endeavouring to goad H.
into some dim and faint understanding of a prompter's duties, and
struggling in such a vortex of noise, dirt, bustle, confusion, and
inextricable entanglement of speech and action as you would grow giddy
in contemplating. We perform "A Roland for an Oliver," "A Good Night's
Rest," and "Deaf as a Post." This kind of voluntary hard labour used to
be my great delight. The _furor_ has come strong upon me again, and I
begin to be once more of opinion that nature intended me for the lessee
of a national theatre, and that pen, ink, and paper have spoiled a
manager.
Oh, how I look forward across that rolling water to home and its small
tenantry! How I busy myself in thinking how my books look, and where
the tables are, and in what positions the chairs stand relatively to the
other furniture; and whether we shall get there in the night, or in the
morning, or in the afternoon; and whether we shall be able to surprise
them, or whether they will be too sharply looking out for us; and what
our pets will say; and how they'll look, and who will be the first to
come and shake hands, and so forth! If I could but tell you how I have
set my heart on rushing into Forster's study (he is my great friend, and
writes at the bottom of all his letters: "My love to Felton"), and into
Maclise's painting-room, and into Macready's managerial ditto, without a
moment's warning, and how I picture every little trait and circumstance
of our arrival to myself, down to the very colour of the bow on the
cook's cap, you would almost think I had changed places with my eldest
son, and was still in pantaloons of the thinnest texture. I left all
these things--God only knows what a love I have for them--as coolly and
calmly as any animated cucumber; but when I come upon them again I shall
have lost all power of self-restraint, and shall as certainly make a
fool of myself (in the popular meaning of that expression) as ever
Grimaldi did in his way, or George the Third in his.
And not the less so, dear Felton, for having found some warm hearts, and
left some instalments of earnest and sincere affection, behind me on
this continent. And whenever I turn my mental telescope hitherward,
trust me that one of the first figures it will descry will wear
spectacles so like yours that the maker couldn't tell the difference,
and shall address a Greek class in such an exact imitation of your
voice, that the very students hearing it should cry, "That's he! Three
cheers. Hoo-ray-ay-ay-ay-ay!"
About those joints of yours, I think you are mistaken. They _can't_ be
stiff. At the worst they merely want the air of New York, which, being
impregnated with the flavour of last year's oysters, has a surprising
effect in rendering the human frame supple and flexible in all cases of
rust.
A terrible idea occurred to me as I wrote those words. The
oyster-cellars--what do they do when oysters are not in season? Is
pickled salmon vended there? Do they sell crabs, shrimps, winkles,
herrings? The oyster-openers--what do _they_ do? Do they commit suicide
in despair, or wrench open tight drawers and cupboards and
hermetically-sealed bottles for practice? Perhaps they are dentists out
of the oyster season. Who knows?
Affectionately yours.
[Sidenote: The same.]
1, DEVONSHIRE TERRACE, YORK GATE, REGENT'S PARK,
LONDON, _Sunday, July 31st, 1842._
MY DEAR FELTON,
Of all the monstrous and incalculable amount of occupation that ever
beset one unfortunate man, mine has been the most stupendous since I
came home. The dinners I have had to eat, the places I have had to go
to, the letters I have had to answer, the sea of business and of
pleasure in which I have been plunged, not even the genius of an ---- or
the pen of a ---- could describe.
Wherefore I indite a monstrously short and wildly uninteresting epistle
to the American Dando; but perhaps you don't know who Dando was. He was
an oyster-eater, my dear Felton. He used to go into oyster-shops,
without a farthing of money, and stand at the counter eating natives,
until the man who opened them grew pale, cast down his knife, staggered
backward, struck his white forehead with his open hand, and cried, "You
are Dando!!!" He has been known to eat twenty dozen at one sitting, and
would have eaten forty, if the truth had not flashed upon the
shopkeeper. For these offences he was constantly committed to the House
of Correction. During his last imprisonment he was taken ill, got worse
and worse, and at last began knocking violent double knocks at Death's
door. The doctor stood beside his bed, with his fingers on his pulse.
"He is going," says the doctor. "I see it in his eye. There is only one
thing that would keep life in him for another hour, and that
is--oysters." They were immediately brought. Dando swallowed eight, and
feebly took a ninth. He held it in his mouth and looked round the bed
strangely. "Not a bad one, is it?" says the doctor. The patient shook
his head, rubbed his trembling hand upon his stomach, bolted the oyster,
and fell back--dead. They buried him in the prison-yard, and paved his
grave with oyster-shells.
We are all well and hearty, and have already begun to wonder what time
next year you and Mrs. Felton and Dr. Howe will come across the briny
sea together. To-morrow we go to the seaside for two months. I am
looking out for news of Longfellow, and shall be delighted when I know
that he is on his way to London and this house.
I am bent upon striking at the piratical newspapers with the sharpest
edge I can put upon my small axe, and hope in the next session of
Parliament to stop their entrance into Canada. For the first time within
the memory of man, the professors of English literature seem disposed to
act together on this question. It is a good thing to aggravate a
scoundrel, if one can do nothing else, and I think we _can_ make them
smart a little in this way. . . .
I wish you had been at Greenwich the other day, where a party of friends
gave me a private dinner; public ones I have refused. C---- was
perfectly wild at the reunion, and, after singing all manner of marine
songs, wound up the entertainment by coming home (six miles) in a
little open phaeton of mine, _on his head_, to the mingled delight and
indignation of the metropolitan police. We were very jovial indeed; and
I assure you that I drank your health with fearful vigour and energy.
On board that ship coming home I established a club, called the United
Vagabonds, to the large amusement of the rest of the passengers. This
holy brotherhood committed all kinds of absurdities, and dined always,
with a variety of solemn forms, at one end of the table, below the mast,
away from all the rest. The captain being ill when we were three or four
days out, I produced my medicine-chest and recovered him. We had a few
more sick men after that, and I went round "the wards" every day in
great state, accompanied by two Vagabonds, habited as Ben Allen and Bob
Sawyer, bearing enormous rolls of plaster and huge pairs of scissors. We
were really very merry all the way, breakfasted in one party at
Liverpool, shook hands, and parted most cordially. . . .
Affectionately your faithful friend.
P.S.--I have looked over my journal, and have decided to produce my
American trip in two volumes. I have written about half the first since
I came home, and hope to be out in October. This is "exclusive news," to
be communicated to any friends to whom you may like to intrust it, my
dear F----.
[Sidenote: The same.]
1, DEVONSHIRE TERRACE, YORK GATE, REGENT'S PARK,
LONDON, _September 1st, 1842._
MY DEAR FELTON,
Of course that letter in the papers was as foul a forgery as ever felon
swung for. . . . I have not contradicted it publicly, nor shall I. When
I tilt at such wringings out of the dirtiest mortality, I shall be another
man--indeed, almost the creature they would make me.
I gave your message to Forster, who sends a despatch-box full of kind
remembrances in return. He is in a great state of delight with the first
volume of my American book (which I have just finished), and swears
loudly by it. It is _True_ and Honourable I know, and I shall hope to
send it you, complete, by the first steamer in November.
Your description of the porter and the carpet-bags prepares me for a
first-rate facetious novel, brimful of the richest humour, on which I
have no doubt you are engaged. What is it called? Sometimes I imagine
the title-page thus:
OYSTERS
IN
EVERY STYLE
OR
OPENINGS
OF
LIFE
BY
YOUNG DANDO.
As to the man putting the luggage on his head, as a sort of sign, I
adopt it from this hour.
I date this from London, where I have come, as a good profligate,
graceless bachelor, for a day or two; leaving my wife and babbies at the
seaside. . . . Heavens! if you were but here at this minute! A piece of
salmon and a steak are cooking in the kitchen; it's a very wet day, and
I have had a fire lighted; the wine sparkles on a side table; the room
looks the more snug from being the only _un_dismantled one in the house;
plates are warming for Forster and Maclise, whose knock I am momentarily
expecting; that groom I told you of, who never comes into the house,
except when we are all out of town, is walking about in his
shirt-sleeves without the smallest consciousness of impropriety; a great
mound of proofs are waiting to be read aloud, after dinner. With what a
shout I would clap you down into the easiest chair, my genial Felton, if
you could but appear, and order you a pair of slippers instantly!
Since I have written this, the aforesaid groom--a very small man (as the
fashion is), with fiery red hair (as the fashion is _not_)--has looked
very hard at me and fluttered about me at the same time, like a giant
butterfly. After a pause, he says, in a Sam Wellerish kind of way: "I
vent to the club this mornin', sir. There vorn't no letters, sir." "Very
good, Topping." "How's missis, sir?" "Pretty well, Topping." "Glad to
hear it, sir. _My_ missis ain't wery well, sir." "No!" "No, sir, she's
a goin', sir, to have a hincrease wery soon, and it makes her rather
nervous, sir; and ven a young voman gets at all down at sich a time,
sir, she goes down wery deep, sir." To this sentiment I replied
affirmatively, and then he adds, as he stirs the fire (as if he were
thinking out loud): "Wot a mystery it is! Wot a go is natur'!" With
which scrap of philosophy, he gradually gets nearer to the door, and so
fades out of the room.
This same man asked me one day, soon after I came home, what Sir John
Wilson was. This is a friend of mine, who took our house and servants,
and everything as it stood, during our absence in America. I told him an
officer. "A wot, sir?" "An officer." And then, for fear he should think
I meant a police-officer, I added, "An officer in the army." "I beg your
pardon, sir," he said, touching his hat, "but the club as I always drove
him to wos the United Servants."
The real name of this club is the United Service, but I have no doubt he
thought it was a high-life-below-stairs kind of resort, and that this
gentleman was a retired butler or superannuated footman.
There's the knock, and the Great Western sails, or steams rather,
to-morrow. Write soon again, dear Felton, and ever believe me. . . .
Your affectionate friend.
P.S.--All good angels prosper Dr. Howe! He, at least, will not like me
the less, I hope, for what I shall say of Laura.
[Sidenote: The same.]
1, DEVONSHIRE TERRACE, YORK GATE, REGENT'S PARK,
LONDON, _31st December, 1842._
MY DEAR FELTON,
Many and many happy New Years to you and yours! As many happy children
as may be quite convenient (no more!), and as many happy meetings
between them and our children, and between you and us, as the kind fates
in their utmost kindness shall favourably decree!
The American book (to begin with that) has been a most complete and
thorough-going success. Four large editions have now been sold _and paid
for_, and it has won golden opinions from all sorts of men, except our
friend in F----, who is a miserable creature; a disappointed man in
great poverty, to whom I have ever been most kind and considerate (I
need scarcely say that); and another friend in B----, no less a person
than an illustrious gentleman named ----, who wrote a story called ----.
They have done no harm, and have fallen short of their mark, which, of
course, was to annoy me. Now I am perfectly free from any diseased
curiosity in such respects, and whenever I hear of a notice of this
kind, I never read it; whereby I always conceive (don't you?) that I get
the victory. With regard to your slave-owners, they may cry, till they
are as black in the face as their own slaves, that Dickens lies. Dickens
does not write for their satisfaction, and Dickens will not explain for
their comfort. Dickens has the name and date of every newspaper in
which every one of those advertisements appeared, as they know perfectly
well; but Dickens does not choose to give them, and will not at any time
between this and the day of judgment. . . .
I have been hard at work on my new book, of which the first number has
just appeared. The Paul Joneses who pursue happiness and profit at other
men's cost will no doubt enable you to read it, almost as soon as you
receive this. I hope you will like it. And I particularly commend, my
dear Felton, one Mr. Pecksniff and his daughters to your tender regards.
I have a kind of liking for them myself.
Blessed star of morning, such a trip as we had into Cornwall, just after
Longfellow went away! The "we" means Forster, Maclise, Stanfield (the
renowned marine painter), and the Inimitable Boz. We went down into
Devonshire by the railroad, and there we hired an open carriage from an
innkeeper, patriotic in all Pickwick matters, and went on with
post-horses. Sometimes we travelled all night, sometimes all day,
sometimes both. I kept the joint-stock purse, ordered all the dinners,
paid all the turnpikes, conducted facetious conversations with the
post-boys, and regulated the pace at which we travelled. Stanfield (an
old sailor) consulted an enormous map on all disputed points of
wayfaring; and referred, moreover, to a pocket-compass and other
scientific instruments. The luggage was in Forster's department; and
Maclise, having nothing particular to do, sang songs. Heavens! If you
could have seen the necks of bottles--distracting in their immense
varieties of shape--peering out of the carriage pockets! If you could
have witnessed the deep devotion of the post-boys, the wild attachment
of the hostlers, the maniac glee of the waiters! If you could have
followed us into the earthy old churches we visited, and into the
strange caverns on the gloomy sea-shore, and down into the depths of
mines, and up to the tops of giddy heights where the unspeakably green
water was roaring, I don't know how many hundred feet below! If you
could have seen but one gleam of the bright fires by which we sat in the
big rooms of ancient inns at night, until long after the small hours had
come and gone, or smelt but one steam of the hot punch (not white, dear
Felton, like that amazing compound I sent you a taste of, but a rich,
genial, glowing brown) which came in every evening in a huge broad china
bowl! I never laughed in my life as I did on this journey. It would have
done you good to hear me. I was choking and gasping and bursting the
buckle off the back of my stock, all the way. And Stanfield (who is very
much of your figure and temperament, but fifteen years older) got into
such apoplectic entanglements that we were often obliged to beat him on
the back with portmanteaus before we could recover him. Seriously, I do
believe there never was such a trip. And they made such sketches, those
two men, in the most romantic of our halting-places, that you would
have sworn we had the Spirit of Beauty with us, as well as the Spirit of
Fun. But stop till you come to England--I say no more.
The actuary of the national debt couldn't calculate the number of
children who are coming here on Twelfth Night, in honour of Charley's
birthday, for which occasion I have provided a magic lantern and divers
other tremendous engines of that nature. But the best of it is that
Forster and I have purchased between us the entire stock-in-trade of a
conjurer, the practice and display whereof is intrusted to me. And O my
dear eyes, Felton, if you could see me conjuring the company's watches
into impossible tea-caddies, and causing pieces of money to fly, and
burning pocket-handkerchiefs without hurting 'em, and practising in my
own room, without anybody to admire, you would never forget it as long
as you live. In those tricks which require a confederate, I am assisted
(by reason of his imperturbable good humour) by Stanfield, who always
does his part exactly the wrong way, to the unspeakable delight of all
beholders. We come out on a small scale, to-night, at Forster's, where
we see the old year out and the new one in. Particulars shall be
forwarded in my next.
I have quite made up my mind that F---- really believes he _does_ know
you personally, and has all his life. He talks to me about you with such
gravity that I am afraid to grin, and feel it necessary to look quite
serious. Sometimes he _tells_ me things about you, doesn't ask me, you
know, so that I am occasionally perplexed beyond all telling, and begin
to think it was he, and not I, who went to America. It's the queerest
thing in the world.
The book I was to have given Longfellow for you is not worth sending by
itself, being only a Barnaby. But I will look up some manuscript for you
(I think I have that of the American Notes complete), and will try to
make the parcel better worth its long conveyance. With regard to
Maclise's pictures, you certainly are quite right in your impression of
them; but he is "such a discursive devil" (as he says about himself) and
flies off at such odd tangents, that I feel it difficult to convey to
you any general notion of his purpose. I will try to do so when I write
again. I want very much to know about ---- and that charming girl. . . .
Give me full particulars. Will you remember me cordially to Sumner, and
say I thank him for his welcome letter? The like to Hillard, with many
regards to himself and his wife, with whom I had one night a little
conversation which I shall not readily forget. The like to Washington
Allston, and all friends who care for me and have outlived my book. . . .
Always, my dear Felton,
With true regard and affection, yours.
[Sidenote: Mr. Tom Hood.]
MY DEAR HOOD,
I can't state in figures (not very well remembering how to get beyond a
million) the number of candidates for the Sanatorium matronship, but if
you will ask your little boy to trace figures in the beds of your
garden, beginning at the front wall, going down to the cricket-ground,
coming back to the wall again, and "carrying over" to the next door, and
will then set a skilful accountant to add up the whole, the product, as
the Tutor's Assistants say, will give you the amount required. I have
pledged myself (being assured of her capability) to support a near
relation of Miss E----'s; otherwise, I need not say how glad I should
have been to forward any wish of yours.
Very faithfully yours.
FOOTNOTES:
[17] This, and all other Letters addressed to Professor Felton, were
printed in Mr. Field's "Yesterdays with Authors," originally published
in _The Atlantic Monthly Magazine_.
[18] On the subject of International Copyright.
1843.
[Sidenote: Mr. Macvey Napier.]
[19]DEVONSHIRE TERRACE, LONDON, _January 21st, 1843._
MY DEAR SIR,
Let me hasten to say, in the fullest and most explicit manner, that you
have acted a most honourable, open, fair and manly part in the matter of
my complaint,[20] for which I beg you to accept my best thanks, and the
assurance of my friendship and regard. I would on no account publish the
letter you have sent me for that purpose, as I conceive that by doing
so, I should not reciprocate the spirit in which you have written to me
privately. But if you should, upon consideration, think it not
inexpedient to set the _Review_ right in regard to this point of fact,
by a note in the next number, I should be glad to see it there.
In reference to the article itself, it did, by repeating this statement,
hurt my feelings excessively; and is, in this respect, I still conceive,
most unworthy of its author. I am at a loss to divine who its author is.
I _know_ he read in some cut-throat American paper, this and other
monstrous statements, which I could at any time have converted into
sickening praise by the payment of some fifty dollars. I know that he is
perfectly aware that his statement in the _Review_ in corroboration of
these lies, would be disseminated through the whole of the United
States; and that my contradiction will never be heard of. And though I
care very little for the opinion of any person who will set the
statement of an American editor (almost invariably an atrocious
scoundrel) against my character and conduct, such as they may be; still,
my sense of justice does revolt from this most cavalier and careless
exhibition of me to a whole people, as a traveller under false
pretences, and a disappointed intriguer. The better the acquaintance
with America, the more defenceless and more inexcusable such conduct is.
For, I solemnly declare (and appeal to any man but the writer of this
paper, who has travelled in that country, for confirmation of my
statement) that the source from which he drew the "information" so
recklessly put forth again in England, is infinitely more obscene,
disgusting, and brutal than the very worst Sunday newspaper that has
ever been printed in Great Britain. Conceive _The Edinburgh Review_
quoting _The Satirist_, or _The Man about Town_, as an authority against
a man with one grain of honour, or feather-weight of reputation.
With regard to yourself, let me say again that I thank you with all
sincerity and heartiness, and fully acquit you of anything but kind and
generous intentions towards me. In proof of which, I do assure you that
I am even more desirous than before to write for the _Review_, and to
find some topic which would at once please me and you.
Always faithfully yours.
[Sidenote: Professor Felton.]
1, DEVONSHIRE TERRACE, YORK GATE, REGENT'S PARK,
LONDON, _March 2nd, 1843._
MY DEAR FELTON,
I don't know where to begin, but plunge headlong with a terrible splash
into this letter, on the chance of turning up somewhere.
Hurrah! Up like a cork again, with _The North American Review_ in my
hand. Like you, my dear ----, and I can say no more in praise of it,
though I go on to the end of the sheet. You cannot think how much notice
it has attracted here. Brougham called the other day, with the number
(thinking I might not have seen it), and I being out at the time, he
left a note, speaking of it, and of the writer, in terms that warmed my
heart. Lord Ashburton (one of whose people wrote a notice in the
_Edinburgh_ which they have since publicly contradicted) also wrote to
me about it in just the same strain. And many others have done the like.
I am in great health and spirits and powdering away at Chuzzlewit, with
all manner of facetiousness rising up before me as I go on. As to news,
I have really none, saving that ---- (who never took any exercise in his
life) has been laid up with rheumatism for weeks past, but is now, I
hope, getting better. My little captain, as I call him--he who took me
out, I mean, and with whom I had that adventure of the cork soles--has
been in London too, and seeing all the lions under my escort. Good
heavens! I wish you could have seen certain other mahogany-faced men
(also captains) who used to call here for him in the morning, and bear
him off to docks and rivers and all sorts of queer places, whence he
always returned late at night, with rum-and-water tear-drops in his
eyes, and a complication of punchy smells in his mouth! He was better
than a comedy to us, having marvellous ways of tying his
pocket-handkerchief round his neck at dinner-time in a kind of jolly
embarrassment, and then forgetting what he had done with it; also of
singing songs to wrong tunes, and calling land objects by sea names, and
never knowing what o'clock it was, but taking midnight for seven in the
evening; with many other sailor oddities, all full of honesty,
manliness, and good temper. We took him to Drury Lane Theatre to see
"Much Ado About Nothing." But I never could find out what he meant by
turning round, after he had watched the first two scenes with great
attention, and inquiring "whether it was a Polish piece." . . .
On the 4th of April I am going to preside at a public dinner for the
benefit of the printers; and if you were a guest at that table, wouldn't
I smite you on the shoulder, harder than ever I rapped the well-beloved
back of Washington Irving at the City Hotel in New York!
You were asking me--I love to say asking, as if we could talk
together--about Maclise. He is such a discursive fellow, and so
eccentric in his might, that on a mental review of his pictures I can
hardly tell you of them as leading to any one strong purpose. But the
annual Exhibition of the Royal Academy comes off in May, and then I will
endeavour to give you some notion of him. He is a tremendous creature,
and might do anything. But, like all tremendous creatures, he takes his
own way, and flies off at unexpected breaches in the conventional wall.
You know H----'s Book, I daresay. Ah! I saw a scene of mingled
comicality and seriousness at his funeral some weeks ago, which has
choked me at dinner-time ever since. C---- and I went as mourners; and
as he lived, poor fellow, five miles out of town, I drove C---- down. It
was such a day as I hope, for the credit of nature, is seldom seen in
any parts but these--muddy, foggy, wet, dark, cold, and unutterably
wretched in every possible respect. Now, C---- has enormous whiskers,
which straggle all down his throat in such weather, and stick out in
front of him, like a partially unravelled bird's-nest; so that he looks
queer enough at the best, but when he is very wet, and in a state
between jollity (he is always very jolly with me) and the deepest
gravity (going to a funeral, you know), it is utterly impossible to
resist him; especially as he makes the strangest remarks the mind of man
can conceive, without any intention of being funny, but rather meaning
to be philosophical. I really cried with an irresistible sense of his
comicality all the way; but when he was dressed out in a black cloak
and a very long black hat-band by an undertaker (who, as he whispered me
with tears in his eyes--for he had known H---- many years--was a
"character, and he would like to sketch him"), I thought I should have
been obliged to go away. However, we went into a little parlour where
the funeral party was, and God knows it was miserable enough, for the
widow and children were crying bitterly in one corner, and the other
mourners--mere people of ceremony, who cared no more for the dead man
than the hearse did--were talking quite coolly and carelessly together
in another; and the contrast was as painful and distressing as anything
I ever saw. There was an Independent clergyman present, with his bands
on and a bible under his arm, who, as soon as we were seated, addressed
---- thus, in a loud emphatic voice: "Mr. C----, have you seen a
paragraph respecting our departed friend, which has gone the round of
the morning papers?" "Yes, sir," says C----, "I have," looking very hard
at me the while, for he had told me with some pride coming down that it
was his composition. "Oh!" said the clergyman. "Then you will agree with
me, Mr. C----, that it is not only an insult to me, who am the servant
of the Almighty, but an insult to the Almighty, whose servant I am."
"How is that, sir?" said C----. "It is stated, Mr. C----, in that
paragraph," says the minister, "that when Mr. H---- failed in business
as a bookseller, he was persuaded by _me_ to try the pulpit; which is
false, incorrect, unchristian, in a manner blasphemous, and in all
respects contemptible. Let us pray." With which, my dear Felton, and in
the same breath, I give you my word, he knelt down, as we all did, and
began a very miserable jumble of an extemporary prayer. I was really
penetrated with sorrow for the family, but when C---- (upon his knees,
and sobbing for the loss of an old friend) whispered me, "that if that
wasn't a clergyman, and it wasn't a funeral, he'd have punched his
head," I felt as if nothing but convulsions could possibly relieve
me. . . .
Faithfully always, my dear Felton.
[Sidenote: Mrs. Hogarth.]
DEVONSHIRE TERRACE, _8th May, 1843._
MY DEAR MRS. HOGARTH,
I was dressing to go to church yesterday morning--thinking, very sadly,
of that time six years--when your kind note and its accompanying packet
were brought to me. The best portrait that was ever painted would be of
little value to you and me, in comparison with that unfading picture we
have within us; and of the worst (which ----'s really is) I can only
say, that it has no interest in my eyes, beyond being something which
she sat near in its progress, full of life and beauty. In that light, I
set some store by the copy you have sent me; and as a mark of your
affection, I need not say I value it very much. As any record of that
dear face, it is utterly worthless.
I trace in many respects a strong resemblance between her mental
features and Georgina's--so strange a one, at times, that when she and
Kate and I are sitting together, I seem to think that what has happened
is a melancholy dream from which I am just awakening. The perfect like
of what she was, will never be again, but so much of her spirit shines
out in this sister, that the old time comes back again at some seasons,
and I can hardly separate it from the present.
After she died, I dreamed of her every night for many months--I think
for the better part of a year--sometimes as a spirit, sometimes as a
living creature, never with any of the bitterness of my real sorrow, but
always with a kind of quiet happiness, which became so pleasant to me
that I never lay down at night without a hope of the vision coming back
in one shape or other. And so it did. I went down into Yorkshire, and
finding it still present to me, in a strange scene and a strange bed, I
could not help mentioning the circumstance in a note I wrote home to
Kate. From that moment I have never dreamed of her once, though she is
so much in my thoughts at all times (especially when I am successful,
and have prospered in anything) that the recollection of her is an
essential part of my being, and is as inseparable from my existence as
the beating of my heart is.
Always affectionately.
[Sidenote: Professor Felton.]
BROADSTAIRS, KENT, _September 1st, 1843._
MY DEAR FELTON,
If I thought it in the nature of things that you and I could ever agree
on paper, touching a certain Chuzzlewitian question whereupon F----
tells me you have remarks to make, I should immediately walk into the
same, tooth and nail. But as I don't, I won't. Contenting myself with
this prediction, that one of these years and days, you will write or say
to me: "My dear Dickens, you were right, though rough, and did a world
of good, though you got most thoroughly hated for it." To which I shall
reply: "My dear Felton, I looked a long way off and not immediately
under my nose." . . . At which sentiment you will laugh, and I shall
laugh; and then (for I foresee this will all happen in my land) we shall
call for another pot of porter and two or three dozen of oysters.
Now, don't you in your own heart and soul quarrel with me for this long
silence? Not half so much as I quarrel with myself, I know; but if you
could read half the letters I write to you in imagination, you would
swear by me for the best of correspondents. The truth is, that when I
have done my morning's work, down goes my pen, and from that minute I
feel it a positive impossibility to take it up again, until imaginary
butchers and bakers wave me to my desk. I walk about brimful of letters,
facetious descriptions, touching morsels, and pathetic friendships, but
can't for the soul of me uncork myself. The post-office is my rock
ahead. My average number of letters that _must_ be written every day is,
at the least, a dozen. And you could no more know what I was writing to
you spiritually, from the perusal of the bodily thirteenth, than you
could tell from my hat what was going on in my head, or could read my
heart on the surface of my flannel waistcoat.
This is a little fishing-place; intensely quiet; built on a cliff,
whereon--in the centre of a tiny semicircular bay--our house stands; the
sea rolling and dashing under the windows. Seven miles out are the
Goodwin Sands (you've heard of the Goodwin Sands?) whence floating
lights perpetually wink after dark, as if they were carrying on
intrigues with the servants. Also there is a big lighthouse called the
North Foreland on a hill behind the village, a severe parsonic light,
which reproves the young and giddy floaters, and stares grimly out upon
the sea. Under the cliff are rare good sands, where all the children
assemble every morning and throw up impossible fortifications, which the
sea throws down again at high water. Old gentlemen and ancient ladies
flirt after their own manner in two reading-rooms and on a great many
scattered seats in the open air. Other old gentlemen look all day
through telescopes and never see anything. In a bay-window in a one-pair
sits, from nine o'clock to one, a gentleman with rather long hair and no
neckcloth, who writes and grins as if he thought he were very funny
indeed. His name is Boz. At one he disappears, and presently emerges
from a bathing-machine, and may be seen--a kind of salmon-coloured
porpoise--splashing about in the ocean. After that he may be seen in
another bay-window on the ground-floor, eating a strong lunch; after
that, walking a dozen miles or so, or lying on his back in the sand
reading a book. Nobody bothers him unless they know he is disposed to be
talked to; and I am told he is very comfortable indeed. He's as brown as
a berry, and they _do_ say is a small fortune to the innkeeper who sells
beer and cold punch. But this is mere rumour. Sometimes he goes up to
London (eighty miles, or so, away), and then I'm told there is a sound
in Lincoln's Inn Fields at night, as of men laughing, together with a
clinking of knives and forks and wine-glasses.
I never shall have been so near you since we parted aboard the _George
Washington_ as next Tuesday. Forster, Maclise, and I, and perhaps
Stanfield, are then going aboard the Cunard steamer at Liverpool, to bid
Macready good-bye, and bring his wife away. It will be a very hard
parting. You will see and know him of course. We gave him a splendid
dinner last Saturday at Richmond, whereat I presided with my accustomed
grace. He is one of the noblest fellows in the world, and I would give a
great deal that you and I should sit beside each other to see him play
Virginius, Lear, or Werner, which I take to be, every way, the greatest
piece of exquisite perfection that his lofty art is capable of
attaining. His Macbeth, especially the last act, is a tremendous
reality; but so indeed is almost everything he does. You recollect,
perhaps, that he was the guardian of our children while we were away. I
love him dearly. . . .
You asked me, long ago, about Maclise. He is such a wayward fellow in
his subjects, that it would be next to impossible to write such an
article as you were thinking of about him. I wish you could form an idea
of his genius. One of these days a book will come out, "Moore's Irish
Melodies," entirely illustrated by him, on every page. _When_ it comes,
I'll send it to you. You will have some notion of him then. He is in
great favour with the Queen, and paints secret pictures for her to put
upon her husband's table on the morning of his birthday, and the like.
But if he has a care, he will leave his mark on more enduring things
than palace walls.
And so L---- is married. I remember _her_ well, and could draw her
portrait, in words, to the life. A very beautiful and gentle creature,
and a proper love for a poet. My cordial remembrances and
congratulations. Do they live in the house where we breakfasted? . . .
I very often dream I am in America again; but, strange to say, I never
dream of you. I am always endeavouring to get home in disguise, and have
a dreary sense of the distance. _A propos_ of dreams, is it not a
strange thing if writers of fiction never dream of their own creations;
recollecting, I suppose, even in their dreams, that they have no real
existence? _I_ never dreamed of any of my own characters, and I feel it
so impossible that I would wager Scott never did of his, real as they
are. I had a good piece of absurdity in my head a night or two ago. I
dreamed that somebody was dead. I don't know who, but it's not to the
purpose. It was a private gentleman, and a particular friend; and I was
greatly overcome when the news was broken to me (very delicately) by a
gentleman in a cocked hat, top boots, and a sheet. Nothing else. "Good
God!" I said, "is he dead?" "He is as dead, sir," rejoined the
gentleman, "as a door-nail. But we must all die, Mr. Dickens, sooner or
later, my dear sir." "Ah!" I said. "Yes, to be sure. Very true. But what
did he die of?" The gentleman burst into a flood of tears, and said, in
a voice broken by emotion: "He christened his youngest child, sir, with
a toasting-fork." I never in my life was so affected as at his having
fallen a victim to this complaint. It carried a conviction to my mind
that he never could have recovered. I knew that it was the most
interesting and fatal malady in the world; and I wrung the gentleman's
hand in a convulsion of respectful admiration, for I felt that this
explanation did equal honour to his head and heart!
What do you think of Mrs. Gamp? And how do you like the undertaker? I
have a fancy that they are in your way. Oh heaven! such green woods as I
was rambling among down in Yorkshire, when I was getting that done last
July! For days and weeks we never saw the sky but through green boughs;
and all day long I cantered over such soft moss and turf, that the
horse's feet scarcely made a sound upon it. We have some friends in that
part of the country (close to Castle Howard, where Lord Morpeth's father
dwells in state, _in_ his park indeed), who are the jolliest of the
jolly, keeping a big old country house, with an ale cellar something
larger than a reasonable church, and everything, like Goldsmith's bear
dances, "in a concatenation accordingly." Just the place for you,
Felton! We performed some madnesses there in the way of forfeits,
picnics, rustic games, inspections of ancient monasteries at midnight,
when the moon was shining, that would have gone to your heart, and, as
Mr. Weller says, "come out on the other side." . . .
Write soon, my dear Felton; and if I write to you less often than I
would, believe that my affectionate heart is with you always. Loves and
regards to all friends, from yours ever and ever.
Very faithfully yours.
[Sidenote: Mr. Macvey Napier.]
BROADSTAIRS, _September 16th, 1843._
MY DEAR SIR,
I hinted, in a letter of introduction I gave Mr. Hood to you, that I had
been thinking of a subject for the _Edinburgh_. Would it meet the
purposes of the _Review_ to come out strongly against any system of
education based exclusively on the principles of the Established Church?
If it would, I should like to show why such a thing as the Church
Catechism is wholly inapplicable to the state of ignorance that now
prevails; and why no system but one, so general in great religious
principles as to include all creeds, can meet the wants and
understandings of the dangerous classes of society. This is the only
broad ground I could hold, consistently with what I feel and think on
such a subject. But I could give, in taking it, a description of certain
voluntary places of instruction, called "the ragged schools," now
existing in London, and of the schools in jails, and of the ignorance
presented in such places, which would make a very striking paper,
especially if they were put in strong comparison with the effort making,
by subscription, to maintain exclusive Church instruction. I could show
these people in a state so miserable and so neglected, that their very
nature rebels against the simplest religion, and that to convey to them
the faintest outlines of any system of distinction between right and
wrong is in itself a giant's task, before which mysteries and squabbles
for forms _must_ give way. Would this be too much for the _Review_?
Faithfully yours.
FOOTNOTES:
[19] This, and all other Letters addressed to Mr. Macvey Napier, were
printed in "Selection from the Correspondence of the late Macvey Napier,
Esq.," editor of _The Edinburgh Review_, edited by his son Macvey
Napier.
[20] His complaint was that the reviewer of his "American Notes," in the
number for January, 1843, had represented him as having gone to America
as a missionary in the cause of international copyright--an allegation
which Charles Dickens repudiated, and which was rectified in the way he
himself suggested.
1844.
[Sidenote: Professor Felton.]
DEVONSHIRE TERRACE, LONDON, _January 2nd, 1844._
MY VERY DEAR FELTON,
You are a prophet, and had best retire from business straightway.
Yesterday morning, New Year's Day, when I walked into my little workroom
after breakfast, and was looking out of window at the snow in the
garden--not seeing it particularly well in consequence of some
staggering suggestions of last night, whereby I was beset--the postman
came to the door with a knock, for which I denounced him from my heart.
Seeing your hand upon the cover of a letter which he brought, I
immediately blessed him, presented him with a glass of whisky, inquired
after his family (they are all well), and opened the despatch with a
moist and oystery twinkle in my eye. And on the very day from which the
new year dates, I read your New Year congratulations as punctually as if
you lived in the next house. Why don't you?
Now, if instantly on the receipt of this you will send a free and
independent citizen down to the Cunard wharf at Boston, you will find
that Captain Hewett, of the _Britannia_ steamship (my ship), has a small
parcel for Professor Felton of Cambridge; and in that parcel you will
find a Christmas Carol in prose; being a short story of Christmas by
Charles Dickens. Over which Christmas Carol Charles Dickens wept and
laughed and wept again, and excited himself in a most extraordinary
manner in the composition; and thinking whereof he walked about the
black streets of London, fifteen and twenty miles many a night when all
the sober folks had gone to bed. . . . Its success is most prodigious.
And by every post all manner of strangers write all manner of letters
to him about their homes and hearths, and how this same Carol is read
aloud there, and kept on a little shelf by itself. Indeed, it is the
greatest success, as I am told, that this ruffian and rascal has ever
achieved.
Forster is out again; and if he don't go in again, after the manner in
which we have been keeping Christmas, he must be very strong indeed.
Such dinings, such dancings, such conjurings, such blindman's-buffings,
such theatre-goings, such kissings-out of old years and kissings-in of
new ones, never took place in these parts before. To keep the Chuzzlewit
going, and do this little book, the Carol, in the odd times between two
parts of it, was, as you may suppose, pretty tight work. But when it was
done I broke out like a madman. And if you could have seen me at a
children's party at Macready's the other night, going down a country
dance with Mrs. M., you would have thought I was a country gentleman of
independent property, residing on a tiptop farm, with the wind blowing
straight in my face every day. . . .
Your friend, Mr. P----, dined with us one day (I don't know whether I
told you this before), and pleased us very much. Mr. C---- has dined
here once, and spent an evening here. I have not seen him lately, though
he has called twice or thrice; for K---- being unwell and I busy, we
have not been visible at our accustomed seasons. I wonder whether H----
has fallen in your way. Poor H----! He was a good fellow, and has the
most grateful heart I ever met with. Our journeyings seem to be a dream
now. Talking of dreams, strange thoughts of Italy and France, and maybe
Germany, are springing up within me as the Chuzzlewit clears off. It's a
secret I have hardly breathed to anyone, but I "think" of leaving
England for a year, next midsummer, bag and baggage, little ones and
all--then coming out with _such_ a story, Felton, all at once, no parts,
sledgehammer blow.
I send you a Manchester paper, as you desire. The report is not exactly
done, but very well done, notwithstanding. It was a very splendid sight,
I assure you, and an awful-looking audience. I am going to preside at a
similar meeting at Liverpool on the 26th of next month, and on my way
home I may be obliged to preside at another at Birmingham. I will send
you papers, if the reports be at all like the real thing.
I wrote to Prescott about his book, with which I was perfectly charmed.
I think his descriptions masterly, his style brilliant, his purpose
manly and gallant always. The introductory account of Aztec civilisation
impressed me exactly as it impressed you. From beginning to end the
whole history is enchanting and full of genius. I only wonder that,
having such an opportunity of illustrating the doctrine of visible
judgments, he never remarks, when Cortes and his men tumble the idols
down the temple steps and call upon the people to take notice that their
gods are powerless to help themselves, that possibly if some intelligent
native had tumbled down the image of the Virgin or patron saint after
them nothing very remarkable might have ensued in consequence.
Of course you like Macready. Your name's Felton. I wish you could see
him play Lear. It is stupendously terrible. But I suppose he would be
slow to act it with the Boston company.
Hearty remembrances to Sumner, Longfellow, Prescott, and all whom you
know I love to remember. Countless happy years to you and yours, my dear
Felton, and some instalment of them, however slight, in England, in the
loving company of
THE PROSCRIBED ONE.
Oh, breathe not his name!
[Sidenote: Sir Edward Lytton Bulwer.]
ATHENAEUM, _Thursday Afternoon, 25th January, 1844._
MY DEAR SIR EDWARD,
I received your kind cheque yesterday, in behalf of the Elton family;
and am much indebted to you on their behalf.
Pray do not believe that the least intentional neglect has prevented me
from calling on you, or that I am not sincerely desirous to avail myself
of any opportunity of cultivating your friendship. I venture to say this
to you in an unaffected and earnest spirit, and I hope it will not be
displeasing to you.
At the time when you called, and for many weeks afterwards, I was so
closely occupied with my little Carol (the idea of which had just
occurred to me), that I never left home before the owls went out, and
led quite a solitary life. When I began to have a little time and to go
abroad again, I knew that you were in affliction, and I then thought it
better to wait, even before I left a card at your door, until the
pressure of your distress had past.
I fancy a reproachful spirit in your note, possibly because I knew that
I may appear to deserve it. But _do_ let me say to you that it would
give me real pain to retain the idea that there was any coldness between
us, and that it would give me heartfelt satisfaction to know the
reverse.
I shall make a personal descent upon you before Sunday, in the hope of
telling you this myself. But I cannot rest easy without writing it also.
And if this should lead to a better knowledge in each of us, of the
other, believe me that I shall always look upon it as something I have
long wished for.
Always faithfully yours.
[Sidenote: Mr. Thompson.]
[21]LIVERPOOL, _Wednesday Night, 28th February,
Half-past ten at night._
MY DEAR THOMPSON,
There never were such considerate people as they are here. After
offering me unbounded hospitality and my declining it, they leave me to
myself like gentlemen. They saved me from all sorts of intrusion at the
Town Hall--brought me back--and left me to my quiet supper (now on the
table) as they had left me to my quiet dinner.
I wish you had come. It was really a splendid sight. The Town Hall was
crammed to the roof by, I suppose, two thousand persons. The ladies were
in full dress and immense numbers; and when Dick showed himself, the
whole assembly stood up, rustling like the leaves of a wood. Dick, with
the heart of a lion, dashed in bravely. He introduced that about the
genie in the casket with marvellous effect; and was applauded to the
echo, which did applaud again. He was horribly nervous when he arrived
at Birmingham,[22] but when he stood upon the platform, I don't believe
his pulse increased ten degrees. A better and quicker audience never
listened to man.
The ladies had hung the hall (do you know what an immense place it is?)
with artificial flowers all round. And on the front of the great
gallery, immediately fronting this young gentleman, were the words in
artificial flowers (you'll observe) "Welcome Boz" in letters about six
feet high. Behind his head, and about the great organ, were immense
transparencies representing several Fames crowning a corresponding
number of Dicks, at which Victoria (taking out a poetic licence) was
highly delighted.
* * * * *
I am going to bed. The landlady is not literary, and calls me Mr.
Digzon. In other respects it is a good house.
My dear Thompson, always yours.
[Sidenote: Countess of Blessington.]
DEVONSHIRE TERRACE, _March 10th, 1844._
MY DEAR LADY BLESSINGTON,
I have made up my mind to "see the world," and mean to decamp, bag and
baggage, next midsummer for a twelvemonth. I purpose establishing my
family in some convenient place, from whence I can make personal ravages
on the neighbouring country, and, somehow or other, have got it into my
head that Nice would be a favourable spot for head-quarters. You are so
well acquainted with these matters, that I am anxious to have the
benefit of your kind advice. I do not doubt that you can tell me whether
this same Nice be a healthy place the year through, whether it be
reasonably cheap, pleasant to look at and to live in, and the like. If
you will tell me, when you have ten minutes to spare for such a client,
I shall be delighted to come to you, and guide myself by your opinion. I
will not ask you to forgive me for troubling you, because I am sure
beforehand that you will do so. I beg to be kindly remembered to Count
D'Orsay and to your nieces--I was going to say "the Misses Power," but
it looks so like the blue board at a ladies' school, that I stopped
short.
Very faithfully yours.
[Sidenote: Mr. Thompson.]
DEVONSHIRE TERRACE, _March 13th, 1844._
MY DEAR THOMPSON,
Think of Italy! Don't give that up! Why, my house is entered at
Phillips's and at Gillow's to be let for twelve months; my letter of
credit lies ready at Coutts's; my last number of Chuzzlewit comes out in
June; and the first week, if not the first day in July, sees me, God
willing, steaming off towards the sun.
Yes. We must have a few books, and everything that is idle, sauntering,
and enjoyable. We must lie down at the bottom of those boats, and devise
all kinds of engines for improving on that gallant holiday. I see myself
in a striped shirt, moustache, blouse, red sash, straw hat, and white
trousers, sitting astride a mule, and not caring for the clock, the day
of the month, or the week. Tinkling bells upon the mule, I hope. I look
forward to it day and night, and wish the time were come. Don't _you_
give it up. That's all.
* * * * *
Always, my dear Thompson,
Faithfully your friend.
[Sidenote: The same.]
DEVONSHIRE TERRACE, _Sunday, March 24th, 1844._
MY DEAR THOMPSON,
My study fireplace having been suddenly seized with symptoms of
insanity, I have been in great affliction. The bricklayer was called in,
and considered it necessary to perform an extensive operation without
delay. I don't know whether you are aware of a peculiar bricky
raggedness (not unaccompanied by pendent stalactites of mortar) which is
exposed to view on the removal of a stove, or are acquainted with the
suffocating properties of a kind of accidental snuff which flies out of
the same cavernous region in great abundance. It is very distressing. I
have been walking about the house after the manner of the dove before
the waters subsided for some days, and have no pens or ink or paper.
Hence this gap in our correspondence which I now repair.
What are you doing??? When are you coming away???? Why are you stopping
there????? Do enlighten me, for I think of you constantly, and have a
true and real interest in your proceedings.
D'Orsay, who knows Italy very well indeed, strenuously insists there is
no such place for headquarters as Pisa. Lady Blessington says so also.
What do you say? On the first of July! The first of July! Dick turns his
head towards the orange groves.
* * * * *
Daniel not having yet come to judgment, there is no news stirring. Every
morning I proclaim: "At home to Mr. Thompson." Every evening I ejaculate
with Monsieur Jacques[23]: "But he weel come. I know he weel." After
which I look vacantly at the boxes; put my hands to my gray wig, as if
to make quite sure that it is still on my head, all safe: and go off,
first entrance O.P. to soft music.
* * * * *
Always faithfully your friend.
[Sidenote: Mr. Ebenezer Jones.]
DEVONSHIRE TERRACE, YORK GATE, REGENT'S PARK,
_Monday, 15th April, 1844._
DEAR SIR,
I don't know how it has happened that I have been so long in
acknowledging the receipt of your kind present of your poems[24]; but I
_do_ know that I have often thought of writing to you, and have very
often reproached myself for not carrying that thought into execution.
I have not been neglectful of the poems themselves, I assure you, but
have read them with very great pleasure. They struck me at the first
glance as being remarkably nervous, picturesque, imaginative, and
original. I have frequently recurred to them since, and never with the
slightest abatement of that impression. I am much flattered and
gratified by your recollection of me. I beg you to believe in my
unaffected sympathy with, and appreciation of, your powers; and I
entreat you to accept my best wishes, and genuine though tardy thanks.
Dear Sir, faithfully yours.
[Sidenote: Mr. Charles Babbage.]
9, OSNABURGH TERRACE, NEW ROAD, _28th May, 1844._
MY DEAR SIR,
I regret to say that we are placed in the preposterous situation of
being obliged to postpone our little dinner-party on Saturday, by reason
of having no house to dine in. We have not been burnt out; but a
desirable widow (as a tenant, I mean) proposed, only last Saturday, to
take our own house for the whole term of our intended absence abroad, on
condition that she had possession of it to-day. We fled, and were driven
into this place, which has no convenience for the production of any
other banquet than a cold collation of plate and linen, the only
comforts we have not left behind us.
My consolation lies in knowing what sort of dinner you would have had if
you had come _here_, and in looking forward to claiming the fulfilment
of your kind promise when we are again at home.
Always believe me, my dear Sir, faithfully yours.
[Sidenote: Countess of Blessington.]
MILAN, _Wednesday, November 20th, 1844._
MY DEAR LADY BLESSINGTON,
Appearances are against me. Don't believe them. I have written you, in
intention, fifty letters, and I can claim no credit for anyone of them
(though they were the best letters you ever read), for they all
originated in my desire to live in your memory and regard. Since I heard
from Count D'Orsay, I have been beset in I don't know how many ways.
First of all, I went to Marseilles and came back to Genoa. Then I moved
to the Peschiere. Then some people, who had been present at the
Scientific Congress here, made a sudden inroad on that establishment,
and overran it. Then they went away, and I shut myself up for a month,
close and tight, over my little Christmas book, "The Chimes." All my
affections and passions got twined and knotted up in it, and I became as
haggard as a murderer, long before I wrote "The End." When I had done
that, like "_The_ man of Thessaly," who having scratched his eyes out in
a quickset hedge, plunged into a bramble-bush to scratch them in again,
I fled to Venice, to recover the composure I had disturbed. From thence
I went to Verona and to Mantua. And now I am here--just come up from
underground, and earthy all over, from seeing that extraordinary tomb in
which the dead saint lies in an alabaster case, with sparkling jewels
all about him to mock his dusty eyes, not to mention the twenty-franc
pieces which devout votaries were ringing down upon a sort of sky-light
in the cathedral pavement above, as if it were the counter of his
heavenly shop. You know Verona? You know everything in Italy, _I_ know.
The Roman Amphitheatre there delighted me beyond expression. I never saw
anything so full of solemn ancient interest. There are the
four-and-forty rows of seats, as fresh and perfect as if their occupants
had vacated them but yesterday--the entrances, passages, dens, rooms,
corridors, the numbers over some of the arches. An equestrian troop had
been there some days before, and had scooped out a little ring at one
end of the arena, and had their performances in that spot. I should
like to have seen it, of all things, for its very dreariness. Fancy a
handful of people sprinkled over one corner of the great place (the
whole population of Verona wouldn't fill it now); and a spangled
cavalier bowing to the echoes, and the grass-grown walls! I climbed to
the topmost seat, and looked away at the beautiful view for some
minutes; when I turned round, and looked down into the theatre again, it
had exactly the appearance of an immense straw hat, to which the helmet
in the Castle of Otranto was a baby; the rows of seats representing the
different plaits of straw, and the arena the inside of the crown. I had
great expectations of Venice, but they fell immeasurably short of the
wonderful reality. The short time I passed there went by me in a dream.
I hardly think it possible to exaggerate its beauties, its sources of
interest, its uncommon novelty and freshness. A thousand and one
realisations of the Thousand and one Nights, could scarcely captivate
and enchant me more than Venice.
Your old house at Albaro--Il Paradiso--is spoken of as yours to this
day. What a gallant place it is! I don't know the present inmate, but I
hear that he bought and furnished it not long since, with great
splendour, in the French style, and that he wishes to sell it. I wish I
were rich and could buy it. There is a third-rate wine shop below
Byron's house, and the place looks dull and miserable, and ruinous
enough. Old ---- is a trifle uglier than when I first arrived. He has
periodical parties, at which there are a great many flowerpots and a few
ices--no other refreshments. He goes about, constantly charged with
extemporaneous poetry, and is always ready, like tavern dinners, on the
shortest notice and the most reasonable terms. He keeps a gigantic harp
in his bedroom, together with pen, ink, and paper, for fixing his ideas
as they flow, a kind of profane King David, but truly good-natured and
very harmless.
Pray say to Count D'Orsay everything that is cordial and loving from me.
The travelling purse he gave me has been of immense service. It has been
constantly opened. All Italy seems to yearn to put its hand in it. I
think of hanging it, when I come back to England, on a nail as a trophy,
and of gashing the brim like the blade of an old sword, and saying to my
son and heir, as they do upon the stage: "You see this notch, boy? Five
hundred francs were laid low on that day, for post-horses. Where this
gap is, a waiter charged your father treble the correct amount--and got
it. This end, worn into teeth like the rasped edge of an old file, is
sacred to the Custom Houses, boy, the passports, and the shabby soldiers
at town-gates, who put an open hand and a dirty coat-cuff into the coach
windows of all 'Forestieri.' Take it, boy. Thy father has nothing else
to give!"
My desk is cooling itself in a mail-coach, somewhere down at the back
of the cathedral, and the pens and ink in this house are so detestable,
that I have no hope of your ever getting to this portion of my letter.
But I have the less misery in this state of mind, from knowing that it
has nothing in it to repay you for the trouble of perusal.
Very faithfully yours.
[Sidenote: The same.]
COVENT GARDEN, _Sunday, Noon (December, 1844)._
MY DEAR LADY BLESSINGTON,
Business for other people (and by no means of a pleasant kind) has held
me prisoner during two whole days, and will so detain me to-day, in the
very agony of my departure for Italy again, that I shall not even be
able to reach Gore House once more, on which I had set my heart. I
cannot bear the thought of going away without some sort of reference to
the happy day you gave me on Monday, and the pleasure and delight I had
in your earnest greeting. I shall never forget it, believe me. It would
be worth going to China--it would be worth going to America, to come
home again for the pleasure of such a meeting with you and Count
D'Orsay--to whom my love, and something as near it to Miss Power and her
sister as it is lawful to send. It will be an unspeakable satisfaction
to me (though I am not maliciously disposed) to know under your own
hand at Genoa that my little book made you cry. I hope to prove a better
correspondent on my return to those shores. But better or worse, or any
how, I am ever, my dear Lady Blessington, in no common degree, and not
with an every-day regard, yours.
Very faithfully yours.
FOOTNOTES:
[21] On the occasion of a great meeting of the Mechanics' Institution at
Liverpool, with Charles Dickens in the chair.
[22] He had also presided two evenings previously at a meeting of the
Polytechnic Institution at Birmingham.
[23] A character in a Play, well known at this time.
[24] "Studies of Sensation and Event."
1845.
[Sidenote: The same.]
GENOA, _May 9th, 1845._
MY DEAR LADY BLESSINGTON,
Once more in my old quarters, and with rather a tired sole to my foot,
from having found such an immense number of different resting-places for
it since I went away. I write you my last Italian letter for this bout,
designing to leave here, please God, on the ninth of next month, and to
be in London again by the end of June. I am looking forward with great
delight to the pleasure of seeing you once more, and mean to come to
Gore House with such a swoop as shall astonish the poodle, if, after
being accustomed to his own size and sense, he retain the power of being
astonished at anything in the wide world. You know where I have been,
and every mile of ground I have travelled over, and every object I have
seen. It is next to impossible, surely, to exaggerate the interest of
Rome; though, I think, it _is_ very possible to find the main source of
interest in the wrong things. Naples disappointed me greatly. The
weather was bad during a great part of my stay there. But if I had not
had mud, I should have had dust, and though I had had sun, I must still
have had the Lazzaroni. And they are so ragged, so dirty, so abject, so
full of degradation, so sunken and steeped in the hopelessness of better
things, that they would make heaven uncomfortable, if they could ever
get there. I didn't expect to see a handsome city, but I expected
something better than that long dull line of squalid houses, which
stretches from the Chiaja to the quarter of the Porta Capuana; and while
I was quite prepared for a miserable populace, I had some dim belief
that there were bright rays among them, and dancing legs, and shining
sun-browned faces. Whereas the honest truth is, that connected with
Naples itself, I have not one solitary recollection. The country round
it charmed me, I need not say. Who can forget Herculaneum and Pompeii?
As to Vesuvius, it burns away in my thoughts, beside the roaring waters
of Niagara, and not a splash of the water extinguishes a spark of the
fire; but there they go on, tumbling and flaming night and day, each in
its fullest glory.
I have seen so many wonders, and each of them has such a voice of its
own, that I sit all day long listening to the roar they make as if it
were in a sea-shell, and have fallen into an idleness so complete, that
I can't rouse myself sufficiently to go to Pisa on the twenty-fifth,
when the triennial illumination of the Cathedral and Leaning Tower, and
Bridges, and what not, takes place. But I have already been there; and
it cannot beat St. Peter's, I suppose. So I don't think I shall pluck
myself up by the roots, and go aboard a steamer for Leghorn. Let me
thank you heartily for the "Keepsake" and the "Book of Beauty." They
reached me a week or two ago. I have been very much struck by two papers
in them--one, Landor's "Conversations," among the most charming,
profound, and delicate productions I have ever read; the other, your
lines on Byron's room at Venice. I am as sure that you wrote them from
your heart, as I am that they found their way immediately to mine.
It delights me to receive such accounts of Maclise's fresco. If he will
only give his magnificent genius fair play, there is not enough cant and
dulness even in the criticism of art from which Sterne prayed kind
heaven to defend him, as the worst of all the cants continually canted
in this canting world--to keep the giant down an hour.
Our poor friend, the naval governor,[25] has lost his wife, I am sorry
to hear, since you and I spoke of his pleasant face. Do not let your
nieces forget me, if you can help it, and give my love to Count D'Orsay,
with many thanks to him for his charming letter. I was greatly amused by
his account of ----. There was a cold shade of aristocracy about it, and
a dampness of cold water, which entertained me beyond measure.
Always faithfully yours.
[Sidenote: Mr. Macvey Napier.]
1, DEVONSHIRE TERRACE, _July 28th, 1845._
MY DEAR SIR,
As my note is to bear reference to business, I will make it as short and
plain as I can. I think I could write a pretty good and a well-timed
article on the _Punishment of Death_, and sympathy with great criminals,
instancing the gross and depraved curiosity that exists in reference to
them, by some of the outrageous things that were written, done, and said
in recent cases. But as I am not sure that my views would be yours, and
as their statement would be quite inseparable from such a paper, I will
briefly set down their purport that you may decide for yourself.
Society, having arrived at that state in which it spares bodily torture
to the worst criminals, and having agreed, if criminals be put to death
at all, to kill them in the speediest way, I consider the question with
reference to society, and not at all with reference to the criminal,
holding that, in a case of cruel and deliberate murder, he is already
mercifully and sparingly treated. But, as a question for the deliberate
consideration of all reflective persons, I put this view of the case.
With such very repulsive and odious details before us, may it not be
well to inquire whether the punishment of death be beneficial to
society? I believe it to have a horrible fascination for many of those
persons who render themselves liable to it, impelling them onward to the
acquisition of a frightful notoriety; and (setting aside the strong
confirmation of this idea afforded in individual instances) I presume
this to be the case in very badly regulated minds, when I observe the
strange fascination which everything connected with this punishment, or
the object of it, possesses for tens of thousands of decent, virtuous,
well-conducted people, who are quite unable to resist the published
portraits, letters, anecdotes, smilings, snuff-takings, of the bloodiest
and most unnatural scoundrel with the gallows before him. I observe that
this strange interest does not prevail to anything like the same degree
where death is not the penalty. Therefore I connect it with the dread
and mystery surrounding death in any shape, but especially in this
avenging form, and am disposed to come to the conclusion that it
produces crime in the criminally disposed, and engenders a diseased
sympathy--morbid and bad, but natural and often irresistible--among the
well-conducted and gentle. Regarding it as doing harm to both these
classes, it may even then be right to inquire, whether it has any
salutary influence on those small knots and specks of people, mere
bubbles in the living ocean, who actually behold its infliction with
their proper eyes. On this head it is scarcely possible to entertain a
doubt, for we know that robbery, and obscenity, and callous indifference
are of no commoner occurrence anywhere than at the foot of the scaffold.
Furthermore, we know that all exhibitions of agony and death have a
tendency to brutalise and harden the feelings of men, and have always
been the most rife among the fiercest people. Again, it is a great
question whether ignorant and dissolute persons (ever the great body of
spectators, as few others will attend), seeing _that_ murder done, and
not having seen the other, will not, almost of necessity, sympathise
with the man who dies before them, especially as he is shown, a martyr
to their fancy, tied and bound, alone among scores, with every kind of
odds against him.
I should take all these threads up at the end by a vivid little sketch
of the origin and progress of such a crime as Hooker's, stating a
somewhat parallel case, but an imaginary one, pursuing its hero to his
death, and showing what enormous harm he does _after_ the crime for
which he suffers. I should state none of these positions in a positive
sledge-hammer way, but tempt and lure the reader into the discussion of
them in his own mind; and so we come to this at last--whether it be for
the benefit of society to elevate even this crime to the awful dignity
and notoriety of death; and whether it would not be much more to its
advantage to substitute a mean and shameful punishment, degrading the
deed and the committer of the deed, and leaving the general compassion
to expend itself upon the only theme at present quite forgotten in the
history, that is to say, the murdered person.
I do not give you this as an outline of the paper, which I think I could
make attractive. It is merely an exposition of the inferences to which
its whole philosophy must tend.
Always faithfully yours.
[Sidenote: Mr. Thompson.]
DEVONSHIRE TERRACE, _17th October, 1845._
MY DEAR THOMPSON,
Roche has not returned; and from what I hear of your movements, I fear I
cannot answer for his being here in time for you.
I enclose you, lest I should forget it, the letter to the Peschiere
agent. He is the Marquis Pallavicini's man of business, and speaks the
most abominable Genoese ever heard. He is a rascal of course; but a
more reliable villain, in his way, than the rest of his kind.
You recollect what I told you of the Swiss banker's wife, the English
lady? If you would like Christiana[26] to have a friend at Genoa in the
person of a most affectionate and excellent little woman, and if you
would like to have a resource in the most elegant and comfortable family
there, I need not say that I shall be delighted to give you a letter to
those who would die to serve me.
Always yours.
[Sidenote: Mr. H. P. Smith.]
DEVONSHIRE TERRACE, _4th November, 1845._
MY DEAR SMITH,
My chickens and their little aunt will be delighted to do honour to the
Lord Mayor on the ninth. So should I be, but I am hard at it, grinding
my teeth.
I came down with Thompson the other day, hoping to see you. You are
keeping it up, however, in some holiday region, and your glass-case
looked like a large pantry, out of which some giant had stolen the meat.
Best regards to Mrs. Smith from all of us. Kate quite hearty, and the
baby, like Goldsmith's bear, "in a concatenation" accordingly.
Always, my dear Smith, faithfully yours.
[Sidenote: Mr. Macvey Napier.]
_November 10th, 1845._
MY DEAR SIR,
I write to you in great haste. I most bitterly regret the being obliged
to disappoint and inconvenience you (as I fear I shall do), but I find
it will be _impossible_ for me to write the paper on Capital Punishment
for your next number. The fault is really not mine. I have been involved
for the last fortnight in one maze of distractions, which nothing could
have enabled me to anticipate or prevent. Everything I have had to do
has been interfered with and cast aside. I have never in my life had so
many insuperable obstacles crowded into the way of my pursuits. It is as
little my fault, believe me, as though I were ill and wrote to you from
my bed. And pray bear as gently as you can with the vexation I occasion
you, when I tell you how very heavily it falls upon myself.
Faithfully yours.
FOOTNOTES:
[25] Lieut. Tracey, R.N., who was at this time Governor of Tothill
Fields Prison.
[26] Mrs. Thompson.
1846.
[Sidenote: Mr. W. J. Fox.]
OFFICE OF THE "DAILY NEWS," WHITEFRIARS,
_21st January, 1846._
MY DEAR FOX,[27]
The boy is in waiting. I need not tell you how our Printer failed us
last night.[28] I hope for better things to-night, and am bent on a fight
for it. If we can get a good paper to-morrow, I believe we are as safe
as such a thing can be.
Your leader most excellent. I made bold to take out ---- for reasons
that I hinted at the other day, and which I think have validity in them.
He is unscrupulous and indiscreet. Cobden never so.
It didn't offend you?
Ever faithfully.
[Sidenote: Mr. Thompson.]
ROSEMONT, _Tuesday Morning._
MY DEAR THOMPSON,
All kinds of hearty and cordial congratulations on the event.[29] We are
all delighted that it is at last well over. There is an uncertainty
attendant on angelic strangers (as Miss Tox says) which it is a great
relief to have so happily disposed of.
Ever yours.
[Sidenote: The same.]
48, RUE DE COURCELLES, ST. HONORE, PARIS,
_2nd December, 1846._
MY DEAR THOMPSON,
We got to Paris, in due course, on the Friday evening. We had a pleasant
and prosperous journey, having rather cold weather in Switzerland and on
the borders thereof, and a slight detention of three hours and a half at
the frontier Custom House, atop of a mountain, in a hard frost and a
dense fog. We came into this house last Thursday. It has a pretty
drawing-room, approached through four most extraordinary chambers. It is
the most ridiculous and preposterous house in the world, I should think.
It belongs to a Marquis Castellane, but was fitted (so Paul Pry Poole
said, who dined here yesterday) by ---- in a fit of temporary insanity,
I have no doubt. The dining-room is mere midsummer madness, and is
designed to represent a bosky grove.
At this present writing, snow is falling in the street, and the weather
is very cold, but not so cold as it was yesterday. I dined with Lord
Normanby on Sunday last. Everything seems to be queer and uncomfortable
in the diplomatic way, and he is rather bothered and worried, to my
thinking. I found young Sheridan (Mrs. Norton's brother) the attache. I
know him very well, and he is a good man for my sight-seeing purposes.
There are to be no theatricals unless the times should so adjust
themselves as to admit of their being French, to which the Markis seems
to incline, as a bit of conciliation and a popular move.
Lumley, of Italian opera notoriety, also dined here yesterday, and seems
hugely afeard of the opposition opera at Covent Garden, who have already
spirited away Grisi and Mario, which he affects to consider a great
comfort and relief. I gave him some uncompromising information on the
subject of his pit, and told him that if he didn't conciliate the middle
classes, he might depend on being damaged, very decidedly. The danger of
the Covent Garden enterprise seems to me to be that they are going in
for ballet too, and I really don't think the house is large enough to
repay the double expense.
Forster writes me that Mac has come out with tremendous vigour in the
Christmas Book, and took off his coat at it with a burst of such
alarming energy that he has done four subjects! Stanfield has done
three. Keeleys are making that "change"[30] I was so hot upon at
Lausanne, and seem ready to spend money with bold hearts, but the cast
(as far as I know it, at present) would appear to be black despair and
moody madness. J. W. Leigh Murray, from the Princess's, is to be the
Alfred, and Forster says there is a Mrs. Gordon at Bolton's who must be
got for Grace. I am horribly afraid ---- will do one of the lawyers, and
there seems to be nobody but ---- for Marion. I shall run over and carry
consternation into the establishment, as soon as I have done the number.
But I have not begun it yet, though I hope to do so to-night, having
been quite put out by chopping and changing about, and by a vile touch
of biliousness, that makes my eyes feel as if they were yellow bullets.
"Dombey" has passed its thirty thousand already. Do you remember a
mysterious man in a straw hat low-crowned, and a Petersham coat, who was
a sort of manager or amateur man-servant at Miss Kelly's? Mr. Baynton
Bolt, sir, came out, the other night, as Macbeth, at the Royal Surrey
Theatre.
There's all my news for you! Let me know, in return, whether you have
fought a duel yet with your milingtary landlord, and whether Lausanne is
still that giddy whirl of dissipation it was wont to be, also full
particulars of your fairer and better half, and of the baby. I will send
a Christmas book to Clermont as soon as I get any copies. And so no more
at present from yours ever.
FOOTNOTES:
[27] Mr. W. J. Fox, afterwards M.P. for Oldham, well known for his
eloquent advocacy of the Repeal of the Corn Laws, was engaged to write
the political articles in the first numbers of the _Daily News_.
[28] The first issue of the _Daily News_ was a sad failure, as to
printing.
[29] The birth, at Lausanne, of Mr. Thompson's eldest daughter,
Elizabeth Thompson, now Mrs. Butler, the celebrated artist.
[30] In the dramatised "Battle of Life."
1847.
[Sidenote: Sir Edward Bulwer Lytton.]
DEVONSHIRE TERRACE, _January 12th, 1847._
MY DEAR SIR EDWARD,
The Committee of the General Theatrical Fund (who are all actors) are
anxious to prefer a petition to you to preside at their next annual
dinner at the London Tavern, and having no personal knowledge of you,
have requested me, as one of their Trustees, through their Secretary,
Mr. Cullenford, to give them some kind of presentation to you.
I will only say that I have felt great interest in their design, which
embraces all sorts and conditions of actors from the first, and it has
been maintained by themselves with extraordinary perseverance and
determination. It has been in existence some years, but it is only two
years since they began to dine. At their first festival I presided, at
their second, Macready. They very naturally hold that if they could
prevail on you to reign over them now they would secure a most powerful
and excellent advocate, whose aid would serve and grace their cause
immensely. I sympathise with their feeling so cordially, and know so
well that it would certainly be mine if I were in their case (as,
indeed, it is, being their friend), that I comply with their request
for an introduction. And I will not ask you to excuse my troubling you,
feeling sure that I may use this liberty with you.
Believe me always, very faithfully yours.
[Sidenote: Countess of Blessington.]
48, RUE DE COURCELLES, PARIS, _January 24th, 1847._
MY DEAR LADY BLESSINGTON,
I feel very wicked in beginning this note, and deeply remorseful for not
having begun and ended it long ago. But _you_ know how difficult it is
to write letters in the midst of a writing life; and as you know too (I
hope) how earnestly and affectionately I always think of you, wherever I
am, I take heart, on a little consideration, and feel comparatively good
again.
Forster has been cramming into the space of a fortnight every
description of impossible and inconsistent occupation in the way of
sight-seeing. He has been now at Versailles, now in the prisons, now at
the opera, now at the hospitals, now at the Conservatoire, and now at
the Morgue, with a dreadful insatiability. I begin to doubt whether I
had anything to do with a book called "Dombey," or ever sat over number
five (not finished a fortnight yet) day after day, until I half began,
like the monk in poor Wilkie's story, to think it the only reality in
life, and to mistake all the realities for short-lived shadows.
Among the multitude of sights, we saw our pleasant little bud of a
friend, Rose Cheri, play Clarissa Harlowe the other night. I believe she
does it in London just now, and perhaps you may have seen it. A most
charming, intelligent, modest, affecting piece of acting it is, with a
death superior to anything I ever saw on the stage, except Macready's
Lear. The theatres are admirable just now. We saw "Gentil Bernard" at
the Varietes last night, acted in a manner that was absolutely perfect.
It was a little picture of Watteau, animated and talking from beginning
to end. At the Cirque there is a new show-piece called the "French
Revolution," in which there is a representation of the National
Convention, and a series of battles (fought by some five hundred people,
who look like five thousand) that are wonderful in their extraordinary
vigour and truth. Gun-cotton gives its name to the general annual jocose
review at the Palais Royal, which is dull enough, saving for the
introduction of Alexandre Dumas, sitting in his study beside a pile of
quarto volumes about five feet high, which he says is the first tableau
of the first act of the first piece to be played on the first night of
his new theatre. The revival of Moliere's "Don Juan," at the Francais,
has drawn money. It is excellently played, and it is curious to observe
how different _their_ Don Juan and valet are from our English ideas of
the master and man. They are playing "Lucretia Borgia" again at the
Porte St. Martin, but it is poorly performed and hangs fire drearily,
though a very remarkable and striking play. We were at Victor Hugo's
house last Sunday week, a most extraordinary place, looking like an old
curiosity shop, or the property-room of some gloomy, vast, old theatre.
I was much struck by Hugo himself, who looks like a genius as he is,
every inch of him, and is very interesting and satisfactory from head to
foot. His wife is a handsome woman, with flashing black eyes. There is
also a charming ditto daughter of fifteen or sixteen, with ditto eyes.
Sitting among old armour and old tapestry, and old coffers, and grim old
chairs and tables, and old canopies of state from old palaces, and old
golden lions going to play at skittles with ponderous old golden balls,
they made a most romantic show and looked like a chapter out of one of
his own books.
* * * * *
[Sidenote: Mr. Edward Chapman.]
CHESTER PLACE, _Monday, 3rd May, 1847._
MY DEAR SIR,
Here is a young lady--Miss Power, Lady Blessington's niece--has "gone
and been" and translated a story by Georges Sand, the French writer,
which she has printed, and got four woodcuts engraved ready for. She
wants to get it published--something in the form of the Christmas books.
I know the story, and it is a very fine one.
Will you do it for her? There is no other risk than putting a few covers
on a few copies. Half-profits is what she expects and no loss. She has
made appeal to me, and if there is to be a hard-hearted ogre in the
business at all, I would rather it should be you than I; so I have told
her I would make proposals to your mightiness.
Answer this straightway, for I have no doubt the fair translator thinks
I am tearing backwards and forwards in a cab all day to bring the
momentous affair to a conclusion.
Faithfully yours.
[Sidenote: Mr. James Sheridan Knowles.]
[31]148, KING'S ROAD, BRIGHTON, _26th May, 1847._
MY DEAR KNOWLES,
I have learned, I hope, from the art we both profess (if you will
forgive this classification of myself with you) to respect a man of
genius in his mistakes, no less than in his triumphs. You have so often
read the human heart well that I can readily forgive your reading mine
ill, and greatly wronging me by the supposition that any sentiment
towards you but honour and respect has ever found a place in it.
You write as few lines which, dying, you would wish to blot, as most
men. But if you ever know me better, as I hope you may (the fault shall
not be mine if you do not), I know you will be glad to have received the
assurance that some part of your letter has been written on the sand and
that the wind has already blown over it.
Faithfully yours always.
[Sidenote: Dr. Hodgson.[32]]
REGENT'S PARK, LONDON, _Friday, 4th June, 1847._
MY DEAR SIR,
I have rarely, if ever, seen a more remarkable effort of what I may call
intellectual memory than the enclosed. It is evidence, I think, of very
uncommon power. I have read it with the greatest interest and surprise,
and I am truly obliged to you for giving me the opportunity. If you
should see no objection to telling the young lady herself this much,
pray do so, as it is sincere praise.
Your criticism of Coombe's pamphlet is as justly felt as it is
earnestly and strongly written. I undergo more astonishment and disgust
in connection with that question of education almost every day of my
life than is awakened in me by any other member of the whole magazine of
social monsters that are walking about in these times.
You were in my thoughts when your letter arrived this morning, for we
have a half-formed idea of reviving our old amateur theatrical company
for a special purpose, and even of bringing it bodily to Manchester and
Liverpool, on which your opinion would be very valuable. If we should
decide on Monday, when we meet, to pursue our idea in this warm weather,
I will explain it to you in detail, and ask counsel of you in regard of
a performance at Liverpool. Meantime it is mentioned to no one.
Your interest in "Dombey" gives me unaffected pleasure. I hope you will
find no reason to think worse of it as it proceeds. There is a great
deal to do--one or two things among the rest that society will not be
the worse, I hope, for thinking about a little.
May I beg to be remembered to Mrs. Hodgson? You always remember me
yourself, I hope, as one who has a hearty interest in all you do and in
all you have so admirably done for the advancement of the best objects.
Always believe me very faithfully yours.
[Sidenote: The same.]
REGENT'S PARK, LONDON, _June 12th, 1847._
MY DEAR SIR,
I write to you in reference to a scheme to which you may, perhaps,
already have seen some allusion in the London _Athenaeum_ of to-day.
The party of amateurs connected with literature and art, who acted in
London two years ago, have resolved to play again at one of the large
theatres here for the benefit of Leigh Hunt, and to make a great appeal
to all classes of society in behalf of a writer who should have received
long ago, but has not yet, some enduring return from his country for all
he has undergone and all the good he has done. It is believed that such
a demonstration by literature on behalf of literature, and such a mark
of sympathy by authors and artists, for one who has written so well,
would be of more service, present and prospective, to Hunt than almost
any other means of help that could be devised. And we know, from
himself, that it would be most gratifying to his own feelings.
The arrangements are, as yet, in an imperfect state; for the date of
their being carried out depends on our being able to get one of the
large theatres before the close of the present London season. In the
event of our succeeding, we purpose acting in London, on Wednesday the
14th of July, and on Monday the 19th. On the first occasion we shall
play "Every Man in His Humour," and a farce; on the second, "The Merry
Wives of Windsor," and a farce.
But we do not intend to stop here. Believing that Leigh Hunt has done
more to instruct the young men of England, and to lend a helping hand to
those who educate themselves, than any writer in England, we are
resolved to come down, in a body, to Liverpool and Manchester, and to
act one night at each place. And the object of my letter is, to ask you,
as the representative of the great educational establishment of
Liverpool, whether we can count on your active assistance; whether you
will form a committee to advance our object; and whether, if we send you
our circulars and addresses, you will endeavour to secure us a full
theatre, and to enlist the general sympathy and interest in behalf of
the cause we have at heart?
I address, by this post, a letter, which is almost the counterpart of
the present, to the honorary secretaries of the Manchester Athenaeum. If
we find in both towns such a response as we confidently expect, I would
propose, on behalf of my friends, that the Liverpool and Manchester
Institutions should decide for us, at which town we shall first appear,
and which play we shall act in each place.
I forbear entering into any more details, however, until I am favoured
with your reply.
Always believe me, my dear Sir,
faithfully your Friend.
[Sidenote: Mr. Alexander Ireland.]
REGENT'S PARK, LONDON, _June 17th, 1847._
DEAR SIR,[33]
In the hope that I may consider myself personally introduced to you by
Dr. Hodgson, of Liverpool, I take the liberty of addressing you in this
form.
I hear from that friend of ours, that you are greatly interested in all
that relates to Mr. Leigh Hunt, and that you will be happy to promote
our design in reference to him. Allow me to assure you of the
gratification with which I have received this intelligence, and of the
importance we shall all attach to your valuable co-operation.
I have received a letter from Mr. Langley, of the Athenaeum, informing me
that a committee is in course of formation, composed of directors of
that institution (acting as private gentlemen) and others. May I hope to
find that you are one of this body, and that I may soon hear of its
proceedings, and be in communication with it?
Allow me to thank you beforehand for your interest in the cause, and to
look forward to the pleasure of doing so in person, when I come to
Manchester.
Dear Sir, very faithfully yours.
[Sidenote: The same.]
ATHENAEUM CLUB, LONDON, _Saturday, June 26th, 1847._
MY DEAR SIR,
The news of Mr. Hunt's pension is quite true. We do not propose to act
in London after this change in his affairs, but we do still distinctly
propose to act in Manchester and Liverpool. I have set forth the plain
state of the case in a letter to Mr. Robinson by this post (a
counterpart of which I have addressed to Liverpool), and to which, in
the midst of a most laborious correspondence on the subject, I beg to
refer you.
It will be a great satisfaction to us to believe that we shall still be
successful in Manchester. There is great and urgent need why we should
be so, I assure you.
If you can help to bring the matter speedily into a practical and plain
shape, you will render Hunt the greatest service.
I fear, in respect to your kind invitation, that neither Jerrold nor I
will feel at liberty to accept it. There was a pathetic proposal among
us that we should "keep together;" and, as president of the society, I
am bound, I fear, to stand by the brotherhood with particular constancy.
Nor do I think that we shall have more than one very short evening in
Manchester.
I write in great haste. The sooner I can know (at Broadstairs, in Kent)
the Manchester and Liverpool nights, and what the managers say, the
better (I hope) will be the entertainments.
My dear Sir, very faithfully yours.
P.S.--I enclose a copy of our London circular, issued before the
granting of the pension.
[Sidenote: The same.]
BROADSTAIRS, KENT, _July 11th, 1847._
MY DEAR SIR,
I am much indebted to you for the present of your notice of Hunt's
books. I cannot praise it better or more appropriately than by saying it
is in Hunt's own spirit, and most charmingly expressed. I had the most
sincere and hearty pleasure in reading it.[34]
Your announcement of "The Working Man's Life" had attracted my attention
by reason of the title, which had a great interest for me.[35] I hardly
know if there is something wanting to my fancy in a certain genuine
simple air I had looked for in the first part. But there is great
promise in it, and I shall be earnest to know how it proceeds.
Now, to leave these pleasant matters, and resume my managerial
character, which I shall be heartily glad (between ourselves) to lay
down again, though I have none but pleasant correspondents, and the most
easily governable company of actors on earth.
I have written to Mr. Robinson by this post that I wish these words,
from our original London circular, to stand at top of the bills, after
"For the Benefit of Mr. Leigh Hunt":
"It is proposed to devote a portion of the proceeds of this benefit to
the assistance of another celebrated writer, whose literary career is at
an end, and who has no provision for the decline of his life."
I have also told him that there is no objection to its being known that
this is Mr. Poole, the author of "Paul Pry," and "Little Pedlington,"
and many comic pieces of great merit, and whose farce of "Turning the
Tables" we mean to finish with in Manchester. Beyond what he will get
from these benefits, he has no resource in this wide world, _I know_.
There are reasons which make it desirable to get this fact abroad, and
if you see no objection to paragraphing it at your office (sending the
paragraph round, if you should please, to the other Manchester papers),
I should be much obliged to you.
You may like to know, as a means of engendering a more complete
individual interest in our actors, who they are. Jerrold and myself you
have heard of; Mr. George Cruikshank and Mr. Leech (the best
caricaturists of any time perhaps) need no introduction. Mr. Frank Stone
(a Manchester man) and Mr. Egg are artists of high reputation. Mr.
Forster is the critic of _The Examiner_, the author of "The Lives of the
Statesmen of the Commonwealth," and very distinguished as a writer in
_The Edinburgh Review_. Mr. Lewes is also a man of great attainments in
polite literature, and the author of a novel published not long since,
called "Ranthorpe." Mr. Costello is a periodical writer, and a gentleman
renowned as a tourist. Mr. Mark Lemon is a dramatic author, and the
editor of _Punch_--a most excellent actor, as you will find. My brothers
play small parts, for love, and have no greater note than the Treasury
and the City confer on their disciples. Mr. Thompson is a private
gentleman. You may know all this, but I thought it possible you might
like to hold the key to our full company. Pray use it as you will.
My dear Sir,
Faithfully yours always.
FOOTNOTES:
[31] Written to Mr. Sheridan Knowles after some slight misunderstanding,
the cause of which is unknown to the Editors.
[32] Dr. Hodgson, then Principal of the Liverpool Institute, and
Principal of the Chorlton High School, Manchester.
[33] Mr. Alexander Ireland, the manager and one of the proprietors of
_The Manchester Examiner_.
[34] This refers to an essay on "The Genius and Writings of Leigh Hunt,"
contributed to _The Manchester Examiner_.
[35] The "Autobiography of a Working Man," by "One who has whistled at
the Plough" (Alex. Somerville), originally appeared in _The Manchester
Examiner_, and afterwards was published as a volume, 1848.
1848.
[Sidenote: Sir Edward Bulwer Lytton.]
DEVONSHIRE TERRACE, _10th April, 1848, Monday Evening._
MY DEAR BULWER LYTTON,
I confess to small faith in any American profits having international
copyright for their aim. But I will carefully consider Blackwood's
letter (when I get it) and will call upon you and tell you what occurs
to me in reference to it, before I communicate with that northern light.
I have been "going" to write to you for many a day past, to thank you
for your kindness to the General Theatrical Fund people, and for your
note to me; but I have waited until I should hear of your being
stationary somewhere. What you said of the "Battle of Life" gave me
great pleasure. I was thoroughly wretched at having to use the idea for
so short a story. I did not see its full capacity until it was too late
to think of another subject, and I have always felt that I might have
done a great deal better if I had taken it for the groundwork of a more
extended book. But for an insuperable aversion I have to trying back in
such a case, I should certainly forge that bit of metal again, as you
suggest--one of these days perhaps.
I have not been special constable myself to-day--thinking there was
rather an epidemic in that wise abroad. I walked over and looked at the
preparations, without any baggage of staff, warrant, or affidavit.
Very faithfully yours.
[Sidenote: Mrs. Cowden Clarke.]
[36]DEVONSHIRE TERRACE, _14th April, 1848._
DEAR MRS. COWDEN CLARKE,
I did not understand, when I had the pleasure of conversing with you the
other evening, that you had really considered the subject, and desired
to play. But I am very glad to understand it now; and I am sure there
will be a universal sense among us of the grace and appropriateness of
such a proceeding. Falstaff (who depends very much on Mrs. Quickly) may
have in his modesty, some timidity about acting with an amateur actress.
But I have no question, as you have studied the part, and long wished to
play it, that you will put him completely at his ease on the first night
of your rehearsal. Will you, towards that end, receive this as a solemn
"call" to rehearsal of "The Merry Wives" at Miss Kelly's theatre,
to-morrow (Saturday) _week_ at seven in the evening?
And will you let me suggest another point for your consideration? On the
night when "The Merry Wives" will _not_ be played, and when "Every Man
in his Humour" _will_ be, Kenny's farce of "Love, Law, and Physic" will
be acted. In that farce there is a very good character (one Mrs. Hilary,
which I have seen Mrs. Orger, I think, act to admiration), that would
have been played by Mrs. C. Jones, if she had acted Dame Quickly, as we
at first intended. If you find yourself quite comfortable and at ease
among us, in Mrs. Quickly, would you like to take this other part too?
It is an excellent farce, and is safe, I hope, to be very well done.
We do not play to purchase the house[37] (which may be positively
considered as paid for), but towards endowing a perpetual curatorship of
it, for some eminent literary veteran. And I think you will recognise in
this even a higher and more gracious object than the securing, even, of
the debt incurred for the house itself.
Believe me, very faithfully yours.
[Sidenote: Mr. Alexander Ireland.]
DEVONSHIRE TERRACE, _May 22nd, 1848._
MY DEAR SIR,
You very likely know that my company of amateurs have lately been
playing, with a great reputation, in London here. The object is, "The
endowment of a perpetual curatorship of Shakespeare's house, to be
always held by some one distinguished in literature, and more especially
in dramatic literature," and we have already a pledge from the
Shakespeare House Committee that Sheridan Knowles shall be recommended
to the Government as the first curator. This pledge, which is in the
form of a minute, we intend to advertise in our country bills.
Now, on Monday, the 5th of June, we are going to play at Liverpool,
where we are assured of a warm reception, and where an active committee
for the issuing of tickets is already formed. Do you think the
Manchester people would be equally glad to see us again, and that the
house could be filled, as before, at our old prices? _If yes, would you
and our other friends go, at once, to work in the cause?_ The only night
on which we could play in Manchester would be Saturday, the 3rd of June.
It is possible that the depression of the times may render a performance
in Manchester unwise. In that case I would immediately abandon the idea.
But what I want to know, _by return of post_ is, is it safe or unsafe?
If the former, here is the bill as it stood in London, with the
addition, on the back, of a paragraph I would insert in Manchester, of
which immediate use can be made. If the latter, my reason for wishing to
settle the point immediately is that we may make another use of that
Saturday night.
Assured of your generous feeling I make no apology for troubling you. A
sum of money, got together by these means, will insure to literature (I
will take good care of that) a proper expression of itself in the
bestowal of an essentially literary appointment, not only now but
henceforth. Much is to be done, time presses, and the least added the
better.
I have addressed a counterpart of this letter to Mr. Francis Robinson,
to whom perhaps you will communicate the bill.
Faithfully yours always.
[Sidenote: Mrs. Cowden Clarke.]
DEVONSHIRE TERRACE, _Monday Evening,
July 22nd, 1848._
MY DEAR MRS. CLARKE,
I have no energy whatever, I am very miserable. I loathe domestic
hearths. I yearn to be a vagabond. Why can't I marry Mary?[38] Why have I
seven children--not engaged at sixpence a-night apiece, and dismissable
for ever, if they tumble down, not taken on for an indefinite time at a
vast expense, and never,--no never, never,--wearing lighted candles
round their heads.[39] I am deeply miserable. A real house like this is
insupportable, after that canvas farm wherein I was so happy. What is a
humdrum dinner at half-past five, with nobody (but John) to see me eat
it, compared with _that_ soup, and the hundreds of pairs of eyes that
watched its disappearance? Forgive this tear.[40] It is weak and foolish,
I know.
Pray let me divide the little excursional excesses of the journey among
the gentlemen, as I have always done before, and pray believe that I
have had the sincerest pleasure and gratification in your co-operation
and society, valuable and interesting on all public accounts, and
personally of no mean worth, nor held in slight regard.
You had a sister once, when we were young and happy--I think they called
her Emma. If she remember a bright being who once flitted like a vision
before her, entreat her to bestow a thought upon the "Gas" of departed
joys. I can write no more.
Y. G.[41] THE (DARKENED) G. L. B.[42]
P.S.--"I am completely _blase_--literally used up. I am dying for
excitement. Is it possible that nobody can suggest anything to make my
heart beat violently, my hair stand on end--but no!"
Where did I hear those words (so truly applicable to my forlorn
condition) pronounced by some delightful creature? In a previous state
of existence, I believe.
Oh, Memory, Memory!
Ever yours faithfully.
Y--no C. G.--no D. C. D. I think it is--but I don't know--"there's
nothing in it."
FOOTNOTES:
[36] This and following letters to Mr. and Mrs. Cowden Clarke appeared
in a volume entitled "Recollections of Writers."
[37] The house in which Shakespeare was born, at Stratford-on-Avon.
[38] A character in "Used Up."
[39] As fairies in "Merry Wives."
[40] A huge blot of smeared ink.
[41] "Young Gas."}
[42] "Gas-Light Boy."} Names he had playfully given himself.
1849.
[Sidenote: Sir Edward Bulwer Lytton.]
DEVONSHIRE TERRACE, _23rd February, 1849._
MY DEAR SIR EDWARD,
I have not written sooner to thank you for "King Arthur" because I felt
sure you would prefer my reading it before I should do so, and because I
wished to have an opportunity of reading it with the sincerity and
attention which such a composition demands.
This I have done. I do not write to express to you the measure of my
gratification and pleasure (for I should find that very difficult to be
accomplished to my own satisfaction), but simply to say that I have read
the poem, and dwelt upon it with the deepest interest, admiration, and
delight; and that I feel proud of it as a very good instance of the
genius of a great writer of my own time. I should feel it as a kind of
treason to what has been awakened in me by the book, if I were to try to
set off my thanks to you, or if I were tempted into being diffuse in its
praise. I am too earnest on the subject to have any misgiving but that I
shall convey something of my earnestness to you in the briefest and most
unaffected flow of expression.
Accept it for what a genuine word of homage is worth, and believe me,
Faithfully yours.
[Sidenote: Mr. C. Cowden Clarke.]
DEVONSHIRE TERRACE, _May 5th, 1849._
MY DEAR SIR,
I am very sorry to say that my Orphan Working School vote is promised in
behalf of an unfortunate young orphan, who, after being canvassed for,
polled for, written for, quarrelled for, fought for, called for, and
done all kind of things for, by ladies who wouldn't go away and wouldn't
be satisfied with anything anybody said or did for them, was floored at
the last election and comes up to the scratch next morning, for the next
election, fresher than ever. I devoutly hope he may get in, and be lost
sight of for evermore.
Pray give my kindest regards to my quondam Quickly, and believe me,
Faithfully yours.
[Sidenote: Mr. Joseph C. King.[43]]
DEVONSHIRE TERRACE, _Saturday, December 1st, 1849._
MY DEAR SIR,
I hasten to let you know what took place at Eton to-day. I found that I
_did_ stand in some sort committed to Mr. Evans, though not so much so
but that I could with perfect ease have declined to place Charley in his
house if I had desired to do so. I must say, however, that after seeing
Mr. Cookesley (a most excellent man in his way) and seeing Mr. Evans,
and Mr. Evans's house, I think I should, under any circumstances, have
given the latter the preference as to the domestic part of Charley's
life. I would certainly prefer to try it. I therefore thought it best to
propose to have Mr. Cookesley for his tutor, and to place him as a
boarder with Mr. Evans. Both gentlemen seemed satisfied with this
arrangement, and Dr. Hawtrey expressed his approval of it also.
Mr. Cookesley, wishing to know what Charley could do, asked me if I
would object to leaving him there for half-an-hour or so. As Charley
appeared not at all afraid of this proposal, I left him then and there.
On my return, Mr. Cookesley said, in high and unqualified terms, that he
had been thoroughly well grounded and well taught--that he had examined
him in Virgil and Herodotus, and that he not only knew what he was about
perfectly well, but showed an intelligence in reference to those authors
which did his tutor great credit. He really appeared most interested and
pleased, and filled me with a grateful feeling towards you, to whom
Charley owes so much.
He said there were certain verses in imitation of Horace (I really
forget what sort of verses) to which Charley was unaccustomed, and which
were a little matter enough in themselves, but were made a great point
of at Eton, and could be got up well in a month "_from an Old Etonian_."
For this purpose he would desire Charley to be sent every day to a
certain Mr. Hardisty, in Store Street, Bedford Square, to whom he had
already (in my absence) prepared a note. Between ourselves, I must not
hesitate to tell you plainly that this appeared to me to be a
conventional way of bestowing a little patronage. But, of course, I had
nothing for it but to say it should be done; upon which, Mr. Cookesley
added that he was then certain that Charley, on coming after the
Christmas holidays, would be placed at once in "the remove," which
seemed to surprise Mr. Evans when I afterwards told him of it as a high
station.
I will take him to this gentleman on Monday, and arrange for his going
there every day; but, if you will not object, I should still like him to
remain with you, and to have the advantage of preparing these annoying
verses under your eye until the holidays. That Mr. Cookesley may have
his own way thoroughly, I will send Charley to Mr. Hardisty daily until
the school at Eton recommences.
Let me impress upon you in the strongest manner, not only that I was
inexpressibly delighted myself by the readiness with which Charley went
through this ordeal with a stranger, but that I also saw you would have
been well pleased and much gratified if you could have seen Mr.
Cookesley afterwards. He had evidently not expected such a result, and
took it as not at all an ordinary one.
My dear Sir, yours faithfully and obliged.
[Sidenote: Mr. Alexander Ireland.]
[Private.]
DEVONSHIRE TERRACE, LONDON, _24th December, 1849._
MY DEAR SIR,
You will not be offended by my saying that (in common with many other
men) I think "our London correspondent" one of the greatest nuisances of
this kind, inasmuch as our London correspondent, seldom knowing
anything, feels bound to know everything, and becomes in consequence a
very reckless gentleman in respect of the truthfulness of his
intelligence.
In your paper, sent to me this morning, I see the correspondent mentions
one ----, and records how I was wont to feast in the house of the said
----. As I never was in the man's house in my life, or within five miles
of it that I know of, I beg you will do me the favour to contradict
this.
You will be the less surprised by my begging you to set this right, when
I tell you that, hearing of his book, and knowing his history, I wrote
to New York denouncing him as "a forger and a thief;" that he thereupon
put the gentleman who published my letter into prison, and that having
but one day before the sailing of the last steamer to collect the proofs
printed in the accompanying sheet (which are but a small part of the
villain's life), I got them together in short time, and sent them out to
justify the character I gave him. It is not agreeable to me to be
supposed to have sat at this amiable person's feasts.
Faithfully yours.
FOOTNOTE:
[43] Mr. Joseph Charles King, the friend of many artists and literary
men, conducted a private school, at which the sons of Mr. Macready and
of Charles Dickens were being educated at this time.
1850.
[Sidenote: Sir Edward Bulwer Lytton.]
BROADSTAIRS, KENT, _Tuesday, 3rd September, 1850._
MY DEAR SIR EDWARD,
I have had the long-contemplated talk with Forster about the play, and
write to assure you that I shall be delighted to come down to Knebworth
and do Bobadil, or anything else, provided it would suit your
convenience to hold the great dramatic festival in the last week of
October. The concluding number of "Copperfield" will prevent me from
leaving here until Saturday, the 26th of that month. If I were at my own
disposal, I hope I need not say I should be at yours.
Forster will tell you with what men we must do the play, and what
laurels we would propose to leave for the gathering of new aspirants; of
whom I hope you have a reasonable stock in your part of the country.
Do you know Mary Boyle--daughter of the old Admiral? because she is the
very best actress I ever saw off the stage, and immeasurably better than
a great many I have seen on it. I have acted with her in a country house
in Northamptonshire, and am going to do so again next November. If you
know her, I think she would be more than pleased to play, and by giving
her something good in a farce we could get her to do Mrs. Kitely. In
that case my little sister-in-law would "go on" for the second lady,
and you could do without actresses, besides giving the thing a
particular grace and interest.
If we could get Mary Boyle, we would do "Used Up," which is a delightful
piece, as the farce. But maybe you know nothing about the said Mary, and
in that case I should like to know what you would think of doing.
You gratify me more than I can tell you by what you say about
"Copperfield," the more so as I hope myself that some heretofore-deficient
qualities are there. You are not likely to misunderstand me when I say
that I like it very much, and am deeply interested in it, and that I
have kept and am keeping my mind very steadily upon it.
Believe me always, very faithfully yours.
[Sidenote: The same.]
DEVONSHIRE TERRACE, _Sunday Night,
November 3rd, 1850._
MY DEAR BULWER LYTTON,
I should have waited at home to-day on the chance of your calling, but
that I went over to look after Lemon; and I went for this reason: the
surgeon opines that there is no possibility of Mrs. Dickens being able
to play, although she is going on "as well as possible," which I
sincerely believe.
Now, _when_ the accident happened, Mrs. Lemon told my little
sister-in-law that she would gladly undertake the part if it should
become necessary. Going after her to-day, I found that she and Lemon had
gone out of town, but will be back to-night. I have written to her,
earnestly urging her to the redemption of her offer. I have no doubt of
being able to see her well up in the characters; and I hope you approve
of this remedy. If she once screws her courage to the sticking place, I
have no fear of her whatever. This is what I would say to you. If I
don't see you here, I will write to you at Forster's, reporting
progress. Don't be discouraged, for I am full of confidence, and resolve
to do the utmost that is in me--and I well know they all will--to make
the nights at Knebworth _triumphant_. Once in a thing like this--once in
everything, to my thinking--it must be carried out like a mighty
enterprise, heart and soul.
Pray regard me as wholly at the disposal of the theatricals, until they
shall be gloriously achieved.
My unfortunate other half (lying in bed) is very anxious that I should
let you know that she means to break her heart if she should be
prevented from coming as one of the audience, and that she has been
devising means all day of being brought down in the brougham with her
foot upon a T.
Ever faithfully yours.
[Sidenote: The same.]
OFFICE OF "HOUSEHOLD WORDS," _Wednesday Evening,
November 13th, 1850._
MY DEAR BULWER LYTTON,
On the principle of postponing nothing connected with the great scheme,
I have been to Ollivier's, where I found our friend the choremusicon in
a very shattered state--his mouth wide open--the greater part of his
teeth out--his bowels disclosed to the public eye--and his whole system
frightfully disordered. In this condition he is speechless. I cannot,
therefore, report touching his eloquence, but I find he is a piano as
well as a choremusicon--that he requires to pass through no intermediate
stage between choremusicon and piano, and therefore that he can easily
and certainly accompany songs.
Now, will you have it? I am inclined to believe that on the whole, it is
the best thing.
I have not heard of anything else having happened to anybody.
If I should not find you gone to Australia or elsewhere, and should not
have occasion to advertise in the third column of _The Times_, I shall
hope not to add to your misfortunes--I dare not say to afford you
consolation--by shaking hands with you to-morrow night, and afterwards
keeping every man connected with the theatrical department to his duty.
Ever faithfully yours.
1851.
[Sidenote: The same.]
DEVONSHIRE TERRACE, _Sunday Night,
January 5th, 1851._
MY DEAR BULWER,
I am so sorry to have missed you! I had gone down to Forster, comedy in
hand.
I think it _most admirable_.[44] Full of character, strong in interest,
rich in capital situations, and _certain to go nobly_. You know how
highly I thought of "Money," but I sincerely think these three acts
finer. I did not think of the slight suggestions you make, but I said,
_en passant_, that perhaps the drunken scene might do better on the
stage a little concentrated. I don't believe it would require even that,
with the leading-up which you propose. I cannot say too much of the
comedy to express what I think and feel concerning it; and I look at it,
too, remember, with the yellow eye of an actor! I should have taken to
it (need I say so!) _con amore_ in any case, but I should have been
jealous of your reputation, exactly as I appreciate your generosity. If
I had a misgiving of ten lines I should have scrupulously mentioned it.
Stone will take the Duke capitally; and I will answer for his being got
into doing it _very well_. Looking down the perspective of a few winter
evenings here, I am confident about him. Forster will be thoroughly
sound and real. Lemon is so surprisingly sensible and trustworthy on
the stage, that I don't think any actor could touch his part as he will;
and I hope you will have opportunities of testing the accuracy of this
prediction. Egg ought to do the Author to absolute perfection. As to
Jerrold--there he stands in the play! I would propose Leech (well made
up) for Easy. He is a good name, and I see nothing else for him.
This brings me to my own part. If we had anyone, or could get anyone,
for Wilmot, I could do (I think) something so near your meaning in Sir
Gilbert, that I let him go with a pang. Assumption has charms for me--I
hardly know for how many wild reasons--so delightful, that I feel a loss
of, oh! I can't say what exquisite foolery, when I lose a chance of
being someone in voice, etc., not at all like myself. But--I speak quite
freely, knowing you will not mistake me--I know from experience that we
could find nobody to hold the play together in Wilmot if I didn't do it.
I think I could touch the gallant, generous, careless pretence, with the
real man at the bottom of it, so as to take the audience with him from
the first scene. I am quite sure I understand your meaning; and I am
absolutely certain that as Jerrold, Forster, and Stone came in, I could,
as a mere little bit of mechanics, present them better by doing that
part, and paying as much attention to their points as my own, than
another amateur actor could. Therefore I throw up my cap for Wilmot, and
hereby devote myself to him, heart and head!
I ought to tell you that in a play we once rehearsed and never played
(but rehearsed several times, and very carefully), I saw Lemon do a
piece of reality with a rugged pathos in it, which I felt, as I stood on
the stage with him to be extraordinarily good. In the serious part of
Sir Gilbert he will surprise you. And he has an intuitive discrimination
in such things which will just keep the suspicious part from being too
droll at the outset--which will just show a glimpse of something in the
depths of it.
The moment I come back to town (within a fortnight, please God!) I will
ascertain from Forster where you are. Then I will propose to you that we
call our company together, agree upon one general plan of action, and
that you and I immediately begin to see and book our Vice-Presidents,
etc. Further, I think we ought to see about the Queen. I would suggest
our playing first about three weeks before the opening of the
Exhibition, in order that it may be the town talk before the country
people and foreigners come. Macready thinks with me that a very large
sum of money may be got in London.
I propose (for cheapness and many other considerations) to make a
theatre expressly for the purpose, which we can put up and take
down--say in the Hanover Square Rooms--and move into the country. As
Watson wanted something of a theatre made for his forthcoming Little Go,
I have made it a sort of model of what I mean, and shall be able to test
its working powers before I see you. Many things that, for portability,
were to be avoided in Mr. Hewitt's theatre, I have replaced with less
expensive and weighty contrivances.
Now, my dear Bulwer, I have come to the small hours, and am writing
alone here, as if _I_ were writing something to do what your comedy
will. At such a time the temptation is strong upon me to say a great
deal more, but I will only say this--in mercy to you--that I do devoutly
believe that this plan carried, will entirely change the status of the
literary man in England, and make a revolution in his position, which no
Government, no power on earth but his own, could ever effect. I have
implicit confidence in the scheme--so splendidly begun--if we carry it
out with a steadfast energy. I have a strong conviction that we hold in
our hands the peace and honour of men of letters for centuries to come,
and that you are destined to be their best and most enduring benefactor.
Oh! what a procession of New Years might walk out of all this, after we
are very dusty!
Ever yours faithfully.
P.S.--I have forgotten something. I suggest this title: "Knowing the
World; or, Not So Bad As We Seem."
[Sidenote: The same.]
DEVONSHIRE TERRACE, _Tuesday Night, March 4th, 1851._
MY DEAR BULWER,
I know you will be glad to hear what I have to tell you.
I wrote to the Duke of Devonshire this morning, enclosing him the rough
proof of the scheme, and plainly telling him what we wanted, _i.e._, to
play for the first time at his house, to the Queen and Court. Within a
couple of hours he wrote me as follows:
"DEAR SIR,
"I have read with very great interest the
prospectus of the new endowment which you have
confided to my perusal.
"Your manner of doing so is a proof that I am
honoured by your goodwill and approbation.
"I'm truly happy to offer you my earnest and
sincere co-operation. My services, my house,
and my subscription will be at your orders. And
I beg you to let me see you before long, not
merely to converse upon this subject, but
because I have long had the greatest wish to
improve our acquaintance, which has, as yet,
been only one of crowded rooms."
This is quite princely, I think, and will push us along as brilliantly
as heart could desire. Don't you think so too?
Yesterday Lemon and I saw the Secretary of the National Provident
Institution (the best Office for the purpose, I am inclined to think)
and stated all our requirements. We appointed to meet the chairman and
directors next Tuesday; so on the day of our reading and dining I hope
we shall have that matter in good time.
The theatre is also under consultation; and directly after the reading
we shall go briskly to work in all departments.
I hear nothing but praises of your Macready speech--of its eloquence,
delicacy, and perfect taste, all of which it is good to hear, though I
know it all beforehand as well as most men can tell it me.
Ever cordially.
[Sidenote: The same.]
DEVONSHIRE TERRACE, _Tuesday Morning, 25th March, 1851._
MY DEAR BULWER,
Coming home at midnight last night after our first rehearsal, I find
your letter. I write to entreat you, if you make any change in the first
three acts, to let it be only of the slightest kind. Because we are now
fairly under way, everybody is already drilled into his place, and in
two or three rehearsals those acts will be in a tolerably presentable
state.
It is of vital importance that we should get the last two acts _soon_.
The Queen and Prince are coming--Phipps wrote me yesterday the most
earnest letter possible--the time is fearfully short, and we _must_ have
the comedy in such a state as that it will go like a machine. Whatever
you do, for heaven's sake don't be persuaded to endanger that!
Even at the risk of your falling into the pit with despair at beholding
anything of the comedy in its present state, if you can by any
possibility come down to Covent Garden Theatre to-night, do. I hope you
will see in Lemon the germ of a very fine presentation of Sir Geoffrey.
I think Topham, too, will do Easy admirably.
We really did wonders last night in the way of arrangement. I see the
ground-plan of the first three acts distinctly. The dressing and
furnishing and so forth, will be a perfect picture, and I will answer
for the men in three weeks' time.
In great haste, my dear Bulwer,
Ever faithfully yours.
[Sidenote: Mrs. Cowden Clarke.]
GREAT MALVERN, _29th March, 1851._
MY DEAR MRS. COWDEN CLARKE,
Ah, those were days indeed, when we were so fatigued at dinner that we
couldn't speak, and so revived at supper that we couldn't go to bed;
when wild in inns the noble savage ran; and all the world was a stage,
gas-lighted in a double sense--by the Young Gas and the old one! When
Emmeline Montague (now Compton, and the mother of two children) came to
rehearse in our new comedy[45] the other night, I nearly fainted. The
gush of recollection was so overpowering that I couldn't bear it.
I use the portfolio[46] for managerial papers still. That's something.
But all this does not thank you for your book.[47] I have not got it yet
(being here with Mrs. Dickens, who has been very unwell), but I shall be
in town early in the week, and shall bring it down to read quietly on
these hills, where the wind blows as freshly as if there were no Popes
and no Cardinals whatsoever--nothing the matter anywhere. I thank you a
thousand times, beforehand, for the pleasure you are going to give me. I
am full of faith. Your sister Emma, she is doing work of some sort on
the P.S. side of the boxes, in some dark theatre, _I know_, but where, I
wonder? W.[48] has not proposed to her yet, has he? I understood he was
going to offer his hand and heart, and lay his leg[49] at her feet.
Ever faithfully yours.
[Sidenote: Mr. Mitton.]
DEVONSHIRE TERRACE, _19th April, 1851._
MY DEAR MITTON,
I have been in trouble, or I should have written to you sooner. My wife
has been, and is, far from well. My poor father's death caused me much
distress. I came to London last Monday to preside at a public
dinner--played with little Dora, my youngest child, before I went--and
was told when I left the chair that she had died in a moment. I am quite
happy again, but I have undergone a good deal.
I am not going back to Malvern, but have let this house until September,
and taken the "Fort," at Broadstairs.
Faithfully yours.
[Sidenote: Sir Edward Bulwer Lytton.]
DEVONSHIRE TERRACE, _Monday, 28th April, 1851._
MY DEAR BULWER,
I see you are so anxious, that I shall endeavour to send you this letter
by a special messenger. I think I can relieve your mind completely.
The Duke has read the play. He asked for it a week ago, and had it. He
has been at Brighton since. He called here before eleven on Saturday
morning, but I was out on the play business, so I went to him at
Devonshire House yesterday. He almost knows the play by heart. He is
supremely delighted with it, and critically understands it. In proof of
the latter part of this sentence I may mention that he had made two or
three memoranda of trivial doubtful points, _every one of which had
attracted our attention in rehearsal_, as I found when he showed them to
me. He thoroughly understands and appreciates the comedy of the
Duke--threw himself back in his chair and laughed, as I say of Walpole,
"till I thought he'd have choked," about his first Duchess, who was a
Percy. He suggested that he shouldn't say: "You know how to speak to the
heart of a Noble," because it was not likely that he would call himself
a Noble. He thought we might close up the Porter and Softhead a little
more (already done) and was so charmed and delighted to recall the
comedy that he was more pleased than any boy you ever saw when I
repeated two or three of the speeches in my part for him. He is coming
to the rehearsal to-day (we rehearse now at Devonshire House, three days
a-week, all day long), and, since he read the play, has conceived a most
magnificent and noble improvement in the Devonshire House plan, by
which, I daresay, we shall get another thousand or fifteen hundred
pounds. There is not a grain of distrust or doubt in him. I am perfectly
certain that he would confide to me, and does confide to me, his whole
mind on the subject.
More than this, the Duke comes out the best man in the play. I am happy
to report to you that Stone does the honourable manly side of that
pride inexpressibly better than I should have supposed possible in him.
The scene where he makes that reparation to the slandered woman is
_certain_ to be an effect. He is _not_ a jest upon the order of Dukes,
but a great tribute to them. I have sat looking at the play (as you may
suppose) pretty often, and carefully weighing every syllable of it. I
see, in the Duke, the most estimable character in the piece. I am as
sure that I represent the audience in this as I am that I hear the words
when they are spoken before me. The first time that scene with Hardman
was seriously done, it made an effect on the company that quite
surprised and delighted me; and whenever and wherever it is done (but
most of all at Devonshire House) the result will be the same.
Everyone is greatly improved. I wrote an earnest note to Forster a few
days ago on the subject of his being too loud and violent. He has since
subdued himself with the most admirable pains, and improved the part a
thousand per cent. All the points are gradually being worked and
smoothed out with the utmost neatness all through the play. They are all
most heartily anxious and earnest, and, upon the least hitch, will do
the same thing twenty times over. The scenery, furniture, etc., are
rapidly advancing towards completion, and will be beautiful. The dresses
are a perfect blaze of colour, and there is not a pocket-flap or a scrap
of lace that has not been made according to Egg's drawings to the
quarter of an inch. Every wig has been made from an old print or
picture. From the Duke's snuff-box to Will's Coffee-house, you will
find everything in perfect truth and keeping. I have resolved that
whenever we come to a weak place in the acting, it must, somehow or
other, be made a strong one. The places that I used to be most afraid of
are among the best points now.
Will you come to the dress rehearsal on the Tuesday evening before the
Queen's night? There will be no one present but the Duke.
I write in the greatest haste, for the rehearsal time is close at hand,
and I have the master carpenter and gasman to see before we begin.
Miss Coutts is one of the most sensible of women, and if I had not seen
the Duke yesterday, I would have shown her the play directly. But there
can't be any room for anxiety on the head that has troubled you so much.
You may clear it from your mind as completely as Gunpowder Plot.
In great haste, ever cordially.
[Sidenote: The Hon. Miss Eden.[50]]
BROADSTAIRS, _Sunday, 28th September, 1851._
MY DEAR MISS EDEN,
Many thanks for the grapes; which must have come from the identical vine
a man ought to sit under. They were a prodigy of excellence.
I have been concerned to hear of your indisposition, but thought the
best thing I could do, was to make no formal calls when you were really
ill. I have been suffering myself from another kind of malady--a severe,
spasmodic, house-buying-and-repairing attack--which has left me
extremely weak and all but exhausted. The seat of the disorder has been
the pocket.
I had the kindest of notes from the kindest of men this morning, and am
going to see him on Wednesday. Of course I mean the Duke of Devonshire.
Can I take anything to Chatsworth for you?
Very faithfully yours.
[Sidenote: Mr. Frank Stone.]
EXTRACT FROM LETTER TO MR. STONE.
_8th September, 1851._
You never saw such a sight as the sands between this and Margate
presented yesterday. This day fortnight a steamer laden with cattle
going from Rotterdam to the London market, was wrecked on the
Goodwin--on which occasion, by-the-bye, the coming in at night of our
Salvage Luggers laden with dead cattle, which where hoisted up upon the
pier where they lay in heaps, was a most picturesque and striking sight.
The sea since Wednesday has been very rough, blowing in straight upon
the land. Yesterday, the shore was strewn with hundreds of oxen, sheep,
and pigs (and with bushels upon bushels of apples), in every state and
stage of decay--burst open, rent asunder, lying with their stiff hoofs
in the air, or with their great ribs yawning like the wrecks of
ships--tumbled and beaten out of shape, and yet with a horrible sort of
humanity about them. Hovering among these carcases was every kind of
water-side plunderer, pulling the horns out, getting the hides off,
chopping the hoofs with poleaxes, etc. etc., attended by no end of
donkey carts, and spectral horses with scraggy necks, galloping wildly
up and down as if there were something maddening in the stench. I never
beheld such a demoniacal business!
Very faithfully yours.
[Sidenote: Mr. Henry Austin.]
BROADSTAIRS, _Monday, 8th September, 1851._
MY DEAR HENRY,
Your letter, received this morning, has considerably allayed the anguish
of my soul. Our letters crossed, of course, as letters under such
circumstances always do.
I am perpetually wandering (in fancy) up and down the house[51] and
tumbling over the workmen; when I feel that they are gone to dinner I
become low, when I look forward to their total abstinence on Sunday, I
am wretched. The gravy at dinner has a taste of glue in it. I smell
paint in the sea. Phantom lime attends me all the day long. I dream that
I am a carpenter and can't partition off the hall. I frequently dance
(with a distinguished company) in the drawing-room, and fall into the
kitchen for want of a pillar.
A great to-do here. A steamer lost on the Goodwins yesterday, and our
men bringing in no end of dead cattle and sheep. I stood a supper for
them last night, to the unbounded gratification of Broadstairs. They
came in from the wreck very wet and tired, and very much disconcerted by
the nature of their prize--which, I suppose, after all, will have to be
recommitted to the sea, when the hides and tallow are secured. One
lean-faced boatman murmured, when they were all ruminative over the
bodies as they lay on the pier: "Couldn't sassages be made on it?" but
retired in confusion shortly afterwards, overwhelmed by the execrations
of the bystanders.
Ever affectionately.
P.S.--Sometimes I think ----'s bill will be too long to be added up
until Babbage's calculating machine shall be improved and finished.
Sometimes that there is not paper enough ready made, to carry it over
and bring it forward upon.
I dream, also, of the workmen every night. They make faces at me, and
won't do anything.
[Sidenote: Mr. Austen Henry Layard.]
TAVISTOCK HOUSE, TAVISTOCK SQUARE, _16th December, 1851._
MY DEAR LAYARD,[52]
I want to renew your recollection of "the last time we parted"--not at
Wapping Old Stairs, but at Miss Coutts's--when we vowed to be more
intimate after all nations should have departed from Hyde Park, and I
should be able to emerge from my cave on the sea-shore.
Can you, and will you, be in town on Wednesday, the last day of the
present old year? If yes, will you dine with us at a quarter after six,
and see the New Year in with such extemporaneous follies of an exploded
sort (in genteel society) as may occur to us? Both Mrs. Dickens and I
would be really delighted if this should find you free to give us the
pleasure of your society.
Believe me always, very faithfully yours.
FOOTNOTES:
[44] "Not So Bad As We Seem; or, Many Sides to a Character."
[45] "Not So Bad As We Seem."
[46] An embroidered blotting-book given by Mrs. Cowden Clarke.
[47] One of the series in "The Girlhood of Shakespeare's Heroines,"
dedicated to Charles Dickens.
[48] Wilmot, the clever veteran prompter, who was engaged to accompany
the acting-tours.
[49] A wooden one.
[50] Miss Eden had a cottage at Broadstairs, and was residing there at
this time.
[51] Tavistock House.
[52] Now Sir Austen Henry Layard.
1852.
[Sidenote: Mr. James Bower Harrison.]
TAVISTOCK HOUSE, TAVISTOCK SQUARE, _5th January, 1852._
DEAR SIR,
I have just received the work[53] you have had the kindness to send me,
and beg to thank you for it, and for your obliging note, cordially. It
is a very curious little volume, deeply interesting, and written (if I
may be allowed to say so) with as much power of knowledge and plainness
of purpose as modesty.
Faithfully yours.
[Sidenote: Sir Edward Bulwer Lytton.]
TAVISTOCK HOUSE, _Sunday Night, 15th February, 1852._
MY DEAR BULWER,
I left Liverpool at four o'clock this morning, and am so blinded by
excitement, gas, and waving hats and handkerchiefs, that I can hardly
see to write, but I cannot go to bed without telling you what a triumph
we have had. Allowing for the necessarily heavy expenses of all kinds, I
believe we can hardly fund less than a Thousand Pounds out of this trip
alone. And, more than that, the extraordinary interest taken in the idea
of the Guild by "this grand people of England" down in these vast hives,
and the enthusiastic welcome they give it, assure me that we may do what
we will if we will only be true and faithful to our design. There is a
social recognition of it which I cannot give you the least idea of. I
sincerely believe that we have the ball at our feet, and may throw it up
to the very Heaven of Heavens. And I don't speak for myself alone, but
for all our people, and not least of all for Forster, who has been
absolutely stunned by the tremendous earnestness of these great places.
To tell you (especially after your affectionate letter) what I would
have given to have had you there would be idle. But I can most seriously
say that all the sights of the earth turned pale in my eyes, before the
sight of three thousand people with one heart among them, and no
capacity in them, in spite of all their efforts, of sufficiently
testifying to you how they believe you to be right, and feel that they
cannot do enough to cheer you on. They understood the play (_far better
acted by this time than ever you have seen it_) as well as you do. They
allowed nothing to escape them. They rose up, when it was over, with a
perfect fury of delight, and the Manchester people sent a requisition
after us to Liverpool to say that if we will go back there in May, when
we act at Birmingham (as of course we shall) they will joyfully
undertake to fill the Free Trade Hall again. Among the Tories of
Liverpool the reception was equally enthusiastic. We played, two nights
running, to a hall crowded to the roof--more like the opera at Genoa or
Milan than anything else I can compare it to. We dined at the Town Hall
magnificently, and it made no difference in the response. I said what we
were quietly determined to do (when the Guild was given as the toast of
the night), and really they were so noble and generous in their
encouragement that I should have been more ashamed of myself than I hope
I ever shall be, if I could have felt conscious of having ever for a
moment faltered in the work.
I will answer for Birmingham--for any great working town to which we
chose to go. We have won a position for the idea which years upon years
of labour could not have given it. I believe its worldly fortunes have
been advanced in this last week fifty years at least. I feebly express
to you what Forster (who couldn't be at Liverpool, and has not those
shouts ringing in his ears) has felt from the moment he set foot in
Manchester. Believe me we may carry a perfect fiery cross through the
North of England, and over the Border, in this cause, if need be--not
only to the enrichment of the cause, but to the lasting enlistment of
the people's sympathy.
I have been so happy in all this that I could have cried on the shortest
notice any time since Tuesday. And I do believe that our whole body
would have gone to the North Pole with me if I had shown them good
reason for it.
I hope I am not so tired but that you may be able to read this. I have
been at it almost incessantly, day and night for a week, and I am afraid
my handwriting suffers. But in all other respects I am only a giant
refreshed.
We meet next Saturday you recollect? Until then, and ever afterwards,
Believe me, heartily yours.
[Sidenote: Mrs. Cowden Clarke.]
TAVISTOCK HOUSE, _3rd March, 1852._
MY DEAR MRS. CLARKE,
It is almost an impertinence to tell you how delightful your flowers
were to me; for you who thought of that beautiful and delicately-timed
token of sympathy and remembrance, must know it very well already.
I do assure you that I have hardly ever received anything with so much
pleasure in all my life. They are not faded yet--are on my table
here--but never can fade out of my remembrance.
I should be less than a Young Gas, and more than an old Manager--that
commemorative portfolio is here too--if I could relieve my heart of half
that it could say to you. All my house are my witnesses that you have
quite filled it, and this note is my witness that I can _not_ empty it.
Ever faithfully and gratefully your friend.
[Sidenote: Mr. James Bower Harrison.]
LONDON, TAVISTOCK HOUSE, _26th March, 1852._
DEAR SIR,
I beg to thank you for your interesting pamphlet, and to add that I
shall be very happy to accept an article from you on the subject[54] for
"Household Words." I should already have suggested to you that I should
have great pleasure in receiving contributions from one so well and
peculiarly qualified to treat of many interesting subjects, but that I
felt a delicacy in encroaching on your other occupations. Will you
excuse my remarking that to make an article on this particular subject
useful, it is essential to address the employed as well as the
employers? In the case of the Sheffield grinders the difficulty was, for
many years, not with the masters, but the men. Painters who use white
lead are with the greatest difficulty persuaded to be particular in
washing their hands, and I daresay that I need not remind you that one
could not generally induce domestic servants to attend to the commonest
sanitary principles in their work without absolutely forcing them to
experience their comfort and convenience.
Dear Sir, very faithfully yours.
FOOTNOTES:
[53] The "Medical Aspects of Death, and the Medical Aspects of the Human
Mind."
[54] The injurious effects of the manufacture of lucifer matches on the
employed.
1853.
[Sidenote: Mr. W. H. Wills.]
1, JUNCTION PARADE, BRIGHTON,
_Thursday night, 4th March, 1853._
MY DEAR WILLS,
I am sorry, but Brutus sacrifices unborn children of his own as well as
those of other people. "The Sorrows of Childhood," long in type, and
long a mere mysterious name, must come out. The paper really is, like
the celebrated ambassadorial appointment, "too bad."
"A Doctor of Morals," _impossible of insertion as it stands_. A mere
puff, with all the difficult facts of the question blinked, and many
statements utterly at variance with what I am known to have written. It
is exactly because the great bulk of offences in a great number of
places are committed by professed thieves, that it will not do to have
pet prisoning advocated without grave remonstrance and great care. That
class of prisoner is not to be reformed. We must begin at the beginning
and prevent, by stringent correction and supervision of wicked parents,
that class of prisoner from being regularly supplied as if he were a
human necessity.
Do they teach trades in workhouses and try to fit _their_ people (the
worst part of them) for society? Come with me to Tothill Fields
Bridewell, and I will show you what a workhouse girl is. Or look to my
"Walk in a Workhouse" (in "H. W.") and to the glance at the youths I saw
in one place positively kept like wolves.
Mr. ---- thinks prisons could be made nearly self-supporting. Have you
any idea of the difficulty that is found in disposing of Prison-work, or
does he think that the Treadmills didn't grind the air because the State
or the Magistracy objected to the competition of prison-labour with
free-labour, but because the work _could not be got_?
I never can have any kind of prison-discipline disquisition in "H. W."
that does not start with the first great principle I have laid down,
and that does not protest against Prisons being considered _per se_.
Whatever chance is given to a man in a prison must be given to a man in
a refuge for distress.
The article in itself is very good, but it must have these points in it,
otherwise I am not only compromising opinions I am known to hold, but
the journal itself is blowing hot and cold, and playing fast and loose
in a ridiculous way.
"Starting a Paper in India" is very droll to us. But it is full of
references that the public don't understand, and don't in the least care
for. Bourgeois, brevier, minion, and nonpareil, long primer, turn-ups,
dunning advertisements, and reprints, back forme, imposing-stone, and
locking-up, are all quite out of their way, and a sort of slang that
they have no interest in.
Let me see a revise when you have got it together, and if you can
strengthen it--do. I mention all the objections that occur to me as I go
on, not because you can obviate them (except in the case of the
prison-paper), but because if I make a point of doing so always you will
feel and judge the more readily both for yourself and me too when I take
an Italian flight.
YOU:
How are the eyes getting on?
ME:
I have been at work all day.
Ever faithfully.
[Sidenote: The same.]
BOULOGNE, _Sunday, 7th August, 1853._
MY DEAR WILLS,
Can't possibly write autographs until I have written "Bleak House." My
work has been very hard since I have been here; and when I throw down my
pen of a day, I throw down myself, and can take up neither article.
The "C. P." is very well done, but I cannot make up my mind to lend my
blow to the great Forge-bellows of puffery at work. I so heartily desire
to have nothing to do with it, that I wish you would cancel this article
altogether, and substitute something else. As to the guide-books, I
think they are a sufficiently flatulent botheration in themselves,
without being discussed. A lurking desire is always upon me to put Mr.
----'s speech on Accidents to the public, as chairman of the Brighton
Railway, against his pretensions as a chairman of public instructors and
guardians. And I don't know but that I may come to it at some odd time.
This strengthens me in my wish to avoid the bellows.
How two men can have gone, one after the other, to the Camp, and have
written nothing about it, passes my comprehension. I have been in great
doubt about the end of ----. I wish you would suggest to him from me,
when you see him, how wrong it is. Surely he cannot be insensible to the
fact that military preparations in England at this time mean Defence.
Woman, says ----, means Home, love, children, Mother. Does he not find
any protection for these things in a wise and moderate means of
Defence; and is not the union between these things and those means one
of the most natural, significant, and plain in the world?
I wish you would send friend Barnard here a set of "Household Words," in
a paid parcel (on the other side is an inscription to be neatly pasted
into vol. i. before sending), with a post-letter beforehand from
yourself, saying that I had begged you to forward the books, feeling so
much obliged to him for his uniform attention and politeness. Also that
you will not fail to continue his set, as successive volumes appear.
ASPECTS OF NATURE.
We have had a tremendous sea here. Steam-packet in the harbour frantic,
and dashing her brains out against the stone walls.
Ever faithfully.
[Sidenote: Rev. James White.]
BOULOGNE, _September 30th, 1853._
MY DEAR WHITE,
As you wickedly failed in your truth to the writer of books you adore, I
write something that I hoped to have said, and meant to have said, in
the confidence of the Pavilion among the trees.
Will you write another story for the Christmas No.? It will be exactly
(I mean the Xmas No.) on the same plan as the last.
I shall be at the office from Monday to Thursday, and shall hope to
receive a cheery "Yes," in reply.
Loves from all to all, and my particular love to Mrs. White.
Ever cordially yours.
[Sidenote: Mrs. Charles Dickens.]
HOTEL DE LONDRES, CHAMOUNIX,
_Thursday Night, 20th October, 1853._
MY DEAREST KATE,
We[55] came here last night after a very long journey over very bad
roads, from Geneva, and leave here (for Montigny, by the Tete Noire) at
6 to-morrow morning. Next morning early we mean to try the Simplon.
After breakfast to-day we ascended to the Mer de Glace--wonderfully
different at this time of the year from when we saw it--a great portion
of the ascent being covered with snow, and the climbing very difficult.
Regardless of my mule, I walked up and walked down again, to the great
admiration of the guides, who pronounced me "an Intrepid." The little
house at the top being closed for the winter, and Edward having
forgotten to carry any brandy, we had nothing to drink at the top--which
was a considerable disappointment to the Inimitable, who was streaming
with perspiration from head to foot. But we made a fire in the snow with
some sticks, and after a not too comfortable rest came down again. It
took a long time--from 10 to 3.
The appearance of Chamounix at this time of year is very remarkable. The
travellers are over for the season, the inns are generally shut up, all
the people who can afford it are moving off to Geneva, the snow is low
on the mountains, and the general desolation and grandeur
extraordinarily fine. I wanted to pass by the Col de Balme, but the snow
lies too deep upon it.
You would have been quite delighted if you could have seen the warmth of
our old Lausanne friends, and the heartiness with which they crowded
down on a fearfully bad morning to see us off. We passed the night at
the Ecu de Geneve, in the rooms once our old rooms--at that time (the
day before yesterday) occupied by the Queen of the French (ex- I mean)
and Prince Joinville and his family.
Tell Sydney that all the way here from Geneva, and up to the Sea of Ice
this morning, I wore his knitting, which was very comfortable indeed. I
mean to wear it on the long mule journey to Martigny to-morrow.
We get on extremely well. Edward continues as before. He had never been
here, and I took him up to the Mer de Glace this morning, and had a mule
for him.
I shall leave this open, as usual, to add a word or two on our arrival
at Martigny. We have had an amusingly absurd incident this afternoon.
When we came here, I saw added to the hotel--our old hotel, and I am now
writing in the room where we once dined at the table d'hote--some baths,
cold and hot, down on the margin of the torrent below. This induced us
to order three hot baths. Thereupon the keys of the bath-rooms were
found with immense difficulty, women ran backwards and forwards across
the bridge, men bore in great quantities of wood, a horrible furnace was
lighted, and a smoke was raised which filled the whole valley. This
began at half-past three, and we congratulated each other on the
distinction we should probably acquire by being the cause of the
conflagration of the whole village. We sat by the fire until half-past
five (dinner-time), and still no baths. Then Edward came up to say that
the water was as yet only "tippit," which we suppose to be tepid, but
that by half-past eight it would be in a noble state. Ever since the
smoke has poured forth in enormous volume, and the furnace has blazed,
and the women have gone and come over the bridge, and piles of wood have
been carried in; but we observe a general avoidance of us by the
establishment which still looks like failure. We have had a capital
dinner, the dessert whereof is now on the table. When we arrived, at
nearly seven last night, all the linen in the house, newly washed, was
piled in the sitting-room, all the curtains were taken down, and all
the chairs piled bottom upwards. They cleared away as much as they could
directly, and had even got the curtains up at breakfast this morning.
I am looking forward to letters at Genoa, though I doubt if we shall get
there (supposing all things right at the Simplon) before Monday night or
Tuesday morning. I found there last night what F---- would call "Mr.
Smith's" story of Mont Blanc, and took it to bed to read. It is
extremely well and unaffectedly done. You would be interested in it.
MARTIGNY, _Friday Afternoon, October 21st._
Safely arrived here after a most delightful day, without a cloud. I
walked the whole way. The scenery most beautifully presented. We are in
the hotel where our old St. Bernard party assembled.
I should like to see you all very much indeed.
Ever affectionately.
[Sidenote: The same.]
HOTEL DE LA VILLE, MILAN, _25th October, 1853._
MY DEAREST CATHERINE,
The road from Chamounix here takes so much more time than I supposed
(for I travelled it day and night, and my companions don't at all
understand the idea of never going to bed) that we only reached Milan
last night, though we had been travelling twelve and fifteen hours a
day. We crossed the Simplon on Sunday, when there was not (as there is
not now) a particle of cloud in the whole sky, and when the pass was as
nobly grand and beautiful as it possibly can be. There was a good deal
of snow upon the top, but not across the road, which had been cleared.
We crossed the Austrian frontier yesterday, and, both there and at the
gate of Milan, received all possible consideration and politeness.
I have not seen Bairr yet. He has removed from the old hotel to a larger
one at a few hours' distance. The head-waiter remembered me very well
last night after I had talked to him a little while, and was greatly
interested in hearing about all the family, and about poor Roche. The
boy we used to have at Lausanne is now seventeen-and-a-half--very tall,
he says. The elder girl, fifteen, very like her mother, but taller and
more beautiful. He described poor Mrs. Bairr's death (I am speaking of
the head-waiter before mentioned) in most vivacious Italian. It was all
over in ten minutes, he said. She put her hands to her head one day,
down in the courtyard, and cried out that she heard little bells ringing
violently in her ears. They sent off for Bairr, who was close by. When
she saw him, she stretched out her arms, said in English, "Adieu, my
dear!" and fell dead. He has not married again, and he never will. She
was a good woman (my friend went on), excellent woman, full of charity,
loved the poor, but _un poco furiosa_--that was nothing!
The new hotel is just like the old one, admirably kept, excellently
furnished, and a model of comfort. I hope to be at Genoa on Thursday
morning, and to find your letter there. We have agreed to drop Sicily,
and to return home by way of Marseilles. Our projected time for reaching
London is the 10th of December.
As this house is full, I daresay we shall meet some one we know at the
table d'hote to-day. It is extraordinary that the only travellers we
have encountered, since we left Paris, have been one horribly vapid
Englishman and wife whom we dropped at Basle, one boring Englishman whom
we found (and, thank God, left) at Geneva, and two English maiden
ladies, whom we found sitting on a rock (with parasols) the day before
yesterday, in the most magnificent part of the Gorge of Gondo, the most
awful portion of the Simplon--there awaiting their travelling chariot,
in which, with their money, their parasols, and a perfect shop of
baskets, they were carefully _locked up_ by an English servant in sky
blue and silver buttons. We have been in the most extraordinary
vehicles--like swings, like boats, like Noah's arks, like barges and
enormous bedsteads. After dark last night, a landlord, where we changed
horses, discovered that the luggage would certainly be stolen from
_questo porco d'uno carro_--this pig of a cart--his complimentary
description of our carriage, unless cords were attached to each of the
trunks, which cords were to hang down so that we might hold them in our
hands all the way, and feel any tug that might be made at our treasures.
You will imagine the absurdity of our jolting along some twenty miles in
this way, exactly as if we were in three shower-baths and were afraid to
pull the string.
We are going to the Scala to-night, having got the old box belonging to
the hotel, the old key of which is lying beside me on the table. There
seem to be no singers of note here now, and it appears for the time to
have fallen off considerably. I shall now bring this to a close, hoping
that I may have more interesting jottings to send you about the old
scenes and people, from Genoa, where we shall stay two days. You are
now, I take it, at Macready's. I shall be greatly interested by your
account of your visit there. We often talk of you all.
Edward's Italian is (I fear) very weak. When we began to get really into
the language, he reminded me of poor Roche in Germany. But he seems to
have picked up a little this morning. He has been unfortunate with the
unlucky Egg, leaving a pair of his shoes (his favourite shoes) behind in
Paris, and his flannel dressing-gown yesterday morning at Domo d'Ossola.
In all other respects he is just as he was.
Egg and Collins have gone out to kill the lions here, and I take
advantage of their absence to write to you, Georgie, and Miss Coutts.
Wills will have told you, I daresay, that Cerjat accompanied us on a
miserably wet morning, in a heavy rain, down the lake. By-the-bye, the
wife of one of his cousins, born in France of German parents, living in
the next house to Haldimand's, is one of the most charming, natural,
open-faced, and delightful women I ever saw. Madame de ---- is set up as
the great attraction of Lausanne; but this capital creature shuts her up
altogether. We have called her (her--the real belle), ever since, the
early closing movement.
I am impatient for letters from home; confused ideas are upon me that
you are going to White's, but I have no notion when.
Take care of yourself, and God bless you.
Ever most affectionately.
[Sidenote: The same.]
CROCE DI MALTA, GENOA,
_Friday Night, October 29th, 1853._
MY DEAREST CATHERINE,
As we arrived here later than I had expected (in consequence of the
journey from Milan being most horribly slow) I received your welcome
letter only this morning. I write this before going to bed, that I may
be sure of not being taken by any engagement off the post time
to-morrow.
We came in last night between seven and eight. The railroad to Turin is
finished and opened to within twenty miles of Genoa. Its effect upon
the whole town, and especially upon that part of it lying down beyond
the lighthouse and away by San Pietro d'Arena, is quite wonderful. I
only knew the place by the lighthouse, so numerous were the new
buildings, so wide the streets, so busy the people, and so thriving and
busy the many signs of commerce. To-day I have seen ----, the ----, the
----, and the ----, the latter of whom live at Nervi, fourteen or
fifteen miles off, towards Porto Fino. First, of the ----. They are just
the same, except that Mrs. ----'s face is larger and fuller, and her
hair rather gray. As I rang at their bell she came out walking, and
stared at me. "What! you don't know me?" said I; upon which she
recognised me very warmly, and then said in her old quiet way: "I
expected to find a ruin. We heard you had been so ill; and I find you
younger and better-looking than ever. But it's so strange to see you
without a bright waistcoat. Why haven't you got a bright waistcoat on?"
I apologised for my black one, and was sent upstairs, when ----
presently appeared in a hideous and demoniacal nightdress, having turned
out of bed to greet his distinguished countryman. After a long talk, in
the course of which I arranged to dine there on Sunday early, before
starting by the steamer for Naples, and in which they told me every
possible and impossible particular about their minutest affairs, and
especially about ----'s marriage, I set off for ----, at ----. I had
found letters from him here, and he had been here over and over again,
and had driven out no end of times to the Gate to leave messages for me,
and really is (in his strange uncouth way) crying glad to see me. I
found him and his wife in a little comfortable country house,
overlooking the sea, sitting in a small summer-house on wheels, exactly
like a bathing machine. I found her rather pretty, extraordinarily cold
and composed, a mere piece of furniture, _talking broken English_.
Through eight months in the year they live in this country place. She
never reads, never works, never talks, never gives an order or directs
anything, has only a taste for going to the theatre (where she never
speaks either) and buying clothes. They sit in the garden all day, dine
at four, _smoke their cigars_, go in at eight, sit about till ten, and
then go to bed. The greater part of this I had from ---- himself in a
particularly unintelligible confidence in the garden, the only portion
of which that I could clearly understand were the words "and one thing
and another," repeated one hundred thousand times. He described himself
as being perfectly happy, and seemed very fond of his wife. "But that,"
said ---- to me this morning, looking like the figure-head of a ship,
with a nutmeg-grater for a face, "that he ought to be, and must be, and
is bound to be--he couldn't help it."
Then I went on to the ----'s, and found them living in a beautiful
situation in a ruinous Albaro-like palace. Coming upon them unawares, I
found ----, with a pointed beard, smoking a great German pipe, in a pair
of slippers; the two little girls very pale and faint from the climate,
in a singularly untidy state--one (heaven knows why!) without stockings,
and both with their little short hair cropped in a manner never before
beheld, and a little bright bow stuck on the top of it. ---- said she
had invented this headgear as a picturesque thing, adding that perhaps
it was--and perhaps it was not. She was greatly flushed and agitated,
but looked very well, and seems to be greatly liked here. We had
disturbed her at her painting in oils, and I rather received an
impression that, what with that, and what with music, the household
affairs went a little to the wall. ---- was teaching the two little
girls the multiplication table in a disorderly old billiard-room with
all manner of maps in it.
Having obtained a gracious permission from the lady of the school, I am
going to show my companions the Sala of the Peschiere this morning. It
is raining intensely hard in the regular Genoa manner, so that I can
hardly hope for Genoa's making as fine an impression as I could desire.
Our boat for Naples is a large French mail boat, and we hope to get
there on Tuesday or Wednesday. If the day after you receive this you
write to the Poste Restante, Rome, it will be the safest course.
Friday's letter write Poste Restante, Florence. You refer to a letter
you suppose me to have received from Forster--to whom my love. No letter
from him has come to hand.
I will resume my report of this place in my next. In the meantime, I
will not fail to drink dear Katey's health to-day. Edward has just come
in with mention of an English boat on Tuesday morning, superior to
French boat to-morrow, and faster. I shall inquire at ---- and take the
best. When I next write I will give you our route in detail.
I am pleased to hear of Mr. Robson's success in a serious part, as I
hope he will now be a fine actor. I hope you will enjoy yourself at
Macready's, though I fear it must be sometimes but a melancholy visit.
Good-bye, my dear, and believe me ever most affectionately.
_Sunday, 30th October._
We leave for Naples to-morrow morning by the Peninsular and Oriental
Company's steamer the _Valletta_. I send a sketch of our movements that
I have at last been able to make.
Mrs. ---- quite came out yesterday. So did Mrs. ---- (in a different
manner), by violently attacking Mrs. ---- for painting ill in oils when
she might be playing well on the piano. It rained hard all yesterday,
but is finer this morning. We went over the Peschiere in the wet
afternoon. The garden is sorely neglected now, and the rooms are all
full of boarding-school beds, and most of the fireplaces are closed up,
but the old beauty and grandeur of the place were in it still.
This will find you, I suppose, at Sherborne. My heartiest love to dear
Macready, and to Miss Macready, and to all the house. I hope my godson
has not forgotten me.
I will think of Charley (from whom I have heard here) and soon write to
him definitely. At present I think he had better join me at Boulogne. I
shall not bring the little boys over, as, if we keep our time, it would
be too long before Christmas Day.
With love to Georgy, ever most affectionately yours.
[Sidenote: The same.]
HOTEL DES ETRANGERS, NAPLES,
_Friday Night, November 4th, 1853._
MY DEAREST CATHERINE,
We arrived here at midday--two days after our intended time, under
circumstances which I reserve for Georgina's letter, by way of
variety--in what Forster used to call good health and sp--p--pirits. We
have a charming apartment opposite the sea, a little lower down than the
Victoria--in the direction of the San Carlo Theatre--and the windows are
now wide open as on an English summer night. The first persons we found
on board at Genoa, were Emerson Tennent, Lady Tennent, their son and
daughter. They are all here too, in an apartment over ours, and we have
all been constantly together in a very friendly way, ever since our
meeting. We dine at the table d'hote--made a league together on
board--and have been mutually agreeable. They have no servant with them,
and have profited by Edward. He goes on perfectly well, is always
cheerful and ready, has been sleeping on board (upside down, I believe),
in a corner, with his head in the wet and his heels against the side of
the paddle-box--but has been perpetually gay and fresh.
As soon as we got our luggage from the custom house, we packed complete
changes in a bag, set off in a carriage for some warm baths, and had a
most refreshing cleansing after our long journey. There was an odd
Neapolitan attendant--a steady old man--who, bringing the linen into my
bath, proposed to "soap me." Upon which I called out to the other two
that I intended to have everything done to me that could be done, and
gave him directions accordingly. I was frothed all over with Naples
soap, rubbed all down, scrubbed with a brush, had my nails cut, and all
manner of extraordinary operations performed. He was as much
disappointed (apparently) as surprised not to find me dirty, and kept on
ejaculating under his breath, "Oh, Heaven! how clean this Englishman
is!" He also remarked that the Englishman is as fair as a beautiful
woman. Some relations of Lord John Russell's, going to Malta, were
aboardship, and we were very pleasant. Likewise there was a Mr. Young
aboard--an agreeable fellow, not very unlike Forster in person--who
introduced himself as the brother of the Miss Youngs whom we knew at
Boulogne. He was musical and had much good-fellowship in him, and we
were very agreeable together also. On the whole I became decidedly
popular, and was embraced on all hands when I came over the side this
morning. We are going up Vesuvius, of course, and to Herculaneum and
Pompeii, and the usual places. The Tennents will be our companions in
most of our excursions, but we shall leave them here behind us. Naples
looks just the same as when we left it, except that the weather is much
better and brighter.
On the day before we left Genoa, we had another dinner with ---- at his
country place. He was the soul of hospitality, and really seems to love
me. You would have been quite touched if you could have seen the honest
warmth of his affection. On the occasion of this second banquet, Egg
made a brilliant mistake that perfectly convulsed us all. I had
introduced all the games with great success, and we were playing at the
"What advice would you have given that person?" game. The advice was
"Not to bully his fellow-creatures." Upon which, Egg triumphantly and
with the greatest glee, screamed, "Mr. ----!" utterly forgetting ----'s
relationship, which I had elaborately impressed upon him. The effect was
perfectly irresistible and uncontrollable; and the little woman's way of
humouring the joke was in the best taste and the best sense. While I am
upon Genoa I may add, that when we left the Croce the landlord, in
hoping that I was satisfied, told me that as I was an old inhabitant, he
had charged the prices "as to a Genoese." They certainly were very
reasonable.
Mr. and Mrs. Sartoris have lately been staying in this house, but are
just gone. It is kept by an English waiting-maid who married an Italian
courier, and is extremely comfortable and clean. I am getting impatient
to hear from you with all home news, and shall be heartily glad to get
to Rome, and find my best welcome and interest at the post-office there.
That ridiculous ---- and her mother were at the hotel at Leghorn the day
before yesterday, where the mother (poor old lady!) was so ill from the
fright and anxiety consequent on her daughter's efforts at martyrdom,
that it is even doubtful whether she will recover. I learnt from a lady
friend of ----, that all this nonsense originated at Nice, where she was
stirred up by Free Kirk parsons--itinerant--any one of whom I take her
to be ready to make a semi-celestial marriage with. The dear being who
told me all about her was a noble specimen--single, forty, in a clinging
flounced black silk dress, which wouldn't drape, or bustle, or fall, or
do anything of that sort--and with a leghorn hat on her head, at least
(I am serious) _six feet round_. The consequence of its immense size,
was, that whereas it had an insinuating blue decoration in the form of a
bow in front, it was so out of her knowledge behind, that it was all
battered and bent in that direction--and, viewed from that quarter, she
looked drunk.
My best love to Mamey and Katey, and Sydney the king of the nursery, and
Harry and the dear little Plornishghenter. I kiss almost all the
children I encounter in remembrance of their sweet faces, and talk to
all the mothers who carry them. I hope to hear nothing but good news
from you, and to find nothing but good spirits in your expected letter
when I come to Rome. I already begin to look homeward, being now at the
remotest part of the journey, and to anticipate the pleasure of return.
Ever most affectionately.
FOOTNOTE:
[55] Charles Dickens, Mr. Wilkie Collins, Mr. Augustus Egg, and Edward
the courier.
1854.
[Sidenote: Mr. Frederick Grew.[56]]
TAVISTOCK HOUSE, LONDON, _13th January, 1854._
MY DEAR SIR,
I beg, through you, to assure the artizans' committee in aid of the
Birmingham and Midland Institute, that I have received the resolution
they have done me the honour to agree upon for themselves and their
fellow-workmen, with the highest gratification. I awakened no pleasure
or interest among them at Birmingham which they did not repay to me with
abundant interest. I have their welfare and happiness sincerely at
heart, and shall ever be their faithful friend.
Your obedient servant.
[Sidenote: Mrs. Gaskell.]
TAVISTOCK HOUSE, _February 18th, 1854._
MY DEAR MRS. GASKELL,
I am sorry to say that I am not one of the Zoologicals, or I should have
been delighted to have had a hand in the introduction of a child to the
lions and tigers. But Wills shall send up to the gardens this morning,
and see if Mr. Mitchell, the secretary, can be found. If he be
producible I have no doubt that I can send you what you want in the
course of the day.
Such has been the distraction of _my_ mind in _my_ story, that I have
twice forgotten to tell you how much I liked the Modern Greek Songs. The
article is printed and at press for the very next number as ever is.
Don't put yourself out at all as to the division of the story into
parts; I think you had far better write it in your own way. When we come
to get a little of it into type, I have no doubt of being able to make
such little suggestions as to breaks of chapters as will carry us over
all that easily.
My dear Mrs. Gaskell,
Always faithfully yours.
[Sidenote: Rev. W. Harness.]
TAVISTOCK HOUSE, _Friday Evening, May 19th, 1854._
MY DEAR HARNESS,
On Thursday, the first of June, we shall be delighted to come. (Might I
ask for the mildest whisper of the dinner-hour?) I am more than ever
devoted to your niece, if possible, for giving me the choice of two
days, as on the second of June I am a fettered mortal.
I heard a manly, Christian sermon last Sunday at the Foundling--with
_great satisfaction_. If you should happen to know the preacher of it,
pray thank him from me.
Ever cordially yours.
[Sidenote: Rev. James White.]
TAVISTOCK HOUSE, _May 26th, 1854._
MY DEAR WHITE,
Here is Conolly in a dreadful state of mind because you won't dine with
him on the 7th of June next to meet Stratford-on-Avon people, writing to
me, to ask me to write to you and ask you what you mean by it.
What _do_ you mean by it?
It appears to Conolly that your supposing you _can_ have anything to do
is a clear case of monomania, one of the slight instances of perverted
intellect, wherein a visit to him cannot fail to be beneficial. After
conference with my learned friend I am of the same opinion.
Loves from all in Tavistock to all in Bonchurch.
Ever faithfully yours.
[Sidenote: Mr. W. H. Wills.]
BOULOGNE, _Wednesday, August 2nd, 1854._
MY DEAR WILLS,
I will endeavour to come off my back (and the grass) to do an opening
paper for the starting number of "North and South." I can't positively
answer for such a victory over the idleness into which I have
delightfully sunk, as the achievement of this feat; but let us hope.
During a fete on Monday night the meteor flag of England (forgotten to
be struck at sunset) was _stolen!!!_
Manage the proofs of "H. W." so that I may not have to correct them on a
Sunday. I am not going over to the Sabbatarians, but like the haystack
(particularly) on a Sunday morning.
I should like John to call on M. Henri, Townshend's servant, 21, Norfolk
Street, Park Lane, and ask him if, when he comes here with his master,
he can take charge of a trap bat and ball. If yea, then I should like
John to proceed to Mr. Darke, Lord's Cricket Ground, and purchase said
trap bat and ball of the best quality. Townshend is coming here on the
15th, probably will leave town a day or two before.
Pray be in a condition to drink a glass of the 1846 champagne when _you_
come.
I think I have no more to say at present. I cannot sufficiently admire
my prodigious energy in coming out of a stupor to write this letter.
Ever faithfully.
FOOTNOTE:
[56] Secretary to the Artizans' Committee in aid of the Birmingham and
Midland Institute.
1855.
[Sidenote: Miss King.]
TAVISTOCK HOUSE, _Friday Evening,
February 9th, 1855._
MY DEAR MISS KING,
I wish to get over the disagreeable part of my letter in the beginning.
I have great doubts of the possibility of publishing your story in
portions.
But I think it possesses _very great merit_. My doubts arise partly from
the nature of the interest which I fear requires presentation as a
whole, and partly on your manner of relating the tale. The people do not
sufficiently work out their own purposes in dialogue and dramatic
action. You are too much their exponent; what you do for them, they
ought to do for themselves. With reference to publication in detached
portions (or, indeed, with a reference to the force of the story in any
form), that long stoppage and going back to possess the reader with the
antecedents of the clergyman's biography, are rather crippling. I may
mention that I think the boy (the child of the second marriage) a little
too "slangy." I know the kind of boyish slang which belongs to such a
character in these times; but, considering his part in the story, I
regard it as the author's function to elevate such a characteristic, and
soften it into something more expressive of the ardour and flush of
youth, and its romance. It seems to me, too, that the dialogues between
the lady and the Italian maid are conventional but not natural. This
observation I regard as particularly applying to the maid, and to the
scene preceding the murder. Supposing the main objection surmountable, I
would venture then to suggest to you the means of improvement in this
respect.
The paper is so full of good touches of character, passion, and natural
emotion, that I very much wish for a little time to reconsider it, and
to try whether condensation here and there would enable us to get it say
into four parts. I am not sanguine of this, for I observed the
difficulties as I read it the night before last; but I am very
unwilling, I assure you, to decline what has so much merit.
I am going to Paris on Sunday morning for ten days or so. I purpose
being back again within a fortnight. If you will let me think of this
matter in the meanwhile, I shall at least have done all I can to satisfy
my own appreciation of your work.
But if, in the meantime, you should desire to have it back with any
prospect of publishing it through other means, a letter--the shortest in
the world--from you to Mr. Wills at the "Household Words" office will
immediately produce it. I repeat with perfect sincerity that I am much
impressed by its merits, and that if I had read it as the production of
an entire stranger, I think it would have made exactly this effect upon
me.
My dear Miss King,
Very faithfully yours.
[Sidenote: The same.]
TAVISTOCK HOUSE, _24th February, 1855._
MY DEAR MISS KING,
I have gone carefully over your story again, and quite agree with you
that the episode of the clergyman could be told in a very few lines.
Startling as I know it will appear to you, I am bound to say that I
think the purpose of the whole tale would be immensely strengthened by
great compression. I doubt if it could not be told more forcibly in half
the space.
It is certainly too long for "Household Words," and I fear my idea of it
is too short for you. I am, if possible, more unwilling than I was at
first to decline it; but the more I have considered it, the longer it
has seemed to grow. Nor can I ask you to try to present it free from
that objection, because I already perceive the difficulty, and pain, of
such an effort.
To the best of my knowledge, you are wrong about the Lady at last, and
to the best of my observation, you do not express what you explain
yourself to mean in the case of the Italian attendant. I have met with
such talk in the romances of Maturin's time--certainly never in Italian
life.
These, however, are slight points easily to be compromised in an hour.
The great obstacle I must leave wholly to your own judgment, in looking
over the tale again.
Believe me always, very faithfully yours.
[Sidenote: Mr. W. M. Thackeray.]
TAVISTOCK HOUSE, _Friday Evening, 23rd March, 1855._
MY DEAR THACKERAY,[57]
I have read in _The Times_ to-day an account of your last night's
lecture, and cannot refrain from assuring you in all truth and
earnestness that I am profoundly touched by your generous reference to
me. I do not know how to tell you what a glow it spread over my heart.
Out of its fulness I do entreat you to believe that I shall never forget
your words of commendation. If you could wholly know at once how you
have moved me, and how you have animated me, you would be the happier I
am very certain.
Faithfully yours ever.
[Sidenote: Mr. Forster.]
TAVISTOCK HOUSE, _Friday, 29th March, 1855._
MY DEAR FORSTER,
I have hope of Mr. Morley,[58] whom one cannot see without knowing to be
a straightforward, earnest man. _I_ also think Higgins[59] will
materially help them.[60] Generally, I quite agree with you that they
hardly know what to be at; but it is an immensely difficult subject to
start, and they must have every allowance. At any rate, it is not by
leaving them alone and giving them no help, that they can be urged on to
success. (Travers, too, I think, a man of the Anti-Corn-Law-League
order.)
Higgins told me, after the meeting on Monday night, that on the previous
evening he had been closeted with ----, whose letter in that day's paper
he had put right for _The Times_. He had never spoken to ---- before, he
said, and found him a rather muddle-headed Scotchman as to his powers of
conveying his ideas. He (Higgins) had gone over his documents
judicially, and with the greatest attention; and not only was ---- wrong
in every particular (except one very unimportant circumstance), but, in
reading documents to the House, had stopped short in sentences where no
stop was, and by so doing had utterly perverted their meaning.
This is to come out, of course, when said ---- gets the matter on. I
thought the case so changed, before I knew this, by his letter and that
of the other shipowners, that I told Morley, when I went down to the
theatre, that I felt myself called upon to relieve him from the
condition I had imposed.
For the rest, I am quite calmly confident that I only do justice to the
strength of my opinions, and use the power which circumstances have
given me, conscientiously and moderately, with a right object, and
towards the prevention of nameless miseries. I should be now
reproaching myself if I had not gone to the meeting, and, having been, I
am very glad.
A good illustration of a Government office. ---- very kindly wrote to me
to suggest that "Houses of Parliament" illustration. After I had dined
on Wednesday, and was going to jog slowly down to Drury Lane, it
suddenly came into my head that perhaps his details were wrong. I had
just time to turn to the "Annual Register," and _not one of them was
correct_!
This is, of course, in close confidence.
Ever affectionately.
[Sidenote: Mrs. Winter.]
_Tuesday, 3rd April, 1855._
MY DEAR MARIA,[61]
A necessity is upon me now--as at most times--of wandering about in my
old wild way, to think. I could no more resist this on Sunday or
yesterday than a man can dispense with food, or a horse can help himself
from being driven. I hold my inventive capacity on the stern condition
that it must master my whole life, often have complete possession of me,
make its own demands upon me, and sometimes, for months together, put
everything else away from me. If I had not known long ago that my place
could never be held, unless I were at any moment ready to devote myself
to it entirely, I should have dropped out of it very soon. All this I
can hardly expect you to understand--or the restlessness and waywardness
of an author's mind. You have never seen it before you, or lived with
it, or had occasion to think or care about it, and you cannot have the
necessary consideration for it. "It is only half-an-hour,"--"It is only
an afternoon,"--"It is only an evening," people say to me over and over
again; but they don't know that it is impossible to command one's self
sometimes to any stipulated and set disposal of five minutes,--or that
the mere consciousness of an engagement will sometimes worry a whole
day. These are the penalties paid for writing books. Whoever is devoted
to an art must be content to deliver himself wholly up to it, and to
find his recompense in it. I am grieved if you suspect me of not wanting
to see you, but I can't help it; I must go my way whether or no.
I thought you would understand that in sending the card for the box I
sent an assurance that there was nothing amiss. I am pleased to find
that you were all so interested with the play. My ladies say that the
first part is too painful and wants relief. I have been going to see it
a dozen times, but have never seen it yet, and never may. Madame Celeste
is injured thereby (you see how unreasonable people are!) and says in
the green-room, "M. Dickens est artiste! Mais il n'a jamais vu 'Janet
Pride!'"
It is like a breath of fresh spring air to know that that unfortunate
baby of yours is out of her one close room, and has about half-a-pint of
very doubtful air per day. I could only have become her Godfather on the
condition that she had five hundred gallons of open air at any rate
every day of her life; and you would soon see a rose or two in the face
of my other little friend, Ella, if you opened all your doors and
windows throughout the whole of all fine weather, from morning to night.
I am going off; I don't know where or how far, to ponder about I don't
know what. Sometimes I am half in the mood to set off for France,
sometimes I think I will go and walk about on the seashore for three or
four months, sometimes I look towards the Pyrenees, sometimes
Switzerland. I made a compact with a great Spanish authority last week,
and vowed I would go to Spain. Two days afterwards Layard and I agreed
to go to Constantinople when Parliament rises. To-morrow I shall
probably discuss with somebody else the idea of going to Greenland or
the North Pole. The end of all this, most likely, will be, that I shall
shut myself up in some out-of-the-way place I have not yet thought of,
and go desperately to work there.
Once upon a time I didn't do such things you say. No. But I have done
them through a good many years now, and they have become myself and my
life.
Ever affectionately.
[Sidenote: The same.]
TAVISTOCK HOUSE, _Wednesday, June 30th, 1855._
MY DEAR MRS. WINTER,
I am truly grieved to hear of your affliction in the loss of your
darling baby. But if you be not, even already, so reconciled to the
parting from that innocent child for a little while, as to bear it
gently and with a softened sorrow, I know that that not unhappy state of
mind must soon arise. The death of infants is a release from so much
chance and change--from so many casualties and distresses--and is a
thing so beautiful in its serenity and peace--that it should not be a
bitterness, even in a mother's heart. The simplest and most affecting
passage in all the noble history of our Great Master, is His
consideration for little children, and in reference to yours, as many
millions of bereaved mothers poor and rich will do in reference to
theirs until the end of time, you may take the comfort of the generous
words, "And He took a child, and set it in the midst of them."
In a book, by one of the greatest English writers, called "A Journey
from this World to the Next," a parent comes to the distant country
beyond the grave, and finds the little girl he had lost so long ago,
engaged in building a bower to receive him in, when his aged steps
should bring him there at last. He is filled with joy to see her, so
young--so bright--so full of promise--and is enraptured to think that
she never was old, wan, tearful, withered. This is always one of the
sources of consolation in the deaths of children. With no effort of the
fancy, with nothing to undo, you will always be able to think of the
pretty creature you have lost, _as a child_ in heaven.
A poor little baby of mine lies in Highgate cemetery--and I laid her
just as you think of laying yours, in the catacombs there, until I made
a resting-place for all of us in the free air.
It is better that I should not come to see you. I feel quite sure of
that, and will think of you instead.
God bless and comfort you! Mrs. Dickens and her sister send their
kindest condolences to yourself and Mr. Winter. I add mine with all my
heart.
Affectionately your friend.
[Sidenote: Mr. Wilkie Collins.]
TAVISTOCK HOUSE, _Sunday, 8th July, 1855._
MY DEAR COLLINS,
I don't know whether you may have heard from Webster, or whether the
impression I derived from Mark's manner on Friday may be altogether
correct. But it strongly occurred to me that Webster was going to
decline the play, and that he really has worried himself into a fear of
playing Aaron.
Now, when I got this into my head--which was during the rehearsal--I
considered two things:--firstly, how we could best put about the success
of the piece more widely and extensively even than it has yet reached;
and secondly, how you could be best assisted against a bad production
of it hereafter, or no production of it. I thought I saw immediately,
that the point would be to have this representation noticed in the
newspapers. So I waited until the rehearsal was over and we had
profoundly astonished the family, and then asked Colonel Waugh what he
thought of sending some cards for Tuesday to the papers. He highly
approved, and I yesterday morning directed Mitchell to send to all the
morning papers, and to some of the weekly ones--a dozen in the whole.
I dined at Lord John's yesterday (where Meyerbeer was, and said to me
after dinner: "Ah, mon ami illustre! que c'est noble de vous entendre
parler d'haute voix morale, a la table d'un ministre!" for I gave them a
little bit of truth about Sunday that was like bringing a Sebastopol
battery among the polite company), I say, after this long parenthesis, I
dined at Lord John's, and found great interest and talk about the play,
and about what everybody who had been here had said of it. And I was
confirmed in my decision that the thing for you was the invitation to
the papers. Hence I write to tell you what I have done.
I dine at home at half-past five if you are disengaged, and I shall be
at home all the evening.
Ever faithfully.
NOTE (by Mr. Wilkie Collins).--This
characteristically kind endeavour to induce
managers of theatres to produce "The
Lighthouse," after the amateur performances of
the play, was not attended with any immediate
success. The work remained in the author's desk
until Messrs. Robson and Emden undertook the
management of the Olympic Theatre. They opened
their first season with "The Lighthouse;" the
part of Aaron Gurnock being performed by Mr. F.
Robson.--W. C.
[Sidenote: Miss Emily Jolly.]
3, ALBION VILLAS, FOLKESTONE, KENT,
_Tuesday, 17th July, 1855._
DEAR MADAM,[62]
Your manuscript, entitled a "Wife's Story," has come under my own
perusal within these last three or four days. I recognise in it such
great merit and unusual promise, and I think it displays so much power
and knowledge of the human heart, that I feel a strong interest in you
as its writer.
I have begged the gentleman, who is in my confidence as to the
transaction of the business of "Household Words," to return the MS. to
you by the post, which (as I hope) will convey this note to you. My
object is this: I particularly entreat you to consider the catastrophe.
You write to be read, of course. The close of the story is unnecessarily
painful--will throw off numbers of persons who would otherwise read it,
and who (as it stands) will be deterred by hearsay from so doing, and is
so tremendous a piece of severity, that it will defeat your purpose. All
my knowledge and experience, such as they are, lead me straight to the
recommendation that you will do well to spare the life of the husband,
and of one of the children. Let her suppose the former dead, from seeing
him brought in wounded and insensible--lose nothing of the progress of
her mental suffering afterwards when that doctor is in attendance upon
her--but bring her round at last to the blessed surprise that her
husband is still living, and that a repentance which can be worked out,
_in the way of atonement for the misery she has occasioned to the man
whom she so ill repaid for his love, and made so miserable_, lies before
her. So will you soften the reader whom you now as it were harden, and
so you will bring tears from many eyes, which can only have their spring
in affectionately and gently touched hearts. I am perfectly certain that
with this change, all the previous part of your tale will tell for
twenty times as much as it can in its present condition. And it is
because I believe you have a great fame before you if you do justice to
the remarkable ability you possess, that I venture to offer you this
advice in what I suppose to be the beginning of your career.
I observe some parts of the story which would be strengthened, even in
their psychological interest, by condensation here and there. If you
will leave that to me, I will perform the task as conscientiously and
carefully as if it were my own. But the suggestion I offer for your
acceptance, no one but yourself can act upon.
Let me conclude this hasty note with the plain assurance that I have
never been so much surprised and struck by any manuscript I have read,
as I have been by yours.
Your faithful Servant.
[Sidenote: The same.]
3, ALBION VILLAS, FOLKESTONE, _July 21st, 1855._
DEAR MADAM,
I did not enter, in detail, on the spirit of the alteration I propose in
your story; because I thought it right that you should think out that
for yourself if you applied yourself to the change. I can now assure you
that you describe it exactly as I had conceived it; and if I had wanted
anything to confirm me in my conviction of its being right, our both
seeing it so precisely from the same point of view, would be ample
assurance to me.
I would leave her new and altered life to be inferred. It does not
appear to me either necessary or practicable (within such limits) to do
more than that. Do not be uneasy if you find the alteration demanding
time. I shall quite understand that, and my interest will keep. _When_
you finish the story, send it to Mr. Wills. Besides being in daily
communication with him, I am at the office once a week; and I will go
over it in print, before the proof is sent to you.
Very faithfully yours.
1855.[63]
[Sidenote: Captain Morgan.]
DEAR FRIEND,[64]
I am always delighted to hear from you. Your genial earnestness does me
good to think of. And every day of my life I feel more and more that to
be thoroughly in earnest is everything, and to be anything short of it
is nothing. You see what we have been doing to our valiant soldiers.[65]
You see what miserable humbugs we are. And because we have got involved
in meshes of aristocratic red tape to our unspeakable confusion, loss,
and sorrow, the gentlemen who have been so kind as to ruin us are going
to give us a day of humiliation and fasting the day after to-morrow. I
am sick and sour to think of such things at this age of the world. . . .
I am in the first stage of a new book, which consists in going round and
round the idea, as you see a bird in his cage go about and about his
sugar before he touches it.
Always most cordially yours.
FOOTNOTES:
[57] The Editors have great pleasure in publishing another note to Mr.
Thackeray, which has been found and sent to them by his daughter, Mrs.
Ritchie, since the publication of the first two volumes.
[58] Chairman of the "Administrative Reform League" Meeting at Drury
Lane Theatre.
[59] Mr. Higgins, best known as a writer in _The Times_, under the name
of "Jacob Omnium."
[60] The Members of the Administrative Reform League.
[61] Mrs. Winter, a very dear friend and companion of Charles Dickens in
his youth.
[62] Miss Emily Jolly, authoress of "Mr. Arle," and many other clever
novels.
[63] This, and another Letter to Captain Morgan which appears under date
of 1860, were published in _Scribner's Monthly_, October, 1877.
[64] Captain Morgan was a captain in the American Merchant Service. He
was an intimate friend of Mr. Leslie, R.A. (the great painter), by whom
he was made known to Charles Dickens.
[65] This Letter was written during the Crimean war.
1856.
[Sidenote: Mr. T. Ross. Mr. J. Kenny.]
TAVISTOCK HOUSE, _Monday, 19th May, 1856._
GENTLEMEN,
I have received a letter signed by you (which I assume to be written
mainly on behalf of what are called Working-Men and their families)
inviting me to attend a meeting in our Parish Vestry Hall this evening
on the subject of the stoppage of the Sunday bands in the Parks.
I thoroughly agree with you that those bands have afforded an innocent
and healthful enjoyment on the Sunday afternoon, to which the people
have a right. But I think it essential that the working people should,
of themselves and by themselves, assert that right. They have been
informed, on the high authority of their first Minister (lately rather
in want of House of Commons votes I am told) that they are almost
indifferent to it. The correction of that mistake, if official
omniscience can be mistaken, lies with themselves. In case it should be
considered by the meeting, which I prefer for this reason not to attend,
expedient to unite with other Metropolitan parishes in forming a fund
for the payment of such expenses as may be incurred in peaceably and
numerously representing to the governing powers that the harmless
recreation they have taken away is very much wanted, I beg you to put
down my name as a subscriber of ten pounds.
And I am, your faithful Servant.
[Sidenote: Mr. Washington Irving.]
TAVISTOCK HOUSE, _London, July 5th, 1856._
MY DEAR IRVING,
If you knew how often I write to you individually and personally in my
books, you would be no more surprised in seeing this note than you were
in seeing me do my duty by that flowery julep (in what I dreamily
apprehend to have been a former state of existence) at Baltimore.
Will you let me present to you a cousin of mine, Mr. B----, who is
associated with a merchant's house in New York? Of course he wants to
see you, and know you. How can _I_ wonder at that? How can anybody?
I had a long talk with Leslie at the last Academy dinner (having
previously been with him in Paris), and he told me that you were
flourishing. I suppose you know that he wears a moustache--so do I for
the matter of that, and a beard too--and that he looks like a portrait
of Don Quixote.
Holland House has four-and-twenty youthful pages in it now--twelve for
my lord, and twelve for my lady; and no clergyman coils his leg up under
his chair all dinner-time, and begins to uncurve it when the hostess
goes. No wheeled chair runs smoothly in with that beaming face in it;
and ----'s little cotton pocket-handkerchief helped to make (I believe)
this very sheet of paper. A half-sad, half-ludicrous story of Rogers is
all I will sully it with. You know, I daresay, that for a year or so
before his death he wandered, and lost himself like one of the Children
in the Wood, grown up there and grown down again. He had Mrs. Procter
and Mrs. Carlyle to breakfast with him one morning--only those two. Both
excessively talkative, very quick and clever, and bent on entertaining
him. When Mrs. Carlyle had flashed and shone before him for about
three-quarters of an hour on one subject, he turned his poor old eyes on
Mrs. Procter, and pointing to the brilliant discourser with his poor old
finger, said (indignantly), "Who is _she_?" Upon this, Mrs. Procter,
cutting in, delivered (it is her own story) a neat oration on the life
and writings of Carlyle, and enlightened him in her happiest and airiest
manner; all of which he heard, staring in the dreariest silence, and
then said (indignantly, as before), "And who are _you_?"
Ever, my dear Irving,
Most affectionately and truly yours.
[Sidenote: Mr. Frank Stone, A.R.A]
VILLE DES MOULINEAUX, BOULOGNE,
_Wednesday, 9th July, 1856._
MY DEAR STONE,
I have got a capital part for you in the farce,[66] not a difficult one
to learn, as you never say anything but "Yes" and "No." You are called
in the _dramatis personae_ an able-bodied British seaman, and you are
never seen by mortal eye to do anything (except inopportunely producing
a mop) but stand about the deck of the boat in everybody's way, with
your hair immensely touzled, one brace on, your hands in your pockets,
and the bottoms of your trousers tucked up. Yet you are inextricably
connected with the plot, and are the man whom everybody is inquiring
after. I think it is a very whimsical idea and extremely droll. It made
me laugh heartily when I jotted it all down yesterday.
Loves from all my house to all yours.
Ever affectionately.
FOOTNOTE:
[66] The farce alluded to, however, was never written. It had been
projected to be played at the Amateur Theatricals at Tavistock House.
1857.
[Sidenote: Sir Edward Bulwer Lytton.]
TAVISTOCK HOUSE, _Wednesday, 28th January, 1857._
MY DEAR BULWER,
I thought Wills had told you as to the Guild (for I begged him to) that
he can do absolutely nothing until our charter is seven years old. It is
the stringent and express prohibition of the Act of Parliament--for
which things you members, thank God, are responsible and not I. When I
observed this clause (which was just as we were going to grant a
pension, if we could agree on a good subject), I caused our Counsel's
opinion to be taken on it, and there is not a doubt about it. I
immediately recommended that there should be no expenses--that the
interest on the capital should be all invested as it accrued--that the
chambers should be given up and the clerk discharged--and that the Guild
should have the use of the "Household Words" office rent free, and the
services of Wills on the same terms. All of which was done.
A letter is now copying, to be sent round to all the members,
explaining, with the New Year, the whole state of the thing. You will
receive this. It appears to me that it looks wholesome enough. But if a
strong idiot comes and binds your hands, or mine, or both, for seven
years, what is to be done against him?
As to greater matters than this, however--as to all matters on this
teeming Earth--it appears to me that the House of Commons and Parliament
altogether, is just the dreariest failure and nuisance that has bothered
this much-bothered world.
Ever yours.
[Sidenote: Miss Emily Jolly.]
GRAVESEND, KENT, _10th April, 1857._
DEAR MADAM,
As I am away from London for a few days, your letter has been forwarded
to me.
I can honestly encourage and assure you that I believe the depression
and want of confidence under which you describe yourself as labouring
to have no sufficient foundation.
First as to "Mr. Arle." I have constantly heard it spoken of with great
approval, and I think it a book of considerable merit. If I were to tell
you that I see no evidence of inexperience in it, that would not be
true. I think a little more stir and action to be desired also; but I am
surprised by your being despondent about it, for I assure you that I had
supposed it (always remembering that it is your first novel) to have met
with a very good reception.
I can bring to my memory--here, with no means of reference at hand--only
two papers of yours that have been unsuccessful at "Household Words." I
think the first was called "The Brook." It appeared to me to break down
upon a confusion that pervaded it, between a Coroner's Inquest and a
Trial. I have a general recollection of the mingling of the two, as to
facts and forms that should have been kept apart, in some inextricable
manner that was beyond my powers of disentanglement. The second was
about a wife's writing a Novel and keeping the secret from her husband
until it was done. I did not think the incident of sufficient force to
justify the length of the narrative. But there is nothing fatal in
either of these mischances.
Mr. Wills told me when I spoke to him of the latter paper that you had
it in contemplation to offer a longer story to "Household Words." If you
should do so, I assure you I shall be happy to read it myself, and that
I shall have a sincere desire to accept it, if possible.
I can give you no better counsel than to look into the life about you,
and to strive for what is noblest and true. As to further encouragement,
I do not, I can most strongly add, believe that you have any reason to
be downhearted.
Very faithfully yours.
[Sidenote: The same.]
TAVISTOCK HOUSE, _Saturday Morning, 30th May, 1857._
DEAR MADAM,
I read your story, with all possible attention, last night. I cannot
tell you with what reluctance I write to you respecting it, for my
opinion of it is _not_ favourable, although I perceive your heart in it,
and great strength.
Pray understand that I claim no infallibility. I merely express my own
honest opinion, formed against my earnest desire. I do not lay it down
as law for others, though, of course, I believe that many others would
come to the same conclusion. It appears to me that the story is one that
cannot possibly be told within the compass to which you have limited
yourself. The three principal people are, every one of them, in the
wrong with the reader, and you cannot put any of them right, without
making the story extend over a longer space of time, and without
anatomising the souls of the actors more slowly and carefully. Nothing
would justify the departure of Alice, but her having some strong reason
to believe that in taking that step, _she saved her lover_. In your
intentions as to that lover's transfer of his affections to Eleanor, I
descry a striking truth; but I think it confusedly wrought out, and all
but certain to fail in expressing itself. Eleanor, I regard as forced
and overstrained. The natural result is, that she carries a train of
anti-climax after her. I particularly notice this at the point when she
thinks she is going to be drowned.
The whole idea of the story is sufficiently difficult to require the
most exact truth and the greatest knowledge and skill in the colouring
throughout. In this respect I have no doubt of its being extremely
defective. The people do not talk as such people would; and the little
subtle touches of description which, by making the country house and the
general scene real, would give an air of reality to the people (much to
be desired) are altogether wanting. The more you set yourself to the
illustration of your heroine's passionate nature, the more indispensable
this attendant atmosphere of truth becomes. It would, in a manner,
oblige the reader to believe in her. Whereas, for ever exploding like a
great firework without any background, she glares and wheels and hisses,
and goes out, and has lighted nothing.
Lastly, I fear she is too convulsive from beginning to end. Pray
reconsider, from this point of view, her brow, and her eyes, and her
drawing herself up to her full height, and her being a perfumed
presence, and her floating into rooms, also her asking people how they
dare, and the like, on small provocation. When she hears her music being
played, I think she is particularly objectionable.
I have a strong belief that if you keep this story by you three or four
years, you will form an opinion of it not greatly differing from mine.
There is so much good in it, so much reflection, so much passion and
earnestness, that, if my judgment be right, I feel sure you will come
over to it. On the other hand, I do not think that its publication, as
it stands, would do you service, or be agreeable to you hereafter.
I have no means of knowing whether you are patient in the pursuit of
this art; but I am inclined to think that you are not, and that you do
not discipline yourself enough. When one is impelled to write this or
that, one has still to consider: "How much of this will tell for what I
mean? How much of it is my own wild emotion and superfluous energy--how
much remains that is truly belonging to this ideal character and these
ideal circumstances?" It is in the laborious struggle to make this
distinction, and in the determination to try for it, that the road to
the correction of faults lies. [Perhaps I may remark, in support of the
sincerity with which I write this, that I am an impatient and impulsive
person myself, but that it has been for many years the constant effort
of my life to practise at my desk what I preach to you.]
I should not have written so much, or so plainly, but for your last
letter to me. It seems to demand that I should be strictly true with
you, and I am so in this letter, without any reservation either way.
Very faithfully yours.
1858.
[Sidenote: Mr. Albert Smith.]
TAVISTOCK HOUSE, TAVISTOCK SQUARE, LONDON, W.C.,
_Wednesday Night, 1st December, 1858._
MY DEAR ALBERT,
I cannot tell you how grieved I am for poor dear Arthur (even you can
hardly love him better than I do), or with what anxiety I shall wait for
further news of him.
Pray let me know how he is to-morrow. Tell them at home that Olliffe is
the kindest and gentlest of men--a man of rare experience and
opportunity--perfect master of his profession, and to be confidently and
implicitly relied upon. There is no man alive, in whose hands I would
more thankfully trust myself.
I will write a cheery word to the dear fellow in the morning.
Ever faithfully.
[Sidenote: Mr. Arthur Smith.]
TAVISTOCK HOUSE, TAVISTOCK SQUARE, LONDON, W.C.,
_Thursday, 2nd December, 1858._
MY DEAR ARTHUR,
I cannot tell you how surprised and grieved I was last night to hear
from Albert of your severe illness. It is not my present intention to
give you the trouble of reading anything like a letter, but I MUST send
you my loving word; and tell you how we all think of you.
And here am I going off to-morrow to that meeting at Manchester without
_you!_ the wildest and most impossible of moves as it seems to me. And
to think of my coming back by Coventry, on Saturday, to receive the
chronometer--also without you!
If you don't get perfectly well soon, my dear old fellow, I shall come
over to Paris to look after you, and to tell Olliffe (give him my love,
and the same for Lady Olliffe) what a Blessing he is.
With kindest regards to Mrs. Arthur and her sister,
Ever heartily and affectionately yours.
1859.
[Sidenote: Mr. W. P. Frith, R.A.]
GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER,
_Wednesday, 12th January, 1859._
MY DEAR FRITH,
At eleven on Monday morning next, the gifted individual whom you will
transmit to posterity,[67] will be at Watkins'. Table also shall be
there, and chair. Velvet coat likewise if the tailor should have sent it
home. But the garment is more to be doubted than the man whose signature
here follows.
Faithfully yours always.
[Sidenote: Mrs. Cowden Clark.]
GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,
_21st August, 1859._
MY DEAR MRS. COWDEN CLARKE,
I cannot tell you how much pleasure I have derived from the receipt of
your earnest letter. Do not suppose it possible that such praise can be
"less than nothing" to your old manager. It is more than all else.
Here in my little country house on the summit of the hill where Falstaff
did the robbery, your words have come to me in the most appropriate and
delightful manner. When the story can be read all at once, and my
meaning can be better seen, I will send it to you (sending it to Dean
Street, if you tell me of no better way), and it will be a hearty
gratification to think that you and your good husband are reading it
together. For you must both take notice, please, that I have a reminder
of you always before me. On my desk, here, stand two green leaves[68]
which I every morning station in their ever-green place at my elbow. The
leaves on the oak-trees outside the window are less constant than these,
for they are with me through the four seasons.
Lord! to think of the bygone day when you were stricken mute (was it not
at Glasgow?) and, being mounted on a tall ladder at a practicable
window, stared at Forster, and with a noble constancy refused to utter
word! Like the Monk among the pictures with Wilkie, I begin to think
_that_ the real world, and this the sham that goes out with the lights.
God bless you both.
Ever faithfully yours.
FOOTNOTES:
[67] The portrait by Mr. Frith is now in the Forster Collection, at the
South Kensington Museum.
[68] A porcelain paper-weight with two green leaves enamelled on it,
between which were placed the initials C. D. A present from Mrs. C.
Clarke.
1860.
[Sidenote: Mr. Henry F. Chorley.]
[69]TAVISTOCK HOUSE, TAVISTOCK SQUARE, W.C.,
_Friday Night, Feb. 3, 1860._
MY DEAR CHORLEY,
I can most honestly assure you that I think "Roccabella" a very
remarkable book indeed. Apart--quite apart--from my interest in you, I
am certain that if I had taken it up under any ordinarily favourable
circumstances as a book of which I knew nothing whatever, I should
not--could not--have relinquished it until I had read it through. I had
turned but a few pages, and come to the shadow on the bright sofa at the
foot of the bed, when I knew myself to be in the hands of an artist.
That rare and delightful recognition I never lost for a moment until I
closed the second volume at the end. I am "a good audience" when I have
reason to be, and my girls would testify to you, if there were need,
that I cried over it heartily. Your story seems to me remarkably
ingenious. I had not the least idea of the purport of the sealed paper
until you chose to enlighten me; and then I felt it to be quite natural,
quite easy, thoroughly in keeping with the character and presentation of
the Liverpool man. The position of the Bell family in the story has a
special air of nature and truth; is quite new to me, and is so
dexterously and delicately done that I find the deaf daughter no less
real and distinct than the clergyman's wife. The turn of the story round
that damnable Princess I pursued with a pleasure with which I could
pursue nothing but a true interest; and I declare to you that if I were
put upon finding anything better than the scene of Roccabella's death, I
should stare round my bookshelves very much at a loss for a long time.
Similarly, your characters have really surprised me. From the lawyer to
the Princess, I swear to them as true; and in your fathoming of Rosamond
altogether, there is a profound wise knowledge that I admire and respect
with a heartiness not easily overstated in words.
I am not quite with you as to the Italians. Your knowledge of the
Italian character seems to me surprisingly subtle and penetrating;
but I think we owe it to those most unhappy men and their political
wretchedness to ask ourselves mercifully, whether their faults
are not essentially the faults of a people long oppressed and
priest-ridden;--whether their tendency to slink and conspire is not a
tendency that spies in every dress, from the triple crown to a lousy
head, have engendered in their ancestors through generations? Again,
like you, I shudder at the distresses that come of these unavailing
risings; my blood runs hotter, as yours does, at the thought of the
leaders safe, and the instruments perishing by hundreds; yet what is to
be done? Their wrongs are so great that they _will_ rise from time to
time somehow. It would be to doubt the eternal providence of God to
doubt that they will rise successfully at last. Unavailing struggles
against a dominant tyranny precede all successful turning against it.
And is it not a little hard in us Englishman, whose forefathers have
risen so often and striven against so much, to look on, in our own
security, through microscopes, and detect the motes in the brains of men
driven mad? Think, if you and I were Italians, and had grown from
boyhood to our present time, menaced in every day through all these
years by that infernal confessional, dungeons, and soldiers, could we be
better than these men? Should we be so good? I should not, I am afraid,
if I know myself. Such things would make of me a moody, bloodthirsty,
implacable man, who would do anything for revenge; and if I compromised
the truth--put it at the worst, habitually--where should I ever have had
it before me? In the old Jesuits' college at Genoa, on the Chiaja at
Naples, in the churches of Rome, at the University of Padua, on the
Piazzo San Marco at Venice, where? And the government is in all these
places, and in all Italian places. I have seen something of these men. I
have known Mazzini and Gallenga; Manin was tutor to my daughters in
Paris; I have had long talks about scores of them with poor Ary
Scheffer, who was their best friend. I have gone back to Italy after ten
years, and found the best men I had known there exiled or in jail. I
believe they have the faults you ascribe to them (nationally, not
individually), but I could not find it in my heart, remembering their
miseries, to exhibit those faults without referring them back to their
causes. You will forgive my writing this, because I write it exactly as
I write my cordial little tribute to the high merits of your book. If
it were not a living reality to me, I should care nothing about this
point of disagreement; but you are far too earnest a man, and far too
able a man, to be left unremonstrated with by an admiring reader. You
cannot write so well without influencing many people. If you could tell
me that your book had but twenty readers, I would reply, that so good a
book will influence more people's opinions, through those twenty, than a
worthless book would through twenty thousand; and I express this with
the perfect confidence of one in whose mind the book has taken, for good
and all, a separate and distinct place.
Accept my thanks for the pleasure you have given me. The poor
acknowledgment of testifying to that pleasure wherever I go will be my
pleasure in return. And so, my dear Chorley, good night, and God bless
you.
Ever faithfully yours.
[Sidenote: Sir John Bowring.]
GAD'S HILL, _Wednesday, 31st October, 1860._
MY DEAR SIR JOHN,[70]
First let me congratulate you on your marriage and wish you all
happiness and prosperity.
Secondly, I must tell you that I was greatly vexed with the Chatham
people for not giving me early notice of your lecture. In that case I
should (of course) have presided, as President of the Institution, and I
should have asked you to honour my Falstaff house here. But when they
made your kind intention known to me, I had made some important business
engagements at the "All the Year Round" office for that evening, which I
could not possibly forego. I charged them to tell you so, and was going
to write to you when I found your kind letter.
Thanks for your paper, which I have sent to the Printer's with much
pleasure.
We heard of your accident here, and of your "making nothing of it." I
said that you didn't make much of disasters, and that you took poison
(from natives) as quite a matter of course in the way of business.
Faithfully yours.
[Sidenote: Mr. A. H. Layard.]
GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,
_Tuesday, 4th December, 1860._
MY DEAR LAYARD,
I know you will readily believe that I would come if I could, and that I
am heartily sorry I cannot.
A new story of my writing, nine months long, is just begun in "All the
Year Round." A certain allotment of my time when I have that
story-demand upon me, has, all through my author life, been an essential
condition of my health and success. I have just returned here to work
so many hours every day for so many days. It is really impossible for me
to break my bond.
There is not a man in England who is more earnestly your friend and
admirer than I am. The conviction that you know it, helps me out through
this note. You are a man of so much mark to me, that I even regret your
going into the House of Commons--for which assembly I have but a scant
respect. But I would not mention it to the Southwark electors if I could
come to-morrow; though I should venture to tell them (and even that your
friends would consider very impolitic) that I think them very much
honoured by having such a candidate for their suffrages.
My daughter and sister-in-law want to know what you have done with your
"pledge" to come down here again. If they had votes for Southwark they
would threaten to oppose you--but would never do it. I was solemnly
sworn at breakfast to let you know that we should be delighted to see
you. Bear witness that I kept my oath.
Ever, my dear Layard,
Faithfully yours.
[Sidenote: Captain Morgan.]
DEAR FRIEND,
I am heartily obliged to you for your seasonable and welcome
remembrance. It came to the office (while I was there) in the
pleasantest manner, brought by two seafaring men as if they had swum
across with it. I have already told ---- what I am very well assured of
concerning you, but you are such a noble fellow that I must not pursue
that subject. But you will at least take my cordial and affectionate
thanks. . . . We have a touch of most beautiful weather here now, and
this country is most beautiful too. I wish I could carry you off to a
favourite spot of mine between this and Maidstone, where I often smoke
your cigars and think of you. We often take our lunch on a hillside
there in the summer, and then I lie down on the grass--a splendid
example of laziness--and say, "Now for my Morgan!"
My daughter and her aunt declare that they know the true scent of the
true article (which I don't in the least believe), and sometimes they
exclaim, "That's not a Morgan," and the worst of it is they were once
right by accident. . . . I hope you will have seen the Christmas number
of "All the Year Round."[71] Here and there, in the description of the
sea-going hero, I have given a touch or two of remembrance of Somebody
you know; very heartily desiring that thousands of people may have some
faint reflection of the pleasure I have for many years derived from the
contemplation of a most amiable nature and most remarkable man.
With kindest regards, believe me, dear Morgan,
Ever affectionately yours.
FOOTNOTES:
[69] This and all other Letters addressed to Mr. H. F. Chorley, were
printed in "Autobiography, Memoir, and Letters of Henry Fothergill
Chorley," compiled by Mr. H. G. Hewlett.
[70] Sir John Bowring, formerly Her Majesty's Plenipotentiary in China,
and Governor of Hong Kong.
[71] "A Message from the Sea."
1861.
[Sidenote: Mrs. Malleson.]
OFFICE OF "ALL THE YEAR ROUND,"
_Monday, 14th January, 1861._
MY DEAR MRS. MALLESON,
I am truly sorry that I cannot have the pleasure of dining with you on
Thursday. Although I consider myself quite well, and although my doctor
almost admits the fact when I indignantly tax him with it, I am not
discharged. His treatment renders him very fearful that I should take
cold in going to and fro; and he makes excuses, therefore (as I darkly
suspect), for keeping me here until said treatment is done with. This
morning he tells me he must see me "once more, on Wednesday." As he has
said the like for a whole week, my confidence is not blooming enough at
this present writing to justify me in leaving a possibility of Banquo's
place at your table. Hence this note. It is screwed out of me.
With kind regards to Mr. Malleson, believe me,
Ever faithfully yours.
[Sidenote: Sir Edward Bulwer Lytton.]
OFFICE OF "ALL THE YEAR ROUND,"
_Wednesday, 23rd January, 1861._
MY DEAR BULWER LYTTON,
I am delighted to receive your letter, and to look forward with
confidence to having such a successor in August. I can honestly assure
you that I never have been so pleased at heart in all my literary life,
as I am in the proud thought of standing side by side with you before
this great audience.
In regard of the story,[72] I have perfect faith in such a master-hand as
yours; and I know that what such an artist feels to be terrible and
original, is unquestionably so. You whet my interest by what you write
of it to the utmost extent.
Believe me ever affectionately yours.
[Sidenote: The same.]
3, HANOVER TERRACE, REGENT'S PARK,
_Sunday, 28th April, 1861._
MY DEAR BULWER LYTTON,
My story will finish in the first week in August. Yours ought to begin
in the last week of July, or the last week but one. Wilkie Collins will
be at work to follow you. The publication has made a very great success
with "Great Expectations," and could not present a finer time for you.
The question of length may be easily adjusted.
Of the misgiving you entertain I cannot of course judge until you give
me leave to rush to the perusal. I swear that I never thought I had half
so much self-denial as I have shown in this case! I think I shall come
out at Exeter Hall as a choice vessel on the strength of it. In the
meanwhile I have quickened the printer and told him to get on fast.
You cannot think how happy you make me by what you write of "Great
Expectations." There is nothing like the pride of making such an effect
on such a writer as you.
Ever faithfully.
[Sidenote: The same.]
3, HANOVER TERRACE, REGENT'S PARK,
_Wednesday, 8th May, 1861._
MY DEAR BULWER LYTTON,
I am anxious to let you know that Mr. Frederic Lehmann, who is coming
down to Knebworth to see you (with his sister Mrs. Benzon) is a
particular friend of mine, for whom I have a very high and warm regard.
Although he will sufficiently enlist your sympathy on his own behalf, I
am sure that you will not be the less interested in him because I am.
Ever faithfully yours.
[Sidenote: The same.]
3, HANOVER TERRACE, _Sunday, 12th May, 1861._
MY DEAR BULWER LYTTON,
I received your revised proofs only yesterday, and I sat down to read
them last night. And before I say anything further I may tell you that I
COULD NOT lay them aside, but was obliged to go on with them in my
bedroom until I got into a very ghostly state indeed. This morning I
have taken them again and have gone through them with the utmost
attention.
Of the beauty and power of the writing I say not a word, or of its
originality and boldness, or of its quite extraordinary constructive
skill. I confine myself solely to your misgiving, and to the question
whether there is any sufficient foundation for it.
On the last head I say, without the faintest hesitation, most decidedly
there is NOT sufficient foundation for it. I do not share it in the
least. I believe that the readers who have here given their minds (or
perhaps had any to give) to those strange psychological mysteries in
ourselves, of which we are all more or less conscious, will accept your
wonders as curious weapons in the armoury of fiction, and will submit
themselves to the Art with which said weapons are used. Even to that
class of intelligence the marvellous addresses itself from a very strong
position; and that class of intelligence is not accustomed to find the
marvellous in such very powerful hands as yours. On more imaginative
readers the tale will fall (or I am greatly mistaken) like a spell. By
readers who combine some imagination, some scepticism, and some
knowledge and learning, I hope it will be regarded as full of strange
fancy and curious study, startling reflections of their own thoughts and
speculations at odd times, and wonder which a master has a right to
evoke. In the last point lies, to my thinking, the whole case. If you
were the Magician's servant instead of the Magician, these potent
spirits would get the better of you; but you _are_ the Magician, and
they don't, and you make them serve your purpose.
Occasionally in the dialogue I see an expression here and there which
might--always solely with a reference to your misgiving--be better away;
and I think that the vision, to use the word for want of a better--in
the museum, should be made a little less abstruse. I should not say
that, if the sale of the journal was below the sale of _The Times_
newspaper; but as it is probably several thousands higher, I do. I would
also suggest that after the title we put the two words--A ROMANCE. It is
an absurdly easy device for getting over your misgiving with the
blockheads, but I think it would be an effective one. I don't, on
looking at it, like the title. Here are a few that have occurred to me.
"The Steel Casket."
"The Lost Manuscript."
"Derval Court."
"Perpetual Youth."
"Maggie."
"Dr. Fenwick."
"Life and Death."
The four last I think the best. There is an objection to "Dr. Fenwick"
because there has been "Dr. Antonio," and there is a book of Dumas'
which repeats the objection. I don't think "Fenwick" startling enough.
It appears to me that a more startling title would take the (John) Bull
by the horns, and would be a serviceable concession to your misgiving,
as suggesting a story off the stones of the gas-lighted Brentford Road.
The title is the first thing to be settled, and cannot be settled too
soon.
For the purposes of the weekly publication the divisions of the story
will often have to be greatly changed, though afterwards, in the
complete book, you can, of course, divide it into chapters, free from
that reference. For example: I would end the first chapter on the third
slip at "and through the ghostly streets, under the ghostly moon, went
back to my solitary room." The rest of what is now your first chapter
might be made Chapter II., and would end the first weekly part.
I think I have become, by dint of necessity and practice, rather cunning
in this regard; and perhaps you would not mind my looking closely to
such points from week to week. It so happens that if you had written the
opening of this story expressly for the occasion its striking incidents
could not possibly have followed one another better. One other merely
mechanical change I suggest now. I would not have an initial letter for
the town, but would state in the beginning that I gave the town a
fictitious name. I suppose a blank or a dash rather fends a good many
people off--because it always has that effect upon me.
Be sure that I am perfectly frank and open in all I have said in this
note, and that I have not a grain of reservation in my mind. I think the
story a very fine one, one that no other man could write, and that there
is no strength in your misgiving for the two reasons: firstly, that the
work is professedly a work of Fancy and Fiction, in which the reader is
not required against his will to take everything for Fact; secondly,
that it is written by the man who can write it. The Magician's servant
does not know what to do with the ghost, and has, consequently, no
business with him. The Magician does know what to do with him, and has
all the business with him that he can transact.
I am quite at ease on the points that you have expressed yourself as not
at ease upon. Quite. I cannot too often say that if they were carried on
weak shoulders they would break the bearer down. But in your mastering
of them lies the mastery over the reader.
This will reach you at Knebworth, I hope, to-morrow afternoon. Pray give
your doubts to the winds of that high spot, and believe that if I had
them I would swarm up the flag-staff quite as nimbly as Margrave and
nail the Fenwick colours to the top.
Ever affectionately yours.
[Sidenote: The same.]
3, HANOVER TERRACE, REGENT'S PARK,
_Monday, Twentieth May, 1861._
MY DEAR BULWER LYTTON,
I did not read from Australia till the end, because I was obliged to be
hard at work that day, and thought it best that the MS. should come back
to you rather than that I should detain it. Of course, I _can_ read it,
whenever it suits you. As to Isabel's dying and Fenwick's growing old, I
would say that, beyond question, whatever the meaning of the story tends
to, is the proper end.
All the alterations you mention in your last, are excellent.
As to title, "Margrave, a Tale of Mystery," would be sufficiently
striking. I prefer "Wonder" to "Mystery," because I think it suggests
something higher and more apart from ordinary complications of plot, or
the like, which "Mystery" might seem to mean. Will you kindly remark
that the title PRESSES, and that it will be a great relief to have it as
soon as possible. The last two months of my story are our best time for
announcement and preparation. Of course, it is most desirable that your
story should have the full benefit of them.
Ever faithfully.
[Sidenote: Lady Olliffe.]
LORD WARDEN HOTEL, DOVER,
_Sunday, Twenty-sixth May, 1861._
MY DEAR LADY OLLIFFE,
I have run away to this sea-beach to get rid of my neuralgic face.
Touching the kind invitations received from you this morning, I feel
that the only course I can take--without being a Humbug--is to decline
them. After the middle of June I shall be mostly at Gad's Hill--I know
that I cannot do better than keep out of the way of hot rooms and late
dinners, and what would you think of me, or call me, if I were to accept
and not come!
No, no, no. Be still my soul. Be virtuous, eminent author. Do _not_
accept, my Dickens. She is to come to Gad's Hill with her spouse. Await
her _there_, my child. (Thus the voice of wisdom.)
My dear Lady Olliffe,
Ever affectionately yours.
[Sidenote: Mrs. Milner Gibson.]
GAD'S HILL, _Monday, Eighth July, 1861._
MY DEAR MRS. GIBSON,
I want very affectionately and earnestly to congratulate you on your
eldest daughter's approaching marriage. Up to the moment when Mary told
me of it, I had foolishly thought of her always as the pretty little
girl with the frank loving face whom I saw last on the sands at
Broadstairs. I rubbed my eyes and woke at the words "going to be
married," and found I had been walking in my sleep some years.
I want to thank you also for thinking of me on the occasion, but I feel
that I am better away from it. I should really have a misgiving that I
was a sort of shadow on a young marriage, and you will understand me
when I say so, and no more.
But I shall be with you in the best part of myself, in the warmth of
sympathy and friendship--and I send my love to the dear girl, and
devoutly hope and believe that she will be happy. The face that I
remember with perfect accuracy, and could draw here, if I could draw at
all, was made to be happy and to make a husband so.
I wonder whether you ever travel by railroad in these times! I wish Mary
could tempt you to come by any road to this little place.
With kind regard to Milner Gibson, believe me ever,
Affectionately and faithfully yours.
[Sidenote: Sir Edward Bulwer Lytton.]
GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,
_Tuesday, Seventeenth September, 1861._
MY DEAR BULWER LYTTON,
I am delighted with your letter of yesterday--delighted with the
addition to the length of the story--delighted with your account of it,
and your interest in it--and even more than delighted by what you say of
our working in company.
Not one dissentient voice has reached me respecting it. Through the
dullest time of the year we held our circulation most gallantly. And it
could not have taken a better hold. I saw Forster on Friday (newly
returned from thousands of provincial lunatics), and he really was more
impressed than I can tell you by what he had seen of it. Just what you
say you think it will turn out to be, _he_ was saying, almost in the
same words.
I am burning to get at the whole story;--and you inflame me in the
maddest manner by your references to what I don't know. The exquisite
art with which you have changed it, and have overcome the difficulties
of the mode of publication, has fairly staggered me. I know pretty well
what the difficulties are; and there is no other man who could have done
it, I ween.
Ever affectionately.
[Sidenote: Mr. H. G. Adams.]
GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,
_Sunday, Sixth October, 1861._
MY DEAR MR. ADAMS,
My readings are a sad subject to me just now, for I am going away on the
28th to read fifty times, and I have lost Mr. Arthur Smith--a friend
whom I can never replace--who always went with me, and transacted, as no
other man ever can, all the business connected with them, and without
whom, I fear, they will be dreary and weary to me. But this is not to
the purpose of your letter.
I desire to be useful to the Institution of the place with which my
childhood is inseparably associated, and I will serve it this next
Christmas if I can. Will you tell me when I could do you most good by
reading for you?
Faithfully yours.
[Sidenote: Mr. B. W. Procter.]
OFFICE OF "ALL THE YEAR ROUND,"
_Tuesday, Twelfth November, 1861._
MY DEAR PROCTER,
I grieve to reply to your note, that I am obliged to read at Newcastle
on the 21st. Poor Arthur Smith had pledged me to do so before I knew
that my annual engagement with you was being encroached on. I am
heartily sorry for this, and shall miss my usual place at your table,
quite as much (to say the least) as my place can possibly miss me. You
may be sure that I shall drink to my dear old friend in a bumper that
day, with love and best wishes. Don't leave me out next year for having
been carried away north this time.
Ever yours affectionately.
[Sidenote: Sir Edward Bulwer Lytton.]
QUEEN'S HEAD HOTEL, NEWCASTLE-ON-TYNE,
_Wednesday Night, Twentieth November, 1861._
MY DEAR BULWER LYTTON,
I have read here, this evening, very attentively, Nos. 19 and 20. I have
not the least doubt of the introduced matter; whether considered for its
policy, its beauty, or its wise bearing on the story, it is decidedly a
great improvement. It is at once very suggestive and very new to have
these various points of view presented to the reader's mind.
That the audience is good enough for anything that is well presented to
it, I am quite sure.
When you can avoid _notes_, however, and get their substance into the
text, it is highly desirable in the case of so large an audience, simply
because, as so large an audience necessarily reads the story in small
portions, it is of the greater importance that they should retain as
much of its argument as possible. Whereas the difficulty of getting
numbers of people to read notes (which they invariably regard as
interruptions of the text, not as strengtheners or elucidators of it) is
wonderful.
Ever affectionately.
[Sidenote: The same.]
"ALL THE YEAR ROUND" OFFICE,
_Eighteenth December_, 1861.
MY DEAR BULWER LYTTON,
I have not had a moment in which to write to you. Even now I write with
the greatest press upon me, meaning to write in detail in a day or two.
But I have _read_, at all events, though not written. And I say, Most
masterly and most admirable! It is impossible to lay the sheets down
without finishing them. I showed them to Georgina and Mary, and they
read and read and never stirred until they had read all. There cannot be
a doubt of the beauty, power, and artistic excellence of the whole.
I counsel you most strongly NOT to append the proposed dialogue between
Fenwick and Faber, and NOT to enter upon any explanation beyond the
title-page and the motto, unless it be in some very brief preface.
Decidedly I would not help the reader, if it were only for the reason
that that anticipates his being in need of help, and his feeling
objections and difficulties that require solution. Let the book explain
itself. It speaks _for_ itself with a noble eloquence.
Ever affectionately.
FOOTNOTE:
[72] "A Strange Story."
1862.
[Sidenote: The same.]
GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,
_Friday, Twenty-fourth January, 1862._
MY DEAR BULWER LYTTON,
I have considered your questions, and here follow my replies.
1. I think you undoubtedly _have_ the right to forbid the turning of
your play into an opera.
2. I do _not_ think the production of such an opera in the slightest
degree likely to injure the play or to render it a less valuable
property than it is now. If it could have any effect on so standard and
popular a work as "The Lady of Lyons," the effect would, in my judgment,
be beneficial. But I believe the play to be high above any such
influence.
3. Assuming you do consent to the adaptation, in a desire to oblige
Oxenford, I would not recommend your asking any pecuniary compensation.
This for two reasons: firstly, because the compensation could only be
small at the best; secondly, because your taking it would associate you
(unreasonably, but not the less assuredly) with the opera.
The only objection I descry is purely one of feeling. Pauline trotting
about in front of the float, invoking the orchestra with a limp
pocket-handkerchief, is a notion that makes goose-flesh of my back. Also
a yelping tenor going away to the wars in a scene a half-an-hour long is
painful to contemplate. Damas, too, as a bass, with a grizzled bald
head, blatently bellowing about
Years long ago,
When the sound of the drum
First made his blood glow
With a rum ti tum tum--
rather sticks in my throat; but there really seems to me to be no other
objection, if you can get over this.
Ever affectionately.
[Sidenote: Mr. Baylis.]
GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,
_Saturday, First February, 1862._
MY DEAR MR. BAYLIS,
I have just come home. Finding your note, I write to you at once, or you
might do me the wrong of supposing me unmindful of it and you.
I agree with you about Smith himself, and I don't think it necessary to
pursue the painful subject. Such things are at an end, I think, for the
time being;--fell to the ground with the poor man at Cremorne. If they
should be resumed, then they must be attacked; but I hope the fashion
(far too much encouraged in its Blondin-beginning by those who should
know much better) is over.
It always appears to me that the common people have an excuse in their
patronage of such exhibitions which people above them in condition have
not. Their lives are full of physical difficulties, and they like to see
such difficulties overcome. They go to see them overcome. If I am in
danger of falling off a scaffold or a ladder any day, the man who claims
that he can't fall from anything is a very wonderful and agreeable
person to me.
Faithfully yours always.
[Sidenote: Mr. Henry F. Chorley.]
16, HYDE PARK GATE, SOUTH KENSINGTON GORE, W.,
_Saturday, 1st March, 1862._
MY DEAR CHORLEY,
I was at your lecture[73] this afternoon, and I hope I may venture to
tell you that I was extremely pleased and interested. Both the matter of
the materials and the manner of their arrangement were quite admirable,
and a modesty and complete absence of any kind of affectation pervaded
the whole discourse, which was quite an example to the many whom it
concerns. If you could be a very little louder, and would never let a
sentence go for the thousandth part of an instant until the last word
is out, you would find the audience more responsive.
A spoken sentence will never run alone in all its life, and is never to
be trusted to itself in its most insignificant member. See it _well
out_--with the voice--and the part of the audience is made surprisingly
easier. In that excellent description of the Spanish mendicant and his
guitar, as well as the very happy touches about the dance and the
castanets, the people were really desirous to express very hearty
appreciation; but by giving them rather too much to do in watching and
listening for latter words, you stopped them. I take the liberty of
making the remark, as one who has fought with beasts (oratorically) in
divers arenas. For the rest nothing could be better. Knowledge,
ingenuity, neatness, condensation, good sense, and good taste in
delightful combination.
Affectionately always.
[Sidenote: Mrs. Austin.]
PARIS, RUE DU FAUBOURG ST. HONORE, 27,
_Friday, Seventh November, 1862._
MY DEAR LETITIA,
I should have written to you from here sooner, but for having been
constantly occupied.
Your improved account of yourself is very cheering and hopeful. Through
determined occupation and action, lies the way. Be sure of it.
I came over to France before Georgina and Mary, and went to Boulogne to
meet them coming in by the steamer on the great Sunday--the day of the
storm. I stood (holding on with both hands) on the pier at Boulogne,
five hours. The Sub-Marine Telegraph had telegraphed their boat as
having come out of Folkestone--though the companion boat from Boulogne
didn't try it--and at nine o'clock at night, she being due at six, there
were no signs of her. My principal dread was, that she would try to get
into Boulogne; which she could not possibly have done without carrying
away everything on deck. The tide at nine o'clock being too low for any
such desperate attempt, I thought it likely that they had run for the
Downs and would knock about there all night. So I went to the Inn to dry
my pea-jacket and get some dinner anxiously enough, when, at about ten,
came a telegram from them at Calais to say they had run in there. To
Calais I went, post, next morning, expecting to find them half-dead (of
course, they had arrived half-drowned), but I found them elaborately got
up to come on to Paris by the next Train, and the most wonderful thing
of all was, that they hardly seem to have been frightened! Of course,
they had discovered at the end of the voyage, that a young bride and her
husband, the only other passengers on deck, and with whom they had been
talking all the time, were an officer from Chatham whom they knew very
well (when dry), just married and going to India! So they all set up
house-keeping together at Dessin's at Calais (where I am well known),
and looked as if they had been passing a mild summer there.
We have a pretty apartment here, but house-rent is awful to mention.
Mrs. Bouncer (muzzled by the Parisian police) is also here, and is a
wonderful spectacle to behold in the streets, restrained like a raging
Lion.
I learn from an embassy here, that the Emperor has just made an earnest
proposal to our Government to unite with France (and Russia, if Russia
will) in an appeal to America to stop the brutal war. Our Government's
answer is not yet received, but I think I clearly perceive that the
proposal will be declined, on the ground "that the time has not yet
come."
Ever affectionately.
FOOTNOTE:
[73] The first of the series on "National Music."
1863.
[Sidenote: Mr. Henry F. Chorley.]
GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,
_Friday, December 18th, 1863._
MY DEAR CHORLEY,
This is a "Social Science" note, touching prospective engagements.
If you are obliged, as you were last year, to go away between Christmas
Day and New Year's Day, then we rely upon your coming back to see the
old year out. Furthermore, I rely upon you for this: Lady Molesworth
says she will come down for a day or two, and I have told her that I
shall ask you to be her escort, and to arrange a time. Will you take
counsel with her, and arrange accordingly? After our family visitors are
gone, Mary is going a-hunting in Hampshire; but if you and Lady
Molesworth could make out from Saturday, the 9th of January, as your day
of coming together, or for any day between that and Saturday, the 16th,
it would be beforehand with her going and would suit me excellently.
There is a new officer at the dockyard, _vice_ Captain ---- (now an
admiral), and I will take that opportunity of paying him and his wife
the attention of asking them to dine in these gorgeous halls. For all of
which reasons, if the Social Science Congress of two could meet and
arrive at a conclusion, the conclusion would be thankfully booked by the
illustrious writer of these lines.
On Christmas Eve there is a train from your own Victoria Station at 4.35
p.m., which will bring you to Strood (Rochester Bridge Station) in an
hour, and there a majestic form will be descried in a Basket.
Yours affectionately.
1864.
[Sidenote: Mr. W. H. Wills.]
LORD WARDEN HOTEL, DOVER,
_Sunday, 16th October, 1864._
MY DEAR WILLS,
I was unspeakably relieved, and most agreeably surprised to get your
letter this morning. I had pictured you as lying there waiting full
another week. Whereas, please God, you will now come up with a wet sheet
and a flowing sail--as we say in these parts.
My expectations of "Mrs. Lirriper's" sale are not so mighty as yours,
but I am heartily glad and grateful to be honestly able to believe that
she is nothing but a good 'un. It is the condensation of a quantity of
subjects and the very greatest pains.
George Russell knew nothing whatever of the slightest doubt of your
being elected at the Garrick. Rely on my probing the matter to the
bottom and ascertaining everything about it, and giving you the fullest
information in ample time to decide what shall be done. Don't bother
yourself about it. I have spoken. On my eyes be it.
As next week will not be my working-time at "Our Mutual Friend," I shall
devote the day of Friday (_not_ the evening) to making up news.
Therefore I write to say that if you would rather stay where you are
than come to London, _don't come_. I shall throw my hat into the ring at
eleven, and shall receive all the punishment that can be administered by
two Nos. on end like a British Glutton.
Ever.
[Sidenote: The same.]
GAD'S HILL, _Wednesday, 30th November, 1864._
MY DEAR WILLS,
I found the beautiful and perfect Brougham[74] awaiting me in triumph at
the Station when I came down yesterday afternoon. Georgina and Marsh
were both highly mortified that it had fallen dark, and the beauties of
the carriage were obscured. But of course I had it out in the yard the
first thing this morning, and got in and out at both the doors, and let
down and pulled up the windows, and checked an imaginary coachman, and
leaned back in a state of placid contemplation.
It is the lightest and prettiest and best carriage of the class ever
made. But you know that I value it for higher reasons than these. It
will always be dear to me--far dearer than anything on wheels could ever
be for its own sake--as a proof of your ever generous friendship and
appreciation, and a memorial of a happy intercourse and a perfect
confidence that have never had a break, and that surely never can have
any break now (after all these years) but one.
Ever your faithful.
[Sidenote: Miss Mary Boyle.]
GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,
_Saturday, 31st December, 1864._
MY DEAR MARY,
Many happy years to you and those who are near and dear to you. These
and a thousand unexpressed good wishes of his heart from the humble Jo.
And also an earnest word of commendation of the little Christmas
book.[75] Very gracefully and charmingly done. The right feeling, the
right touch; a very neat hand, and a very true heart.
Ever your affectionate.
FOOTNOTES:
[74] A present from Mr. Wills.
[75] The book was called "Woodland Gossip."
1865.
[Sidenote: Sir Edward Bulwer Lytton.]
GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,
_Thursday, 20th July, 1865._
MY DEAR BULWER LYTTON,
I am truly sorry to reply to your kind and welcome note that we cannot
come to Knebworth on a visit at this time: firstly, because I am tied by
the leg to my book. Secondly, because my married daughter and her
husband are with us. Thirdly, because my two boys are at home for their
holidays.
But if you would come out of that murky electioneering atmosphere and
come to us, you don't know how delighted we should be. You should have
your own way as completely as though you were at home. You should have a
cheery room, and you should have a Swiss chalet all to yourself to write
in. _Smoking regarded as a personal favour to the family._ Georgina is
so insupportably vain on account of being a favourite of yours, that you
might find _her_ a drawback; but nothing else would turn out in that
way, I hope.
_Won't_ you manage it? _Do_ think of it. If, for instance, you would
come back with us on that Guild Saturday. I have turned the house upside
down and inside out since you were here, and have carved new rooms out
of places then non-existent. Pray do think of it, and do manage it. I
should be heartily pleased.
I hope you will find the purpose and the plot of my book very plain when
you see it as a whole piece. I am looking forward to sending you the
proofs complete about the end of next month. It is all sketched out and
I am working hard on it, giving it all the pains possible to be bestowed
on a labour of love. Your critical opinion two months in advance of the
public will be invaluable to me. For you know what store I set by it,
and how I think over a hint from you.
I notice the latest piece of poisoning ingenuity in Pritchard's case.
When he had made his medical student boarders sick, by poisoning the
family food, he then quietly walked out, took an emetic, and made
himself sick. This with a view to ask them, in examination on a
possible trial, whether he did not present symptoms at the time like the
rest?--A question naturally asked for him and answered in the
affirmative. From which I get at the fact.
If your constituency don't bring you in they deserve to lose you, and
may the Gods continue to confound them! I shudder at the thought of such
public life as political life. Would there not seem to be something
horribly rotten in the system of it, when one stands amazed how any
man--not forced into it by position, as you are--can bear to live it?
But the private life here is my point, and again I urge upon you. Do
think of it, and Do come.
I want to tell you how I have been impressed by the "Boatman." It haunts
me as only a beautiful and profound thing can. The lines are always
running in my head, as the river runs with me.
Ever affectionately.
[Sidenote: Mr. Henry F. Chorley.]
OFFICE OF "ALL THE YEAR ROUND,"
NO. 26, WELLINGTON STREET, STRAND, W.C.,
_Saturday, 28th of October, 1865._
MY DEAR CHORLEY,
I find your letter here only to-day. I shall be delighted to dine with
you on Tuesday, the 7th, but I cannot answer for Mary, as she is staying
with the Lehmanns. To the best of my belief, she is coming to Gad's
this evening to dine with a neighbour. In that case, she will
immediately answer for herself. I have seen the _Athenaeum_, and most
heartily and earnestly thank you. Trust me, there is nothing I could
have wished away, and all that I read there affects and delights me. I
feel so generous an appreciation and sympathy so very strongly, that if
I were to try to write more, I should blur the words by seeing them
dimly.
Ever affectionately yours.
[Sidenote: Mrs. Procter.]
GAD'S HILL, _Sunday, 29th October, 1865._
MY DEAR MRS. PROCTER,
The beautiful table-cover was a most cheering surprise to me when I came
home last night, and I lost not a moment in finding a table for it,
where it stands in a beautiful light and a perfect situation. Accept my
heartiest thanks for a present on which I shall set a peculiar and
particular value.
Enclosed is the MS. of the introduction.[76] The printers have cut it
across and mended it again, because I always expect them to be quick,
and so they distribute my "copy" among several hands, and apparently
not very clean ones in this instance.
Odd as the poor butcher's feeling appears, I think I can understand it.
Much as he would not have liked his boy's grave to be without a
tombstone, had he died ashore and had a grave, so he can't bear him to
drift to the depths of the ocean unrecorded.
My love to Procter.
Ever affectionately yours.
[Sidenote: Mr. W. B. Rye.[77]]
GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,
_Friday, 3rd November, 1865._
DEAR SIR,
I beg you to accept my cordial thanks for your curious "Visits to
Rochester." As I peeped about its old corners with interest and wonder
when I was a very little child, few people can find a greater charm in
that ancient city than I do.
Believe me, yours faithfully and obliged.
FOOTNOTES:
[76] Written by Charles Dickens for a new edition of Miss Adelaide
Procter's Poems, which was published after her death.
[77] Late keeper of printed books at the British Museum, now of Exeter.
1866.
[Sidenote: Mr. Forster.]
OFFICE OF "ALL THE YEAR ROUND,"
_Friday, 26th January, 1866._
MY DEAR FORSTER,
I most heartily hope that your doleful apprehensions will prove
unfounded. These changes from muggy weather to slight sharp frost, and
back again, touch weak places, as I find by my own foot; but the touch
goes by. May it prove so with you!
Yesterday Captain ----, Captain ----, and Captain ----, dined at Gad's.
They are, all three, naval officers of the highest reputation. ---- is
supposed to be the best sailor in our Service. I said I had been
remarking at home, _a propos_ of the _London_, that I knew of no
shipwreck of a large strong ship (not carrying weight of guns) in the
open sea, and that I could find none such in the shipwreck books. They
all agreed that the unfortunate Captain Martin _must_ have been
unacquainted with the truth as to what can and what can not be done with
a Steamship having rigging and canvas; and that no sailor would dream of
turning a ship's stern to such a gale--_unless his vessel could run
faster than the sea_. ---- said (and the other two confirmed) that the
_London_ was the better for everything that she lost aloft in such a
gale, and that with her head kept to the wind by means of a storm
topsail--which is hoisted from the deck and requires no man to be sent
aloft, and can be set under the worst circumstances--the disaster could
not have occurred. If he had no such sail, he could have improvised it,
even of hammocks and the like. They said that under a Board of Enquiry
into the wreck, any efficient witness must of necessity state this as
the fact, and could not possibly avoid the conclusion that the
seamanship was utterly bad; and as to the force of the wind, for which I
suggested allowance, they all had been in West Indian hurricanes and in
Typhoons, and had put the heads of their ships to the wind under the
most adverse circumstances.
I thought you might be interested in this, as you have no doubt been
interested in the case. They had a great respect for the unfortunate
Captain's character, and for his behaviour when the case was hopeless,
but they had not the faintest doubt that he lost the ship and those two
hundred and odd lives.
Ever affectionately.
[Sidenote: Mr. R. M. Ross.[78]]
GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,
_Monday, 19th February, 1866._
DEAR SIR,
I have the honour to acknowledge the receipt of your obliging letter
enclosing a copy of the Resolution passed by the members of the St.
George Club on my last past birthday. Do me the kindness to assure
those friends of mine that I am touched to the heart by their
affectionate remembrance, and that I highly esteem it. To have
established such relations with readers of my books is a great happiness
to me, and one that I hope never to forfeit by being otherwise than
manfully and truly in earnest in my vocation.
I am, dear sir,
Your faithful servant.
[Sidenote: Mr. R. Browning.]
6, SOUTHWICK PLACE, HYDE PARK,
_Monday, 12th March, 1866._
MY DEAR BROWNING,[79]
Will you dine here next Sunday at half-past six punctually, instead of
with Forster? I am going to read Thirty times, in London and elsewhere,
and as I am coming out with "Doctor Marigold," I had written to ask
Forster to come on Sunday and hear me sketch him. Forster says (with his
own boldness) that he is sure it would not bore you to have that taste
of his quality after dinner. I should be delighted if this should prove
true. But I give warning that in that case I shall exact a promise from
you to come to St. James's Hall one evening in April or May, and hear
"David Copperfield," my own particular favourite.
Ever affectionately yours.
[Sidenote: Lord Lytton.]
GAD'S HILL, _Monday, 16th July, 1866._
MY DEAR LYTTON,
First, let me congratulate you on the honour which Lord Derby has
conferred upon the peerage. And next, let me thank you heartily for your
kind letter.
I am very sorry to report that we are so encumbered with engagements in
the way of visitors coming here that we cannot see our way to getting to
Knebworth yet.
Mary and Georgina send you their kind regard, and hope that the delight
of coming to see you is only deferred.
Fitzgerald will be so proud of your opinion of his "Mrs. Tillotson," and
will (I know) derive such great encouragement from it that I have
faithfully quoted it, word for word, and sent it on to him in Ireland.
He is a very clever fellow (you may remember, perhaps, that I brought
him to Knebworth on the Guild day) and has charming sisters and an
excellent position.
Ever affectionately yours.
[Sidenote: Mr. Rusden.[80]]
_September, 1866._
MY DEAR SIR,
Again I have to thank you very heartily for your kindness in writing to
me about my son. The intelligence you send me concerning him is a great
relief and satisfaction to my mind, and I cannot separate those
feelings from a truly grateful recognition of the advice and assistance
for which he is much beholden to you, or from his strong desire to
deserve your good opinion.
Believe me always, my dear sir,
Your faithful and truly obliged.
[Sidenote: Anonymous.]
GAD'S HILL, _Thursday, 27th December, 1866._
DEAR MADAM,[81]
You make an absurd, though common mistake, in supposing that any human
creature can help you to be an authoress, if you cannot become one in
virtue of your own powers. I know nothing about "impenetrable barrier,"
"outsiders," and "charmed circles." I know that anyone who can write
what is suitable to the requirements of my own journal--for instance--is
a person I am heartily glad to discover, and do not very often find. And
I believe this to be no rare case in periodical literature. I cannot
undertake to advise you in the abstract, as I number my unknown
correspondents by the hundred. But if you offer anything to me for
insertion in "All the Year Round," you may be sure that it will be
honestly read, and that it will be judged by no test but its own merits
and adaptability to those pages.
But I am bound to add that I do not regard successful fiction as a thing
to be achieved in "leisure moments."
Faithfully yours.
FOOTNOTES:
[78] The honorary secretary of the St. George Club, Manchester.
[79] Robert Browning, the Poet, a dear and valued friend.
[80] Mr. Rusden was, at this time, Clerk to the House of Parliament, in
Melbourne. He was the kindest of friends to the two sons of Charles
Dickens, in Australia, from the time that the elder of the two first
went out there. And Charles Dickens had the most grateful regard for
him, and maintained a frequent correspondence with him--as a
friend--although they never saw each other.
[81] Anonymous.
1867.
[Sidenote: Hon. Robert Lytton.]
GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,
_Wednesday, 17th April, 1867._
MY DEAR ROBERT LYTTON,[82]
It would have been really painful to me, if I had seen you and yours at
a Reading of mine in right of any other credentials than my own. Your
appreciation has given me higher and purer gratification than your
modesty can readily believe. When I first entered on this interpretation
of myself (then quite strange in the public ear) I was sustained by the
hope that I could drop into some hearts, some new expression of the
meaning of my books, that would touch them in a new way. To this hour
that purpose is so strong in me, and so real are my fictions to myself,
that, after hundreds of nights, I come with a feeling of perfect
freshness to that little red table, and laugh and cry with my hearers,
as if I had never stood there before. You will know from this what a
delight it is to be delicately understood, and why your earnest words
cannot fail to move me.
We are delighted to be remembered by your charming wife, and I am
entrusted with more messages from this house to her, than you would care
to give or withhold, so I suppress them myself and absolve you from the
difficulty.
Affectionately yours.
[Sidenote: Mr. Henry W. Phillips.]
GAD'S HILL, _Thursday, 16th April, 1867._
MY DEAR MR. PHILLIPS,[83]
Although I think the scheme has many good points, I have this doubt:
Would boys so maintained at any one of our great public schools stand at
a decided disadvantage towards boys not so maintained? Foundation
Scholars, in many cases, win their way into public schools and so
enforce respect and even assert superiority. In many other cases their
patron is a remote and misty person, or Institution, sanctioned by Time
and custom. But the proposed position would be a very different one for
a student to hold, and boys are too often inconsiderate, proud, and
cruel. I should like to know whether this point has received
consideration from the projectors of the design?
Faithfully yours always.
[Sidenote: Mr. Henry F. Chorley.]
GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,
_Sunday, June 2nd, 1867._
MY DEAR CHORLEY,
Thank God I have come triumphantly through the heavy work of the
fifty-one readings, and am wonderfully fresh. I grieve to hear of your
sad occupation. You know where to find rest, and quiet, and sympathy,
when you can change the dreary scene.
I saw poor dear Stanfield (on a hint from his eldest son) in a day's
interval between two expeditions. It was clear that the shadow of the
end had fallen on him.
It happened well that I had seen, on a wild day at Tynemouth, a
remarkable sea-effect, of which I wrote a description to him, and he had
kept it under his pillow. This place is looking very pretty. The
freshness and repose of it, after all those thousands of gas-lighted
faces, sink into the soul.[84]
[Sidenote: Mr. James T. Fields.]
_September 3rd, 1867._
MY DEAR FIELDS,[85]
Your cheering letter of the 21st of August arrived here this morning. A
thousand thanks for it. I begin to think (nautically) that I "head
west'ard." You shall hear from me fully and finally as soon as Dolby
shall have reported personally.
The other day I received a letter from Mr. ----, of New York (who came
over in the winning yacht, and described the voyage in _The Times_),
saying he would much like to see me. I made an appointment in London,
and observed that when he _did_ see me he was obviously astonished.
While I was sensible that the magnificence of my appearance would fully
account for his being overcome, I nevertheless angled for the cause of
his surprise. He then told me that there was a paragraph going round the
papers to the effect that I was "in a critical state of health." I asked
him if he was sure it wasn't "cricketing" state of health. To which he
replied, Quite. I then asked him down here to dinner, and he was again
staggered by finding me in sporting training; also much amused.
Yesterday's and to-day's post bring me this unaccountable paragraph from
hosts of uneasy friends, with the enormous and wonderful addition that
"eminent surgeons" are sending me to America for "cessation from
literary labour"!!! So I have written a quiet line to _The Times_,
certifying to my own state of health, and have also begged Dixon to do
the like in _The Athenaeum_. I mention the matter to you, in order that
you may contradict, from me, if the nonsense should reach America
unaccompanied by the truth. But I suppose that _The New York Herald_
will probably have got the letter from Mr. ---- aforesaid. . . .
Charles Reade and Wilkie Collins are here; and the joke of the time is
to feel my pulse when I appear at table, and also to inveigle innocent
messengers to come over to the summer-house, where I write (the place is
quite changed since you were here, and a tunnel under the highroad
connects this shrubbery with the front garden), to ask, with their
compliments, how I find myself _now_.
If I come to America this next November, even you can hardly imagine
with what interest I shall try Copperfield on an American audience, or,
if they give me their heart, how freely and fully I shall give them
mine. We will ask Dolby then whether he ever heard it before.
I cannot thank you enough for your invaluable help to Dolby. He writes
that at every turn and moment the sense and knowledge and tact of Mr.
Osgood are inestimable to him.
Ever, my dear Fields, faithfully yours.
[Sidenote: Lord Lytton.]
"ALL THE YEAR ROUND" OFFICE,
_Tuesday, 17th September, 1867._
MY DEAR LYTTON,
I am happy to tell you that the play was admirably done last night, and
made a marked impression. Pauline is weak, but so carefully trained and
fitted into the picture as to be never disagreeable, and sometimes (as
in the last scene) very pathetic. Fechter has played nothing nearly so
well as Claude since he played in Paris in the "Dame aux Camelias," or
in London as Ruy Blas. He played the fourth act as finely as Macready,
and the first much better. The dress and bearing in the fifth act are
quite new, and quite excellent.
Of the Scenic arrangements, the most noticeable are:--the picturesque
struggle of the cottage between the taste of an artist, and the domestic
means of poverty (expressed to the eye with infinite tact);--the view of
Lyons (Act v. Scene 1), with a foreground of quay wall which the
officers are leaning on, waiting for the general;--and the last scene--a
suite of rooms giving on a conservatory at the back, through which the
moon is shining. You are to understand that all these scenic appliances
are subdued to the Piece, instead of the Piece being sacrificed to them;
and that every group and situation has to be considered, not only with a
reference to each by itself, but to the whole story.
Beauseant's speaking the original contents of the letter was a decided
point, and the immense house was quite breathless when the Tempter and
the Tempted stood confronted as he made the proposal.
There was obviously a great interest in seeing a Frenchman play the
part. The scene between Claude and Gaspar (the small part very well
done) was very closely watched for the same reason, and was loudly
applauded. I cannot say too much of the brightness, intelligence,
picturesqueness, and care of Fechter's impersonation throughout. There
was a remarkable delicacy in his gradually drooping down on his way home
with his bride, until he fell upon the table, a crushed heap of shame
and remorse, while his mother told Pauline the story. His gradual
recovery of himself as he formed better resolutions was equally well
expressed; and his being at last upright again and rushing
enthusiastically to join the army, brought the house down.
I wish you could have been there. He never spoke English half so well as
he spoke your English; and the audience heard it with the finest
sympathy and respect. I felt that I should have been very proud indeed
to have been the writer of the Play.
Ever affectionately.
[Sidenote: Mr. James T. Fields.]
[86]_October, 1867._
MY DEAR FIELDS,
I hope the telegraph clerks did not mutilate out of recognition or
reasonable guess the words I added to Dolby's last telegram to Boston.
"_Tribune_ London correspondent totally false." Not only is there not a
word of truth in the pretended conversation, but it is so absurdly
unlike me that I cannot suppose it to be even invented by anyone who
ever heard me exchange a word with mortal creature. For twenty years I
am perfectly certain that I have never made any other allusion to the
republication of my books in America than the good-humoured remark,
"that if there had been international copyright between England and the
States, I should have been a man of very large fortune, instead of a
man of moderate savings, always supporting a very expensive public
position." Nor have I ever been such a fool as to charge the absence of
international copyright upon individuals. Nor have I ever been so
ungenerous as to disguise or suppress the fact that I have received
handsome sums for advance sheets. When I was in the States, I said what
I had to say on the question, and there an end. I am absolutely certain
that I have never since expressed myself, even with soreness, on the
subject. Reverting to the preposterous fabrication of the London
correspondent, the statement that I ever talked about "these fellows"
who republished my books or pretended to know (what I don't know at this
instant) who made how much out of them, or ever talked of their sending
me "conscience money," is as grossly and completely false as the
statement that I ever said anything to the effect that I could not be
expected to have an interest in the American people. And nothing can by
any possibility be falser than that. Again and again in these pages
("All the Year Round") I have expressed my interest in them. You will
see it in the "Child's History of England." You will see it in the last
preface to "American Notes." Every American who has ever spoken with me
in London, Paris, or where not, knows whether I have frankly said, "You
could have no better introduction to me than your country." And for
years and years when I have been asked about reading in America, my
invariable reply has been, "I have so many friends there, and
constantly receive so many earnest letters from personally unknown
readers there, that, but for domestic reasons, I would go to-morrow." I
think I must, in the confidential intercourse between you and me, have
written you to this effect more than once.
The statement of the London correspondent from beginning to end is
false. It is false in the letter and false in the spirit. He may have
been misinformed, and the statement may not have originated with him.
With whomsoever it originated, it never originated with me, and
consequently is false. More than enough about it.
As I hope to see you so soon, my dear Fields, and as I am busily at work
on the Christmas number, I will not make this a longer letter than I can
help. I thank you most heartily for your proffered hospitality, and need
not tell you that if I went to any friend's house in America, I would go
to yours. But the readings are very hard work, and I think I cannot do
better than observe the rule on that side of the Atlantic which I
observe on this, of never, under such circumstances, going to a friend's
house, but always staying at a hotel. I am able to observe it here, by
being consistent and never breaking it. If I am equally consistent
there, I can (I hope) offend no one.
Dolby sends his love to you and all his friends (as I do), and is
girding up his loins vigorously.
Ever, my dear Fields,
Heartily and affectionately yours.
[Sidenote: Mr. Thornbury.]
GAD'S HILL, _Saturday, 5th October, 1867._
MY DEAR THORNBURY,
Behold the best of my judgment on your questions.[87]
Susan Hopley and Jonathan Bradford? No. Too well known.
London Strikes and Spitalfields Cutters? Yes.
Fighting FitzGerald? Never mind him.
Duel of Lord Mohun and Duke of Hamilton? Ye-e-es.
Irish Abductions? I think not.
Brunswick Theatre? More Yes than No.
Theatrical Farewells? Yes.
Bow Street Runners (as compared with Modern Detectives)? Yes.
Vauxhall and Ranelagh in the Last Century? Most decidedly. Don't forget
Miss Burney.
Smugglers? No. Overdone.
Lacenaire? No. Ditto.
Madame Laffarge? No. Ditto.
Fashionable Life Last Century? Most decidedly yes.
Debates on the Slave Trade? Yes, generally. But beware of the Pirates,
as we did them in the beginning of "Household Words."
Certainly I acquit you of all blame in the Bedford case. But one cannot
do otherwise than sympathise with a son who is reasonably tender of his
father's memory. And no amount of private correspondence, we must
remember, reaches the readers of a printed and published statement.
I told you some time ago that I believed the arsenic in Eliza Fenning's
case to have been administered by the apprentice. I never was more
convinced of anything in my life than of the girl's innocence, and I
want words in which to express my indignation at the muddle-headed story
of that parsonic blunderer whose audacity and conceit distorted some
words that fell from her in the last days of her baiting.
Ever faithfully yours.
[Sidenote: Lord Lytton.]
GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,
_Monday, 14th October, 1867._
MY DEAR LYTTON,
I am truly delighted to find that you are so well pleased with Fechter
in "The Lady of Lyons." It was a labour of love with him, and I hold him
in very high regard.
_Don't_ give way to laziness, and _do_ proceed with that play. There
never was a time when a good new play was more wanted, or had a better
opening for itself. Fechter is a thorough artist, and what he may
sometimes want in personal force is compensated by the admirable whole
he can make of a play, and his perfect understanding of its
presentation as a picture to the eye and mind.
I leave London on the 8th of November early, and sail from Liverpool on
the 9th.
Ever affectionately yours.
[Sidenote: The same.]
"ALL THE YEAR ROUND" OFFICE,
_Friday, 25th October, 1867._
MY DEAR LYTTON,
I have read the Play[88] with great attention, interest, and admiration;
and I need not say to _you_ that the art of it--the fine
construction--the exquisite nicety of the touches--with which it is
wrought out--have been a study to me in the pursuit of which I have had
extraordinary relish.
Taking the Play as it stands, I have nothing whatever to add to your
notes and memoranda of the points to be touched again, except that I
have a little uneasiness in that burst of anger and inflexibility
consequent on having been deceived, coming out of Hegio. I see the kind
of actor who _must_ play Hegio, and I see that the audience will not
believe in his doing anything so serious. (I suppose it would be
impossible to get this effect out of the mother--or through the
mother's influence, instead of out of the godfather of Hegiopolis?)
Now, as to the classical ground and manners of the Play. I suppose the
objection to the Greek dress to be already--as Defoe would write it,
"gotten over" by your suggestion. I suppose the dress not to be
conventionally associated with stilts and boredom, but to be new to the
public eye and very picturesque. Grant all that;--the names remain. Now,
not only used such names to be inseparable in the public mind from
stately weariness, but of late days they have become inseparable in the
same public mind from silly puns upon the names, and from Burlesque. You
do not know (I hope, at least, for my friend's sake) what the Strand
Theatre is. A Greek name and a break-down nigger dance, have become
inseparable there. I do not mean to say that your genius may not be too
powerful for such associations; but I do most positively mean to say
that you would lose half the play in overcoming them. At the best you
would have to contend against them through the first three acts. The old
tendency to become frozen on classical ground would be in the best part
of the audience; the new tendency to titter on such ground would be in
the worst part. And instead of starting fair with the audience, it is my
conviction that you would start with them against you and would have to
win them over.
Furthermore, with reference to your note to me on this head, you take up
a position with reference to poor dear Talfourd's "Ion" which I
altogether dispute. It never was a popular play, I say. It derived a
certain amount of out-of-door's popularity from the circumstances under
which, and the man by whom, it was written. But I say that it never was
a popular play on the Stage, and never made out a case of attraction
there.
As to changing the ground to Russia, let me ask you, did you ever see
the "Nouvelles Russes" of Nicolas Gogol, translated into French by Louis
Viardot? There is a story among them called "Tarass Boulla," in which,
as it seems to me, all the conditions you want for such transplantation
are to be found. So changed, you would have the popular sympathy with
the Slave or Serf, or Prisoner of War, from the first. But I do not
think it is to be got, save at great hazard, and with lamentable waste
of force on the ground the Play now occupies.
I shall keep this note until to-morrow to correct my conviction if I can
see the least reason for correcting it; but I feel very confident indeed
that I cannot be shaken in it.
* * * * *
_Saturday._
I have thought it over again, and have gone over the play again with an
imaginary stage and actors before me, and I am still of the same mind.
Shall I keep the MS. till you come to town?
Believe me, ever affectionately yours.
[Sidenote: Mr. Fechter.]
PARKER HOUSE, BOSTON, _3rd December, 1867._
MY DEAR FECHTER,
I have been very uneasy about you, seeing in the paper that you were
taken ill on the stage. But a letter from Georgy this morning reassures
me by giving me a splendid account of your triumphant last night at the
Lyceum.
I hope to bring out our Play[89] with Wallack in New York, and to have it
played in many other parts of the States. I have sent to Wilkie for
models, etc. If I waited for time to do more than write you my love, I
should miss the mail to-morrow. Take my love, then, my dear fellow, and
believe me ever
Your affectionate.
FOOTNOTES:
[82] The Hon. Robert Lytton--now the Earl of Lytton--in literature well
known as "Owen Meredith."
[83] Mr. Henry W. Phillips, at this time secretary of the Artists'
General Benevolent Society. He was eager to establish some educational
system in connection with that institution.
[84] The remainder has been cut off for the signature.
[85] This and all other Letters to Mr. J. T. Fields were printed in Mr.
Fields' "In and Out of Doors with Charles Dickens."
[86] A ridiculous paragraph in the papers following close on the public
announcement that Charles Dickens was coming to America in November,
drew from him this letter to Mr. Fields, dated early in October.
[87] As to subjects for articles in "All the Year Round."
[88] The Play referred to is founded on the "Captives" of Plautus, and
is entitled "The Captives." It has never been acted or published.
[89] "No Thoroughfare."
1868.
_3rd February, 1868._
[90]Articles of Agreement entered into at Baltimore, in the United States
of America, this third day of February in the year of our Lord one
thousand eight hundred and sixty-eight, between ---- ----, British
subject, _alias_ the man of Ross, and ---- ---- ----, American citizen,
_alias_ the Boston Bantam.
Whereas, some Bounce having arisen between the above men in reference to
feats of pedestrianism and agility, they have agreed to settle their
differences and prove who is the better man, by means of a walking-match
for two hats a side and the glory of their respective countries; and
whereas they agree that the said match shall come off, whatsoever the
weather, on the Mill Dam Road outside Boston, on Saturday, the
twenty-ninth day of this present month; and whereas they agree that the
personal attendants on themselves during the whole walk, and also the
umpires and starters and declarers of victory in the match shall be ----
---- of Boston, known in sporting circles as Massachusetts Jemmy, and
Charles Dickens of Falstaff's Gad's Hill, whose surprising performances
(without the least variation) on that truly national instrument, the
American catarrh, have won for him the well-merited title of the Gad's
Hill Gasper:
1. The men are to be started, on the day appointed, by Massachusetts
Jemmy and The Gasper.
2. Jemmy and The Gasper are, on some previous day, to walk out at the
rate of not less than four miles an hour by The Gasper's watch, for one
hour and a half. At the expiration of that one hour and a half they are
to carefully note the place at which they halt. On the match's coming
off they are to station themselves in the middle of the road, at that
precise point, and the men (keeping clear of them and of each other) are
to turn round them, right shoulder inward, and walk back to the
starting-point. The man declared by them to pass the starting-point
first is to be the victor and the winner of the match.
3. No jostling or fouling allowed.
4. All cautions or orders issued to the men by the umpires, starters,
and declarers of victory to be considered final and admitting of no
appeal.
A sporting narrative of the match to be written by The Gasper within one
week after its coming off, and the same to be duly printed (at the
expense of the subscribers to these articles) on a broadside. The said
broadside to be framed and glazed, and one copy of the same to be
carefully preserved by each of the subscribers to these articles.
6. The men to show on the evening of the day of walking at six o'clock
precisely, at the Parker House, Boston, when and where a dinner will be
given them by The Gasper. The Gasper to occupy the chair, faced by
Massachusetts Jemmy. The latter promptly and formally to invite, as soon
as may be after the date of these presents, the following guests to
honour the said dinner with their presence; that is to say [here follow
the names of a few of his friends, whom he wished to be invited].
Now, lastly. In token of their accepting the trusts and offices by these
articles conferred upon them, these articles are solemnly and formally
signed by Massachusetts Jemmy and by the Gad's Hill Gasper, as well as
by the men themselves.
Signed by the Man of Ross, otherwise ----.
Signed by the Boston Bantam, otherwise ----.
Signed by Massachusetts Jemmy, otherwise ----.
Signed by the Gad's Hill Gasper, otherwise Charles Dickens.
Witness to the signatures, ----.
[Sidenote: Mr. Charles Lanman.]
WASHINGTON, _February 5th, 1868._
MY DEAR SIR,
Allow me to thank you most cordially for your kind letter, and for its
accompanying books. I have a particular love for books of travel, and
shall wander into the "Wilds of America" with great interest. I have
also received your charming Sketch with great pleasure and admiration.
Let me thank you for it heartily. As a beautiful suggestion of nature
associated with this country, it shall have a quiet place on the walls
of my house as long as I live.
Your reference to my dear friend Washington Irving renews the vivid
impressions reawakened in my mind at Baltimore the other day. I saw his
fine face for the last time in that city. He came there from New York to
pass a day or two with me before I went westward, and they were made
among the most memorable of my life by his delightful fancy and genial
humour. Some unknown admirer of his books and mine sent to the hotel a
most enormous mint julep, wreathed with flowers. We sat, one on either
side of it, with great solemnity (it filled a respectable-sized paper),
but the solemnity was of very short duration. It was quite an enchanted
julep, and carried us among innumerable people and places that we both
knew. The julep held out far into the night, and my memory never saw him
afterward otherwise than as bending over it, with his straw, with an
attempted gravity (after some anecdote, involving some wonderfully droll
and delicate observation of character), and then, as his eyes caught
mine, melting into that captivating laugh of his which was the brightest
and best I have ever heard.
Dear Sir, with many thanks, faithfully yours.
[Sidenote: Mrs. Pease.]
BALTIMORE, _9th February, 1868._
DEAR MADAM,
Mr. Dolby has _not_ come between us, and I have received your letter. My
answer to it is, unfortunately, brief. I am not coming to Cleveland or
near it. Every evening on which I can possibly read during the remainder
of my stay in the States is arranged for, and the fates divide me from
"the big woman with two smaller ones in tow." So I send her my love (to
be shared in by the two smaller ones, if she approve--but not
otherwise), and seriously assure her that her pleasant letter has been
most welcome.
Dear madam, faithfully your friend.
[Sidenote: Mr. James T. Fields.]
ABOARD THE "RUSSIA," BOUND FOR LIVERPOOL,
_Sunday, 26th April, 1868._
MY DEAR FIELDS,
In order that you may have the earliest intelligence of me, I begin this
note to-day in my small cabin, purposing (if it should prove
practicable) to post it at Queenstown for the return steamer.
We are already past the Banks of Newfoundland, although our course was
seventy miles to the south, with the view of avoiding ice seen by
Judkins in the _Scotia_ on his passage out to New York. The _Russia_ is
a magnificent ship, and has dashed along bravely. We had made more than
thirteen hundred and odd miles at noon to-day. The wind, after being a
little capricious, rather threatens at the present time to turn against
us, but our run is already eighty miles ahead of the _Russia's_ last run
in this direction--a very fast one. . . . To all whom it may concern,
report the _Russia_ in the highest terms. She rolls more easily than
the other Cunard Screws, is kept in perfect order, and is most carefully
looked after in all departments. We have had nothing approaching to
heavy weather, still one can speak to the trim of the ship. Her captain,
a gentleman; bright, polite, good-natured, and vigilant. . . .
As to me, I am greatly better, I hope. I have got on my right boot
to-day for the first time; the "true American" seems to be turning
faithless at last; and I made a Gad's Hill breakfast this morning, as a
further advance on having otherwise eaten and drunk all day ever since
Wednesday.
You will see Anthony Trollope, I daresay. What was my amazement to see
him with these eyes come aboard in the mail tender just before we
started! He had come out in the _Scotia_ just in time to dash off again
in said tender to shake hands with me, knowing me to be aboard here. It
was most heartily done. He is on a special mission of convention with
the United States post-office.
We have been picturing your movements, and have duly checked off your
journey home, and have talked about you continually. But I have thought
about you both, even much, much more. You will never know how I love you
both; or what you have been to me in America, and will always be to me
everywhere; or how fervently I thank you.
All the working of the ship seems to be done on my forehead. It is
scrubbed and holystoned (my head--not the deck) at three every morning.
It is scraped and swabbed all day. Eight pairs of heavy boots are now
clattering on it, getting the ship under sail again. Legions of
ropes'-ends are flopped upon it as I write, and I must leave off with
Dolby's love.
* * * * *
_Thursday, 30th._
Soon after I left off as above we had a gale of wind which blew all
night. For a few hours on the evening side of midnight there was no
getting from this cabin of mine to the saloon, or _vice versa_, so
heavily did the sea break over the decks. The ship, however, made
nothing of it, and we were all right again by Monday afternoon. Except
for a few hours yesterday (when we had a very light head-wind), the
weather has been constantly favourable, and we are now bowling away at a
great rate, with a fresh breeze filling all our sails. We expect to be
at Queenstown between midnight and three in the morning.
I hope, my dear Fields, you may find this legible, but I rather doubt
it, for there is motion enough on the ship to render writing to a
landsman, however accustomed to pen and ink, rather a difficult
achievement. Besides which, I slide away gracefully from the paper,
whenever I want to be particularly expressive. . . .
----, sitting opposite to me at breakfast, always has the following
items: A large dish of porridge into which he casts slices of butter and
a quantity of sugar. Two cups of tea. A steak. Irish stew. Chutnee and
marmalade. Another deputation of two has solicited a reading to-night.
Illustrious novelist has unconditionally and absolutely declined. More
love, and more to that, from your ever affectionate friend.
[Sidenote: The same.]
"ALL THE YEAR ROUND" OFFICE, _May 15th, 1868._
MY DEAR FIELDS,
I have found it so extremely difficult to write about America (though
never so briefly) without appearing to blow trumpets on the one hand, or
to be inconsistent with my avowed determination _not_ to write about it
on the other, that I have taken the simple course enclosed. The number
will be published on the 6th of June. It appears to me to be the most
modest and manly course, and to derive some graceful significance from
its title.
Thank my dear Mrs. Fields for me for her delightful letter received on
the 16th. I will write to her very soon, and tell her about the dogs. I
would write by this post, but that Wills' absence (in Sussex, and
getting no better there as yet) so overwhelms me with business that I
can scarcely get through it.
Miss me? Ah, my dear fellow, but how do I miss _you_! We talk about you
both at Gad's Hill every day of our lives. And I never see the place
looking very pretty indeed, or hear the birds sing all day long and the
nightingales all night, without restlessly wishing that you were both
there.
With best love, and truest and most enduring regard, ever, my dear
Fields,
Your most affectionate.
. . . I hope you will receive by Saturday's Cunard a case containing:
1. A trifling supply of the pen-knibs that suited your hand.
2. A do. of unfailing medicine for cockroaches.
3. Mrs. Gamp, for ----.
The case is addressed to you at Bleecker Street, New York. If it should
be delayed for the knibs (or nibs) promised to-morrow, and should be too
late for the Cunard packet, it will in that case come by the next
following Inman steamer.
Everything here looks lovely, and I find it (you will be surprised to
hear) really a pretty place! I have seen "No Thoroughfare" twice.
Excellent things in it, but it drags to my thinking. It is, however, a
great success in the country, and is now getting up with great force in
Paris. Fechter is ill, and was ordered off to Brighton yesterday. Wills
is ill too, and banished into Sussex for perfect rest. Otherwise, thank
God, I find everything well and thriving. You and my dear Mrs. Fields
are constantly in my mind. Procter greatly better.
[Sidenote: Mr. Fechter.]
OFFICE OF "ALL THE YEAR ROUND,"
_Friday, 22nd May, 1868._
MY DEAR FECHTER,
I have an idea about the bedroom act, which I should certainly have
suggested if I had been at our "repetitions" here.[91] I want it done _to
the sound of the Waterfall_. I want the sound of the Waterfall louder
and softer as the wind rises and falls, to be spoken through--like the
music. I want the Waterfall _listened to when spoken of, and not looked
out at_. The mystery and gloom of the scene would be greatly helped by
this, and it would be new and picturesquely fanciful.
I am very anxious to hear from you how the piece seems to go,[92] and how
the artists, who are to act it, seem to understand their parts. Pray
tell me, too, when you write, how you found Madame Fechter, and give all
our loves to all.
Ever heartily yours.
[Sidenote: Mrs. James T. Fields.]
GAD'S HILL, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,
_25th May, 1868._
MY DEAR MRS. FIELDS,
As you ask me about the dogs, I begin with them. When I came down first,
I came to Gravesend, five miles off. The two Newfoundland dogs, coming
to meet me with the usual carriage and the usual driver, and beholding
me coming in my usual dress out at the usual door, it struck me that
their recollection of my having been absent for any unusual time was at
once cancelled. They behaved (they are both young dogs) exactly in their
usual manner; coming behind the basket phaeton as we trotted along, and
lifting their heads to have their ears pulled--a special attention which
they receive from no one else. But when I drove into the stable-yard,
Linda (the St. Bernard) was greatly excited; weeping profusely, and
throwing herself on her back that she might caress my foot with her
great fore-paws. Mamie's little dog, too, Mrs. Bouncer, barked in the
greatest agitation on being called down and asked by Mamie, "Who is
this?" and tore round and round me, like the dog in the Faust outlines.
You must know that all the farmers turned out on the road in their
market-chaises to say, "Welcome home, sir!" and that all the houses
along the road were dressed with flags; and that our servants, to cut
out the rest, had dressed this house so that every brick of it was
hidden. They had asked Mamie's permission to "ring the alarm-bell" (!)
when master drove up, but Mamie, having some slight idea that that
compliment might awaken master's sense of the ludicrous, had recommended
bell abstinence. But on Sunday the village choir (which includes the
bell-ringers) made amends. After some unusually brief pious reflections
in the crowns of their hats at the end of the sermon, the ringers bolted
out, and rang like mad until I got home. There had been a conspiracy
among the villagers to take the horse out, if I had come to our own
station, and draw me here. Mamie and Georgy had got wind of it and
warned me.
Divers birds sing here all day, and the nightingales all night. The
place is lovely, and in perfect order. I have put five mirrors in the
Swiss chalet (where I write) and they reflect and refract in all kinds
of ways the leaves that are quivering at the windows, and the great
fields of waving corn, and the sail-dotted river. My room is up among
the branches of the trees; and the birds and the butterflies fly in and
out, and the green branches shoot in, at the open windows, and the
lights and shadows of the clouds come and go with the rest of the
company. The scent of the flowers, and indeed of everything that is
growing for miles and miles, is most delicious.
Dolby (who sends a world of messages) found his wife much better than he
expected, and the children (wonderful to relate!) perfect. The little
girl winds up her prayers every night with a special commendation to
Heaven of me and the pony--as if I must mount him to get there! I dine
with Dolby (I was going to write "him," but found it would look as if I
were going to dine with the pony) at Greenwich this very day, and if
your ears do not burn from six to nine this evening, then the Atlantic
is a non-conductor. We are already settling--think of this!--the details
of my farewell course of readings. I am brown beyond belief, and cause
the greatest disappointment in all quarters by looking so well. It is
really wonderful what those fine days at sea did for me! My doctor was
quite broken down in spirits when he saw me, for the first time since my
return, last Saturday. "Good Lord!" he said, recoiling, "seven years
younger!"
It is time I should explain the otherwise inexplicable enclosure. Will
you tell Fields, with my love (I suppose he hasn't used _all_ the pens
yet?), that I think there is in Tremont Street a set of my books, sent
out by Chapman, not arrived when I departed. Such set of the immortal
works of our illustrious, etc., is designed for the gentleman to whom
the enclosure is addressed. If T., F. and Co., will kindly forward the
set (carriage paid) with the enclosure to ----'s address, I will invoke
new blessings on their heads, and will get Dolby's little daughter to
mention them nightly.
"No Thoroughfare" is very shortly coming out in Paris, where it is now
in active rehearsal. It is still playing here, but without Fechter, who
has been very ill. The doctor's dismissal of him to Paris, however, and
his getting better there, enables him to get up the play there. He and
Wilkie missed so many pieces of stage-effect here, that, unless I am
quite satisfied with his report, I shall go over and try my
stage-managerial hand at the Vaudeville Theatre. I particularly want the
drugging and attempted robbing in the bedroom scene at the Swiss inn to
be done to the sound of a waterfall rising and falling with the wind.
Although in the very opening of that scene they speak of the waterfall
and listen to it, nobody thought of its mysterious music. I could make
it, with a good stage-carpenter, in an hour.
My dear love to Fields once again. Same to you and him from Mamie and
Georgy. I cannot tell you both how I miss you, or how overjoyed I should
be to see you here.
Ever, my dear Mrs. Fields,
Your most affectionate friend.
[Sidenote: Mr. Alexander Ireland.]
THE ATHENAEUM, _Saturday, 30th May, 1868._
DEAR MR. IRELAND,
Many thanks for the book[93] you have kindly lent me. My interest in its
subject is scarcely less than your own, and the book has afforded me
great pleasure. I hope it will prove a very useful tribute to Hazlett
and Hunt (in extending the general knowledge of their writings), as well
as a deservedly hearty and loving one.
You gratify me much by your appreciation of my desire to promote the
kindest feelings between England and America. But the writer of the
generous article in _The Manchester Examiner_ is quite mistaken in
supposing that I intend to write a book on the United States. The fact
is exactly the reverse, or I could not have spoken without some
appearance of having a purpose to serve.
Very faithfully yours.
[Sidenote: Mr. James T. Fields.]
GAD'S HILL PLACE, _Tuesday, 7th July, 1868._
MY DEAR FIELDS,
I have delayed writing to you (and Mrs. Fields, to whom my love) until I
should have seen Longfellow. When he was in London the first time he
came and went without reporting himself, and left me in a state of
unspeakable discomfiture. Indeed, I should not have believed in his
having been here at all, if Mrs. Procter had not told me of his calling
to see Procter. However, on his return he wrote to me from the Langham
Hotel, and I went up to town to see him, and to make an appointment for
his coming here. He, the girls, and Appleton, came down last Saturday
night and stayed until Monday forenoon. I showed them all the
neighbouring country that could be shown in so short a time, and they
finished off with a tour of inspection of the kitchens, pantry,
wine-cellar, pickles, sauces, servants' sitting-room, general household
stores, and even the Cellar Book, of this illustrious establishment.
Forster and Kent (the latter wrote certain verses to Longfellow, which
have been published in _The Times_, and which I sent to D----) came down
for a day, and I hope we all had a really "good time." I turned out a
couple of postillions in the old red jacket of the old red royal Dover
Road, for our ride; and it was like a holiday ride in England fifty
years ago. Of course we went to look at the old houses in Rochester, and
the old cathedral, and the old castle, and the house for the six poor
travellers who, "not being rogues or procters, shall have lodging,
entertainment, and four pence each."
Nothing can surpass the respect paid to Longfellow here, from the Queen
downward. He is everywhere received and courted, and finds (as I told
him he would, when we talked of it in Boston) the working-men at least
as well acquainted with his books as the classes socially above
them. . . .
Last Thursday I attended, as sponsor, the christening of Dolby's son and
heir--a most jolly baby, who held on tight by the rector's left whisker
while the service was performed. What time, too, his little sister,
connecting me with the pony, trotted up and down the centre aisle,
noisily driving herself as that celebrated animal, so that it went very
hard with the sponsorial dignity.
Wills is not yet recovered from that concussion of the brain, and I have
all his work to do. This may account for my not being able to devise a
Christmas number, but I seem to have left my invention in America. In
case you should find it, please send it over. I am going up to town
to-day to dine with Longfellow. And now, my dear Fields, you know all
about me and mine.
You are enjoying your holiday? and are still thinking sometimes of our
Boston days, as I do? and are maturing schemes for coming here next
summer? A satisfactory reply to the last question is particularly
entreated.
I am delighted to find you both so well pleased with the Blind Book
scheme.[94] I said nothing of it to you when we were together, though I
had made up my mind, because I wanted to come upon you with that little
burst from a distance. It seemed something like meeting again when I
remitted the money and thought of your talking of it.
The dryness of the weather is amazing. All the ponds and surface-wells
about here are waterless, and the poor people suffer greatly. The people
of this village have only one spring to resort to, and it is a couple of
miles from many cottages. I do not let the great dogs swim in the canal,
because the people have to drink of it. But when they get into the
Medway it is hard to get them out again. The other day Bumble (the son,
Newfoundland dog) got into difficulties among some floating timber, and
became frightened. Don (the father) was standing by me, shaking off the
wet and looking on carelessly, when all of a sudden he perceived
something amiss, and went in with a bound and brought Bumble out by the
ear. The scientific way in which he towed him along was charming.
Ever your loving.
[Sidenote: Mr. J. E. Millais, R.A.]
GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,
_Sunday, 19th July, 1868._
MY DEAR MILLAIS,[95]
I received the enclosed letter yesterday, and I have, perhaps
unjustly--some vague suspicions of it. As I know how faithful and
zealous you have been in all relating to poor Leech, I make no apology
for asking you whether you can throw any light upon its contents.
You will be glad to hear that Charles Collins is decidedly better
to-day, and is out of doors.
Believe me always, faithfully yours.
[Sidenote: Mr. Serle.]
GAD'S HILL, _Wednesday, 29th July, 1868._
MY DEAR SERLE,[96]
I do not believe there is the slightest chance of an international
Copyright law being passed in America for a long time to come. Some
Massachusetts men do believe in such a thing, but they fail (as I
think) to take into account the prompt western opposition.
Such an alteration as you suggest in the English law would give no
copyright in America, you see. The American publisher could buy no
absolute _right_ of priority. Any American newspaper could (and many
would, in a popular case) pirate from him, as soon as they could get the
matter set up. He could buy no more than he buys now when he arranges
for advance sheets from England, so that there may be simultaneous
publication in the two countries. And success in England is of so much
importance towards the achievement of success in America, that I greatly
doubt whether previous publications in America would often be worth more
to an American publisher or manager than simultaneous publication.
Concerning the literary man in Parliament who would undertake to bring
in a Bill for such an amendment of our copyright law, with weight enough
to keep his heart unbroken while he should be getting it through its
various lingering miseries, all I can say is--I decidedly don't know
him.
On that horrible Staplehurst day, I had not the slightest idea that I
knew anyone in the train out of my own compartment. Mrs. Cowden
Clarke[97] wrote me afterwards, telling me in the main what you tell me,
and I was astonished. It is remarkable that my watch (a special
chronometer) has never gone quite correctly since, and to this day there
sometimes comes over me, on a railway--in a hansom cab--or any sort of
conveyance--for a few seconds, a vague sense of dread that I have no
power to check. It comes and passes, but I cannot prevent its coming.
Believe me, always faithfully yours.
[Sidenote: Mr. Rusden.]
_24th August, 1868._
MY DEAR SIR,
I should have written to you much sooner, but that I have been home from
the United States barely three months, and have since been a little
uncertain as to the precise time and way of sending my youngest son out
to join his brother Alfred.
It is now settled that he shall come out in the ship _Sussex_, 1000
tons, belonging to Messrs. Money, Wigram, and Co. She sails from
Gravesend, but he will join her at Plymouth on the 27th September, and
will proceed straight to Melbourne. Of this I apprise Alfred by this
mail. . . . I cannot sufficiently thank you for your kindness to Alfred.
I am certain that a becoming sense of it and desire to deserve it, has
done him great good.
Your report of him is an unspeakable comfort to me, and I most heartily
assure you of my gratitude and friendship.
In the midst of your colonial seethings and heavings, I suppose you have
some leisure to consult equally the hopeful prophets and the dismal
prophets who are all wiser than any of the rest of us as to things at
home here. My own strong impression is that whatsoever change the new
Reform Bill may effect will be very gradual indeed and quite wholesome.
Numbers of the middle class who seldom or never voted before will vote
now, and the greater part of the new voters will in the main be wiser as
to their electoral responsibilities and more seriously desirous to
discharge them for the common good than the bumptious singers of "Rule
Britannia," "Our dear old Church of England," and all the rest of it.
If I can ever do anything for any accredited friend of yours coming to
the old country, command me. I shall be truly glad of any opportunity of
testifying that I do not use a mere form of words in signing myself,
Cordially yours.
[Sidenote: Mr. Russell Sturgis.]
KENNEDY'S HOTEL, EDINBURGH,
_Monday, 14th December, 1868._[98]
MY DEAR MR. RUSSELL STURGIS,
I am "reading" here, and shall be through this week. Consequently I am
only this morning in receipt of your kind note of the 10th, forwarded
from my own house.
Believe me I am as much obliged to you for your generous and ready
response to my supposed letter as I should have been if I had really
written it. But I know nothing whatever of it or of "Miss Jeffries,"
except that I have a faint impression of having recently noticed that
name among my begging-letter correspondents, and of having associated it
in my mind with a regular professional hand. Your caution has, I hope,
disappointed this swindler. But my testimony is at your service if you
should need it, and I would take any opportunity of bringing one of
those vagabonds to punishment; for they are, one and all, the most
heartless and worthless vagabonds on the face of the earth.
Believe me, faithfully yours.
[Sidenote: Mrs. James T. Fields.]
GLASGOW, _Wednesday, December 16, 1868._
MY DEAR MRS. FIELDS,
. . . First, as you are curious about the Oliver murder, I will tell you
about that trial of the same at which you _ought_ to have assisted.
There were about a hundred people present in all. I have changed my
stage. Besides that back screen which you know so well, there are two
large screens of the same colour, set off, one on either side, like the
"wings" at a theatre. And besides these again, we have a quantity of
curtains of the same colour, with which to close in any width of room
from wall to wall. Consequently, the figure is now completely isolated,
and the slightest action becomes much more important. This was used for
the first time on the occasion. But behind the stage--the orchestra
being very large and built for the accommodation of a numerous
chorus--there was ready, on the level of the platform, a very long
table, beautifully lighted, with a large staff of men ready to open
oysters and set champagne-corks flying. Directly I had done, the screens
being whisked off by my people, there was disclosed one of the prettiest
banquets you can imagine; and when all the people came up, and the gay
dresses of the ladies were lighted by those powerful lights of mine, the
scene was exquisitely pretty; the hall being newly decorated, and very
elegantly; and the whole looking like a great bed of flowers and
diamonds.
Now, you must know that all this company were, before the wine went
round, unmistakably pale, and had horror-stricken faces. Next morning
Harness (Fields knows--Rev. William--did an edition of Shakespeare--old
friend of the Kembles and Mrs. Siddons), writing to me about it, and
saying it was "a most amazing and terrific thing," added, "but I am
bound to tell you that I had an almost irresistible impulse upon me to
_scream_, and that, if anyone had cried out, I am certain I should have
followed." He had no idea that, on the night, P----, the great ladies'
doctor, had taken me aside and said: "My dear Dickens, you may rely upon
it that if only one woman cries out when you murder the girl, there will
be a contagion of hysteria all over this place." It is impossible to
soften it without spoiling it, and you may suppose that I am rather
anxious to discover how it goes on the 5th of January!!! We are afraid
to announce it elsewhere, without knowing, except that I have thought it
pretty safe to put it up once in Dublin. I asked Mrs. K----, the famous
actress, who was at the experiment: "What do _you_ say? Do it or not?"
"Why, of course, do it," she replied. "Having got at such an effect as
that, it must be done. But," rolling her large black eyes very slowly,
and speaking very distinctly, "the public have been looking out for a
sensation these last fifty years or so, and by Heaven they have got it!"
With which words, and a long breath and a long stare, she became
speechless. Again, you may suppose that I am a little anxious!
Not a day passes but Dolby and I talk about you both, and recall where
we were at the corresponding time of last year. My old likening of
Boston to Edinburgh has been constantly revived within these last ten
days. There is a certain remarkable similarity of _tone_ between the two
places. The audiences are curiously alike, except that the Edinburgh
audience has a quicker sense of humour and is a little more genial. No
disparagement to Boston in this, because I consider an Edinburgh
audience perfect.
I trust, my dear Eugenius, that you have recognised yourself in a
certain Uncommercial, and also some small reference to a name rather
dear to you? As an instance of how strangely something comic springs up
in the midst of the direst misery, look to a succeeding Uncommercial,
called "A Small Star in the East," published to-day, by-the-bye. I have
described, _with exactness_, the poor places into which I went, and how
the people behaved, and what they said. I was wretched, looking on; and
yet the boiler-maker and the poor man with the legs filled me with a
sense of drollery not to be kept down by any pressure.
The atmosphere of this place, compounded of mists from the highlands and
smoke from the town factories, is crushing my eyebrows as I write, and
it rains as it never does rain anywhere else, and always does rain here.
It is a dreadful place, though much improved and possessing a deal of
public spirit. Improvement is beginning to knock the old town of
Edinburgh about, here and there; but the Canongate and the most
picturesque of the horrible courts and wynds are not to be easily
spoiled, or made fit for the poor wretches who people them to live in.
Edinburgh is so changed as to its notabilities, that I had the only
three men left of the Wilson and Jeffrey time to dine with me there,
last Saturday.
I think you will find "Fatal Zero" (by Percy Fitzgerald) a very curious
analysis of a mind, as the story advances. A new beginner in "A. Y. R."
(Hon. Mrs. Clifford, Kinglake's sister), who wrote a story in the series
just finished, called "The Abbot's Pool," has just sent me another
story. I have a strong impression that, with care, she will step into
Mrs. Gaskell's vacant place. Wills is no better, and I have work enough
even in that direction.
God bless the woman with the black mittens for making me laugh so this
morning! I take her to be a kind of public-spirited Mrs. Sparsit, and as
such take her to my bosom. God bless you both, my dear friends, in this
Christmas and New Year time, and in all times, seasons, and places, and
send you to Gad's Hill with the next flowers!
Ever your most affectionate.
[Sidenote: Mr. Russell Sturgis.]
KENNEDY'S HOTEL, EDINBURGH,
_Friday, 18th December, 1868._
MY DEAR MR. RUSSELL STURGIS,
I return you the forged letter, and devoutly wish that I had to flog the
writer in virtue of a legal sentence. I most cordially reciprocate your
kind expressions in reference to our future intercourse, and shall hope
to remind you of them five or six months hence, when my present labours
shall have gone the way of all other earthly things. It was particularly
interesting to me when I was last at Boston to recognise poor dear
Felton's unaffected and genial ways in his eldest daughter, and to
notice how, in tender remembrance of him, she is, as it were,
Cambridge's daughter.
Believe me always, faithfully yours.
FOOTNOTES:
[90] It was at Baltimore that Charles Dickens first conceived the idea
of a walking-match, which should take place on his return to Boston, and
he drew up a set of humorous "articles."
[91] The Play of "No Thoroughfare," was produced at the Adelphi Theatre,
under the management of Mr. Webster.
[92] Mr. Fechter was, at this time, superintending the production of a
French version of "No Thoroughfare," in Paris. It was called "L'Abime."
[93] The volume referred to is a "List of the Writings of William
Hazlett and Leigh Hunt, chronologically arranged, with Notes,
descriptive, critical, and explanatory, etc."
[94] A copy of "The Old Curiosity Shop," in raised letters for the use
of the Blind, had been printed by Charles Dickens's order at the
"Perkins Institution for the Blind" in Boston, and presented by him to
that institution in this year.
[95] John Everett Millais, R.A. (The Editors make use of this note, as
it is the only one which Mr. Millais has been able to find for them, and
they are glad to have the two names associated together).
[96] A dramatic author, who was acting manager of Covent Garden Theatre
in 1838, when his acquaintance with Charles Dickens first began. This
letter is in answer to some questions put to Charles Dickens by Mr.
Serle on the subject of the extension of copyright to the United States
of America.
[97] Mrs. Cowden Clarke wrote to tell Charles Dickens that her sister,
Miss Sabilla Novello, and her brother, Mr. Alfred Novello, were also in
the train, and escaped without injury.
[98] A forged letter from Charles Dickens, introducing an impostor, had
been addressed to Mr. Russell Sturgis.
1869.
[Sidenote: Mrs. Forster.]
QUEEN'S HOTEL, MANCHESTER,
_Monday, 8th March, 1869._
MY DEAR MRS. FORSTER,
A thousand thanks for your note, which has reached me here this
afternoon. At breakfast this morning Dolby showed me the local paper
with a paragraph in it recording poor dear Tennent's[99] death. You may
imagine how shocked I was. Immediately before I left town this last
time, I had an unusually affectionate letter from him, enclosing one
from Forster, and proposing the friendly dinner since appointed for the
25th. I replied to him in the same spirit, and felt touched at the time
by the gentle earnestness of his tone. It is remarkable that I talked of
him a great deal yesterday to Dolby (who knew nothing of him), and that
I reverted to him again at night before going to bed--with no reason
that I know of. Dolby was strangely impressed by this, when he showed me
the newspaper.
God be with us all!
Ever your affectionate.
[Sidenote: Mr. H. A. Layard.]
OFFICE OF "ALL THE YEAR ROUND,"
_Saturday, 13th March, 1869._
MY DEAR LAYARD,
Coming to town for a couple of days, from York, I find your beautiful
present.[100] With my heartiest congratulations on your marriage, accept
my most cordial thanks for a possession that I shall always prize
foremost among my worldly goods; firstly, for your sake; secondly, for
its own.
Not one of these glasses shall be set on table until Mrs. Layard is
there, to touch with her lips the first champagne that any of them shall
ever hold! This vow has been registered in solemn triumvirate at Gad's
Hill.
The first week in June will about see me through my present work, I
hope. I came to town hurriedly to attend poor dear Emerson Tennent's
funeral. You will know how my mind went back, in the York up-train at
midnight, to Mount Vesuvius and our Neapolitan supper.
I have given Mr. Hills, of Oxford Street, the letter of introduction to
you that you kindly permitted. He has immense local influence, and could
carry his neighbours in favour of any good design.
My dear Layard, ever cordially yours.
[Sidenote: Miss Florence Olliffe.]
26, WELLINGTON STREET, _Tuesday, 16th March, 1869._
MY DEAR FLORENCE,[101]
I have received your kind note this morning, and I hasten to thank you
for it, and to assure your dear mother of our most cordial sympathy with
her in her great affliction, and in loving remembrance of the good man
and excellent friend we have lost. The tidings of his being very ill
indeed had, of course, been reported to me. For some days past I had
taken up the newspaper with sad misgivings; and this morning, before I
got your letter, they were realised.
I loved him truly. His wonderful gentleness and kindness, years ago,
when we had sickness in our household in Paris, has never been out of my
grateful remembrance. And, socially, his image is inseparable from some
of the most genial and delightful friendly hours of my life. I am almost
ashamed to set such recollections by the side of your mother's great
bereavement and grief, but they spring out of the fulness of my heart.
May God be with her and with you all!
Ever yours affectionately.
[Sidenote: Mr. James T. Fields.]
ADELPHI HOTEL, LIVERPOOL, _Friday, April 9th, 1869._
MY DEAR FIELDS,
The faithful _Russia_ will bring this out to you, as a sort of warrant
to take you into loving custody and bring you back on her return trip.
I rather think that when the 12th of June shall have shaken off these
shackles,[102] there _will_ be borage on the lawn at Gad's. Your heart's
desire in that matter, and in the minor particulars of Cobham Park,
Rochester Castle, and Canterbury, shall be fulfilled, please God! The
red jackets shall turn out again upon the turnpike-road, and picnics
among the cherry-orchards and hop-gardens shall be heard of in Kent.
Then, too, shall the Uncommercial resuscitate (being at present nightly
murdered by Mr. W. Sikes) and uplift his voice again.
The chief officer of the _Russia_ (a capital fellow) was at the Reading
last night, and Dolby specially charged him with the care of you and
yours. We shall be on the borders of Wales, and probably about Hereford,
when you arrive. Dolby has insane projects of getting over here to meet
you; so amiably hopeful and obviously impracticable, that I encourage
him to the utmost. The regular little captain of the _Russia_, Cook, is
just now changed into the _Cuba_, whence arise disputes of seniority,
etc. I wish he had been with you, for I liked him very much when I was
his passenger. I like to think of your being in _my_ ship!
---- and ---- have been taking it by turns to be "on the point of
death," and have been complimenting one another greatly on the fineness
of the point attained. My people got a very good impression of ----, and
thought her a sincere and earnest little woman.
The _Russia_ hauls out into the stream to-day, and I fear her people may
be too busy to come to us to-night. But if any of them do, they shall
have the warmest of welcomes for your sake. (By-the-bye, a very good
party of seamen from the Queen's ship _Donegal_, lying in the Mersey,
have been told off to decorate St. George's Hall with the ship's
bunting. They were all hanging on aloft upside down, holding to the
gigantically high roof by nothing, this morning, in the most wonderfully
cheerful manner.)
My son Charley has come for the dinner, and Chappell (my Proprietor,
as--isn't it Wemmick?--says) is coming to-day, and Lord Dufferin (Mrs.
Norton's nephew) is to come and make _the_ speech. I don't envy the
feelings of my noble friend when he sees the hall. Seriously, it is less
adapted to speaking than Westminster Abbey, and is as large. . . .
I hope you will see Fechter in a really clever piece by Wilkie.[103] Also
you will see the Academy Exhibition, which will be a very good one; and
also we will, please God, see everything and more, and everything else
after that. I begin to doubt and fear on the subject of your having a
horror of me after seeing the murder. I don't think a hand moved while I
was doing it last night, or an eye looked away. And there was a fixed
expression of horror of me, all over the theatre, which could not have
been surpassed if I had been going to be hanged to that red velvet
table. It is quite a new sensation to be execrated with that unanimity;
and I hope it will remain so!
[Is it lawful--would that woman in the black gaiters, green veil, and
spectacles, hold it so--to send my love to the pretty M----?]
Pack up, my dear Fields, and be quick.
Ever your most affectionate.
[Sidenote: Mr. Rusden.]
PRESTON, _Thursday, 22nd April, 1869._
MY DEAR SIR,
I am finishing my Farewell Readings--to-night is the seventy-fourth out
of one hundred--and have barely time to send you a line to thank you
most heartily for yours of the 30th January, and for your great kindness
to Alfred and Edward. The latter wrote by the same mail, on behalf of
both, expressing the warmest gratitude to you, and reporting himself in
the stoutest heart and hope. I never can thank you sufficiently.
You will see that the new Ministry has made a decided hit with its
Budget, and that in the matter of the Irish Church it has the country at
its back. You will also see that the "Reform League" has dissolved
itself, indisputably because it became aware that the people did not
want it.
I think the general feeling in England is a desire to get the Irish
Church out of the way of many social reforms, and to have it done _with_
as already done _for_. I do not in the least believe myself that
agrarian Ireland is to be pacified by any such means, or can have it got
out of its mistaken head that the land is of right the peasantry's, and
that every man who owns land has stolen it and is therefore to be shot.
But that is not the question.
The clock strikes post-time as I write, and I fear to write more, lest,
at this distance from London, I should imperil the next mail.
Cordially yours.
[Sidenote: Mr. Thomas Chappell.]
OFFICE OF "ALL THE YEAR ROUND,"
_Monday, 3rd May, 1869._
MY DEAR MR. CHAPPELL,
I am really touched by your letter. I can most truthfully assure you
that your part in the inconvenience of this mishap has given me much
more concern than my own; and that if I did not hope to have our London
Farewells yet, I should be in a very gloomy condition on your account.
Pray do not suppose that _you_ are to blame for my having done a little
too much--a wild fancy indeed! The simple fact is, that the rapid
railway travelling was stretched a hair's breadth too far, and that _I_
ought to have foreseen it. For, on the night before the last night of
our reading in America, when Dolby was cheering me with a review of the
success, and the immediate prospect of the voyage home, I told him, to
his astonishment: "I am too far gone, and too worn out to realise
anything but my own exhaustion. Believe me, if I had to read but twice
more, instead of once, I couldn't do it." We were then just beyond our
recent number. And it was the travelling that I had felt throughout.
The sharp precautionary remedy of stopping instantly, was almost as
instantly successful the other day. I told Dr. Watson that he had never
seen me knocked out of time, and that he had no idea of the rapidity
with which I should come up again.
Just as three days' repose on the Atlantic steamer made me, in my
altered appearance, the amazement of the captain, so this last week has
set me up, thank God, in the most wonderful manner. The sense of
exhaustion seems a dream already. Of course I shall train myself
carefully, nevertheless, all through the summer and autumn.
I beg to send my kind regards to Mrs. Chappell, and I shall hope to see
her and you at Teddington in the long bright days. It would disappoint
me indeed if a lasting friendship did not come of our business
relations.
In the spring I trust I shall be able to report to you that I am ready
to take my Farewells in London. Of this I am pretty certain: that I
never will take them at all, unless with you on your own conditions.
With an affectionate regard for you and your brother, believe me always,
Very faithfully yours.
[Sidenote: Mr. Rusden.]
"ALL THE YEAR ROUND" OFFICE,
_Tuesday, 18th May, 1869._
MY DEAR MR. RUSDEN,
As I daresay some exaggerated accounts of my having been very ill have
reached you, I begin with the true version of the case.
I daresay I _should_ have been very ill if I had not suddenly stopped my
Farewell Readings when there were yet five-and-twenty remaining to be
given. I was quite exhausted, and was warned by the doctors to stop (for
the time) instantly. Acting on the advice, and going home into Kent for
rest, I immediately began to recover, and within a fortnight was in the
brilliant condition in which I can now--thank God--report myself.
I cannot thank you enough for your care of Plorn. I was quite prepared
for his not settling down without a lurch or two. I still hope that he
may take to colonial life. . . . In his letter to me about his leaving
the station to which he got through your kindness, he expresses his
gratitude to you quite as strongly as if he had made a wonderful
success, and seems to have acquired no distaste for anything but the one
individual of whom he wrote that betrayed letter. But knowing the boy, I
want to try him fully.
You know all our public news, such as it is, at least as well as I do.
Many people here (of whom I am one) do not like the look of American
matters.
What I most fear is that the perpetual bluster of a party in the States
will at last set the patient British back up. And if our people begin to
bluster too, and there should come into existence an exasperating
war-party on both sides, there will be great danger of a daily-widening
breach.
The first shriek of the first engine that traverses the San Francisco
Railroad from end to end will be a death-warning to the disciples of Jo
Smith. The moment the Mormon bubble gets touched by neighbours it will
break. Similarly, the red man's course is very nearly run. A scalped
stoker is the outward and visible sign of his utter extermination. Not
Quakers enough to reach from here to Jerusalem will save him by the term
of a single year.
I don't know how it may be with you, but it is the fashion here to be
absolutely certain that the Emperor of the French is fastened by
Providence and the fates on a throne of adamant expressly constructed
for him since the foundations of the universe were laid.
He knows better, and so do the police of Paris, and both powers must be
grimly entertained by the resolute British belief, knowing what they
have known, and doing what they have done through the last ten years.
What Victor Hugo calls "the drop-curtain, behind which is constructing
the great last act of the French Revolution," has been a little shaken
at the bottom lately, however. One seems to see the feet of a rather
large chorus getting ready.
I enclose a letter for Plorn to your care, not knowing how to address
him. Forgive me for so doing (I write to Alfred direct), and believe me,
my dear Mr. Rusden,
Yours faithfully and much obliged.
[Sidenote: Miss Emily Jolly.]
OFFICE OF "ALL THE YEAR ROUND,"
_Thursday, 22nd July, 1869._
DEAR MISS JOLLY,
Mr. Wills has retired from here (for rest and to recover his health),
and my son, who occupies his place, brought me this morning a story[104]
in MS., with a request that I would read it. I read it with
extraordinary interest, and was greatly surprised by its uncommon merit.
On asking whence it came, I found that it came from you!
You need not to be told, after this, that I accept it with more than
readiness. If you will allow me I will go over it with great care, and
very slightly touch it here and there. I think it will require to be
divided into three portions. You shall have the proofs and I will
publish it immediately. I think so VERY highly of it that I will have
special attention called to it in a separate advertisement. I
congratulate you most sincerely and heartily on having done a very
special thing. It will always stand apart in my mind from any other
story I ever read. I write with its impression newly and strongly upon
me, and feel absolutely sure that I am not mistaken.
Believe me, faithfully yours always.
[Sidenote: Hon. Robert Lytton.]
26, WELLINGTON STREET, LONDON,
_Thursday, 2nd September, 1869._
MY DEAR ROBERT LYTTON,
"John Acland" is most willingly accepted, and shall come in to the next
monthly part. I shall make bold to condense him here and there
(according to my best idea of story-telling), and particularly where he
makes the speech:--And with the usual fault of being too long, here and
there, I think you let the story out too much--prematurely--and this I
hope to prevent artfully. I think your title open to the same objection,
and therefore propose to substitute:
THE DISAPPEARANCE
OF JOHN ACLAND.
This will leave the reader in doubt whether he really _was_ murdered,
until the end.
I am sorry you do not pursue the other prose series. You can do a great
deal more than you think for, with whatever you touch; and you know
where to find a firmly attached and admiring friend always ready to take
the field with you, and always proud to see your plume among the
feathers in the Staff.
Your account of my dear Boffin[105] is highly charming:--I had been
troubled with a misgiving that he was good. May his shadow never be more
correct!
I wish I could have you at the murder from "Oliver Twist."
I am always, my dear Robert Lytton,
Affectionately your friend.
* * * * *
Pray give my kindest regards to Fascination Fledgeby, who (I have no
doubt) has by this time half-a-dozen new names, feebly expressive of his
great merits.
[Sidenote: The same.]
OFFICE OF "ALL THE YEAR ROUND,"
26, WELLINGTON STREET, STRAND, LONDON,
_Friday, 1st October, 1869._
MY DEAR ROBERT LYTTON,
I am assured by a correspondent that "John Acland" has been done before.
Said correspondent has evidently read the story--and is almost confident
in "Chambers's Journal." This is very unfortunate, but of course cannot
be helped. There is always a possibility of such a malignant conjunction
of stars when the story is a true one.
In the case of a good story--as this is--liable for years to be told at
table--as this was--there is nothing wonderful in such a mischance. Let
us shuffle the cards, as Sancho says, and begin again.
You will of course understand that I do not tell you this by way of
complaint. Indeed, I should not have mentioned it at all, but as an
explanation to you of my reason for winding the story up (which I have
done to-day) as expeditiously as possible. You might otherwise have
thought me, on reading it as published, a little hard on Mr. Doilly. I
have not had time to direct search to be made in "Chambers's;" but as to
the main part of the story having been printed somewhere, I have not the
faintest doubt. And I believe my correspondent to be also right as to
the where. You could not help it any more than I could, and therefore
will not be troubled by it any more than I am.
The more I get of your writing, the better I shall be pleased.
Do believe me to be, as I am,
Your genuine admirer
And affectionate friend.
[Sidenote: Mr. Rusden.]
GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,
_Sunday, 24th October, 1869._
MY DEAR MR. RUSDEN,
This very day a great meeting is announced to come off in London, as a
demonstration in favour of a Fenian "amnesty." No doubt its numbers and
importance are ridiculously over-estimated, but I believe the gathering
will turn out to be big enough to be a very serious obstruction in the
London streets. I have a great doubt whether such demonstrations ought
to be allowed. They are bad as a precedent, and they unquestionably
interfere with the general liberty and freedom of the subject.
Moreover, the time must come when this kind of threat and defiance will
have to be forcibly stopped, and when the unreasonable toleration of it
will lead to a sacrifice of life among the comparatively innocent
lookers-on that might have been avoided but for a false confidence on
their part, engendered in the damnable system of _laisser-aller_. You
see how right we were, you and I, in our last correspondence on this
head, and how desperately unsatisfactory the condition of Ireland is,
especially when considered with a reference to America. The Government
has, through Mr. Gladstone, just now spoken out boldly in reference to
the desired amnesty. (So much the better for them or they would
unquestionably have gone by the board.) Still there is an uneasy feeling
abroad that Mr. Gladstone himself would grant this amnesty if he dared,
and that there is a great weakness in the rest of their Irish policy.
And this feeling is very strong amongst the noisiest Irish howlers.
Meanwhile, the newspapers go on arguing Irish matters as if the Irish
were a reasonable people, in which immense assumption I, for one, have
not the smallest faith.
Again, I have to thank you most heartily for your kindness to my two
boys. It is impossible to predict how Plorn will settle down, or come
out of the effort to do so. But he has unquestionably an affectionate
nature, and a certain romantic touch in him. Both of these qualities
are, I hope, more impressible for good than for evil, and I trust in God
for the rest.
The news of Lord Derby's death will reach you, I suppose, at about the
same time as this letter. A rash, impetuous, passionate man; but a great
loss for his party, as a man of mind and mark. I was staying last June
with Lord Russell--six or seven years older, but (except for being
rather deaf) in wonderful preservation, and brighter and more
completely armed at all points than I have seen him these twenty years.
As this need not be posted till Friday, I shall leave it open for a
final word or two; and am until then, and then, and always afterwards,
my dear Mr. Rusden,
Your faithful and much obliged.
_Thursday, 28th._
We have no news in England except two slight changes in the Government
consequent on Layard's becoming our Minister at Madrid. He is not long
married to a charming lady, and will be far better in Spain than in the
House of Commons. The Ministry are now holding councils on the Irish
Land Tenure question, which is the next difficulty they have to deal
with, as you know. Last Sunday's meeting was a preposterous failure;
still, it brought together in the streets of London all the ruffian part
of the population of London, and that is a serious evil which any one of
a thousand accidents might render mischievous. There is no existing law,
however, to stop these assemblages, so that they keep moving while in
the streets.
The Government was undoubtedly wrong when it considered it had the right
to close Hyde Park; that is now universally conceded.
I write to Alfred and Plorn both by this mail. They can never say enough
of your kindness when they write to me.
[Sidenote: Mr. A. H. Layard.]
GAD'S HILL PLACE, _Monday, 8th November, 1869._
MY DEAR LAYARD,
On Friday or Saturday next I can come to you at any time after twelve
that will suit your convenience. I had no idea of letting you go away
without my God-speed; but I knew how busy you must be; and kept in the
background, biding my time.
I am sure you know that there is no man living more attached to you than
I am. After considering the subject with the jealousy of a friend, I
have a strong conviction that your change[106] is a good one; ill as you
can be spared from the ranks of men who are in earnest here.
With kindest regards to Mrs. Layard.
Ever faithfully yours.
FOOTNOTES:
[99] Sir James Emerson Tennent.
[100] Some Venetian glass champagne tumblers.
[101] Miss Florence Olliffe, who wrote to announce the death of her
father, Sir Joseph Olliffe.
[102] The Readings.
[103] The "piece" here alluded to was called "Black and White." It was
presented at the Adelphi Theatre. The outline of the plot was suggested
by Mr. Fechter.
[104] The story was called "An Experience."
[105] "Boffin" and "Fascination Fledgeby," were nicknames given to his
children by Mr. Robert Lytton at this time.
[106] Mr. Layard's appointment as British Minister at Madrid.
1870.
[Sidenote: Mr. James T. Fields.]
5, HYDE PARK PLACE, LONDON, W.,
_Friday, January 14th, 1870._
MY DEAR FIELDS,
We live here (opposite the Marble Arch) in a charming house until the
1st of June, and then return to Gad's. The conservatory is completed,
and is a brilliant success; but an expensive one!
I should be quite ashamed of not having written to you and my dear Mrs.
Fields before now, if I didn't know that you will both understand how
occupied I am, and how naturally, when I put my papers away for the day,
I get up and fly. I have a large room here, with three fine windows,
overlooking the Park--unsurpassable for airiness and cheerfulness.
You saw the announcement of the death of poor dear Harness. The
circumstances are curious. He wrote to his old friend the Dean of Battle
saying he would come to visit him on that day (the day of his death).
The Dean wrote back: "Come next day, instead, as we are obliged to go
out to dinner, and you will be alone." Harness told his sister a little
impatiently that he _must_ go on the first-named day; that he had made
up his mind to go, and MUST. He had been getting himself ready for
dinner, and came to a part of the staircase whence two doors
opened--one, upon another level passage; one, upon a flight of stone
steps. He opened the wrong door, fell down the steps, injured himself
very severely, and died in a few hours.
You will know--_I_ don't--what Fechter's success is in America at the
time of this present writing. In his farewell performances at the
Princess's he acted very finely. I thought the three first acts of his
Hamlet very much better than I had ever thought them before--and I
always thought very highly of them. We gave him a foaming stirrup cup at
Gad's Hill.
Forster (who has been ill with his bronchitis again) thinks No. 2 of the
new book ("Edwin Drood") a clincher,--I mean that word (as his own
expression) for _Clincher_. There is a curious interest steadily working
up to No. 5, which requires a great deal of art and self-denial. I think
also, apart from character and picturesqueness, that the young people
are placed in a very novel situation. So I hope--at Nos. 5 and 6, the
story will turn upon an interest suspended until the end.
I can't believe it, and don't, and won't, but they say Harry's
twenty-first birthday is next Sunday. I have entered him at the Temple
just now; and if he don't get a fellowship at Trinity Hall when his time
comes, I shall be disappointed, if in the present disappointed state of
existence.
I hope you may have met with the little touch of Radicalism I gave them
at Birmingham in the words of Buckle? With pride I observe that it makes
the regular political traders, of all sorts, perfectly mad. Such was my
intentions, as a grateful acknowledgment of having been misrepresented.
I think Mrs. ----'s prose very admirable; but I don't believe it! No, I
do _not_. My conviction is that those islanders get frightfully bored by
the islands, and wish they had never set eyes upon them!
Charley Collins has done a charming cover for the monthly part of the
new book. At the very earnest representations of Millais (and after
having seen a great number of his drawings) I am going to engage with a
new man; retaining of course, C. C.'s cover aforesaid.[107] Katie has made
some more capital portraits, and is always improving.
My dear Mrs. Fields, if "He" (made proud by chairs and bloated by
pictures) does not give you my dear love, let us conspire against him
when you find him out, and exclude him from all future confidences.
Until then,
Ever affectionately yours and his.
[Sidenote: Lord Lytton.]
5, HYDE PARK PLACE, _Monday, 14th February, 1870._
MY DEAR LYTTON,
I ought to have mentioned in my hurried note to you, that my knowledge
of the consultation[108] in question only preceded yours by certain hours;
and that Longman asked me if I would make the design known to you, as he
thought it might be a liberty to address you otherwise. This I did
therefore.
The class of writers to whom you refer at the close of your note, have
no copyright, and do not come within my case at all. I quite agree with
you as to their propensities and deserts.
Indeed, I suppose in the main that there is very little difference
between our opinions. I do not think the present Government worse than
another, and I think it better than another by the presence of Mr.
Gladstone; but it appears to me that our system fails.
Ever yours.
[Sidenote: Mr. Frederic Chapman.]
5, HYDE PARK PLACE, _Monday, 14th March, 1870._
DEAR FREDERIC CHAPMAN,
Mr. Fildes has been with me this morning, and without complaining of
---- or expressing himself otherwise than as being obliged to him for
his care in No. 1, represents that there is a brother-student of his, a
wood-engraver, perfectly acquainted with his style and well
understanding his meaning, who would render him better.
I have replied to him that there can be no doubt that he has a claim
beyond dispute to our employing whomsoever he knows will present him in
his best aspect. Therefore, we must make the change; the rather because
the fellow-student in question has engraved Mr. Fildes' most successful
drawings hitherto.
Faithfully yours.
[Sidenote: Mr. Charles Mackay.]
OFFICE OF "ALL THE YEAR ROUND,"
_Thursday, 21st April, 1870._
MY DEAR MACKAY,
I have placed "God's Acre." The prose paper, "The False Friend," has
lingered, because it seems to me that the idea is to be found in an
introduced story of mine called "The Baron of Grogzwig" in "Pickwick."
Be pleasant with the Scottish people in handling Johnson, because I love
them.
Ever faithfully.
[Sidenote: Sir John Bowring.]
GAD'S HILL, _Thursday, 5th May, 1870._
MY DEAR SIR JOHN,
I send you many cordial thanks for your note, and the very curious
drawing accompanying it. I ought to tell you, perhaps, that the opium
smoking I have described, I saw (exactly as I have described it, penny
ink-bottle and all) down in Shadwell this last autumn. A couple of the
Inspectors of Lodging-Houses knew the woman and took me to her as I was
making a round with them to see for myself the working of Lord
Shaftesbury's Bill.
Believe me, always faithfully yours.
[Sidenote: Mr. J. B. Buckstone.]
[109]_Sunday, 15th May, 1870._
MY DEAR BUCKSTONE,
I send a duplicate of this note to the Haymarket, in case it should miss
you out of town. For a few years I have been liable, at wholly uncertain
and incalculable times, to a severe attack of neuralgia in the foot,
about once in the course of a year. It began in an injury to the finer
muscles or nerves, occasioned by over-walking in the deep snow. When it
comes on I cannot stand, and can bear no covering whatever on the
sensitive place. One of these seizures is upon me now. Until it leaves
me I could no more walk into St. James's Hall than I could fly in the
air. I hope you will present my duty to the Prince of Wales, and assure
his Royal Highness that nothing short of my being (most unfortunately)
disabled for the moment would have prevented my attending, as trustee of
the Fund,[110] at the dinner, and warmly expressing my poor sense of the
great and inestimable service his Royal Highness renders to a most
deserving institution by so kindly commending it to the public.
Faithfully yours always.
[Sidenote: Mr. Rusden.]
ATHENAEUM, _Friday Evening, 20th May, 1870._
MY DEAR MR. RUSDEN,
I received your most interesting and clear-sighted letter about Plorn
just before the departure of the last mail from here to you. I did not
answer then because another incoming mail was nearly due, and I expected
(knowing Plorn so well) that some communication from him such as he made
to you would come to me. I was not mistaken. The same arguing of the
squatter question--vegetables and all--appeared. This gave me an
opportunity of touching on those points by this mail, without in the
least compromising you. I cannot too completely express my concurrence
with your excellent idea that his correspondence with you should be
regarded as confidential. Just as I could not possibly suggest a word
more neatly to the point, or more thoughtfully addressed, to such a
young man than your reply to his letter, I hope you will excuse my
saying that it is a perfect model of tact, good sense, and good feeling.
I had been struck by his persistently ignoring the possibility of his
holding any other position in Australasia than his present position, and
had inferred from it a homeward tendency. What is most curious to me is
that he is very sensible, and yet does not seem to understand that he
has qualified himself for no public examinations in the old country, and
could not possibly hold his own against any competition for anything to
which I could get him nominated.
But I must not trouble you about my boys as if they were yours. It is
enough that I can never thank you for your goodness to them in a
generous consideration of me.
I believe the truth as to France to be that a citizen Frenchman never
forgives, and that Napoleon will never live down the _coup d'etat_. This
makes it enormously difficult for any well-advised English newspaper to
support him, and pretend not to know on what a volcano his throne is
set. Informed as to his designs on the one hand, and the perpetual
uneasiness of his police on the other (to say nothing of a doubtful
army), _The Times_ has a difficult game to play. My own impression is
that if it were played too boldly for him, the old deplorable national
antagonism would revive in his going down. That the wind will pass over
his Imperiality on the sands of France I have not the slightest doubt.
In no country on the earth, but least of all there, can you seize people
in their houses on political warrants, and kill in the streets, on no
warrant at all, without raising a gigantic Nemesis--not very reasonable
in detail, perhaps, but none the less terrible for that.
The commonest dog or man driven mad is a much more alarming creature
than the same individuality in a sober and commonplace condition.
Your friend ---- ---- is setting the world right generally all round
(including the flattened ends, the two poles), and, as a Minister said
to me the other day, "has the one little fault of omniscience."
You will probably have read before now that I am going to be everything
the Queen can make me.[111] If my authority be worth anything believe on
it that I am going to be nothing but what I am, and that that includes
my being as long as I live,
Your faithful and heartily obliged.
[Sidenote: Mr. Alfred Tennyson Dickens.]
ATHENAEUM CLUB, _Friday Night, 20th May, 1870._
MY DEAR ALFRED,[112]
I have just time to tell you under my own hand that I invited Mr. Bear
to a dinner of such guests as he would naturally like to see, and that
we took to him very much, and got on with him capitally.
I am doubtful whether Plorn is taking to Australia. Can you find out his
real mind? I notice that he always writes as if his present life were
the be-all and the end-all of his emigration, and as if I had no idea of
you two becoming proprietors, and aspiring to the first positions in the
colony, without casting off the old connection.
From Mr. Bear I had the best accounts of you. I told him that they did
not surprise me, for I had unbounded faith in you. For which take my
love and blessing.
They will have told you all the news here, and that I am hard at work.
This is not a letter so much as an assurance that I never think of you
without hope and comfort.
Ever, my dear Alfred,
Your affectionate Father.
* * * * *
This Letter did not reach Australia until after these two absent sons of
Charles Dickens had heard, by telegraph, the news of their father's
death.
THE END.
FOOTNOTES:
[107] Mr. Charles Collins was obliged to give up the illustrating of
"Edwin Drood," on account of his failing health.
[108] A meeting of Publishers and Authors to discuss the subject of
International Copyright.
[109] Printed in Mackenzie's "Life of Dickens."
[110] The General Theatrical Fund.
[111] An allusion to an unfounded rumour.
[112] Charles Dickens's son, Alfred Tennyson.
INDEX.
Acrobats, 213
Adams, Mr. H. G., letters to, 15, 208
Agreement, a sporting, 244
Ainsworth, Mr. W. H., 13
Air, Dickens's love of fresh, 169
Allston, Mr. Washington, 42
America, feeling for the "Curiosity Shop" in, 19;
projected visit to, 20;
description of life in, 24;
how Dickens was interviewed in, 26;
amateur theatricals in, 28;
friends in, 30, 238;
voyage home from, 34;
second visit of Dickens to, 234, 241, 244-249;
Dickens's feeling for the people of, 237;
the great walking-match in, 244;
second journey home from, 249-252;
desire on the part of Dickens to promote friendly relations between
England and, 259;
letters from, 24, 27, 28, 244-249
"American Notes, The," success of, 38;
criticisms on, 38, 43;
and see 34, 35, 237
Appleton, Mr., 260
Ashburton, Lord, 46
Austin, Mr. Henry, letter to, 130
Austin, Mrs., letter to, 214
Author, dreams of an, 55;
penalties of an, 168
Babbage, Mr. Charles, letter to, 69
Bairr, Mrs., 146
Bath, a, abroad, 144;
at Naples, 155
"Battle of Life, The," the drama of, 87;
Dickens on, 102
Baylis, Mr., letter to, 212
Bear, Mr., 299
Beard, Mr., 9
Begging-letter Writers, Dickens on, 267
"Bentley's Miscellany," Dickens's connection with, 12
Benzon, Mrs., 199
Biliousness, an effect of, 87
Birmingham, meeting of Polytechnic Institution at, 64;
the Institute at, 158
Birthday greeting, a, 226
"Black and White," Fechter in Wilkie Collins's play of, 277
"Bleak House," 140
Blessington, the Countess of, 68;
letters to, 17, 65, 70, 74, 75, 89
Blue-stockings, Dickens on, 18
Boulogne, Dickens at, 140, 141, 161
Bouncer, Mrs., Miss Dickens's dog, 216, 255
Bowring, Sir John, letters to, 193, 295
Boy, the Magnetic, 18
Boyle, Miss Mary, 113;
letter to, 220
Braham, Mr., 1-3
Braham, Mrs., 3
Breakfast, a, aboard ship, 251
Broadstairs, description of, 53;
life at, 54, 125;
a wreck at, 129, 131
Brougham, Lord, 46
Browning, Mr. Robert, letter to, 227
Buckstone, Mr., letter to, 296
Bulwer, Sir Edward Lytton, letter to, 62;
and see Lytton, Sir Edward Bulwer, and Lytton, Lord
Butler, Mrs., 85
Calculation, a long, 43
Captain, a sea, 47
"Captives, The," Dickens's criticism on Lord Lytton's play of, 241
Carlyle, Mr. Thomas, 28
Carlyle, Mrs., 179
Celeste, Madame, 168
Cerjat, M. de, 148
Chapman, Mr. Edward, letters to, 14, 91
Chapman, Mr. Frederic, letter to, 294
Chappell, Mr. T., 277;
letter to, 279
Charity, a vote for a, 108
Cheri, Rose, 90
Children, Dickens on the death of, 170
"Child's History of England, A," 237
"Chimes, The," Dickens at work on, 71;
his interest in, 71
Chorley, Mr. Henry F., letters to, 190, 213, 216, 222, 231
Christening, a boisterous, 261
"Christmas Carol, The," Dickens at work on, 59, 63;
success of, 60
Christmas keeping, 60
_Chronicle, The Evening_, Dickens's connection with, 5
Clark, Mr. L. Gaylord, letter to, 19
Clark, Mr. W. Gaylord, 19
Clarke, Mrs. Cowden, 264;
and see Letters
Clifford, Hon. Mrs., 271
Cobden, Mr. Richard, 84
Collins, Mr. Charles, 292
Collins, Mr. Wilkie, 142, 148, 198, 233, 244, 258;
letter to, 171
Conjurer, Dickens as a, 41
Conolly, Mr., 160
Cookesley, Mr., 109
Copyright, Dickens on international, 28, 33, 44, 102, 237, 263, 293
Corn Laws, the Repeal of the, 84
Cornwall, a trip to, 39
Costello, Mr., 101
Coutts, Miss, 128, 132, 148
Covent Garden Opera, commencement of the, 86
Criticism, on Dickens's opera, 1;
Dickens on American, 44;
on art, 77;
Dickens's appreciation of Thackeray's, 165;
by Chorley on Dickens, 223
Cruikshank, Mr. George, 101
Cullenford, Mr., 88
_Daily News, The_, first issue of, 84
"Dando," the oyster-eater, 32, 35
"David Copperfield," Dickens at work on, 113;
Dickens's feeling for, 114;
his liking for the reading of, 227, 234
Death, Dickens on the punishment of, 78
De Gex, Mr., 9
Derby, Lord, Dickens's opinion of, 288
Devonshire, the Duke of, 121, 128, 129
Diary, fragments of Dickens's, 8-12
Dickens, Alfred, 265, 278, 289;
letter to, 299
Dickens, Charles, his affection for Mary Hogarth, 6-9, 11, 50;
his diary, 8-12;
his relations with _The Chronicle_, 5;
his "Sketches of Young Gentlemen," 9;
his "Sunday in Three Parts," 9;
insures his life, 10;
his connection with "Bentley's Miscellany," 12;
is entered at the Middle Temple, 14;
his feeling for Kent, 15;
his religious views, 16, 17;
the purpose of his writing, 17;
his childhood, 22;
his first visit to America, 24-31;
as a stage-manager, 29, 100, 127;
dinner to, at Greenwich, 33;
takes a trip to Cornwall, 39;
as a conjuror, 41;
on American criticism, 44;
facetious description of himself, 53;
at Broadstairs, 54, 125;
his views on education, 58;
at work on "The Christmas Carol," 59;
in Italy, 70-78;
at work on "The Chimes," 71;
in Paris, 85, 89;
organises theatricals for the benefit of Leigh Hunt, 95, 97, 98,
100, 103;
organises theatricals to found a curatorship of Shakespeare's house,
104;
acts in theatricals at Knebworth, 113, 114, 116;
theatricals in aid of the Guild of Literature and Art, 118-128,
133-135;
as an editor, 137-140, 159, 162-164, 173-175, 181, 183, 202, 229,
239, 284, 286, 295;
at Boulogne, 140, 141, 161;
his expedition to Switzerland and Italy, 142-158;
his excitability when at work, 169;
his love of fresh air, 169;
on the death of children, 170;
on red tape, 176;
on Sunday bands, 177;
sits to Frith for his portrait, 188;
his readings, 208, 227, 230, 232, 238;
at work on "Our Mutual Friend," 218, 221;
readings in America, 234;
his love for the American people, 237;
his second visit to America, 241, 244, 252;
at Gad's Hill, 256;
farewell course of readings, 256, 278;
his reminiscences of the Staplehurst accident, 264;
his reading of the murder from "Oliver Twist," 268;
serious illness of, 280, 281;
great physical power of, 280
Dickens, Charles, jun., 9, 25, 41, 109, 154, 277;
at "All the Year Round" office, 283
Dickens, Mrs. Charles, 9, 51, 114, 115, 124, 125, 171;
and see Letters
Dickens, Dora, death of, 125
Dickens, Edward, nicknamed Plorn, 158, 265, 273, 281, 288, 289, 297
Dickens, Henry F., 157;
entered at the Temple, 292
Dickens, Kate, 153, 157, 293
Dickens, Miss, 157, 196, 205, 210, 215, 217, 222, 228, 255, 256, 258
Dickens, Sydney, 143, 157
Dickens, Walter, 25
Disease, a new form of, 129
Dissent, Dickens's views on, 16
"Doctor Marigold," reading of, 227
Dogs, Dickens's, 255, 262;
Don, the Newfoundland, rescues his son, 262
Dolby, Mr. George, 234, 238, 248, 256, 261, 270, 273, 276
"Dombey and Son," sale of, 87;
see also 89, 94
D'Orsay, Count, 18, 66, 68, 70, 73, 74, 78
Dream, an absurd, 56
Dufferin, Lord, 277
Dumas, Alexandre, 90
Earnestness, Dickens on, 176
Eden, the Hon. Miss, letter to, 128
Edinburgh, 270
Editor, Dickens as an, 137-140, 159, 162-164, 173-175, 181, 183,
202, 229, 239, 284-286, 295
Education, Dickens on, 58
Edward, the courier, 142-144, 148, 155
"Edwin Drood," Dickens on, 292;
the opium scene in, 295
Egg, Mr. A., 101, 118, 127, 142, 148, 156
Evans, Mr., 109
"Experience, An," 283
"Fatal Zero," by Percy Fitzgerald, 291
Fechter, Mr. Charles, in "The Lady of Lyons," 234, 240;
Dickens's admiration of, 240;
and see 253, 257, 277, 291;
letters to, 244, 254
Fechter, Madame, 254
Felton, Professor, 272;
and see Letters
Felton, Mrs., 33
Fenian Amnesty, meeting in favour of a, 287, 289
Fields, Mr. James T.; see Letters
Fields, Mrs., 252, 260, 291;
letter to, 255
Fildes, Mr., 294
Fitzgerald, Mr. Percy, 228, 271
Forster, Mr. John, 9, 10, 13, 30, 35, 36, 39, 41, 54, 60, 86, 89, 101,
113, 117, 127, 133, 154, 188, 207, 227, 260, 292;
letters to, 165, 225
Forster, Mrs., letter to, 273
Fox, Mr. W. J., letter to, 84
Frith, R.A., Mr. W. P., letter to, 188
Funeral, the comic side of a, 48
Gad's Hill, descriptions of, 252, 256;
Dickens's writing-room at, 256;
Longfellow's visit to, 260;
and see 276
Gallenga, Monsieur, 192
"Gamp, Mrs.," 56
Gaskell, Mrs., 271;
letter to, 159
General Theatrical Fund, the, 88, 102, 296
Gibson, Mrs. Milner, letter to, 205
"Girlhood of Shakespeare's heroines, The," 124
Gladstone, Mr., 258, 294
Glasgow, 270
Gordon, Mrs., 87
"Great Expectations," 198
Greenwich, Dinner to Dickens at, 33
Grew, Mr. Frederick, letter to, 158
Grisi, Madame, 86
Guide Books, 140
Guild of Literature and Art, the, 120, 180;
theatricals in aid of, 118-128, 133-135
Hardisty, Mr., 111
Harley, Mr. J. P., 3, 4;
letter to, 13
Harness, Rev. W., 269, 291;
letter to, 159
Harrison, Mr. James Bower, letters to, 132, 136
Hat, a Leghorn, 157
Hazlett, Mr. William, 259
Higgins, Mr., 165, 166
Hillard, Mr., 42
Hills, Mr., 274
Hodgson, Dr., 97;
letters to, 93, 95
Hogarth, Mr., 2
Hogarth, George, 20;
letter to, 5
Hogarth, Georgina, 51, 154, 196, 210, 215, 219, 221, 228, 244, 256, 258
Hogarth, Mary, 6-9, 11, 20, 50
Hogarth, Mrs., letters to, 6, 20, 50
Holland House, 178
Home, thoughts of, 29;
a welcome to, 255
Hood, Mr. Tom, letter to, 43
House of Commons, the, Dickens's opinion of, 181, 194
Howe, Dr., 33, 37
Hugo, Victor, Dickens's opinion of, 91;
and see 283
Hullah, Mr. John, letters to, 1-3
Hunt, Mr. Leigh, 13, 95, 97-100, 259
Hyde Park, closing of, by the Government in 1869, 289
Ireland, Mr. Alexander; see Letters
Ireland, Dickens on, 279;
in 1869, 288;
land tenure in, 289
Irish Church, the, the Disestablishment of, 279
Irving, Mr. Washington, 47, 247;
letters to, 21, 27, 178
Italian patriots, Dickens on, 191
Italy, visions of holiday life in, 66;
proposed visit to, 66, 68;
Dickens in, 70-78, 145-158;
the Peschiere Palace at Genoa in, 153;
a bath at Naples in, 155
Jerrold, Mr. Douglas, 98, 101, 118
"John Acland," by the Hon. Robert Lytton, 284, 286
Jolly, Miss Emily, letters to, 173, 175, 181, 183, 283
Jones, Mr. Ebenezer, letter to, 68
Keeley, Mr. and Mrs., 87
Kenny, Mr. J., letter to, 177
Kent, Mr. C., 260
Kent, Dickens's affection for, 15
"Kentish Coronal, The," 15
King, Mr. Joseph C., letter to, 109
King, Miss, letters to, 162, 164
"King Arthur," Dickens's opinion of Lord Lytton's poem of, 107
King David, a profane, 73
Knowles, Mr. James Sheridan, 104;
letter to, 92
"Lady of Lyons, The," Dickens on the proposed opera of, 211;
Fechter in, 234, 240
Landor, Mr. Walter, 77
Langley, Mr., 97
Lanman, Mr. Charles, letter to, 247
Lausanne, friends in, 143
Layard, Mr. Austen Henry, 169, 289;
and see Letters
Layard, Mrs., 274
Leech, Mr. John, 101, 118
Lehmann, Mr. Frederic, 199, 223
Lemon, Mr. Mark, 101, 114, 118, 119, 122, 123
Lemon, Mrs., 114
Leslie, R.A., Mr., 176, 178
LETTERS OF CHARLES DICKENS TO:
Adams, Mr. H. G., 15, 208
Anonymous, 229
Austin, Mr. Henry, 130
Austin, Mrs., 214
Babbage, Mr. Charles, 69
Baylis, Mr., 212
Blessington, the Countess of, 17, 65, 70, 74, 75, 89
Bowring, Sir John, 193, 295
Boyle, Miss Mary, 220
Browning, Mr. Robert, 227
Buckstone, Mr., 296
Bulwer, Sir Edward Lytton, 62;
and see Lytton, Sir Edward Bulwer, and Lytton, Lord
Chapman, Mr. Edward, 14, 91
Chapman, Mr. Frederic, 294
Chappell, Mr. Tom, 279
Chorley, Mr. Henry F., 190, 213, 216, 222, 231
Clark, Mr. L. Gaylord, 19
Clarke, Mrs. Cowden, 103, 106, 108, 123, 136, 188
Collins, Mr. Wilkie, 171
Dickens, Alfred, 299
Dickens, Mrs. Charles, 142, 145, 149, 153, 154
Eden, the Hon. Miss, 128
Fechter, Mr. Charles, 244, 254
Felton, Professor, 24, 28, 32, 35, 38, 46, 52, 59
Fields, Mr. James T., 232, 236, 249, 252, 260, 268, 270, 290
Fields, Mrs. James T., 255
Forster, Mr. John, 165, 225
Forster, Mrs. John, 273
Fox, Mr. W. J., 84
Frith, R.A., Mr. W. P., 188
Gaskell, Mrs., 159
Gibson, Mrs. Milner, 205
Grew, Mr. Frederick, 158
Harley, Mr. J. P., 13
Harness, Rev. W., 159
Harrison, Mr. James Bower, 132, 136
Hodgson, Dr., 93, 95
Hogarth, Mr. George, 5
Hogarth, Mrs., 6, 20, 50
Hood, Mr. Tom, 43
Hullah, Mr. John, 1-3
Ireland, Mr. Alexander, 97-99, 104, 112, 259
Irving, Mr. Washington, 21, 27, 178
Jolly, Miss Emily, 173, 175, 181, 183, 283
Jones, Mr. Ebenezer, 68
Kenny, Mr. J., and Ross, Mr. T., 177
King, Mr. Joseph C., 109
King, Miss, 162, 164
Knowles, Mr. James Sheridan, 92
Lanman, Mr. Charles, 247
Layard, Mr. Austen Henry, 132, 194, 274, 290
Lytton, Hon. Robert, 230, 281, 286
Lytton, Lord, 228, 234, 240, 241, 293;
see also Bulwer, Sir Edward Lytton, and Lytton, Sir Edward Bulwer
Lytton, Sir Edward Bulwer, 88, 102, 107, 113, 114, 116, 117, 121,
122, 125, 133, 180, 198-200, 204, 207, 209-211, 220;
see also Bulwer, Sir Edward Lytton, and Lytton, Lord
Mackay, Mr. Charles, 295
Malleson, Mrs., 197
Millais, R.A., Mr. J. E., 263
Mitton, Mr., 125
Morgan, Captain, 176, 195
Napier, Mr. Macvey, 43, 57, 78, 83
Olliffe, Lady, 205
Olliffe, Miss, 275
Pease, Mrs., 248
Phillips, Mr. Henry W., 231
Procter, Mr. B. W., 208
Procter, Mrs., 223
Robinson, Rev. Thomas, 16
Ross, Mr. R. M., 226
Rusden, Mr., 228, 265, 278, 281, 287, 289, 297
Rye, Mr. W. B., 224
Sammins, Mr. W. L., 12
Serle, Mr., 263
Smith, Mr. Albert, 186
Smith, Mr. Arthur, 187
Smith, Mr. H. P., 82
Stone, Mr. Frank, 129, 179
Sturgis, Mr. Russell, 267, 272
Thackeray, Mr. W. M., 165
Thompson, Mr., 16, 64, 66, 67, 81, 85
Thornbury, Mr. Walter, 239
White, Rev. James, 141, 160
Wills, Mr. W. H., 137, 140, 161, 218, 219
Winter, Mrs., 167, 170
Lewes, Mr., 101
"Lighthouse, The," production of, at the Olympic, 172
"Lirriper, Mrs.," 218
Liverpool, meeting of the Mechanics' Institute at, 64;
theatricals at, 96, 98
_London_, the, wreck of, 225
Longfellow, Mr., 33, 39, 42, 62, 260, 261
Longman, Mr., 293
Lumley, Mr., 86
Lytton, Sir Edward Bulwer; see Letters;
see also Bulwer, Sir Edward Lytton, and Lytton, Lord
Lytton, Lord; see Letters
Lytton, Hon. Robert, letters to, 230, 284, 286
Mackay, Mr. Charles, letter to, 295
Maclise, R.A., Mr. Daniel, 30, 36, 39, 42, 47, 54, 55, 77, 86
Macready, Mr. W., 25, 30, 54, 60, 62, 88, 90, 119, 153, 234
Macready, Miss, 153
Malleson, Mrs., letter to, 197
"Man about Town, The," 45
Manchester, Dickens at, 61;
theatricals at, 96, 98, 105
Manin, M., 192
Mario, Signor, 86
Martin, Captain, 225
"Martin Chuzzlewit," 39, 46, 52, 66
Mazzini, M., 192
"Medical Aspects of Death, The," 132
"Message from the Sea, A," 196
Meyerbeer, M., 172
Millais, R.A., Mr. J. E., 292;
letter to, 263
Mistake, a common, among would-be authors, 229
Mitton, Mr., 9;
letter to, 125
"Modern Greek Songs," 159
Molesworth, Lady, 216
"Money," Dickens on Lord Lytton's play of, 117
Montague, Miss Emmeline, 124
Morgan, Captain, letters to, 176, 195
Morley, Mr., 165, 166
Morpeth, Lord, 57
"Mrs. Tillotson," by Percy Fitzgerald, 228
"Much Ado about Nothing," a captain's views on, 47
Murray, Mr. Leigh, 87
Napier, Mr. Macvey, letters to, 43, 67, 78, 83
Naples, Dickens at, 76
Napoleon the Third, Dickens prophesies the overthrow of, 298
"National Music," Mr. Chorley's lecture on, 213
Nature, Topping, the groom, on, 36
Niagara, the falls of, 76
Nicknames, of Professor Felton, 32;
Dickens's, of himself, 62, 64, 107, 124, 143;
of his son Edward, 158, 281
Normanby, Lord, 86
"No Thoroughfare," the play of, 244, 253, 254, 257
"Not sSo Bad As We Seem," Dickens's opinion of Lord Lytton's comedy
of, 117;
Dickens plays in, 118, 124
Novello, Mr. Alfred, 264
Novello, Miss Sabilla, 264
Novel-writing, Dickens on, 185
"Old Curiosity Shop, The," feeling for, in America, 19
"Oliver Twist," 16;
the reading of the murder from, 268;
effect of the murder reading, 278
Olliffe, Sir J., 186, 187
Olliffe, Lady, 187;
letter to, 205
Olliffe, Miss, letter to, 275
Osgood, Mr., 234
"Our London Correspondent," Dickens on, 112
"Our Mutual Friend," 218, 221
Oyster cellars out of season, 31
Oysters, 26, 35
Paris, Dickens in, 85, 89;
the drama in, 90
Pease, Mrs., letter to, 248
Phillips, Mr. Henry W., letter to, 231
Pickthorn, Dr., 10
Picnic, a, in Kent, 260
Political Life, Dickens's opinion of, 222
Political meetings, Dickens on, 287
Poole, Mr., 85, 100
Portrait of Dickens, by Frith, 188
Power, Miss, 66, 74, 91
Prescott, Dickens's admiration for, 61
Prince Consort, the, 123
Prince of Wales, the, 296
Prisons, Dickens on discipline in, 138
Pritchard the poisoner, 221
Procter, Mr. B. W., 253, 260;
letter to, 208
Procter, Mrs., 179, 223, 260
Procter, Miss Adelaide, 223
Puffery, Dickens's hatred of, 140
Punishment of death, Dickens on the, 78
Purse, a theatrical, 73
Queen, the, Maclise and, 55;
her reception of Longfellow, 261;
and see 119, 121, 123, 299
Rainforth, Miss, 4
Reade, Mr. Charles, 233
Readings, Dickens's public, 208, 227, 230, 231;
the object of the, 230;
the proposed series of, in America, 234;
the labour of the, 238;
farewell series of, 256, 278, 281;
the trial reading of the murder, 268, 276;
effect of the reading of the murder on the audience, 278
Red tape, Dickens on, 176
Reform Bill, Dickens on the, 266
Reform meeting at Drury-lane Theatre, 165
Religion, Dickens on, 17
_Review_, _The North American_, 46;
_The Edinburgh_, 43, 46, 57, 58, 78, 83
Robinson, Mr., 98, 100, 105
Robinson, Rev. Thomas, letter to, 16
Robson, Mr. F., 153, 172
"Roccabella," Dickens's opinion of Mr. Chorley's story of, 190
Roche, the courier, 146
Rogers, Mr. Samuel, 178
Rome, Dickens at, 76
Ross, Mr. John, 9
Ross, Mr. R. M., letter to, 226
Ross, Mr. T., letter to, 177
Royal Exchange, the, fire at, 10
Rusden, Mr.; see Letters
Russell, Mr. George, 218
Russell, Lord John, 172, 288
_Russia_, s.s., the, 249, 276
Rye, Mr. W. B., letter to, 224
Sammins, Mr. W. L., letter to, 12
Sartoris, Mr. and Mrs., 157
_Satirist, The_, 45
Sausage, a questionable, 131
Scheffer, Ary, 192
Schools, Dickens on ragged, 58
Scotland, Dickens's love for the people of, 295
Scott, Sir Walter, extracts from the diary of, 11, 56
Serle, Mr., letter to, 263
Shakespeare, curatorship of house of, 104
Sheridan, 86
"Sketches of Young Gentlemen," by Dickens, 9
Slave-owners, Dickens on, 38
Smith, Mr. Albert, letter to, 186
Smith, Mr. Arthur, 186, 208;
letter to, 187
Smith, Mr. H. P., letter to, 82
Speaking, Dickens on public, 214
Stage-manager, Dickens as a, 29, 100, 127
Stanfield, Mr. Clarkson, 39, 41, 54, 86, 232
Stansbury, Mr., 4
Staplehurst, the railway accident at, 264
Stone, Mr. Frank, 101, 117, 127;
letters to, 129, 179
"Strange Story, A," Dickens's criticism on, 198, 204, 207, 210
"Studies of Sensation and Event," 69
Sturgis, Mr. Russell, letters to, 267, 272
Sumner, Mr., 42, 62
Sunday bands, 177
"Sunday under Three Heads," by Charles Dickens, 9
Switzerland, expedition to, 142-145;
ascent of the Mer de Glace, 142;
a hot bath in, 144;
passage of the Simplon, 146;
travellers in, 147;
carriages in, 147
Sympathy, letters of, 19, 20, 170, 275
Tavistock House, 130
Temple, the, Dickens becomes a student at, 14
Tennent, Sir Emerson, 154, 273, 274
Tennent, Lady, 154
Thackeray, Mr. W. M., letter to, 165
Theatricals, in America, 28;
Dickens as a stage-manager, 29;
for the benefit of Leigh Hunt, 95, 97, 98, 100, 101, 103;
for the endowment of a curatorship of Shakespeare's house, 104;
reminiscences of, 106;
at Knebworth, 113, 114, 116;
for the Guild of Literature, 118-128, 133-135;
at Tavistock House, 179
Thompson, Mr.; see Letters
Thompson, Mrs., 82
Thompson, Miss Elizabeth, 85
Thornbury, Mr. Walter, letter to, 239
Topham, Mr., 123
Topping, the groom, on nature, 36
Townshend, Mr., 161
Tracey, Lieutenant, 77
Travers, Mr., 166
"Uncommercial Traveller, The," 270, 276
"United Vagabonds, The," 34
Venice, Dickens at, 72
Verona, Dickens at, 71
Vesuvius, Dickens's ascent of, 76
"Village Coquettes," Braham's opinion of Dickens's opera of, 2;
Harley's opinion of, 3
"Visits to Rochester," 224
Waistcoats, Dickens's fondness for bright, 150
Waterfall, a, as a stage effect, 254, 258
Watson, Dr., 280
White, Rev. James, letters to, 141, 160
White, Mrs., 142
"Wilds of America," 247
Wills, Mr. W. H., 159, 175, 180, 253, 261, 271, 283;
and see Letters
Wilmot, Mr., 124
Wilson, Sir John, 37
Winter, Mrs., letters to, 167, 170
"Woodland Gossip," Dickens's criticism on, 220
Work, Dickens at, 168, 185
"Working Man's Life, The," 99
Young, Mr., 155
CHARLES DICKENS AND EVANS, CRYSTAL PALACE PRESS.
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