I have never seen anything about myself in print which has much
correctness in it--any biographical account of myself I mean. I do not
supply such particulars when I am asked for them by editors and
compilers, simply because I am asked for them every day. If you want to
prime Forgues, you may tell him without fear of anything wrong, that I
was born at Portsmouth on the 7th of February, 1812; that my father was
in the Navy Pay Office; that I was taken by him to Chatham when I was
very young, and lived and was educated there till I was twelve or
thirteen, I suppose; that I was then put to a school near London, where
(as at other places) I distinguished myself like a brick; that I was
put in the office of a solicitor, a friend of my father's, and didn't
much like it; and after a couple of years (as well as I can remember)
applied myself with a celestial or diabolical energy to the study of
such things as would qualify me to be a first-rate parliamentary
reporter--at that time a calling pursued by many clever men who were
young at the Bar; that I made my debut in the gallery (at about
eighteen, I suppose), engaged on a voluminous publication no longer in
existence, called _The Mirror of Parliament_; that when _The Morning
Chronicle_ was purchased by Sir John Easthope and acquired a large
circulation, I was engaged there, and that I remained there until I had
begun to publish "Pickwick," when I found myself in a condition to
relinquish that part of my labours; that I left the reputation behind me
of being the best and most rapid reporter ever known, and that I could
do anything in that way under any sort of circumstances, and often did.
(I daresay I am at this present writing the best shorthand writer in the
world.)
That I began, without any interest or introduction of any kind, to write
fugitive pieces for the old "Monthly Magazine," when I was in the
gallery for _The Mirror of Parliament_; that my faculty for descriptive
writing was seized upon the moment I joined _The Morning Chronicle_, and
that I was liberally paid there and handsomely acknowledged, and wrote
the greater part of the short descriptive "Sketches by BOZ" in that
paper; that I had been a writer when I was a mere baby, and always an
actor from the same age; that I married the daughter of a writer to the
signet in Edinburgh, who was the great friend and assistant of Scott,
and who first made Lockhart known to him.
And that here I am.
Finally, if you want any dates of publication of books, tell Wills and
he'll get them for you.
This is the first time I ever set down even these particulars, and,
glancing them over, I feel like a wild beast in a caravan describing
himself in the keeper's absence.
Ever faithfully.
P.S.--I made a speech last night at the London Tavern, at the end of
which all the company sat holding their napkins to their eyes with one
hand, and putting the other into their pockets. A hundred people or so
contributed nine hundred pounds then and there.
[Sidenote: Mr. Mark Lemon.]
VILLA DES MOULINEAUX, BOULOGNE,
_Sunday, June 15th 1856._