No English book has so materially increased the general gaiety of the
country, or inspired the feeling of comedy to such a degree as, "The
Pickwick Club." It is now some "sixty years since" this book was
published, and it is still heartily appreciated. What English novel or
story is there which is made the subject of notes and commentaries on the
most elaborate scale; whose very misprints and inconsistencies are
counted up; whose earliest "states of the plates" are sought out and
esteemed precious? "Pickwick," wonderful to say, is the only story that
has produced a literature of its own--quite a little library--and has
kept artists, topographers, antiquaries, and collectors all busily at
work.
There seems to be some mystery, almost miracle, here. A young fellow of
four-and-twenty throws off, or rather "rattles off," in the exuberance of
his spirits, a never-flagging series of incidents and characters. The
story is read, devoured, absorbed, all over the world, and now, sixty
years after its appearance, new and yet newer editions are being issued.
All the places alluded to and described in the book have in their turn
been lifted into fame, and there are constantly appearing in magazines
illustrated articles on "Rochester and Dickens," "Dickens Land,"
"Dickens' London," and the rest. Wonderful! People, indeed, seem never
to tire of the subject--the same topics are taken up over and over again.
The secret seems to be that the book was a living thing, and still lives.
It is, moreover, perhaps the best, most accurate picture of character and
manners that are quite gone by: in it the meaning and significance of old
buildings, old inns, old churches, and old towns are reached, and
interpreted in most interesting fashion; the humour, bubbling over, and
never forced, and always fresh, is sustained through some six hundred
closely-printed pages; all which, in itself, is a marvel and
unapproached. It is easy, however, to talk of the boisterousness, the
"caricature," the unlicensed recklessness of the book, the lack of
restraint, the defiance of the probabilities. It is popular and
acceptable all the same. But there is one test which incontestably
proves its merit, and supplies its title, to be considered all but
"monumental." This is its prodigious fertility and suggestiveness.
At this moment a review is being made of the long Victorian Age, and
people are reckoning up the wonderful changes in life and manners that
have taken place within the past sixty years. These have been so
imperceptibly made that they are likely to escape our ken, and the eye
chiefly settles on some few of the more striking and monumental kind,
such as the introduction of railways, of ocean steamships, electricity,
and the like. But no standard of comparison could be more useful or more
compendious than the immortal chronicle of PICKWICK, in which the old
life, not forgotten by some of us, is summarised with the completeness of
a history. The reign of Pickwick, like that of the sovereign, began some
sixty years ago. Let us recall some of these changes.
To begin: We have now no arrest for debt, with the attendant sponging-
houses, Cursitor Street, sheriffs' officers, and bailiffs; and no great
Fleet Prison, Marshalsea, or King's Bench for imprisoning debtors. There
are no polling days and hustings, with riotous proceedings, or
"hocussing" of voters; and no bribery on a splendid scale.
Drinking and drunkenness in society have quite gone out of fashion.
Gentlemen at a country house rarely or never come up from dinner, or
return from a cricket match, in an almost "beastly" state of
intoxication; and "cold punch" is not very constantly drunk through the
day. There are no elopements now in chaises and four, like Miss
Wardle's, with headlong pursuit in other chaises and four; nor are
special licenses issued at a moment's notice to help clandestine
marriages. There is now no frequenting of taverns and "free and easies"
by gentlemen, at the "Magpie and Stump" and such places, nor do persons
of means take up their residence at houses like the "George and Vulture"
in the City. No galleried inns (though one still lingers on in Holborn),
are there, at which travellers put up: there were then nearly a dozen, in
the Borough and elsewhere. There are no coaches on the great roads, no
guards and bulky drivers; no gigs with hoods, called "cabs," with the
driver's seat next his fare; no "hackney coaches," no "Hampstead stages,"
no "Stanhopes" or "guillotined cabriolets"--whatever they were--or "mail-
carts," the "pwettiest thing" driven by gentlemen. And there are no
"sedan chairs" to take Mrs. Dowler home. There are no "poke" or "coal-
scuttle" bonnets, such as the Miss Wardles wore; no knee-breeches and
gaiters; no "tights," with silk stockings and pumps for evening wear; no
big low-crowned hats, no striped vests for valets, and, above all, no
gorgeous "uniforms," light blue, crimson, and gold, or "orange plush,"
such as were worn by the Bath gentlemen's gentlemen. "Thunder and
lightning" shirt buttons, "mosaic studs"--whatever they were--are things
of the past. They are all gone. Gone too is "half-price" at the
theatres. At Bath, the "White Hart" has disappeared with its waiters
dressed so peculiarly--"like Westminster boys." We have no serjeants now
like Buzfuz or Snubbin: their Inn is abolished, and so are all the
smaller Inns--Clement's or Clifford's--where the queer client lived.
Neither are valentines in high fashion. Chatham Dockyard, with its
hierarchy, "the Clubbers," and the rest, has been closed. No one now
gives _dejeunes_, not _dejeuners_; or "public breakfasts," such as the
authoress of the "Expiring Frog" gave. The "delegates" have been
suppressed, and Doctors' Commons itself is levelled to the ground. The
"Fox under the Hill" has given place to a great hotel. The old familiar
"White Horse Cellars" has been rebuilt, made into shops and a restaurant.
There are no "street keepers" now, but the London Police. The
_Eatanswill Gazette_ and its scurrilities are not tolerated. Special
constables are rarely heard of, and appear only to be laughed at: their
staves, tipped with a brass crown, are sold as curios. Turnpikes, which
are found largely in "Pickwick," have been suppressed. The abuses of
protracted litigation in Chancery and other Courts have been reformed. No
papers are "filed at the Temple"--whatever that meant. The Pound, as an
incident of village correction has, all but a few, disappeared.
Then for the professional classes, which are described in the chronicle
with such graphic power and vivacity. As at this time "Boz" drew the
essential elements of character instead of the more superficial ones--his
later practice--there is not much change to be noted. We have the
medical life exhibited by Bob Sawyer and his friends; the legal world in
Court and chambers--judges, counsel, and solicitors--are all much as they
are now. Sir Frank Lockwood has found this subject large enough for
treatment in his little volume, "The Law and Lawyers of Pickwick." It
may be thought that no judge of the pattern of Stareleigh could be found
now, but we could name recent performances in which incidents such as,
"Is your name Nathaniel Daniel or Daniel Nathaniel?" have been repeated.
Neither has the blustering of Buzfuz or his sophistical plaintiveness
wholly gone by. The "cloth" was represented by the powerful but
revolting sketch of Stiggins, which, it is strange, was not resented by
the Dissenters of the day, and also by a more worthy specimen in the
person of the clergyman at Dingley Dell. There are the mail-coach
drivers, with the "ostlers, boots, countrymen, gamekeepers, peasants, and
others," as they have it in the play-bills. Truly admirable, and
excelling the rest, are "Boz's" sketches--actually "living pictures"--of
the fashionable footmen at Bath, beside which the strokes in that
diverting piece "High Life below Stairs" seem almost flat. The
simperings of these gentry, their airs and conceit, we may be sure,
obtain now. Once coming out of a Theatre, at some fashionable
performance, through a long lane of tall menials, one fussy aristocrat
pushed one of them out of his way. The menial contemptuously pushed him
back. The other in a rage said, "How dare you? Don't you know, I'm the
Earl of ---" "Well," said the other coldly, "If you _be_ a Hearl, can't
you be'ave as sich?"
After the wedding at Manor Farm we find that bride and bridegroom did not
set off from the house on a wedding tour, but remained for the night.
This seemed to be the custom. Kissing, too, on the Pickwickian
principles, would not now, to such an extent, be tolerated. There is an
enormous amount in the story. The amorous Tupman had scarcely entered
the hall of a strange house when he began osculatory attempts on the lips
of one of the maids; and when Mr. Pickwick and his friends called on Mr.
Winkle, sen., at Birmingham, Bob Sawyer made similar playful
efforts--being called an "odous creetur" by the lady. In fact, the
custom seemed to be to kiss when and wherever you could conveniently.
Getting drunk after any drinking, and at any time of the day, seemed to
be common enough. There was a vast amount of open fields, &c., about
London which engendered the "Cockney sportsman." He disappeared as the
fields were built over. We have no longer the peculiar "stand-up"
collars, or "gills," and check neck-cloths.
But Mr. Bantam's costume at the Bath Assembly, shows the most startling
change. Where is now the "gold eye glass?"--we know that eye glass,
which was of a solid sort, not fixed on the nose, but held to the eye--a
"quizzing glass," and folding up on a hinge--"a broad black ribbon" too;
the "gold snuffbox;" gold rings "innumerable" on the fingers, and "a
diamond pin" on his "shirt frill," a "curb chain" with large gold seals
hanging from his waistcoat--(a "curb chain" proper was then a little thin
chain finely wrought, of very close links.) Then there was the "pliant
ebony cane, with a heavy gold top." Ebony, however, is not pliant, but
the reverse--black was the word intended. Then those "smalls" and
stockings to match. Mr. Pickwick, a privileged man, appeared on this
occasion, indeed always, in his favourite white breeches and gaiters. In
fact, on no occasion save one, when he wore a great-coat, does he appear
without them. Bantam's snuff was "Prince's mixture," so named after the
Regent, and his scent "_Bouquet du Roi_." "Prince's mixture" is still
made, but "_Bouquet du Roi_" is supplanted.
Perker's dress is also that of the stage attorney, as we have him now,
and recognize him. He would not be the attorney without that dress. He
was "all in black, with boots as shiny as his eyes, _a low white
neckcloth_, and a _clean_ shirt with a frill to it." This, of course,
meant that he put on one every day, and is yet a slight point of contact
with Johnson, who described someone as being only able to go out "on
clean shirt days;" a gold watch and seals depended from his _Fob_.
"Depended" is a curious use of the word, and quite gone out.
Another startling change is in the matter of duels. The duels in
Pickwick come about quite as a matter of course, and as a common social
incident. In the "forties" I recall a military uncle of my own--a
gentleman, like uncle Toby--handing his card to some one in a billiard
room, with a view to "a meeting." Dickens' friend Forster was at one
time "going out" with another gentleman. Mr. Lang thinks that duelling
was prohibited about 1844, and "Courts of Honour" substituted. But the
real cause was the duel between Colonel Fawcett and Lieut. Munro,
brothers-in-law, when the former was killed. This, and some other
tragedies of the kind, shocked the public. The "Courts of Honour," of
course, only affected military men.
Mr. Pickwick, himself, had nearly "gone out" on two or three occasions,
once with Mr. Slammer, once with Mr. Magnus; while his scuffle with
Tupman would surely have led to one. Winkle, presumed to be a coward,
had no less than three "affairs" on his hands: one with Slammer, one with
Dowler, and one with Bob Sawyer. At Bob Sawyer's Party, the two medical
students, tendered their cards. For so amiable a man, Mr. Pickwick had
some extraordinary failings. He seems to have had no restraint where
drink was in the case, and was hopelessly drunk about six times--on three
occasions, at least, he was preparing to assault violently. He once
_hurled an inkstand_; he once struck a person; once challenged his friend
to "come on." Yet the capital comedy spirit of the author carries us
over these blemishes.
When Sam was relating to his master the story of the sausage maker's
disappearance, Mr. Pickwick, horrified, asked had he been "Burked?" There
_Boz_ might have repeated his apologetic footnote, on Jingle's share in
the Revolution of 1830. "A remarkable instance of his force of prophetic
imagination, etc." For the sausage story was related in the year of
grace 1827, and Burke was executed in 1829, some two years later.
Mr. Lang has suggested that the bodies Mr. Sawyer and his friend
subscribed for, were "snatched," but he forgets that this traffic was a
secret one, and the bodies were brought to the private residence of the
physicians, the only safe way (_Vide_ the memoirs of Sir A. Cooper). At
a great public Hospital the practice would be impossible.
"Hot elder wine, well qualified with brandy and spice," is a drink that
would not now be accepted with enthusiasm at the humblest wedding, even
in the rural districts: we are assured that sound "was the sleep and
pleasant were the dreams that followed." Which is not so certain. The
cake was cut and "passed through the ring," also an exploded custom,
whatever its meaning was. In what novel now-a-days would there be an
allusion to "Warren's blacking," or to "Rowland's oil," which was, of
course, their famous "Macassar." These articles, however, may still be
procured, and to that oil we owe the familiar interposing towel or piece
of embroidery the "antimacassar," devised to protect the sofa or easy
chair from the unguent of the hair. "Moral pocket handkerchiefs," for
teaching religion to natives of the West Indies, combining amusement with
instruction, "blending select tales with woodcuts," are no longer used.
Old Temple Bar has long since disappeared, so has the Holborn Valley. The
Fleet was pulled down about ten years after Pickwick, but imprisonment
for debt continued until 1860 or so. Indeed Mr. Lang seems to think it
still goes on, for he says it is now "disguised as imprisonment for
contempt of Court." This is a mistake. In the County Courts when small
debts under 3 pounds 10s. are sued for, the judge will order a small
weekly sum to be paid in discharge; in case of failure to pay, he will
punish the disobedience by duress not exceeding fifteen days--a wholly
different thing from imprisonment for debt.
Where now are the _Pewter Pots_, and the pot boy with his strap of
"pewters?"--we would have to search for them now. Long cut glasses have
taken their place. Where, too, is the invariable Porter, drunk almost
exclusively in Pickwick? Bass had not then made its great name. There
is no mention of Billiard tables, but much about Skittles and Bagatelle,
which were the pastimes at Taverns.
Then the Warming Pan! Who now "does trouble himself about the Warming
Pan?"--which is yet "a harmless necessary and I will add a comforting
article of domestic furniture." Observe _necessary_, as though every
family had it as an article of their "domestic furniture." It is odd to
think of Mary going round all the beds in the house, and deftly
introducing this "article" between the sheets. Or was it only for the
old people: or in chilly weather merely? On these points we must be
unsatisfied. The practice, however, points to a certain effeminacy--the
average person of our day would not care to have his bed so treated--with
invalids the "Hot Water Bottle" has "usurped its place." We find this
superannuated instrument in the "antique" dealers' shops, at a good
figure--a quaint old world thing, of a sort of old-fashioned cut and
pattern. There only do people appear to trouble themselves about it.
"Chops and tomato sauce." This too is superannuated also. A more
correct taste is now chops _au naturel_, and relying on their own natural
juices; but we have cutlets, with tomatos.
Again, are little boys no longer clad in "a tight suit of corduroy,
spangled with brass buttons of very considerable size:" indeed corduroy
is seldom seen save on the figures of some _chic_ ladies. And how
fortunate to live in days when a smart valet could be secured for twelve
pounds a year, and two suits; {24} and not less.
Surprising too was the valet's accustomed dress. "A grey coat, a black
hat, with a cockade on it, a pink striped waistcoat, light breeches and
gaiters." What too were "bright _basket_ buttons" on a brown coat? Fancy
Balls too, like Mrs. Leo Hunter's, were given in the daytime, and caused
no astonishment. Nor have we lodging-houses with beds on the "twopenny
rope" principle. There are no "dry arches" of Waterloo Bridge: though
here I suspect Boz was confounding them with those of the Adelphi.
Gone too are the simple games of childhood. Marbles for instance. We
recall Serjeant Buzfuz's pathetic allusion to little Bardell's "Alley
Tors and Commoneys; the long familiar cry of 'knuckle down' is
neglected." Who sees a boy playing marbles now in the street or
elsewhere? Mr. Lang in his edition gives us no lore about this point.
"Alley Tors" was short for "Alabaster," the material of which the _best_
marbles were made.
"Tor" however, is usually spelt "Taw." "Commoneys" were the inferior or
commoner kind. "Knuckle down," according to our recollections, was the
laying the knuckle on the ground for a shot. "Odd and even" was also
spoken of by the Serjeant. Another game alluded to, is mysteriously
called "Tip-cheese"--of which the latest editor speculates "probably Tip-
cat was meant: the game at which Bunyan was distinguishing himself when
he had a call." The "cat" was a plain piece of wood, sharpened at both
ends. I suppose made to jump, like a cat. But _unde_ "cheese," unless
it was a piece of rind that was struck.
"Flying the garter" is another of the Pickwickian boy games. Talking
with a very old gentleman, lately, I thought of asking him concerning
"Flying the garter:" he at once enlightened me. It was a familiar thing
he remembered well "when a boy." It was a sort of "Leap Frog,"
exercise--only with a greater and longer spring: he spoke also of a
shuffle of the feet during the process.
And again. There is a piquant quaintness in the upside-down turning of
every thing in this wonderful Book. Such as Perker's eyes, which are
described as playing with his "inquisitive nose" a "perpetual game
of"--what, think you? Bo-Peep? not at all: but "peep-bo." How odd and
unaccountable! We all knew the little "Bo-peep," and her sheep--but
"peep-bo" is quite a reversal.
Gas was introduced into London about the year 1812 and was thought a
prodigiously "brilliant illuminant." But in the Pickwickian days it was
still in a crude state--and we can see in the first print--that of the
club room--only two attenuated jets over the table. In many of the
prints we find the dip or mould candle, which was used to light Sam as he
sat in the coffee room of the Blue Boar. Mr. Nupkins' kitchen was _not_
lit by gas.
As to this matter of light--it all depends on habit and accommodating.
When a boy I have listened to "Ivanhoe" read out--O enchantment! by the
light of _two_ "mould" candles--the regular thing--which required
"snuffing" about every ten minutes, and snuffing required dexterity. The
snuffers--laid on a long tray--were of ponderous construction; it was
generally some one's regular duty to snuff--how odd seems this now! The
"plaited wicks" which came later were thought a triumph, and the snuffers
disappeared. They also are to be seen in the Curio Shops.
How curious, too, the encroachment of a too practical age on the old
romance. "Fainting" was the regular thing in the Pickwickian days, in
any agitation; "burnt feathers" and the "sal volatile" being the remedy.
The beautiful, tender and engaging creatures we see in the annuals, all
fainted regularly--and knew _how_ to faint--were perhaps taught it. Thus
when Mr. Pickwick was assumed to have "proposed" to his landlady, she in
business-like fashion actually "fainted;" now-a-days "fainting" has gone
out as much as duelling.
In the travellers' rooms at Hotels--in the "commercial" room--we do not
see people smoking "large Dutch pipes"--nor is "brandy and water" the
only drink of the smoking room. Mr. Pickwick and his friends were always
"breaking the waxen seals" of their letters--while Sam, and people of his
degree, used the wafer. (What by the way was the "fat little boy"--in
the seal of Mr. Winkle's penitential letter to his sire? Possibly a
cupid.) Snuff taking was then common enough in the case of professional
people like Perker.
At this moment there is to be seen in the corner of many an antique
Hall--Sedan chair laid up in ordinary--of black leather, bound with brass-
nails. We can well recall in our boyish days, mamma in full dress and
her hair in "bands," going out to dine in her chair. On arriving at the
house the chair was taken up the steps and carried bodily into the
Hall--the chair men drew out their poles, lifted the head, opened the
door and the dame stepped out. The operation was not without its state.
Gone too are the "carpet bags" which Mr. Pickwick carried and also Mr.
Slurk--(why he brought it with him into the kitchen is not very clear).
{30}
Skates were then spelt "Skaits." The "Heavy smack," transported
luggage--to the Provinces by river or canal. The "Twopenny Postman" is
often alluded to. "Campstools," carried about for use, excited no
astonishment. Gentlemen don't go to Reviews now, as Mr. Wardle did,
arrayed in "a blue coat and bright buttons, corduroy (Boz also spells it
_corderoy_) breeches and top boots," nor ladies "in scarfs and feathers."
It is curious, by the way, that Wardle talks something after the
fashionable manner of our day, dropping his g's--as who should say
"huntin'," or "rippin'"--"I spent some evnins" he says "at your club."
"My gals," he says also. "Capons" are not much eaten now. "Drinking
wine" or "having a glass of wine" has gone out, and with it Mr. Tupman's
gallant manner of challenge to a fair one, _i.e._ "touching the
enchanting Rachel's wrist with one hand and gently elevating his bottle
with the other." "Pope Joan" is little played now, if at all; "Fish"
too; how rarely one sees those mother-of-pearl fish! The "Cloth is not
_drawn_" and the table exposed to view, to be covered with dessert,
bottles, glasses, etc. The shining mahogany was always a brave show, and
we fear this comes of using cheap made up tables of common wood. Still
we wot of some homes, old houses in the country, where the practice is
kept up. It is evident that Mr. Wardle's dinner was at about 3 or 4
o'clock, for none was offered to the party that arrived about 6. This we
may presume was the mode in old fashioned country houses. Supper came at
eleven.
A chaise and four could go at the pace of fifteen miles an hour.
A "1000 horse-power" was Jingle's idea of extravagant speed by steam
agency. Now we have got to 4, 5, and 10 thousand horsepower. Gentlemen's
"frills" in the daytime are never seen now. Foot gear took the shape of
"Hessians'" "halves," "painted tops," "Wellington's" or "Bluchers." There
are many other trifles which will evidence these changes. We are told of
the "common eighteen-penny French skull cap." Note _common_--it is
exhibited on Mr. Smangle's head--a rather smartish thing with a tassel.
Nightcaps, too, they are surely gone by now: though a few old people may
wear them, but then boys and young men all did. It also had a tassel.
There is the "Frog Hornpipe," whatever dance that was: the "pousette;"
while "cold srub," which is not in much vogue now, was the drink of the
Bath Footmen. "Botany Bay ease, and New South Wales gentility," refer to
the old convict days. This indeed is the most startling transformation
of all. For instead of Botany Bay, and its miserable associations, we
have the grand flourishing Australia, with its noble cities, Parliaments
and the rest. Gone out too, we suppose, the "Oxford-mixture trousers;"
"Oxford grey" it was then called.
Then for Sam's "Profeel machine." Mr. Andrew Lang in his notes wonders
what this "Profeel machine" was, and fancies it was the silhouette
process. This had nothing to do with the "Profeel machine"--which is
described in "Little Pedlington," a delightful specimen of Pickwickian
humour, and which ought to be better known than it is. "There now," said
Daubson, the painter of "the all but breathing Grenadier," (alas!
rejected by the Academy). "Then get up and sit down, if you please,
mister." "He pointed to a narrow high-backed chair, placed on a
platform; by the side of the chair was a machine of curious construction,
from which protruded a long wire. 'Heady stiddy, mister.' He then
slowly drew the wire over my head and down my nose and chin." Such was
the "Profeel machine."
There are many antiquated allusions in Pickwick--which have often
exercised the ingenuity of the curious. Sam's "Fanteegs," has been given
up in despair--as though there were no solution--yet, Professor Skeat, an
eminent authority, has long since furnished it. {34}
"Through the button hole"--a slang term for the mouth, has been well
"threshed out"--as it is called. Of "My Prooshian Blue," as his son
affectedly styled his parent, Mr. Lang correctly suggests the solution,
that the term came of George IV's intention of changing the uniform of
the Army to Blue. But this has been said before.
Boz in his Pickwickian names was fond of disguising their sense to the
eye, though not to the ear. Thus Lady Snuphanuph, looks a grotesque, but
somewhat plausible name--snuff-enough--a further indication of the
manners and customs. So with Lord Mutanhed, _i.e._ "Muttonhead."
Mallard, Serjeant Snubbin's Clerk, I have suspected, may have been some
Mr. Duck--whom "Boz" had known--in that line.
"A MONUMENTAL PICKWICK."
The fruitfulness of Pickwick, and amazing prolificness, that is one of
its marvels. It is regularly "worked on," like Dante or Shakespeare. The
Pickwickian Library is really a wonder. It is intelligible how a work
like Boswell's "Johnson," full of allusions and names of persons who have
lived, spoken, and written, should give rise to explanation and
commentaries; but a work of mere imagination, it would be thought, could
not furnish such openings. As we have just seen, Pickwick and the other
characters are so real, so artfully blended with existing usages,
manners, and localities, as to become actual living things.
Mere panegyric of one's favourite is idle. So I lately took a really
effective way of _proving_ the surprising fertility of the work and of
its power of engendering speculation and illustration. I set about
collecting all that has been done, written, and drawn on the subject
during these sixty years past, together with all those lighter
manifestations of popularity which surely indicate "the form and
pressure" of its influence. The result is now before me, and all but
fills a small room. When set in proper order and bound, it will fill
over thirty great quartos--"huge armfuls" as Elia has it. In short, it
is a "Monumental Pickwick."
The basis of _The Text_ is of course, the original edition of 1836. There
are specimens of the titles and a few pages of every known edition; the
first cheap or popular one; the "Library" edition; the "Charles Dickens"
ditto; the _Edition de Luxe_; the "Victoria": "Jubilee," edited by C.
Dickens the younger; editions at a shilling and at sixpence; the edition
sold for one penny; the new "Gadshill," edited by Andrew Lang; with the
"Roxburghe," edited by F. Kitton, presently to be published. The
_Foreign Editions in English_; four American editions, two of
Philadelphia, and two of New York; the Tauchnitz (German) and Baudry
(French); the curious Calcutta edition; with one of the most interesting
editions, viz., the one published at Launceston in Van Diemen's Land in
the year 1839, that is before the name of the Colony was changed. The
publisher speaks feelingly of the enormous difficulties he had to
encounter, and he boasts, with a certain pride, that it is "the largest
publication that has issued from either the New South Wales or the
Tasmanian Press." Not only this, but the whole of the work, printing,
engraving, and binding, was executed in the Colony. He had to be content
with lithography for the plates, and indeed, could only manage a
selection of twenty of the best. He says, too, that even in England,
lithography is found a process of considerable difficulty. They are
executed in a very rough and imperfect way, and not very faithfully by an
artist who signs himself "Tiz." The poor, but spirited publisher adds
that the expense has been enormous--"greater than was originally
contemplated," but he comforts himself with the compliment that "if any
publication would repay the cost of its production, it would be the far-
famed Pickwick Papers." On the whole, it is a very interesting edition
to have, and I have never seen a copy save the one I possess. I have
also an American edition, printed in Philadelphia, which has a great
interest. It was bought there by Mrs. Charles Dickens, and presented by
her to her faithful maid, Anne. I possess also a copy of the Christmas
Carol given by his son, the author, to his father John. Few recall that
"Boz" wrote a sequel to his Pickwick--a rather dismal failure--quite
devoid of humour. He revived Sam and old Weller, and Mr. Pickwick, but
they are unrecognizable figures. He judiciously suppressed this attempt,
after making it a sort of introduction to Humphrey's Clock. Of course,
we have it here.
_Translations_: Of these there are some twenty in all, but I have _only_
the French, German, Russian, Dutch, Norwegian, Swedish, Hungarian.
Then come _Selections_: "Readings" from "Pickwick"; "Dialogues" from
ditto; "Wellerisms," by Charles Kent and Mr. Rideal.
_Dramatic Versions_: "The Pickwickians," "Perambulations," "Sam Weller,"
etc. The "Pickwick" opera, by Burnand; "The Trial in 'Pickwick'";
"Bardell _v._ Pickwick." There are "Play Bills"--various. Connected
with this department is the literature of the "Readings"--"Charles
Dickens as a Reader," by Kent, and "Pen Photographs," by Kate Field. Also
Dolby's account of the Reading Tours, and the little prepared versions
for sale in the rooms in green covers; also bills, tickets, and
programmes _galore_.