SONGS AND SOME SINGERS
The numerous songs and vocal works referred to by Dickens
in his novels and other writings furnish perhaps the most
interesting, certainly the most instructive, branch of this
subject. His knowledge of song and ballad literature was
extraordinary, and he did not fail to make good use of it. Not
only are the quotations always well chosen and to the point,
but the use of them has greatly added to the interest of such
characters as Swiveller, Micawber, Cuttle, and many others,
all of whom are of a very musical turn of mind. These songs
may be conveniently divided into three classes, the first
containing the national and popular airs of the eighteenth
century, of which 'Rule Britannia' and 'Sally in our Alley'
are notable examples. Many of these are referred to in the
following pages, while a full list will be found on pp. 135-163.
I.--_National Songs_
There are numerous references to 'Rule Britannia.' Besides
those mentioned elsewhere we have the picture of little David
Copperfield in his dismal home.
What evenings when the candles came, and I was
expected to employ myself, but not daring to read
an entertaining book, pored over some hard-headed,
harder-hearted treatise on arithmetic; when the tables
of weights and measures set themselves to tunes as
'Rule Britannia,' or 'Away with Melancholy'!
No wonder he finally went to sleep over them!
In _Dombey and Son_ Old Sol has a wonderful story of the
_Charming Sally_ being wrecked in the Baltic, while the crew
sang 'Rule Britannia' as the ship went down, 'ending with one
awful scream in chorus.' Walter gives the date of the tragedy
as 1749. (The song was written in 1740.)
Captain Cuttle had a theory that 'Rule Britannia,' 'which the
garden angels sang about so many times over,' embodied the
outlines of the British Constitution. It is perhaps unnecessary
to explain that the Captain's 'garden angels' appear in the
song as 'guardian angels.'
Mark Tapley, when in America, entertained a grey-haired black
man by whistling this tune with all his might and main. The
entry of Martin Chuzzlewit caused him to stop the tune
at that point where Britons generally are supposed
to declare (when it is whistled) that they never,
never, never--
In the article on 'Wapping Workhouse' (_U.T._) Dickens
introduces the first verse of the song in criticizing the
workhouse system and its treatment of old people, and in the
_American Notes_ he tells us that he left Canada with 'Rule
Britannia' sounding in his ears.
'British Grenadiers,' said Mr. Bucket to Mr. Bagnet, 'there's
a tune to warm an Englishman up! _Could_ you give us "British
Grenadiers," my fine fellow?' And the 'fine fellow,' who
was none other than Bagnet junior (also known as 'Woolwich'),
promptly
fetches his fife and performs the stirring melody,
during which performance Mr. Bucket, much enlivened,
beats time, and never fails to come in sharp with the
burden 'Brit Ish Gra-a-anadeers.'
Our national anthem is frequently referred to. In the
description of the public dinner (_S.B.S._ 19)--
'God Save the Queen' is sung by the professional
gentlemen, the unprofessional gentlemen joining in
the chorus, and giving the national anthem an effect
which the newspapers, with great justice, describe as
'perfectly electrical.'
On another occasion we are told the company, sang the national
anthem with national independence, each one singing it according
to his own ideas of time and tune. This is the usual way of
singing it at the present day.
In addition to those above mentioned we find references to
'The Marseillaise' and 'Ça ira,' both of which Dickens says
he heard in Paris. In _Little Dorrit_ Mr. Meagles says:
As to Marseilles, we know what Marseilles is. It sent
the most insurrectionary tune into the world that was
ever composed.
Without disputing the decided opinion expressed by the speaker,
there is no doubt that some would give the palm to 'Ça ira,'
which the novelist refers to in one of his letters. The words
of this song were adapted in 1790 to the tune of 'Carillon
National.' This was a favourite air of Marie Antoinette,
and she frequently played it on the harpsichord. After her
downfall she heard it as a cry of hatred against herself--it
followed her from Versailles to the capital, and she would
hear it from her prison and even when going to her death.
When Martin Chuzzlewit and Mark Tapley were on their way to
America, one of their fellow travellers was
an English gentleman who was strongly suspected of
having run away from a bank, with something in his
possession belonging to its strong-box besides the key
[and who] grew eloquent upon the subject of the rights
of man, and hummed the Marseillaise Hymn constantly.
In an article on this tune in the _Choir_ (Nov., 1911)
it is stated that it was composed in 1792 at Strasburg, but
received its name from the fact that a band of soldiers going
from Marseilles to Paris made the new melody their marching
tune. A casual note about it appears to be the only musical
reference in _A Tale of Two Cities_.
From America we have 'Hail Columbia' and 'Yankee Doodle.' In
_Martin Chuzzlewit_ we meet the musical coach-driver who
played snatches of tunes on the key bugle. A friend of his
went to America, and wrote home saying he was always singing
'Ale Columbia.' In his _American Notes_ Dickens tells about a
Cleveland newspaper which announced that America had 'whipped
England twice, and that soon they would sing "Yankee Doodle"
in Hyde Park and "Hail Columbia" in the scarlet courts of
Westminster.'
II.--_Songs from 1780-1840_
We then come to a group of songs dating, roughly, from
1780. This includes several popular sea songs by Charles Dibdin
and others, some ballad opera airs, the _Irish Melodies_ and
other songs by Thomas Moore, and a few sentimental ditties.
Following these we have the songs of the early Victorian
period, consisting of more sentimental ditties of a somewhat
feebler type, with a few comic and nigger minstrel songs.
The task of identifying the numerous songs referred to has
been interesting, but by no means easy. No one who has not had
occasion to refer to them can have any idea of the hundreds,
nay, of the thousands, of song-books that were turned out from
the various presses under an infinitude of titles during the
eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries. There is nothing like
them at the present day, and the reasons for their publication
have long ceased to exist. It should be explained that the
great majority of these books contained the words only, very
few of them being furnished with the musical notes. Dickens has
made use of considerably over a hundred different songs. In
some cases the references are somewhat obscure, but their
elucidation is necessary to a proper understanding of the
text. An example of this occurs in Chapter IX of _Martin
Chuzzlewit_, where we are told the history of the various
names given to the young red-haired boy at Mrs. Todgers'
commercial boarding-house. When the Pecksniffs visited the house
he was generally known among the gentlemen as Bailey
Junior, a name bestowed upon him in contradistinction
perhaps to Old Bailey, and possibly as involving the
recollection of an unfortunate lady of the same name,
who perished by her own hand early in life and has
been immortalized in a ballad.
The song referred to here is 'Unfortunate Miss Bailey,' by
George Colman, and sung by Mr. Mathews in the comic opera of
_Love Laughs at Locksmiths_. It tells the story of a maid who
hung herself, while her persecutor took to drinking ratafia.
Dickens often refers to these old song-books, either under
real or imaginary names. Captain Cuttle gives 'Stanfell's
Budget' as the authority for one of his songs, and this was
probably the song-book that formed one of the ornaments which
he placed in the room he was preparing for Florence Dombey.
Other common titles are the 'Prentice's Warbler,' which Simon
Tappertit used, 'Fairburn's Comic Songster,' and the 'Little
Warbler,' which is mentioned two or three times. Of the songs
belonging to this second period, some are embedded in ballad
operas and plays, popular enough in their day, but long since
forgotten. An example is Mr. Jingle's quotation when he tells
the blushing Rachel that he is going
In hurry, post haste for a licence,
In hurry, ding dong I come back,
though he omitted the last two lines:
For that you shan't need bid me twice hence,
I'll be here and there in a crack.
This verse is sung by Lord Grizzle in Fielding's _Tom Thumb_,
as arranged by Kane O'Hara.
_Paul and Virginia_ is mentioned by Mrs. Flora Finching
(_L.D._) as being one of the things that ought to have been
returned to Arthur Clennam when their engagement was broken
off. This was a ballad opera by Reeve and Mazzinghi, and the
opening number is the popular duet 'See from ocean rising,'
concerning which there is a humorous passage in 'The Steam
Excursion' (_S.B._), where it is sung by one of the Miss
Tauntons and Captain Helves. The last-named, 'after a great
deal of preparatory crowing and humming,' began
in that grunting tone in which a man gets down,
heaven knows where, without the remotest chance of
ever getting up again. This in private circles is
frequently designated a 'bass voice.'
[Figure 1]
See from ocean rising
Bright flame, the orb of day;
From yon grove the varied song
Shall slumber from Virginia chase, chase away,
Slumber from Virginia chase, chase away.
Dickens is not quite correct in this description, as the
part of Paul was created by Incledon, the celebrated tenor,
but there are still to be found basses who insist on singing
tenor when they think that part wants their assistance.
III.--_Contemporary Comic Songs_
When Dickens visited Vauxhall (_S.B.S._ 14) in 1836, he heard
a variety entertainment, to which some reference has already
been made. Amongst the performers was a comic singer who bore
the name of one of the English counties, and who
sang a very good song about the seven ages, the first
half hour of which afforded the assembly the purest
delight.
The name of this singer was Mr. Bedford, though there was also
a Mr. Buckingham in the Vauxhall programmes of those days. There
are at least four songs, all of them lengthy, though not to the
extent Dickens suggests, which bear on the subject. They are:
1.--'All the World's a Stage,' a popular medley written by
Mr. L. Rede, and sung by Mrs. Kelley in the _Frolic
of the Fairies_.
2.--'Paddy McShane's Seven Ages,' sung by Mr. Johnstone at
Drury Lane.
3.--'The Seven Ages,' as sung by Mr. Fuller (eight very
long verses).
4.--'The Seven Ages of Woman,' as sung by Mr. Harley.
You've heard the seven ages of great Mister Man,
And now Mistress Woman's I'll chaunt, if I can.
This was also a very long song, each verse being sung to a
different tune.
Some of these songs are found in a scarce book called
_London Oddities_ (1822), which also contains 'Time of Day,'
probably the comic duet referred to in _The Mistaken Milliner_
(_S.B._). This sketch was written in 1835 for _Bell's Life
in London_, the original title being _The Vocal Dressmaker_,
and contains an account of a concert (real or imaginary) at the
White Conduit House. This place of entertainment was situated in
Penton Street, Islington, near the top of Pentonville Road, and
when Dickens wrote his sketch the place had been in existence
nearly a hundred years. Early in the nineteenth century it
became a place of varied amusements, from balloon ascents
to comic songs. Dickens visited the place about 1835. The
titles of some of the pieces he mentions as having been sung
there are real, while others (such as 'Red Ruffian, retire')
appear to be invented.
Of a different kind is the one sung by the giant Pickleson,
known in the profession as Rinaldo di Vasco, a character
introduced to us by Dr. Marigold.
I gave him sixpence (for he was kept as short as he
was long), and he laid it out on two three penn'orths
of gin-and-water, which so brisked him up that he sang
the favourite comic of 'Shivery Shakey, ain't it cold?'
Perhaps in no direction does the taste of the British public
change so rapidly and so completely as in their idea of humour
as depicted in the comic song, and it is unlikely that what
passed for humour sixty years ago would appeal to an audience
of the present day. The song here referred to had a great
though brief popularity. This is the first verse:
THE MAN THAT COULDN'T GET WARM.
_Words by J. Beuler._ _Accompaniment by J. Clinton._
All you who're fond in spite of price
Of pastry, cream and jellies nice
Be cautious how you take an ice
Whenever you're overwarm.
A merchant who from India came,
And Shiverand Shakey was his name,
A pastrycook's did once entice
To take a cooling, luscious ice,
The weather, hot enough to kill,
Kept tempting him to eat, until
It gave his corpus such a chill
He never again felt warm.
Shiverand Shakey O, O, O,
Criminy Crikey! Isn't it cold,
Woo, woo, woo, oo, oo,
Behold the man that couldn't get warm.
Some people affect to despise a comic song, but there are
instances where a good specimen has helped to make history,
or has added a popular phrase to our language. An instance of
the latter is MacDermott's 'Jingo' song 'We don't want to fight
but by Jingo if we do.' An illustration of the former comes from
the coal strike of March, 1912, during which period the price of
that commodity only once passed the figure it reached in 1875,
as we gather from the old song 'Look at the price of coals.'
We don't know what's to be done,
They're forty-two shillings a ton.
There are two interesting references in a song which
Mrs. Jarley's poet adapted to the purposes of the Waxwork
Exhibition, 'If I'd a donkey as wouldn't go.' The first verse
of the song is as follows:
If I'd a donkey wot wouldn't go,
D'ye think I'd wollop him? No, no, no;
But gentle means I'd try, d'ye see,
Because I hate all cruelty.
If all had been like me in fact,
There'd ha' been no occasion for Martin's Act
Dumb animals to prevent getting crackt
On the head, for--
If I had a donkey wot wouldn't go,
I never would wollop him, no, no, no;
I'd give him some hay, and cry gee O,
And come up Neddy.
The singer then meets 'Bill Burns,' who, 'while crying out his
greens,' is ill-treating his donkey. On being interfered with,
Bill Burns says,
'You're one of these Mr. Martin chaps.'
Then there was a fight, when the 'New Police' came up and
'hiked' them off before the magistrate. There is a satisfactory
ending, and 'Bill got fin'd.' Here is a reminder that we are
indebted to Mr. Martin, M.P., for initiating the movement which
resulted in the 'Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty
to Animals' being established in 1824. Two years previously
Parliament had passed what is known as Martin's Act (1822),
which was the first step taken by this or any other country
for the protection of animals. In Scene 7 of _Sketches by Boz_
there is a mention of 'the renowned Mr. Martin, of costermonger
notoriety.' The reference to the New Police Act reminds us
that the London police force was remodelled by Mr. (afterwards
Sir Robert) Peel in 1829. Hence the date of the song will be
within a year or two of this.
Mr. Reginald Wilfer (_O.M.F._) owed his nickname to the
conventional chorus of some of the comic songs of the
period. Being a modest man, he felt unable to live up to the
grandeur of his Christian name, so he always signed himself
'R. Wilfer.' Hence his neighbours provided him with all sorts
of fancy names beginning with R, but his popular name was
Rumty, which a 'gentleman of convivial habits connected with
the drug market' had bestowed upon him, and which was derived
from the burden--
Rumty iddity, row dow dow,
Sing toodlely teedlely, bow wow wow.
The third decade of the nineteenth century saw the coming of the
Christy Minstrels. One of the earliest of the so-called 'negro'
impersonators was T.D. Rice, whose song 'Jim Crow' (_A.N._) took
England by storm. It is useless to attempt to account for the
remarkable popularity of this and many another favourite, but
the fact remains that the song sold by thousands. In this case
it may have been due to the extraordinary antics of the singer,
for the words certainly do not carry weight (see p. 146).
Rice made his first appearance at the Surrey Theatre in 1836,
when he played in a sketch entitled _Bone Squash Diabolo_, in
which he took the part of 'Jim Crow.' The song soon went all
over England, and 'Jim Crow' hats and pipes were all the rage,
while _Punch_ caricatured a statesman who changed his opinions
on some question of the day as the political 'Jim Crow.' To
this class also belongs the song 'Buffalo Gals' (see p. 10).
Amongst the contents of the shop window at the watering-place
referred to in _Out of the Season_ was
every polka with a coloured frontispiece that ever was
published; from the original one, where a smooth male
or female Pole of high rank are coming at the observer
with their arms akimbo, to the 'Ratcatcher's Daughter.'
This last piece is of some slight interest from the fact that
certain people have claimed that the hymn-tune 'Belmont' is
derived therefrom. We give the first four lines, and leave
our readers to draw their own conclusions. It is worth while
stating that the first appearance of the hymn-tune took place
soon after the song became popular.[17]
[Figure 2]
In Westminster, not long ago,
There lived a ratcatcher's daughter;
She was not born in Westminster
But on t'other side of the water.
_Some Singers_
In the _Pickwick Papers_ we have at least three original
poems. Wardle's carol--
I care not for Spring; on his fickle wing
Let the blossoms and buds be borne--
has been set to music, but Dickens always preferred that
it should be sung to the tune of 'Old King Cole,' though a
little ingenuity is required to make it fit in. The 'wild and
beautiful legend,'
Bold Turpin vunce, on Hounslow Heath
His bold mare Bess bestrode--er,
with which Sam Weller favoured a small but select company on a
memorable occasion appears to have been overlooked by composers
until Sir Frederick Bridge set it to excellent music. It will
be remembered that Sam intimated that he was not
wery much in the habit o' singin' without the
instrument; but anythin' for a quiet life, as the man
said wen he took the sitivation at the lighthouse.
Sam was certainly more obliging than another member of the
company, the 'mottled-faced' gentleman, who, when asked
to sing, sturdily and somewhat offensively declined to do
so. We also find references to other crusty individuals who
flatly refuse to exercise their talents, as, for instance,
after the accident to the coach which was conveying Nicholas
Nickleby and Squeers to Yorkshire. In response to the call
for a song to pass the time away, some protest they cannot,
others wish they could, others can do nothing without the
book, while the 'very fastidious lady entirely ignored the
invitation to give them some little Italian thing out of the
last opera.' A somewhat original plea for refusing to sing when
asked is given by the chairman of the musical gathering at the
Magpie and Stump (_P.P._). When asked why he won't enliven
the company he replies, 'I only know one song, and I have sung
it already, and it's a fine of glasses round to sing the same
song twice in one night.' Doubtless he was deeply thankful to
Mr. Pickwick for changing the subject. At another gathering
of a similar nature, we are told about a man who knew a song
of seven verses, but he couldn't recall them at the moment,
so he sang the first verse seven times.
There is no record as to what the comic duets were that Sam
Weller and Bob Sawyer sang in the dickey of the coach that was
taking the party to Birmingham, and this suggests what a number
of singers of all kinds are referred to, though no mention is
made of their songs. What was Little Nell's repertoire? It must
have been an extensive one according to the man in the boat
(_O.C.S._ 43).
'You've got a very pretty voice' ... said this
gentleman ... 'Let me hear a song this minute.'
'I don't think I know one, sir,' returned Nell.
'You know forty-seven songs,' said the man, with
a gravity which admitted of no altercation on the
subject. 'Forty-seven's your number.'
And so the poor little maid had to keep her rough
companions in good humour all through the night.
Then Tiny Tim had a song about a lost child travelling in the
snow; the miner sang a Christmas song--'it had been a very
old song when he was a boy,' while the man in the lighthouse
(_C.C._) consoled himself in his solitude with a 'sturdy'
ditty. What was John Browdie's north-country song? (_N.N._).
All we are told is that he took some time to consider the words,
in which operation his wife assisted him, and then
began to roar a meek sentiment (supposed to be uttered
by a gentle swain fast pining away with love and
despair) in a voice of thunder.
The Miss Pecksniffs used to come singing into the room, but
their songs are unrecorded, as well as those that Florence
Dombey used to sing to Paul, to his great delight. What was
the song Miss Mills sang to David Copperfield and Dora
about the slumbering echoes in the cavern of Memory;
as if she was a hundred years old.
When we first meet Mark Tapley he is singing merrily, and there
are dozens of others who sing either for their own delight
or to please others. Even old Fips, of Austin Friars, the
dry-as-dust lawyer, sang songs to the delight of the company
gathered round the festive board in Martin Chuzzlewit's rooms in
the Temple. Truly Dickens must have loved music greatly himself
to have distributed such a love of it amongst his characters.
It is not to be expected that Sampson Brass would be musical,
and we are not surprised when on an occasion already referred
to we find him
humming in a voice that was anything but musical certain
vocal snatches which appeared to have reference to the
union between Church and State, inasmuch as they were
compounded of the Evening Hymn and 'God Save the King.'
Whatever music he had in him must have been of a sub-conscious
nature, for shortly afterwards he affirms that
the still small voice is a-singing comic songs within
me, and all is happiness and joy.
His sister Sally is not a songster, nor is Quilp, though he
quotes 'Sally in our Alley' in reference to the former. All
we know about his musical attainments is that he
occasionally entertained himself with a melodious
howl, intended for a song but bearing not the faintest
resemblance to any scrap of any piece of music, vocal
or instrumental, ever invented by man.
Bass singers, and especially the Basso Profundos, will be glad
to know that Dickens pays more attention to them than to the
other voices, though it must be acknowledged that the references
are of a humorous nature. 'Bass!' as the young gentleman in one
of the _Sketches_ remarks to his companion about the little
man in the chair, 'bass! I believe you. He can go down lower
than any man; so low sometimes that you can't hear him.'
And so he does. To hear him growling away, gradually
lower and lower down, till he can't get back again,
is the most delightful thing in the world.
Of similar calibre is the voice of Captain Helves, already
referred to on p. 62.
Topper, who had his eye on one of Scrooge's niece's sisters
(_C.C._),
could growl away in the bass like a good one, and
never swell the large veins in his forehead or get
red in the face over it.
Dickens must certainly have had much experience of basses, as he
seems to know their habits and eccentricities so thoroughly. In
fact it seems to suggest that at some unknown period of his
career, hitherto unchronicled by his biographers, he must have
been a choirmaster.
He also shows a knowledge of the style of song the basses
delighted in
at the harmony meetings in which the collegians at the
Marshalsea[18] used to indulge. Occasionally a vocal
strain more sonorous than the generality informed the
listener that some boastful bass was in blue water
or the hunting field, or with the reindeer, or on the
mountain, or among the heather, but the Marshal of the
Marshalsea knew better, and had got him hard and fast.
We are not told what the duet was that Dickens heard at
Vauxhall, but the description is certainly vivid enough:
It was a beautiful duet; first the small gentleman
asked a question and then the tall lady answered
it; then the small gentleman and the tall lady sang
together most melodiously; then the small gentleman
went through a little piece of vehemence by himself,
and got very tenor indeed, in the excitement of his
feelings, to which the tall lady responded in a similar
manner; then the small gentleman had a shake or two,
after which the tall lady had the same, and then they
both merged imperceptibly into the original air.
Our author is quite impartial in his distribution of his
voices. In _P.P._ we read of a boy of fourteen who was a tenor
(not the fat boy), while the quality of the female voices is
usually left to the imagination.
If Mrs. Plornish (_L.D._) is to be believed, her father,
Mr. John Edward Nandy, was a remarkable singer. He was
a poor little reedy piping old gentleman, like a
worn-out bird, who had been in what he called the
music-binding business.
But Mrs. P. was very proud of her father's talents, and in
response to her invitation, 'Sing us a song, father,'
Then would he give them Chloe, and if he were in
pretty good spirits, Phyllis also--Strephon he had
hardly been up to since he went into retirement--and
then would Mrs. Plornish declare she did believe there
never was such a singer as father, and wipe her eyes.
Old Nandy evidently favoured the eighteenth-century songs,
in which the characters here referred to were constantly
occurring. At a subsequent period of his history Nandy's vocal
efforts surprised even his daughter.
'You never heard father in such voice as he is at
present,' said Mrs. Plornish, her own voice quavering,
she was so proud and pleased. 'He gave us Strephon
last night, to that degree that Plornish gets up and
makes him this speech across the table, "John Edward
Nandy," says Plornish to father, "I never heard you
come the warbles as I have heard you come the warbles
this night." Ain't it gratifying, Mr. Pancks, though;
really.'
The Mr. Pancks here referred to did not mind taking his part in
a bit of singing. He says, in reference to a 'Harmony evening'
at the Marshalsea:
'I am spending the evening with the rest of 'em,'
said Pancks. 'I've been singing. I've been taking
a part in "White Sand and Grey Sand." I don't know
anything about it. Never mind. I'll take part in
anything, it's all the same, if you're loud enough.'
Here we have a round of considerable antiquity, though the
date and author are alike unknown.
[Figure 3] or [Figure 4]
White sand and grey sand:
Who'll buy my white sand?
Who'll buy my grey sand?
_Glee-Singing_
A feature of the Harmonic Meetings at the 'Sol' (_B.H._) was
the performance of Little Swills, who, after entertaining
the company with comic songs, took the 'gruff line' in a
concerted piece, and adjured 'his friends to listen, listen,
listen to the wa-ter-fall!' Little Swills was also an adept
at 'patter and gags.' Glee and catch singing was a feature
at the Christmas party given by Scrooge's nephew, for 'they
were a musical family, and knew what they were about.' This
remark can scarcely be applied to the Malderton family, who,
assisted by the redoubtable Mr. Horatio Sparkins,
tried over glees and trios without number; they having
made the pleasing discovery that their voices harmonized
beautifully. To be sure, they all sang the first part;
and Horatio, in addition to the slight drawback of
having no ear, was perfectly innocent of knowing a note
of music; still, they passed the time very agreeably.
Glee-singing seems to have been a feature in the social life
of Cloisterham (_E.D._).
'We shall miss you, Jasper' (said Mr. Crisparkle),
'at the "Alternate Musical Wednesdays" to-night; but
no doubt you are best at home. Good-night, God bless
you. "Tell me shepherds te-e-ell me: tell me-e-e have
you seen (have you seen, have you seen, have you seen)
my-y-y Flo-o-ora-a pass this way!"'
It was a different kind of glee party that left the Blue
Boar after the festivities in connexion with Pip's indentures
(_G.E._).
They were all in excellent spirits on the road home,
and sang 'O Lady Fair,' Mr. Wopsle taking the bass,
and assisting with a tremendously strong voice (in
reply to the inquisitive bore who leads that piece
of music in a most impertinent manner by wanting to
know all about everybody's private affairs) that _he_
was the man with his white locks flowing, and that he
was upon the whole the weakest pilgrim going.
Perhaps the most remarkable glee party that Dickens gives us
is the one organized by the male boarders at Mrs. Todgers',
with a view to serenading the two Miss Pecksniffs.
It was very affecting, very. Nothing more dismal could
have been desired by the most fastidious taste. The
gentleman of a vocal turn was head mute, or chief
mourner; Jinkins took the bass, and the rest took
anything they could get.... If the two Miss Pecksniffs
and Mrs. Todgers had perished by spontaneous combustion,
and the serenade had been in honour of their ashes, it
would have been impossible to surpass the unutterable
despair expressed in that one chorus: 'Go where glory
waits thee.' It was a requiem, a dirge, a moan, a howl,
a wail, a lament, an abstract of everything that is
sorrowful and hideous in sound.
The song which the literary boarder had written for the
occasion, 'All hail to the vessel of Pecksniff, the sire,'
is a parody of Scott's 'All hail to the chief who in triumph
advances,' from the _Lady of the Lake_.
Two words that by themselves have a musical meaning are
'Chaunter' and 'Drums'; but the Chaunter referred to is one
of Edward Dorrit's creditors, and the word means 'not a singer
of anthems, but a seller of horses.' To this profession also
Simpson belonged, on whom Mr. Pickwick was 'chummed' in the
Fleet prison. A 'drum' is referred to in the description of
the London streets at night in _Barnaby Rudge_, and signifies a
rout or evening party for cards; while one where stakes ran high
and much noise accompanied the play was known as a 'drum major.'
In _Our Bore_ (_R.P._) this sentence occurs:
He was at the Norwich musical festival when the
extraordinary echo, for which science has been wholly
unable to account, was heard for the first and last
time. He and the bishop heard it at the same moment,
and caught each other's eye.
Dr. A.H. Mann, who knows as much about Norwich and its festivals
as any one, is quite unable to throw any light on this mystic
remark. There were complaints about the acoustics of the
St. Andrew's Hall many years ago, but there appears to be no
historic foundation for Dickens' reference. It would certainly
be interesting to know what suggested the idea to him.
There is a curious incident connected with Uncle Dick, whose
great ambition was 'to beat the drum.' It was only by a mere
chance that his celebrated reference to King Charles's head
got into the story. Dickens originally wrote as follows (in