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THE LETTERS

OF

[Illustration: HW: Charles Dickens]




THE LETTERS

OF

CHARLES DICKENS.

EDITED BY

HIS SISTER-IN-LAW AND HIS ELDEST DAUGHTER.

=In Two Volumes.=

VOL. II.

1857 TO 1870.



        London:
        CHAPMAN AND HALL, 193, PICCADILLY.
        1880.

[_The Right of Translation is Reserved._]




CHARLES DICKENS AND EVANS, CRYSTAL PALACE PRESS.




ERRATA.

VOL. II.


        Page 84, line 35. For "South Kensington
             Museum," _read_ "the South Kensington Museum."

        " 108, line 26. For "frequent contributor,"
             _read_ "a frequent contributor."

        " 113, lines 6, 7. For "great remonstrance,"
             _read_ "Great Remonstrance."

        " 130, line 10. For "after," _read_ "afore."

        " 160,  "   32. For "a head," _read_ "ahead."

        " 247,  "   12. For "Shea," _read_ "Shoe."

        " 292,  "   12. For "Mabel's progress," _read_
              "Mabel's Progress."




=Book II.=--_Continued._




THE

LETTERS OF CHARLES DICKENS.




1857.

NARRATIVE.


This was a very full year in many ways. In February, Charles Dickens
obtained possession of Gad's Hill, and was able to turn workmen into it.
In April he stayed, with his wife and sister-in-law, for a week or two
at Wate's Hotel, Gravesend, to be at hand to superintend the beginning
of his alterations of the house, and from thence we give a letter to
Lord Carlisle. He removed his family, for a summer residence in the
house, in June; and he finished "Little Dorrit" there early in the
summer. One of his first visitors at Gad's Hill was the famous writer,
Hans Christian Andersen. In January "The Frozen Deep" had been played at
the Tavistock House theatre with such great success, that it was
necessary to repeat it several times, and the theatre was finally
demolished at the end of that month. In June Charles Dickens heard, with
great grief, of the death of his dear friend Douglas Jerrold; and as a
testimony of admiration for his genius and affectionate regard for
himself, it was decided to organise, under the management of Charles
Dickens, a series of entertainments, "in memory of the late Douglas
Jerrold," the fund produced by them (a considerable sum) to be
presented to Mr. Jerrold's family. The amateur company, including many
of Mr. Jerrold's colleagues on "Punch," gave subscription performances
of "The Frozen Deep;" the Gallery of Illustration, in Regent Street,
being engaged for the purpose. Charles Dickens gave two readings at St.
Martin's Hall of "The Christmas Carol" (to such immense audiences and
with such success, that the idea of giving public readings for his _own_
benefit first occurred to him at this time). The professional actors,
among them the famous veteran actor, Mr. T. P. Cooke, gave a performance
of Mr. Jerrold's plays of "The Rent Day" and "Black-eyed Susan," in
which Mr. T. P. Cooke sustained the character in which he had originally
made such great success when the play was written. A lecture was given
by Mr. Thackeray, and another by Mr. W. H. Russell. Finally, the Queen
having expressed a desire to see the play, which had been much talked of
during that season, there was another performance before her Majesty and
the Prince Consort at the Gallery of Illustration in July, and at the
end of that month Charles Dickens read his "Carol" in the Free Trade
Hall, at Manchester. And to wind up the "Memorial Fund" entertainments,
"The Frozen Deep" was played again at Manchester, also in the great Free
Trade Hall, at the end of August. For the business of these
entertainments he secured the assistance of Mr. Arthur Smith, of whom he
writes to Mr. Forster, at this time: "I have got hold of Arthur Smith,
as the best man of business I know, and go to work with him to-morrow
morning." And when he began his own public readings, both in town and
country, he felt himself most fortunate in having the co-operation of
this invaluable man of business, and also of his zealous friendship and
pleasant companionship.

In July, his second son, Walter Landor, went to India as a cadet in the
"Company's service," from which he was afterwards transferred to the
42nd Royal Highlanders. His father and his elder brother went to see him
off, to Southampton. From this place Charles Dickens writes to Mr.
Edmund Yates, a young man in whom he had been interested from his
boyhood, both for the sake of his parents and for his own sake, and for
whom he had always an affectionate regard.

In September he made a short tour in the North of England, with Mr.
Wilkie Collins, out of which arose the "Lazy Tour of Two Idle
Apprentices," written by them jointly, and published in "Household
Words." Some letters to his sister-in-law during this expedition are
given here, parts of which (as is the case with many letters to his
eldest daughter and his sister-in-law) have been published in Mr.
Forster's book.

The letters which follow are almost all on the various subjects
mentioned in our notes, and need little explanation.

His letter to Mr. Procter makes allusion to a legacy lately left to that
friend.

The letters to Mr. Dilke, the original and much-respected editor of "The
Athenaeum," and to Mr. Forster, on the subject of the "Literary Fund,"
refer, as the letters indicate, to a battle which they were carrying on
together with that institution.

A letter to Mr. Frank Stone is an instance of his kind, patient, and
judicious criticism of a young writer, and the letter which follows it
shows how thoroughly it was understood and how perfectly appreciated by
the authoress of the "Notes" referred to. Another instance of the same
kind criticism is given in a second letter this year to Mr. Edmund
Yates.


[Sidenote: Mr. B. W. Procter.]

                                 TAVISTOCK HOUSE, _January 2nd, 1857._

MY DEAR PROCTER,

I have to thank you for a delightful book, which has given me unusual
pleasure. My delight in it has been a little dashed by certain farewell
verses, but I have made up my mind (and you have no idea of the
obstinacy of my character) not to believe them.

Perhaps it is not taking a liberty--perhaps it is--to congratulate you
on Kenyon's remembrance. Either way I can't help doing it with all my
heart, for I know no man in the world (myself excepted) to whom I would
rather the money went.

                                            Affectionately yours ever.


[Sidenote: Sir James Emerson Tennent.]

                                 TAVISTOCK HOUSE, _January 9th, 1857._

MY DEAR TENNENT,


I must thank you for your earnest and affectionate letter. It has given
me the greatest pleasure, mixing the play in my mind confusedly and
delightfully with Pisa, the Valetta, Naples, Herculanaeum--God knows what
not.

As to the play itself; when it is made as good as my care can make it, I
derive a strange feeling out of it, like writing a book in company; a
satisfaction of a most singular kind, which has no exact parallel in my
life; a something that I suppose to belong to the life of a labourer in
art alone, and which has to me a conviction of its being actual truth
without its pain, that I never could adequately state if I were to try
never so hard.

You touch so kindly and feelingly on the pleasure such little pains
give, that I feel quite sorry you have never seen this drama in progress
during the last ten weeks here. Every Monday and Friday evening during
that time we have been at work upon it. I assure you it has been a
remarkable lesson to my young people in patience, perseverance,
punctuality, and order; and, best of all, in that kind of humility which
is got from the earned knowledge that whatever the right hand finds to
do must be done with the heart in it, and in a desperate earnest.

When I changed my dress last night (though I did it very quickly), I was
vexed to find you gone. I wanted to have secured you for our green-room
supper, which was very pleasant. If by any accident you should be free
next Wednesday night (our last), pray come to that green-room supper. It
would give me cordial pleasure to have you there.

                           Ever, my dear Tennent, very heartily yours.


[Sidenote: M. de Cerjat.]

                     TAVISTOCK HOUSE, _Monday Night, Jan, 17th, 1857._

MY DEAR CERJAT,

So wonderfully do good (epistolary) intentions become confounded with
bad execution, that I assure you I laboured under a perfect and most
comfortable conviction that I had answered your Christmas Eve letter of
1855. More than that, in spite of your assertions to the contrary, I
still strenuously believe that I did so! I have more than half a mind
("Little Dorrit" and my other occupations notwithstanding) to charge you
with having forgotten my reply!! I have even a wild idea that Townshend
reproached me, when the last old year was new, with writing to you
instead of to him!!! We will argue it out, as well as we can argue
anything without poor dear Haldimand, when I come back to Elysee. In any
case, however, don't discontinue your annual letter, because it has
become an expected and a delightful part of the season to me.

With one of the prettiest houses in London, and every conceivable (and
inconceivable) luxury in it, Townshend is voluntarily undergoing his own
sentence of transportation in Nervi, a beastly little place near Genoa,
where you would as soon find a herd of wild elephants in any villa as
comfort. He has a notion that he _must_ be out of England in the winter,
but I believe him to be altogether wrong (as I have just told him in a
letter), unless he could just take his society with him.

Workmen are now battering and smashing down my theatre here, where we
have just been acting a new play of great merit, done in what I may call
(modestly speaking of the getting-up, and not of the acting) an
unprecedented way. I believe that anything so complete has never been
seen. We had an act at the North Pole, where the slightest and greatest
thing the eye beheld were equally taken from the books of the Polar
voyagers. Out of thirty people, there were certainly not two who might
not have gone straight to the North Pole itself, completely furnished
for the winter! It has been the talk of all London for these three
weeks. And now it is a mere chaos of scaffolding, ladders, beams,
canvases, paint-pots, sawdust, artificial snow, gas-pipes, and
ghastliness. I have taken such pains with it for these ten weeks in all
my leisure hours, that I feel now shipwrecked--as if I had never been
without a play on my hands before. A third topic comes up as this
ceases.

Down at Gad's Hill, near Rochester, in Kent--Shakespeare's Gad's Hill,
where Falstaff engaged in the robbery--is a quaint little country-house
of Queen Anne's time. I happened to be walking past, a year and a half
or so ago, with my sub-editor of "Household Words," when I said to him:
"You see that house? It has always a curious interest for me, because
when I was a small boy down in these parts I thought it the most
beautiful house (I suppose because of its famous old cedar-trees) ever
seen. And my poor father used to bring me to look at it, and used to say
that if I ever grew up to be a clever man perhaps I might own that
house, or such another house. In remembrance of which, I have always in
passing looked to see if it was to be sold or let, and it has never been
to me like any other house, and it has never changed at all." We came
back to town, and my friend went out to dinner. Next morning he came to
me in great excitement, and said: "It is written that you were to have
that house at Gad's Hill. The lady I had allotted to me to take down to
dinner yesterday began to speak of that neighbourhood. 'You know it?' I
said; 'I have been there to-day.' 'O yes,' said she, 'I know it very
well. I was a child there, in the house they call Gad's Hill Place. My
father was the rector, and lived there many years. He has just died, has
left it to me, and I want to sell it.' 'So,' says the sub-editor, 'you
must buy it. Now or never!'" I did, and hope to pass next summer there,
though I may, perhaps, let it afterwards, furnished, from time to time.

All about myself I find, and the little sheet nearly full! But I know,
my dear Cerjat, the subject will have its interest for you, so I give it
its swing. Mrs. Watson was to have been at the play, but most
unfortunately had three children sick of gastric fever, and could not
leave them. She was here some three weeks before, looking extremely well
in the face, but rather thin. I have not heard of your friend Mr.
Percival Skelton, but I much misdoubt an amateur artist's success in
this vast place. I hope you detected a remembrance of our happy visit to
the Great St. Bernard in a certain number of "Little Dorrit"? Tell Mrs.
Cerjat, with my love, that the opinions I have expressed to her on the
subject of cows have become matured in my mind by experience and
venerable age; and that I denounce the race as humbugs, who have been
getting into poetry and all sorts of places without the smallest reason.
Haldimand's housekeeper is an awful woman to consider. Pray give him our
kindest regards and remembrances, if you ever find him in a mood to take
it. "Our" means Mrs. Dickens's, Georgie's, and mine. We often, often
talk of our old days at Lausanne, and send loving regard to Mrs. Cerjat
and all your house.

                          Adieu, my dear fellow; ever cordially yours.


[Sidenote: Mr. W. C. Macready.]

                                TAVISTOCK HOUSE, _January 28th, 1857._

MY DEAREST MACREADY,

Your friend and servant is as calm as Pecksniff, saving for his knitted
brows now turning into cordage over Little Dorrit. The theatre has
disappeared, the house is restored to its usual conditions of order, the
family are tranquil and domestic, dove-eyed peace is enthroned in this
study, fire-eyed radicalism in its master's breast.

I am glad to hear that our poetess is at work again, and shall be very
much pleased to have some more contributions from her.

Love from all to your dear sister, and to Katie, and to all the house.

We dined yesterday at Frederick Pollock's. I begged an amazing
photograph of you, and brought it away. It strikes me as one of the most
ludicrous things I ever saw in my life. I think of taking a
public-house, and having it copied larger, for the size. You may
remember it? Very square and big--the Saracen's Head with its hair cut,
and in modern gear? Staring very hard? As your particular friend, I
would not part with it on any consideration. I will never get such a
wooden head again.

                                                  Ever affectionately.


[Sidenote: Miss Mary Boyle.]

                                TAVISTOCK HOUSE, _February 7th, 1857._

MY DEAR MARY,


Half-a-dozen words on this, my birthday, to thank you for your kind and
welcome remembrance, and to assure you that your Joseph is proud of it.

For about ten minutes after his death, on each occasion of that event
occurring, Richard Wardour was in a floored condition. And one night, to
the great terror of Devonshire, the Arctic Regions, and Newfoundland
(all of which localities were afraid to speak to him, as his ghost sat
by the kitchen fire in its rags), he very nearly did what he never did,
went and fainted off, dead, again. But he always plucked up, on the turn
of ten minutes, and became facetious.

Likewise he chipped great pieces out of all his limbs (solely, as I
imagine, from moral earnestness and concussion of passion, for I never
know him to hit himself in any way) and terrified Aldersley[1] to that
degree, by lunging at him to carry him into the cave, that the said
Aldersley always shook like a mould of jelly, and muttered, "By G----,
this is an awful thing!"

                                                  Ever affectionately.

P.S.--I shall never cease to regret Mrs. Watson's not having been there.


[Sidenote: Rev. James White.]

                            TAVISTOCK HOUSE, _Sunday, Feb. 8th, 1857._

MY DEAR WHITE,

I send these lines by Mary and Katey, to report my love to all.

Your note about the _Golden Mary_ gave me great pleasure; though I don't
believe in one part of it; for I honestly believe that your story, as
really belonging to the rest of the narrative, had been generally
separated from the other stories, and greatly liked. I had not that
particular shipwreck that you mention in my mind (indeed I doubt if I
know it), and John Steadiman merely came into my head as a staunch sort
of name that suited the character. The number has done "Household Words"
great service, and has decidedly told upon its circulation.

You should have come to the play. I much doubt if anything so complete
will ever be seen again. An incredible amount of pains and ingenuity was
expended on it, and the result was most remarkable even to me.

When are you going to send something more to H. W.? Are you lazy??
Low-spirited??? Pining for Paris????

                                                  Ever affectionately.


[Sidenote: Mr. C. W. Dilke.]

            OFFICE OF "HOUSEHOLD WORDS," _Thursday, March 19th, 1857._

MY DEAR MR. DILKE,

Forster has another notion about the Literary Fund. Will you name a day
next week--that day being neither Thursday nor Saturday--when we shall
hold solemn council there at half-past four?

For myself, I beg to report that I have my war-paint on, that I have
buried the pipe of peace, and am whooping for committee scalps.

                                                Ever faithfully yours.


[Sidenote: The Earl of Carlisle.]

                       GRAVESEND, KENT, _Wednesday, April 15th, 1857._

MY DEAR LORD CARLISLE,

I am writing by the river-side for a few days, and at the end of last
week ---- appeared here with your note of introduction. I was not in the
way; but as ---- had come express from London with it, Mrs. Dickens
opened it, and gave her (in the limited sense which was of no use to
her) an audience. She did not quite seem to know what she wanted of me.
But she said she had understood at Stafford House that I had a theatre
in which she could read; with a good deal of modesty and diffidence she
at last got so far. Now, my little theatre turns my house out of window,
costs fifty pounds to put up, and is only two months taken down;
therefore, is quite out of the question. This Mrs. Dickens explained,
and also my profound inability to do anything for ---- readings which
they could not do for themselves. She appeared fully to understand the
explanation, and indeed to have anticipated for herself how powerless I
must be in such a case.

She described herself as being consumptive, and as being subject to an
effusion of blood from the lungs; about the last condition, one would
think, poor woman, for the exercise of public elocution as an art.

Between ourselves, I think the whole idea a mistake, and have thought so
from its first announcement. It has a fatal appearance of trading upon
Uncle Tom, and am I not a man and a brother? which you may be by all
means, and still not have the smallest claim to my attention as a public
reader. The town is over-read from all the white squares on the
draught-board; it has been considerably harried from all the black
squares--now with the aid of old banjoes, and now with the aid of Exeter
Hall; and I have a very strong impression that it is by no means to be
laid hold of from this point of address. I myself, for example, am the
meekest of men, and in abhorrence of slavery yield to no human creature,
and yet I don't admit the sequence that I want Uncle Tom (or Aunt
Tomasina) to expound "King Lear" to me. And I believe my case to be the
case of thousands.

I trouble you with this much about it, because I am naturally desirous
you should understand that if I could possibly have been of any service,
or have suggested anything to this poor lady, I would not have lost the
opportunity. But I cannot help her, and I assure you that I cannot
honestly encourage her to hope. I fear her enterprise has no hope in it.

In your absence I have always followed you through the papers, and felt
a personal interest and pleasure in the public affection in which you
are held over there.[2] At the same time I must confess that I should
prefer to have you here, where good public men seem to me to be dismally
wanted. I have no sympathy with demagogues, but am a grievous Radical,
and think the political signs of the times to be just about as bad as
the spirit of the people will admit of their being. In all other
respects I am as healthy, sound, and happy as your kindness can wish. So
you will set down my political despondency as my only disease.

On the tip-top of Gad's Hill, between this and Rochester, on the very
spot where Falstaff ran away, I have a pretty little old-fashioned
house, which I shall live in the hope of showing to you one day. Also I
have a little story respecting the manner in which it became mine, which
I hope (on the same occasion in the clouds) to tell you. Until then and
always, I am, dear Lord Carlisle,

                                    Yours very faithfully and obliged.


[Sidenote: Mr. John Forster.]

                                    TAVISTOCK HOUSE, _May 13th, 1857._

MY DEAR FORSTER,

I have gone over Dilke's memoranda, and I think it quite right and
necessary that those points should be stated. Nor do I see the least
difficulty in the way of their introduction into the pamphlet. But I do
not deem it possible to get the pamphlet written and published before
the dinner. I have so many matters pressing on my attention, that I
cannot turn to it immediately on my release from my book just finished.
It shall be done and distributed early next month.

As to anything being lost by its not being in the hands of the people
who dine (as you seem to think), I have not the least misgiving on that
score. They would say, if it were issued, just what they will say
without it.

Lord Granville is committed to taking the chair, and will make the best
speech he can in it. The pious ---- will cram him with as many
distortions of the truth as his stomach may be strong enough to receive.
----, with Bardolphian eloquence, will cool his nose in the modest
merits of the institution. ---- will make a neat and appropriate speech
on both sides, round the corner and over the way. And all this would be
done exactly to the same purpose and in just the same strain, if twenty
thousand copies of the pamphlet had been circulated.

                                                  Ever affectionately.


[Sidenote: Rev. James White.]

                            TAVISTOCK HOUSE, _Friday, May 22nd, 1857._

MY DEAR WHITE,

My emancipation having been effected on Saturday, the ninth of this
month, I take some shame to myself for not having sooner answered your
note. But the host of things to be done as soon as I was free, and the
tremendous number of ingenuities to be wrought out at Gad's Hill, have
kept me in a whirl of their own ever since.

We purpose going to Gad's Hill for the summer on the 1st of June; as,
apart from the master's eye being a necessary ornament to the spot, I
clearly see that the workmen yet lingering in the yard must be squeezed
out by bodily pressure, or they will never go. How will this suit you
and yours? If you will come down, we can take you all in, on your way
north; that is to say, we shall have that ample verge and room enough,
until about the eighth; when Hans Christian Andersen (who has been
"coming" for about three years) will come for a fortnight's stay in
England. I shall like you to see the little old-fashioned place. It
strikes me as being comfortable.

So let me know your little game. And with love to Mrs. White, Lotty, and
Clara,

                                Believe me, ever affectionately yours.


[Sidenote: Mr. Frank Stone, A.R.A.]

                OFFICE OF "HOUSEHOLD WORDS," _Monday, June 1st, 1857._

MY DEAR STONE,

I know that what I am going to say will not be agreeable; but I rely on
the authoress's good sense; and say it, knowing it to be the truth.

These "Notes" are destroyed by too much smartness. It gives the
appearance of perpetual effort, stabs to the heart the nature that is in
them, and wearies by the manner and not by the matter. It is the
commonest fault in the world (as I have constant occasion to observe
here), but it is a very great one. Just as you couldn't bear to have an
epergne or a candlestick on your table, supported by a light figure
always on tiptoe and evidently in an impossible attitude for the
sustainment of its weight, so all readers would be more or less
oppressed and worried by this presentation of everything in one smart
point of view, when they know it must have other, and weightier, and
more solid properties. Airiness and good spirits are always delightful,
and are inseparable from notes of a cheerful trip; but they should
sympathise with many things as well as see them in a lively way. It is
but a word or a touch that expresses this humanity, but without that
little embellishment of good nature there is no such thing as humour. In
this little MS. everything is too much patronised and condescended to,
whereas the slightest touch of feeling for the rustic who is of the
earth earthy, or of sisterhood with the homely servant who has made her
face shine in her desire to please, would make a difference that the
writer can scarcely imagine without trying it. The only relief in the
twenty-one slips is the little bit about the chimes. It _is_ a relief,
simply because it is an indication of some kind of sentiment. You don't
want any sentiment laboriously made out in such a thing. You don't want
any maudlin show of it. But you do want a pervading suggestion that it
is there. It makes all the difference between being playful and being
cruel. Again I must say, above all things--especially to young people
writing: For the love of God don't condescend! Don't assume the attitude
of saying, "See how clever I am, and what fun everybody else is!" Take
any shape but that.

I observe an excellent quality of observation throughout, and think the
boy at the shop, and all about him, particularly good. I have no doubt
whatever that the rest of the journal will be much better if the writer
chooses to make it so. If she considers for a moment within herself, she
will know that she derived pleasure from everything she saw, because she
saw it with innumerable lights and shades upon it, and bound to humanity
by innumerable fine links; she cannot possibly communicate anything of
that pleasure to another by showing it from one little limited point
only, and that point, observe, the one from which it is impossible to
detach the exponent as the patroness of a whole universe of inferior
souls. This is what everybody would mean in objecting to these notes
(supposing them to be published), that they are too smart and too
flippant.

As I understand this matter to be altogether between us three, and as I
think your confidence, and hers, imposes a duty of friendship on me, I
discharge it to the best of my ability. Perhaps I make more of it than
you may have meant or expected; if so, it is because I am interested and
wish to express it. If there had been anything in my objection not
perfectly easy of removal, I might, after all, have hesitated to state
it; but that is not the case. A very little indeed would make all this
gaiety as sound and wholesome and good-natured in the reader's mind as
it is in the writer's.

                                                Affectionately always.


[Sidenote: Anonymous.]

                 GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM, _Thursday, June 4th, 1857._

MY DEAR ----

Coming home here last night, from a day's business in London, I found
your most excellent note awaiting me, in which I have had a pleasure to
be derived from none but good and natural things. I can now honestly
assure you that I believe you will write _well_, and that I have a
lively hope that I may be the means of showing you yourself in print one
day. Your powers of graceful and light-hearted observation need nothing
but the little touches on which we are both agreed. And I am perfectly
sure that they will be as pleasant to you as to anyone, for nobody can
see so well as you do, without feeling kindly too.

To confess the truth to you, I was half sorry, yesterday, that I had
been so unreserved; but not half as sorry, yesterday, as I am glad
to-day. You must not mind my adding that there is a noble candour and
modesty in your note, which I shall never be able to separate from you
henceforth.

                                          Affectionately yours always.


[Sidenote: Mr. Henry Austin.]

                               GAD'S HILL, _Saturday, June 6th, 1857._

MY DEAR HENRY,

Here is a very serious business on the great estate respecting the water
supply. Last night, they had pumped the well dry merely in raising the
family supply for the day; and this morning (very little water having
been got into the cisterns) it is dry again! It is pretty clear to me
that we must look the thing in the face, and at once bore deeper, dig,
or do some beastly thing or other, to secure this necessary in
abundance. Meanwhile I am in a most plaintive and forlorn condition
without your presence and counsel. I raise my voice in the wilderness
and implore the same!!!

Wild legends are in circulation among the servants how that Captain
Goldsmith on the knoll above--the skipper in that crow's-nest of a
house--has millions of gallons of water always flowing for him. Can he
have damaged my well? Can we imitate him, and have our millions of
gallons? Goldsmith or I must fall, so I conceive.

If you get this, send me a telegraph message informing me when I may
expect comfort. I am held by four of the family while I write this, in
case I should do myself a mischief--it certainly won't be taking to
drinking water.

                              Ever affectionately (most despairingly).


[Sidenote: Mr. W. C. Macready.]

                           TAVISTOCK HOUSE, _Monday, July 13th, 1857._

MY DEAREST MACREADY,

Many thanks for your Indian information. I shall act upon it in the most
exact manner. Walter sails next Monday. Charley and I go down with him
to Southampton next Sunday. We are all delighted with the prospect of
seeing you at Gad's Hill. These are my Jerrold engagements: On Friday,
the 24th, I have to repeat my reading at St. Martin's Hall; on Saturday,
the 25th, to repeat "The Frozen Deep" at the Gallery of Illustration for
the last time. On Thursday, the 30th, or Friday, the 31st, I shall
probably read at Manchester. Deane, the general manager of the
Exhibition, is going down to-night, and will arrange all the
preliminaries for me. If you and I went down to Manchester together, and
were there on a Sunday, he would give us the whole Exhibition to
ourselves. It is probable, I think (as he estimates the receipts of a
night at about seven hundred pounds), that we may, in about a fortnight
or so after the reading, play "The Frozen Deep" at Manchester. But of
this contingent engagement I at present know no more than you do.

Now, will you, upon this exposition of affairs, choose your own time for
coming to us, and, when you have made your choice, write to me at Gad's
Hill? I am going down this afternoon for rest (which means violent
cricket with the boys) after last Saturday night; which was a teaser,
but triumphant. The St. Martin's Hall audience was, I must confess, a
very extraordinary thing. The two thousand and odd people were like one,
and their enthusiasm was something awful.

Yet I have seen that before, too. Your young remembrance cannot recall
the man; but he flourished in my day--a great actor, sir--a noble
actor--thorough artist! I have seen him do wonders in that way. He
retired from the stage early in life (having a monomaniacal delusion
that he was old), and is said to be still living in your county.

All join in kindest love to your dear sister and all the rest.

                         Ever, my dearest Macready,
                                            Most affectionately yours.


[Sidenote: Mr. Edmund Yates.]

                           TAVISTOCK HOUSE, _Sunday, July 19th, 1857._

MY DEAR YATES,

Although I date this ashore, I really write it from Southampton (don't
notice this fact in your reply, for I shall be in town on Wednesday). I
have come here on an errand which will grow familiar to you before you
know that Time has flapped his wings over your head. Like me, you will
find those babies grow to be young men before you are quite sure they
are born. Like me, you will have great teeth drawn with a wrench, and
will only then know that you ever cut them. I am here to send Walter
away over what they call, in Green Bush melodramas, "the Big Drink," and
I don't at all know this day how he comes to be mine, or I his.

I don't write to say this--or to say how seeing Charley, and he going
aboard the ship before me just now, I suddenly came into possession of a
photograph of my own back at sixteen and twenty, and also into a
suspicion that I had doubled the last age. I merely write to mention
that Telbin and his wife are going down to Gad's Hill with us, about
mid-day next Sunday, and that if you and Mrs. Yates will come too, we
shall be delighted to have you. We can give you a bed, and you can be in
town (if you have such a savage necessity) by twenty minutes before ten
on Monday morning.

I was very much pleased (as I had reason to be) with your account of the
reading in _The Daily News_. I thank you heartily.


[Sidenote: Mr. T. P. Cooke.]

        IN REMEMBRANCE OF THE LATE MR. DOUGLAS JERROLD.

               COMMITTEE'S OFFICE, GALLERY OF ILLUSTRATION,
                           REGENT STREET, _Thursday, July 30th, 1857._

MY DEAR MR. COOKE,

I cannot rest satisfied this morning without writing to congratulate you
on your admirable performance of last night. It was so fresh and
vigorous, so manly and gallant, that I felt as if it splashed against my
theatre-heated face along with the spray of the breezy sea. What I felt
everybody felt; I should feel it quite an impertinence to take myself
out of the crowd, therefore, if I could by any means help doing so. But
I can't; so I hope you will feel that you bring me on yourself, and have
only yourself to blame.

                                              Always faithfully yours.


[Sidenote: Mrs. Compton.]

                        GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER,
                                        _Sunday Night, Aug 2nd, 1857._

MY DEAR MRS. COMPTON,

We are going to play "The Frozen Deep" (pursuant to requisition from
town magnates, etc.) at Manchester, at the New Free Trade Hall, on the
nights of Friday and Saturday, the 21st and 22nd August.

The place is out of the question for my girls. Their action could not be
seen, and their voices could not be heard. You and I have played, there
and elsewhere, so sociably and happily, that I am emboldened to ask you
whether you would play my sister-in-law Georgina's part (Compton and
babies permitting).

We shall go down in the old pleasant way, and shall have the Art
Treasures Exhibition to ourselves on the Sunday; when even "he" (as
Rogers always called every pretty woman's husband) might come and join
us.

What do you say? What does he say? and what does baby say? When I use
the term "baby," I use it in two tenses--present and future.

Answer me at this address, like the Juliet I saw at Drury Lane--when was
it?--yesterday. And whatever your answer is, if you will say that you
and Compton will meet us at the North Kent Station, London Bridge, next
Sunday at a quarter before one, and will come down here for a breath of
sweet air and stay all night, you will give your old friends great
pleasure. Not least among them,

                                                     Yours faithfully.


[Sidenote: Mr. W. C. Macready.]

                        GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER,
                                             _Monday, Aug. 3rd, 1857._

MY DEAREST MACREADY,

I write to you in reference to your last note, as soon as I positively
know our final movements in the Jerrold matter.

We are going to wind up by acting at Manchester (on solemn requisition)
on the evenings of Friday and Saturday, the 21st and 22nd (actresses
substituted for the girls, of course). We shall have to leave here on
the morning of the 20th. You thought of coming on the 16th; can't you
make it a day or two earlier, so as to be with us a whole week? Decide
and pronounce. Again, cannot you bring Katey with you? Decide and
pronounce thereupon, also.

I read at Manchester last Friday. As many thousand people were there as
you like to name. The collection of pictures in the Exhibition is
wonderful. And the power with which the modern English school asserts
itself is a very gratifying and delightful thing to behold. The care for
the common people, in the provision made for their comfort and
refreshment, is also admirable and worthy of all commendation. But they
want more amusement, and particularly (as it strikes me) _something in
motion_, though it were only a twisting fountain. The thing is too still
after their lives of machinery, and art flies over their heads in
consequence.

I hope you have seen my tussle with the "Edinburgh." I saw the chance
last Friday week, as I was going down to read the "Carol" in St.
Martin's Hall. Instantly turned to, then and there, and wrote half the
article. Flew out of bed early next morning, and finished it by noon.
Went down to Gallery of Illustration (we acted that night), did the
day's business, corrected the proofs in Polar costume in dressing-room,
broke up two numbers of "Household Words" to get it out directly, played
in "Frozen Deep" and "Uncle John," presided at supper of company, made
no end of speeches, went home and gave in completely for four hours,
then got sound asleep, and next day was as fresh as you used to be in
the far-off days of your lusty youth.

All here send kindest love to your dear good sister and all the house.

                                         Ever and ever affectionately.


[Sidenote: Mr. Frank Stone, A.R.A.]

                  TAVISTOCK HOUSE, _Sunday Afternoon, Aug. 9th, 1857._

MY DEAR STONE,

Now here, without any preface, is a good, confounding, stunning question
for you--would you like to play "Uncle John" on the two nights at
Manchester?

It is not a long part. You could have a full rehearsal on the Friday,
and I could sit in the wing at night and pull you through all the
business. Perhaps you might not object to being in the thing in your own
native place, and the relief to me would be enormous.

This is what has come into my head lying in bed to-day (I have been in
bed all day), and this is just my plain reason for writing to you.

It's a capital part, and you are a capital old man. You know the play as
we play it, and the Manchester people don't. Say the word, and I'll send
you my own book by return of post.

The agitation and exertion of Richard Wardour are so great to me, that I
cannot rally my spirits in the short space of time I get. The strain is
so great to make a show of doing it, that I want to be helped out of
"Uncle John" if I can. Think of yourself far more than me; but if you
half think you are up to the joke, and half doubt your being so, then
give me the benefit of the doubt and play the part.

Answer me at Gad's Hill.

                                                  Ever affectionately.

P.S.--If you play, I shall immediately announce it to all concerned. If
you don't, I shall go on as if nothing had happened, and shall say
nothing to anyone.


[Sidenote: Mr. Henry Austin.]

                        GAD'S HILL PLACE, _Saturday, Aug. 15th, 1857._

MY DEAR HENRY,

At last, I am happy to inform you, we have got at a famous spring!! It
rushed in this morning, ten foot deep. And our friends talk of its
supplying "a ton a minute for yourself and your family, sir, for
nevermore."

They ask leave to bore ten feet lower, to prevent the possibility of
what they call "a choking with sullage." Likewise, they are going to
insert "a rose-headed pipe;" at the mention of which implement, I am
(secretly) well-nigh distracted, having no idea of what it means. But I
have said "Yes," besides instantly standing a bottle of gin. Can you
come back, and can you get down on Monday morning, to advise and
endeavour to decide on the mechanical force we shall use for raising the
water? I would return with you, as I shall have to be in town until
Thursday, and then to go to Manchester until the following Tuesday.

I send this by hand to John, to bring to you.

                                                  Ever affectionately.


[Sidenote: Mr. Frank Stone, A.R.A.]

                          GAD'S HILL PLACE, _Monday, Aug. 17th, 1857._

MY DEAR STONE,

I received your kind note this morning, and write this reply here to
take to London with me and post in town, being bound for that village
and three days' drill of the professional ladies who are to succeed the
Tavistock girls.

My book I enclose. There is a slight alteration (which does not affect
you) at the end of the first act, in order that the piece may be played
through without having the drop curtain down. You will not find the
situations or business difficult, with me on the spot to put you right.

Now, as to the dress. You will want a pair of pumps, and a pair of white
silk socks; these you can get at Manchester. The extravagantly and
anciently-frilled shirts that I have had got up for the part, I will
bring you down; large white waistcoat, I will bring you down; large
white hat, I will bring you down; dressing-gown, I will bring you down;
white gloves and ditto choker you can get at Manchester. There then
remain only a pair of common nankeen tights, to button below the calf,
and blue wedding-coat. The nankeen tights you had best get made at once;
my "Uncle John" coat I will send you down in a parcel by to-morrow's
train, to have altered in Manchester to your shape and figure. You will
then be quite independent of Christian chance and Jewish Nathan, which
latter potentate is now at Canterbury with the cricket amateurs, and
might fail.

A Thursday's rehearsal is (unfortunately) now impracticable, the passes
for the railway being all made out, and the company's sailing orders
issued. But, as I have already suggested, with a careful rehearsal on
Friday morning, and with me at the wing at night to put you right, you
will find yourself sliding through it easily. There is nothing in the
least complicated in the business. As to the dance, you have only to
knock yourself up for a twelvemonth and it will go nobly.

After all, too, if you _should_, through any unlucky breakdown, come to
be afraid of it, I am no worse off than I was before, if I have to do it
at last. Keep your pecker up with that.

I am heartily obliged to you, my dear old boy, for your affectionate and
considerate note, and I wouldn't have you do it, really and
sincerely--immense as the relief will be to me--unless you are quite
comfortable in it, and able to enjoy it.

                                                  Ever affectionately.


[Sidenote: Mr. Frank Stone, A.R.A.]

              OFFICE OF "HOUSEHOLD WORDS," _Tuesday, Aug. 18th, 1857._

MY DEAR STONE,

I sent you a telegraph message last night, in total contradiction of the
letter you received from me this morning.

The reason was simply this: Arthur Smith and the other business men,
both in Manchester and here, urged upon me, in the strongest manner,
that they were afraid of the change; that it was well known in
Manchester that I had done the part in London; that there was a danger
of its being considered disrespectful in me to give it up; also that
there was a danger that it might be thought that I did so at the last
minute, after an immense let, whereas I might have done it at first,
etc. etc. etc. Having no desire but for the success of our object, and a
becoming recognition on my part of the kind Manchester public's
cordiality, I gave way, and thought it best to go on.

I do so against the grain, and against every inclination, and against
the strongest feeling of gratitude to you. My people at home will be
miserable too when they hear I am going to do it. If I could have heard
from you sooner, and got the bill out sooner, I should have been firmer
in considering my own necessity of relief. As it is, I sneak under; and
I hope you will feel the reasons, and approve.

                                                  Ever affectionately.


[Sidenote: Mr. Henry Austin.]

                       GAD'S HILL PLACE, _Wednesday, Sept. 2nd, 1857._

MY DEAR HENRY,

The second conspirator has been here this morning to ask whether you
wish the windlass to be left in the yard, and whether you will want him
and his mate any more, and, if so, when? Of course he says (rolling
something in the form of a fillet in at one broken tooth all the while,
and rolling it out at another) that they could wish fur to have the
windlass if it warn't any ways a hill conwenience fur to fetch her away.
I have told him that if he will come back on Friday he shall have your
reply. Will you, therefore, send it me by return of post? He says he'll
"look up" (as if he was an astronomer) "a Friday arterdinner."

On Monday I am going away with Collins for ten days or a fortnight, on a
"tour in search of an article" for "Household Words." We have not the
least idea where we are going; but _he_ says, "Let's look at the Norfolk
coast," and _I_ say, "Let's look at the back of the Atlantic." I don't
quite know what I mean by that; but have a general impression that I
mean something knowing.

I am horribly used up after the Jerrold business. Low spirits, low
pulse, low voice, intense reaction. If I were not like Mr. Micawber,
"falling back for a spring" on Monday, I think I should slink into a
corner and cry.

                                                  Ever affectionately.


[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]

              ALLONBY, CUMBERLAND, _Wednesday Night, Sept. 9th, 1857._

MY DEAR GEORGY,

       *       *       *       *       *

Think of Collins's usual luck with me! We went up a Cumberland mountain
yesterday--a huge black hill, fifteen hundred feet high. We took for a
guide a capital innkeeper hard by. It rained in torrents--as it only
does rain in a hill country--the whole time. At the top, there were
black mists and the darkness of night. It then came out that the
innkeeper had not been up for twenty years, and he lost his head and
himself altogether; and we couldn't get down again! What wonders the
Inimitable performed with his compass until it broke with the heat and
wet of his pocket no matter; it did break, and then we wandered about,
until it was clear to the Inimitable that the night must be passed
there, and the enterprising travellers probably die of cold. We took our
own way about coming down, struck, and declared that the guide might
wander where he would, but we would follow a watercourse we lighted
upon, and which must come at last to the river. This necessitated
amazing gymnastics; in the course of which performances, Collins fell
into the said watercourse with his ankle sprained, and the great
ligament of the foot and leg swollen I don't know how big.

How I enacted Wardour over again in carrying him down, and what a
business it was to get him down; I may say in Gibbs's words: "Vi lascio
a giudicare!" But he was got down somehow, and we got off the mountain
somehow; and now I carry him to bed, and into and out of carriages,
exactly like Wardour in private life. I don't believe he will stand for
a month to come. He has had a doctor, and can wear neither shoe nor
stocking, and has his foot wrapped up in a flannel waistcoat, and has a
breakfast saucer of liniment, and a horrible dabbling of lotion
incessantly in progress. We laugh at it all, but I doubt very much
whether he can go on to Doncaster. It will be a miserable blow to our H.
W. scheme, and I say nothing about it as yet; but he is really so
crippled that I doubt the getting him there. We have resolved to fall
to work to-morrow morning and begin our writing; and there, for the
present, that point rests.

This is a little place with fifty houses, five bathing-machines, five
girls in straw hats, five men in straw hats, and no other company. The
little houses are all in half-mourning--yellow stone on white stone, and
black; and it reminds me of what Broadstairs might have been if it had
not inherited a cliff, and had been an Irishman. But this is a capital
little homely inn, looking out upon the sea; and we are really very
comfortably lodged. I can just stand upright in my bedroom. Otherwise,
it is a good deal like one of Ballard's top-rooms. We have a very
obliging and comfortable landlady; and it is a clean nice place in a
rough wild country. We came here haphazard, but could not have done
better.

We lay last night at a place called Wigton--also in half-mourning--with
the wonderful peculiarity that it had no population, no business, no
streets to speak of; but five linendrapers within range of our small
windows, one linendraper's next door, and five more linendrapers round
the corner. I ordered a night-light in my bedroom. A queer little old
woman brought me one of the common Child's night-lights, and seeming to
think that I looked at it with interest, said: "It's joost a vara
keeyourious thing, sir, and joost new coom oop. It'll burn awt hoors a'
end, an no gootther, nor no waste, nor ony sike a thing, if you can
creedit what I say, seein' the airticle."

Of course _I_ shall go to Doncaster, whether or no (please God), and my
postage directions to you remain unchanged. Love to Mamey, Katey,
Charley, Harry, and the darling Plorn.

                                                  Ever affectionately.


[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]

                        LANCASTER, _Saturday Night, Sept. 12th, 1857._

MY DEAR GEORGY,

I received your letter at Allonby yesterday, and was delighted to get
it. We came back to Carlisle last night (to a capital inn, kept by
Breach's brother), and came on here to-day. We are on our way to
Doncaster; but Sabbath observance throws all the trains out; and
although it is not a hundred miles from here, we shall have, as well as
I can make out the complicated lists of trains, to sleep at Leeds--which
I particularly detest as an odious place--to-morrow night.

Accustomed as you are to the homage which men delight to render to the
Inimitable, you would be scarcely prepared for the proportions it
assumes in this northern country. Station-masters assist him to alight
from carriages, deputations await him in hotel entries, innkeepers bow
down before him and put him into regal rooms, the town goes down to the
platform to see him off, and Collins's ankle goes into the newspapers!!!

It is a great deal better than it was, and he can get into new hotels
and up the stairs with two thick sticks, like an admiral in a farce. His
spirits have improved in a corresponding degree, and he contemplates
cheerfully the keeping house at Doncaster. I thought (as I told you) he
would never have gone there, but he seems quite up to the mark now. Of
course he can never walk out, or see anything of any place. We have done
our first paper for H. W., and sent it up to the printer's.

The landlady of the little inn at Allonby lived at Greta Bridge, in
Yorkshire, when I went down there before "Nickleby," and was smuggled
into the room to see me, when I was secretly found out. She is an
immensely fat woman now. "But I could tuck my arm round her waist then,
Mr. Dickens," the landlord said when she told me the story as I was
going to bed the night before last. "And can't you do it now," I said,
"you insensible dog? Look at me! Here's a picture!" Accordingly, I got
round as much of her as I could; and this gallant action was the most
successful I have ever performed, on the whole. I think it was the
dullest little place I ever entered; and what with the monotony of an
idle sea, and what with the monotony of another sea in the room
(occasioned by Collins's perpetually holding his ankle over a pail of
salt water, and laving it with a milk jug), I struck yesterday, and came
away.

We are in a very remarkable old house here, with genuine old rooms and
an uncommonly quaint staircase. I have a state bedroom, with two
enormous red four-posters in it, each as big as Charley's room at Gad's
Hill. Bellew is to preach here to-morrow. "And we know he is a friend of
yours, sir," said the landlord, when he presided over the serving of the
dinner (two little salmon trout; a sirloin steak; a brace of partridges;
seven dishes of sweets; five dishes of dessert, led off by a bowl of
peaches; and in the centre an enormous bride-cake--"We always have it
here, sir," said the landlord, "custom of the house.") (Collins turned
pale, and estimated the dinner at half a guinea each.)

This is the stupidest of letters, but all description is gone, or going,
into "The Lazy Tour of Two Idle Apprentices."

Kiss the darling Plorn, who is often in my thoughts. Best love to
Charley, Mamey, and Katie. I will write to you again from Doncaster,
where I shall be rejoiced to find another letter from you.

                               Ever affectionately, my dearest Georgy.


[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]

                  ANGEL HOTEL, DONCASTER, _Tuesday, Sept. 15th, 1857._

MY DEAR GEORGY,

I found your letter here on my arrival yesterday. I had hoped that the
wall would have been almost finished by this time, and the additions to
the house almost finished too--but patience, patience!

We have very good, clean, and quiet apartments here, on the second
floor, looking down into the main street, which is full of horse
jockeys, bettors, drunkards, and other blackguards, from morning to
night--and all night. The races begin to-day and last till Friday, which
is the Cup Day. I am not going to the course this morning, but have
engaged a carriage (open, and pair) for to-morrow and Friday.

"The Frozen Deep's" author gets on as well as could be expected. He can
hobble up and down stairs when absolutely necessary, and limps to his
bedroom on the same floor. He talks of going to the theatre to-night in
a cab, which will be the first occasion of his going out, except to
travel, since the accident. He sends his kind regards and thanks for
enquiries and condolence. I am perpetually tidying the rooms after him,
and carrying all sorts of untidy things which belong to him into his
bedroom, which is a picture of disorder. You will please to imagine
mine, airy and clean, little dressing-room attached, eight water-jugs (I
never saw such a supply), capital sponge-bath, perfect arrangement, and
exquisite neatness. We breakfast at half-past eight, and fall to work
for H. W. afterwards. Then I go out, and--hem! look for subjects.

The mayor called this morning to do the honours of the town, whom it
pleased the Inimitable to receive with great courtesy and affability. He
propounded invitation to public _dejeuner_, which it did _not_ please
the Inimitable to receive, and which he graciously rejected.

That's all the news. Everything I can describe by hook or by crook, I
describe for H. W. So there is nothing of that sort left for letters.

Best love to dear Mamey and Katey, and to Charley, and to Harry. Any
number of kisses to the noble Plorn.

                                                  Ever affectionately.


[Sidenote: Mr. Arthur Ryland.]

                 GAD'S HILL PLACE, _Saturday Evening, Oct. 3rd, 1857._

MY DEAR SIR,

I have had the honour and pleasure of receiving your letter of the 28th
of last month, informing me of the distinction that has been conferred
upon me by the Council of the Birmingham and Midland Institute.

Allow me to assure you with much sincerity, that I am highly gratified
by having been elected one of the first honorary members of that
establishment. Nothing could have enhanced my interest in so important
an undertaking; but the compliment is all the more welcome to me on that
account.

I accept it with a due sense of its worth, with many acknowledgments and
with all good wishes.

                        I am ever, my dear Sir, very faithfully yours.


[Sidenote: Mr. Edmund Yates.]

                     TAVISTOCK HOUSE, _Monday Night, Nov. 16th, 1857._

MY DEAR YATES,

I retain the story with pleasure; and I need not tell you that you are
not mistaken in the last lines of your note.

Excuse me, on that ground, if I say a word or two as to what I think (I
mention it with a view to the future) might be better in the paper. The
opening is excellent. But it passes too completely into the Irishman's
narrative, does not light it up with the life about it, or the
circumstances under which it is delivered, and does not carry through
it, as I think it should with a certain indefinable subtleness, the
thread with which you begin your weaving. I will tell Wills to send me
the proof, and will try to show you what I mean when I shall have gone
over it carefully.

                                              Faithfully yours always.


[Sidenote: Mr. Frank Stone, A.R.A.]

                        TAVISTOCK HOUSE, _Wednesday, Dec. 13th, 1857._

MY DEAR STONE,

I find on enquiry that the "General Theatrical Fund" has relieved
non-members in one or two instances; but that it is exceedingly
unwilling to do so, and would certainly not do so again, saving on some
very strong and exceptional case. As its trustee, I could not represent
to it that I think it ought to sail into those open waters, for I very
much doubt the justice of such cruising, with a reference to the
interests of the patient people who support it out of their small
earnings.

                                                  Affectionately ever.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] The part played in "The Frozen Deep" by its author, Mr. Wilkie
Collins.

[2] The Earl of Carlisle was at this time Viceroy of Ireland.




Book III.

1858 TO 1870.




1858.

NARRATIVE.


All through this year, Charles Dickens was constantly moving about from
place to place. After much and careful consideration, he had come to the
determination of, for the future, giving readings for his own benefit.
And although in the spring of this year he gave one reading of his
"Christmas Carol" for a charity, all the other readings, beginning from
the 29th April, and ever after, were for himself. In the autumn of this
year he made reading tours in England, Scotland, and Ireland, always
accompanied by his friend and secretary, Mr. Arthur Smith. At Newcastle,
Charles Dickens was joined by his daughters, who accompanied him in his
Scotch tour. The letters to his sister-in-law, and to his eldest
daughter, are all given here, and will be given in all future reading
tours, as they form a complete diary of his life and movements at these
times. To avoid the constant repetition of the two names, the beginning
of the letters will be dispensed with in all cases where they follow
each other in unbroken succession. The Mr. Frederick Lehmann mentioned
in the letter written from Sheffield, had married a daughter of Mr.
Robert Chambers, and niece of Mrs. Wills. Coming to settle in London a
short time after this date, Mr. and Mrs. Lehmann became intimately known
to Charles Dickens and his family--more especially to his eldest
daughter, to whom they have been, and are, the kindest and truest of
friends. The "pretty little boy" mentioned as being under Mrs. Wills's
care, was their eldest son.

We give the letter to Mr. Thackeray, not because it is one of very great
interest, but because, being the only one we have, we are glad to have
the two names associated together in this work.

The "little speech" alluded to in this first letter to Mr. Macready was
one made by Charles Dickens at a public dinner, which was given in aid
of the Hospital for Sick Children, in Great Ormond Street. He afterwards
(early in April) gave a reading from his "Christmas Carol" for this same
charity.

The Christmas number of "Household Words," mentioned in a letter to Mr.
Wilkie Collins, was called "A House to Let," and contained stories
written by Charles Dickens, Mr. Wilkie Collins, and other contributors
to "Household Words."


[Sidenote: Mr. W. Wilkie Collins.]

                           TAVISTOCK HOUSE, _Sunday, Jan. 17th, 1858._

MY DEAR WILKIE,

I am very sorry to receive so bad an account of the foot. But I hope it
is all in the past tense now.

I met with an incident the other day, which I think is a good deal in
your way, for introduction either into a long or short story. Dr.
Sutherland and Dr. Monro went over St. Luke's with me (only last
Friday), to show me some distinctly and remarkably developed types of
insanity. Among other patients, we passed a deaf and dumb man, now
afflicted with incurable madness too, of whom they said that it was only
when his madness began to develop itself in strongly-marked mad actions,
that it began to be suspected. "Though it had been there, no doubt, some
time." This led me to consider, suspiciously, what employment he had
been in, and so to ask the question. "Aye," says Dr. Sutherland, "that
is the most remarkable thing of all, Mr. Dickens. He was employed in the
transmission of electric-telegraph messages; and it is impossible to
conceive what delirious despatches that man may have been sending about
all over the world!"

Rejoiced to hear such good report of the play.

                                                      Ever faithfully.


[Sidenote: Mr. Edmund Yates.]

                           TAVISTOCK HOUSE, _Tuesday, Feb. 2nd, 1858._

MY DEAR YATES,

Your quotation is, as I supposed, all wrong. The text is _not_ "which
his 'owls was organs." When Mr. Harris went into an empty dog-kennel, to
spare his sensitive nature the anguish of overhearing Mrs. Harris's
exclamations on the occasion of the birth of her first child (the
Princess Royal of the Harris family), "he never took his hands away from
his ears, or came out once, till he was showed the baby." On
encountering that spectacle, he was (being of a weakly constitution)
"took with fits." For this distressing complaint he was medically
treated; the doctor "collared him, and laid him on his back upon the
airy stones"--please to observe what follows--"and she was told, to ease
her mind, his 'owls was organs."

That is to say, Mrs. Harris, lying exhausted on her bed, in the first
sweet relief of freedom from pain, merely covered with the counterpane,
and not yet "put comfortable," hears a noise apparently proceeding from
the back-yard, and says, in a flushed and hysterical manner: "What 'owls
are those? Who is a-'owling? Not my ugebond?" Upon which the doctor,
looking round one of the bottom posts of the bed, and taking Mrs.
Harris's pulse in a reassuring manner, says, with much admirable
presence of mind: "Howls, my dear madam?--no, no, no! What are we
thinking of? Howls, my dear Mrs. Harris? Ha, ha, ha! Organs, ma'am,
organs. Organs in the streets, Mrs. Harris; no howls."

                                                     Yours faithfully.


[Sidenote: Mr. W. M. Thackeray.]

                           TAVISTOCK HOUSE, _Tuesday, Feb. 2nd, 1858._

MY DEAR THACKERAY,

The wisdom of Parliament, in that expensive act of its greatness which
constitutes the Guild, prohibits that corporation _from doing anything_
until it shall have existed in a perfectly useless condition for seven
years. This clause (introduced by some private-bill magnate of official
might) seemed so ridiculous, that nobody could believe it to have this
meaning; but as I felt clear about it when we were on the very verge of
granting an excellent literary annuity, I referred the point to counsel,
and my construction was confirmed without a doubt.

It is therefore needless to enquire whether an association in the nature
of a provident society could address itself to such a case as you
confide to me. The prohibition has still two or three years of life in
it.

But, assuming the gentleman's title to be considered as an "author" as
established, there is no question that it comes within the scope of the
Literary Fund. They would habitually "lend" money if they did what I
consider to be their duty; as it is they only give money, but they give
it in such instances.

I have forwarded the envelope to the Society of Arts, with a request
that they will present it to Prince Albert, approaching H.R.H. in the
Siamese manner.

                                                      Ever faithfully.


[Sidenote: Mr. John Forster.]

                   TAVISTOCK HOUSE, _Wednesday Night, Feb. 3rd, 1858._

MY DEAR FORSTER,

I beg to report two phenomena:

1. An excellent little play in one act, by Marston, at the Lyceum;
title, "A Hard Struggle;" as good as "La Joie fait Peur," though not at
all like it.

2. Capital acting in the same play, by Mr. Dillon. Real good acting, in
imitation of nobody, and honestly made out by himself!!

I went (at Marston's request) last night, and cried till I sobbed again.
I have not seen a word about it from Oxenford. But it is as wholesome
and manly a thing altogether as I have seen for many a day. (I would
have given a hundred pounds to have played Mr. Dillon's part).

Love to Mrs. Forster.

                                                  Ever affectionately.


[Sidenote: Dr. Westland Marston.]

                         TAVISTOCK HOUSE, _Wednesday, Feb. 3rd, 1858._

MY DEAR MARSTON,

I most heartily and honestly congratulate you on your charming little
piece. It moved me more than I could easily tell you, if I were to try.
Except "La Joie fait Peur," I have seen nothing nearly so good, and
there is a subtlety in the comfortable presentation of the child who is
to become a devoted woman for Reuben's sake, which goes a long way
beyond Madame de Girardin. I am at a loss to let you know how much I
admired it last night, or how heartily I cried over it. A touching idea,
most delicately conceived and wrought out by a true artist and poet, in
a spirit of noble, manly generosity, that no one should be able to study
without great emotion.

It is extremely well acted by all concerned; but Mr. Dillon's
performance is really admirable, and deserving of the highest
commendation. It is good in these days to see an actor taking such
pains, and expressing such natural and vigorous sentiment. There is only
one thing I should have liked him to change. I am much mistaken if any
man--least of all any such man--would crush a letter written by the hand
of the woman he loved. Hold it to his heart unconsciously and look about
for it the while, he might; or he might do any other thing with it that
expressed a habit of tenderness and affection in association with the
idea of her; but he would never crush it under any circumstances. He
would as soon crush her heart.

You will see how closely I went with him, by my minding so slight an
incident in so fine a performance. There is no one who could approach
him in it; and I am bound to add that he surprised me as much as he
pleased me.

I think it might be worth while to try the people at the Francais with
the piece. They are very good in one-act plays; such plays take well
there, and this seems to me well suited to them. If you would like
Samson or Regnier to read the play (in English), I know them well, and
would be very glad indeed to tell them that I sent it with your sanction
because I had been so much struck by it.

                                              Faithfully yours always.


[Sidenote: Monsieur Regnier.]

           TAVISTOCK HOUSE, LONDON, W.C., _Thursday, Feb. 11th, 1858._

MY DEAR REGNIER,

I want you to read the enclosed little play. You will see that it is in
one act--about the length of "La Joie fait Pour." It is now acting at
the Lyceum Theatre here, with very great success. The author is Mr.
Westland Marston, a dramatic writer of reputation, who wrote a very
well-known tragedy called "The Patrician's Daughter," in which Macready
and Miss Faucit acted (under Macready's management at Drury Lane) some
years ago.

This little piece is so very powerful on the stage, its interest is so
simple and natural, and the part of Reuben is such a very fine one, that
I cannot help thinking you might make one grand _coup_ with it, if with
your skilful hand you arranged it for the Francais. I have communicated
this idea of mine to the author, "_et la-dessus je vous ecris_." I am
anxious to know your opinion, and shall expect with much interest to
receive a little letter from you at your convenience.

Mrs. Dickens, Miss Hogarth, and all the house send a thousand kind loves
and regards to Madame Regnier and the dear little boys. You will bring
them to London when you come, with all the force of the Francais--will
you not?

                        Ever, my dear Regnier, faithfully your Friend.


[Sidenote: Monsieur Regnier.]

                         TAVISTOCK HOUSE, _Saturday, Feb. 20th, 1858._

MY DEAR REGNIER,

Let me thank you with all my heart for your most patient and kind
letter. I made its contents known to Mr. Marston, and I enclose you his
reply. You will see that he cheerfully leaves the matter in your hands,
and abides by your opinion and discretion.

You need not return his letter, my friend. There is great excitement
here this morning, in consequence of the failure of the Ministry last
night to carry the bill they brought in to please your Emperor and his
troops. _I_, for one, am extremely glad of their defeat.

"Le vieux P----," I have no doubt, will go staggering down the Rue de la
Paix to-day, with his stick in his hand and his hat on one side,
predicting the downfall of everything, in consequence of this event. His
handwriting shakes more and more every quarter, and I think he mixes a
great deal of cognac with his ink. He always gives me some astonishing
piece of news (which is never true), or some suspicious public prophecy
(which is never verified), and he always tells me he is dying (which he
never is).

Adieu, my dear Regnier, accept a thousand thanks from me, and believe
me, now and always,

                                Your affectionate and faithful Friend.


[Sidenote: Mr. W. C. Macready.]

                                  TAVISTOCK HOUSE, _March 15th, 1858._

MY DEAREST MACREADY,

I have safely received your cheque this morning, and will hand it over
forthwith to the honorary secretary of the hospital. I hope you have
read the little speech in the hospital's publication of it. They had it
taken by their own shorthand-writer, and it is done verbatim.

You may be sure that it is a good and kind charity. It is amazing to me
that it is not at this day ten times as large and rich as it is. But I
hope and trust that I have happily been able to give it a good thrust
onward into a great course. We all send our most affectionate love to
all the house. I am devising all sorts of things in my mind, and am in a
state of energetic restlessness incomprehensible to the calm
philosophers of Dorsetshire. What a dream it is, this work and strife,
and how little we do in the dream after all! Only last night, in my
sleep, I was bent upon getting over a perspective of barriers, with my
hands and feet bound. Pretty much what we are all about, waking, I
think?

But, Lord! (as I said before) you smile pityingly, not bitterly, at this
hubbub, and moralise upon it, in the calm evenings when there is no
school at Sherborne.

                                        Ever affectionately and truly.


[Sidenote: Mrs Hogge.[3]]

              TAVISTOCK HOUSE, TAVISTOCK SQUARE, LONDON, W.C.,
                                        _Wednesday, April 14th, 1858._

MY DEAR MRS. HOGGE,

After the profoundest cogitation, I come reluctantly to the conclusion
that I do not know that orphan. If you were the lady in want of him, I
should certainly offer _myself_. But as you are not, I will not hear of
the situation.

It is wonderful to think how many charming little people there must be,
to whom this proposal would be like a revelation from Heaven. Why don't
I know one, and come to Kensington, boy in hand, as if I had walked (I
wish to God I had) out of a fairy tale! But no, I do _not_ know that
orphan. He is crying somewhere, by himself, at this moment. I can't dry
his eyes. He is being neglected by some ogress of a nurse. I can't
rescue him.

I will make a point of going to the Athenaeum on Monday night; and if I
had five hundred votes to give, Mr. Macdonald should have them all, for
your sake.

I grieve to hear that you have been ill, but I hope that the spring,
when it comes, will find you blooming with the rest of the flowers.

                                                Very faithfully yours.


[Sidenote: Mr. Edmund Yates.]

                  TAVISTOCK HOUSE, TAVISTOCK SQUARE, LONDON, W.C.,
                                        _Wednesday, April 28th, 1858._

MY DEAR YATES,

For a good many years I have suffered a great deal from charities, but
never anything like what I suffer now. The amount of correspondence they
inflict upon me is really incredible. But this is nothing. Benevolent
men get behind the piers of the gates, lying in wait for my going out;
and when I peep shrinkingly from my study-windows, I see their
pot-bellied shadows projected on the gravel. Benevolent bullies drive up
in hansom cabs (with engraved portraits of their benevolent institutions
hanging over the aprons, like banners on their outward walls), and stay
long at the door. Benevolent area-sneaks get lost in the kitchens and
are found to impede the circulation of the knife-cleaning machine. My
man has been heard to say (at The Burton Arms) "that if it was a
wicious place, well and good--_that_ an't door work; but that wen all
the Christian wirtues is always a-shoulderin' and a-helberin' on you in
the 'all, a-tryin' to git past you and cut upstairs into master's room,
why no wages as you couldn't name wouldn't make it up to you."

                                                     Persecuted ever.


[Sidenote: Mrs Yates.]

(THE CHARMING ACTRESS, THE MOTHER OF MR. EDMUND YATES.)

                       TAVISTOCK HOUSE, TAVISTOCK SQUARE, W.C.,
                                    _Saturday Evening, May 15th, 1858._

MY DEAR MRS. YATES,

Pray believe that I was sorry with all my heart to miss you last
Thursday, and to learn the occasion of your absence; also that, whenever
you can come, your presence will give me a new interest in that evening.
No one alive can have more delightful associations with the lightest
sound of your voice than I have; and to give you a minute's interest and
pleasure, in acknowledgment of the uncountable hours of happiness you
gave me when you were a mysterious angel to me, would honestly gratify
my heart.

                                 Very faithfully and gratefully yours.


[Sidenote: M. de Cerjat.]

                              GAD'S HILL, _Wednesday, July 7th, 1858._

MY DEAR CERJAT,

I should vainly try to tell you--so I _won't_ try--how affected I have
been by your warm-hearted letter, or how thoroughly well convinced I
always am of the truth and earnestness of your friendship. I thank you,
my dear, dear fellow, with my whole soul. I fervently return that
friendship and I highly cherish it.

You want to know all about me? I am still reading in London every
Thursday, and the audiences are very great, and the success immense. On
the 2nd of August I am going away on a tour of some four months in
England, Ireland, and Scotland. I shall read, during that time, not
fewer than four or five times a week. It will be sharp work; but
probably a certain musical clinking will come of it, which will mitigate
the hardship.

At this present moment I am on my little Kentish freehold (_not_ in
top-boots, and not particularly prejudiced that I know of), looking on
as pretty a view out of my study window as you will find in a long day's
English ride. My little place is a grave red brick house (time of George
the First, I suppose), which I have added to and stuck bits upon in all
manner of ways, so that it is as pleasantly irregular, and as violently
opposed to all architectural ideas, as the most hopeful man could
possibly desire. It is on the summit of Gad's Hill. The robbery was
committed before the door, on the man with the treasure, and Falstaff
ran away from the identical spot of ground now covered by the room in
which I write. A little rustic alehouse, called The Sir John Falstaff,
is over the way--has been over the way, ever since, in honour of the
event. Cobham Woods and Park are behind the house; the distant Thames in
front; the Medway, with Rochester, and its old castle and cathedral, on
one side. The whole stupendous property is on the old Dover Road, so
when you come, come by the North Kent Railway (not the South-Eastern) to
Strood or Higham, and I'll drive over to fetch you.

The blessed woods and fields have done me a world of good, and I am
quite myself again. The children are all as happy as children can be. My
eldest daughter, Mary, keeps house, with a state and gravity becoming
that high position; wherein she is assisted by her sister Katie, and by
her aunt Georgina, who is, and always has been, like another sister. Two
big dogs, a bloodhound and a St. Bernard, direct from a convent of that
name, where I think you once were, are their principal attendants in the
green lanes. These latter instantly untie the neckerchiefs of all tramps
and prowlers who approach their presence, so that they wander about
without any escort, and drive big horses in basket-phaetons through
murderous bye-ways, and never come to grief. They are very curious about
your daughters, and send all kinds of loves to them and to Mrs. Cerjat,
in which I heartily join.

You will have read in the papers that the Thames in London is most horrible.
I have to cross Waterloo or London Bridge to get to the railroad when I
come down here, and I can certify that the offensive smells, even in
that short whiff, have been of a most head-and-stomach-distending
nature. Nobody knows what is to be done; at least everybody knows a
plan, and everybody else knows it won't do; in the meantime cartloads of
chloride of lime are shot into the filthy stream, and do something I
hope. You will know, before you get this, that the American telegraph
line has parted again, at which most men are sorry, but very few
surprised. This is all the news, except that there is an Italian Opera
at Drury Lane, price eighteenpence to the pit, where Viardot, by far the
greatest artist of them all, sings, and which is full when the dear
opera can't let a box; and except that the weather has been
exceptionally hot, but is now quite cool. On the top of this hill it has
been cold, actually cold at night, for more than a week past.

I am going over to Rochester to post this letter, and must write another
to Townshend before I go. My dear Cerjat, I have written lightly
enough, because I want you to know that I am becoming cheerful and
hearty. God bless you! I love you, and I know that you love me.

                                  Ever your attached and affectionate.


[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]

                       WEST HOE, PLYMOUTH, _Thursday, Aug. 5th, 1858._

MY DEAREST GEORGY,

I received your letter this morning with the greatest pleasure, and read
it with the utmost interest in all its domestic details.

We had a most wonderful night at Exeter. It is to be regretted that we
cannot take the place again on our way back. It was a prodigious cram,
and we turned away no end of people. But not only that, I think they
were the finest audience I have ever read to. I don't think I ever read,
in some respects, so well; and I never beheld anything like the personal
affection which they poured out upon me at the end. It was really a very
remarkable sight, and I shall always look back upon it with pleasure.

Last night here was not so bright. There are quarrels of the strangest
kind between the Plymouth people and the Stonehouse people. The room is
at Stonehouse (Tracy says the wrong room; there being a Plymouth room in
this hotel, and he being a Plymouthite). We had a fair house, but not at
all a great one. All the notabilities come this morning to "Little
Dombey," for which we have let one hundred and thirty stalls, which
local admiration of local greatness considers very large. For "Mrs. Gamp
and the Boots," to-night, we have also a very promising let. But the
races are on, and there are two public balls to-night, and the yacht
squadron are all at Cherbourg to boot. Arthur is of opinion that "Two
Sixties" will do very well for us. I doubt the "Two Sixties" myself.
_Mais nous verrons._

The room is a very handsome one, but it is on the top of a windy and
muddy hill, leading (literally) to nowhere; and it looks (except that it
is new and _mortary_) as if the subsidence of the waters after the
Deluge might have left it where it is. I have to go right through the
company to get to the platform. Big doors slam and resound when anybody
comes in; and all the company seem afraid of one another. Nevertheless
they were a sensible audience last night, and much impressed and
pleased.

Tracy is in the room (wandering about, and never finishing a sentence),
and sends all manner of sea-loves to you and the dear girls. I send all
manner of land-loves to you from myself, out of my heart of hearts, and
also to my dear Plorn and the boys.

Arthur sends his kindest love. He knows only two characters. He is
either always corresponding, like a Secretary of State, or he is
transformed into a rout-furniture dealer of Rathbone Place, and drags
forms about with the greatest violence, without his coat.

I have no time to add another word.

                         Ever, dearest Georgy, your most affectionate.


[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]

                                   LONDON, _Saturday, Aug. 7th, 1858._

MY DEAREST MAMEY,

The closing night at Plymouth was a very great scene, and the morning
there was exceedingly good too. You will be glad to hear that at Clifton
last night, a torrent of five hundred shillings bore Arthur away,
pounded him against the wall, flowed on to the seats over his body,
scratched him, and damaged his best dress suit. All to his unspeakable
joy.

This is a very short letter, but I am going to the Burlington Arcade,
desperately resolved to have all those wonderful instruments put into
operation on my head, with a view to refreshing it.

Kindest love to Georgy and to all.

                                               Ever your affectionate.


[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]

                              SHREWSBURY, _Thursday, Aug. 12th, 1858._

A wonderful audience last night at Wolverhampton. If such a thing can
be, they were even quicker and more intelligent than the audience I had
in Edinburgh. They were so wonderfully good and were so much on the
alert this morning by nine o'clock for another reading, that we are
going back there at about our Bradford time. I never saw such people.
And the local agent would take no money, and charge no expenses of his
own.

This place looks what Plorn would call "ortily" dull. Local agent
predicts, however, "great satisfaction to Mr. Dickens, and excellent
attendance." I have just been to look at the hall, where everything was
wrong, and where I have left Arthur making a platform for me out of
dining-tables.

If he comes back in time, I am not quite sure but that he is himself
going to write to Gad's Hill. We talk of coming up from Chester _in the
night to-morrow, after the reading_; and of showing our precious selves
at an apparently impossibly early hour in the Gad's Hill breakfast-room
on Saturday morning.

I have not felt the fatigue to any extent worth mentioning; though I
get, every night, into the most violent heats. We are going to dine at
three o'clock (it wants a quarter now) and have not been here two
hours, so I have seen nothing of Clement.

Tell Georgy with my love, that I read in the same room in which we
acted, but at the end opposite to that where our stage was. We are not
at the inn where the amateur company put up, but at The Lion, where the
fair Miss Mitchell was lodged alone. We have the strangest little rooms
(sitting-room and two bed-rooms all together), the ceilings of which I
can touch with my hand. The windows bulge out over the street, as if
they were little stern-windows in a ship. And a door opens out of the
sitting-room on to a little open gallery with plants in it, where one
leans over a queer old rail, and looks all downhill and slant-wise at
the crookedest black and yellow old houses, all manner of shapes except
straight shapes. To get into this room we come through a china closet;
and the man in laying the cloth has actually knocked down, in that
repository, two geraniums and Napoleon Bonaparte.

I think that's all I have to say, except that at the Wolverhampton
theatre they played "Oliver Twist" last night (Mr. Toole the Artful
Dodger), "in consequence of the illustrious author honouring the town
with his presence." We heard that the device succeeded very well, and
that they got a good many people.

John's spirits have been equable and good since we rejoined him. Berry
has always got something the matter with his digestion--seems to me the
male gender of Maria Jolly, and ought to take nothing but Revalenta
Arabica. Bottled ale is not to be got in these parts, and Arthur is
thrown upon draught.

My dearest love to Georgy and to Katey, also to Marguerite. Also to all
the boys and the noble Plorn.

                                        Ever your affectionate Father.


[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]

                TAVISTOCK HOUSE, TAVISTOCK SQUARE, LONDON, W.C.,
                                 _Wednesday Morning, Aug. 18th, 1858._

I write this hurried line before starting, to report that my cold is
decidedly better, thank God (though still bad), and that I hope to be
able to stagger through to-night. After dinner yesterday I began to
recover my voice, and I think I sang half the Irish Melodies to myself,
as I walked about to test it. I got home at half-past ten, and
mustard-poulticed and barley-watered myself tremendously.

Love to the dear girls, and to all.

                                                  Ever affectionately.


[Sidenote: The same.]

            ADELPHI HOTEL, LIVERPOOL, _Friday Night, Aug. 20th, 1858._

I received your welcome and interesting letter to-day, and I write you a
very hurried and bad reply; but it is _after the reading_, and you will
take the will for the deed under these trying circumstances, I know.

We have had a tremendous night; the largest house I have ever had since
I first began--two thousand three hundred people. To-morrow afternoon,
at three, I read again.

My cold has been oppressive, and is not yet gone. I have been very hard
to sleep too, and last night I was all but sleepless. This morning I was
very dull and seedy; but I got a good walk, and picked up again. It has
been blowing all day, and I fear we shall have a sick passage over to
Dublin to-morrow night.

Tell Mamie (with my dear love to her and Katie) that I will write to her
from Dublin--probably on Sunday. Tell her too that the stories she told
me in her letter were not only capital stories in themselves, but
_excellently told_ too.

What Arthur's state has been to-night--he, John, Berry, and Boylett, all
taking money and going mad together--you _cannot_ imagine. They turned
away hundreds, sold all the books, rolled on the ground of my room
knee-deep in checks, and made a perfect pantomime of the whole thing. He
has kept quite well, I am happy to say, and sends a hundred loves.

In great haste and fatigue.

                                                  Ever affectionately.


[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]

                  MORRISON'S HOTEL, DUBLIN, _Monday, Aug. 23rd, 1858._

We had a nasty crossing here. We left Holyhead at one in the morning,
and got here at six. Arthur was incessantly sick the whole way. I was
not sick at all, but was in as healthy a condition otherwise as humanity
need be. We are in a beautiful hotel. Our sitting-room is exactly like
the drawing-room at the Peschiere in all its dimensions. I never saw two
rooms so exactly resembling one another in their proportions. Our
bedrooms too are excellent, and there are baths and all sorts of
comforts.

The Lord Lieutenant is away, and the place looks to me as if its
professional life were away too. Nevertheless, there are numbers of
people in the streets. Somehow, I hardly seem to think we are going to
do enormously here; but I have scarcely any reason for supposing so
(except that a good many houses are shut up); and I _know_ nothing about
it, for Arthur is now gone to the agent and to the room. The men came by
boat direct from Liverpool. They had a rough passage, were all ill, and
did not get here till noon yesterday. Donnybrook Fair, or what remains
of it, is going on, within two or three miles of Dublin. They went out
there yesterday in a jaunting-car, and John described it to us at
dinner-time (with his eyebrows lifted up, and his legs well asunder), as
"Johnny Brooks's Fair;" at which Arthur, who was drinking bitter ale,
nearly laughed himself to death. Berry is always unfortunate, and when I
asked what had happened to Berry on board the steamboat, it appeared
that "an Irish gentleman which was drunk, and fancied himself the
captain, wanted to knock Berry down."

I am surprised by finding this place very much larger than I had
supposed it to be. Its bye-parts are bad enough, but cleaner, too, than
I had supposed them to be, and certainly very much cleaner than the old
town of Edinburgh. The man who drove our jaunting-car yesterday hadn't a
piece in his coat as big as a penny roll, and had had his hat on
(apparently without brushing it) ever since he was grown up. But he was
remarkably intelligent and agreeable, with something to say about
everything. For instance, when I asked him what a certain building was,
he didn't say "courts of law" and nothing else, but: "Av you plase, sir,
it's the foor coorts o' looyers, where Misther O'Connell stood his trial
wunst, ye'll remimber, sir, afore I tell ye of it." When we got into the
Phoenix Park, he looked round him as if it were his own, and said:
"THAT'S a park, sir, av yer plase." I complimented it, and he said:
"Gintlemen tills me as they'r bin, sir, over Europe, and never see a
park aqualling ov it. 'Tis eight mile roond, sir, ten mile and a half
long, and in the month of May the hawthorn trees are as beautiful as
brides with their white jewels on. Yonder's the vice-regal lodge, sir;
in them two corners lives the two sicretirries, wishing I was them, sir.
There's air here, sir, av yer plase! There's scenery here, sir! There's
mountains--thim, sir! Yer coonsider it a park, sir? It is that, sir!"

You should have heard John in my bedroom this morning endeavouring to
imitate a bath-man, who had resented his interference, and had said as
to the shower-bath: "Yer'll not be touching _that_, young man. Divil a
touch yer'll touch o' that insthrument, young man!" It was more
ridiculously unlike the reality than I can express to you, yet he was so
delighted with his powers that he went off in the absurdest little
gingerbeery giggle, backing into my portmanteau all the time.

My dear love to Katie and to Georgy, also to the noble Plorn and all the
boys. I shall write to Katie next, and then to Aunty. My cold, I am
happy to report, is very much better. I lay in the wet all night on
deck, on board the boat, but am not as yet any the worse for it. Arthur
was quite insensible when we got to Dublin, and stared at our luggage
without in the least offering to claim it. He left his kindest love for
all before he went out. I will keep the envelope open until he comes in.

                             Ever, my dearest Mamie,
                                        Your most affectionate Father.


[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]

               MORRISON'S HOTEL, DUBLIN, _Wednesday, Aug. 25th, 1858._

I begin my letter to you to-day, though I don't know when I may send it
off. We had a very good house last night, after all, that is to say, a
great rush of shillings and good half-crowns, though the stalls were
comparatively few. For "Little Dombey," this morning, we have an immense
stall let--already more than two hundred--and people are now fighting in
the agent's shop to take more. Through some mistake of our printer's,
the evening reading for this present Wednesday was dropped, in a great
part of the announcements, and the agent opened no plan for it. I have
therefore resolved not to have it at all. Arthur Smith has waylaid me
in all manner of ways, but I remain obdurate. I am frightfully tired,
and really relieved by the prospect of an evening--overjoyed.

They were a highly excitable audience last night, but they certainly did
not comprehend--internally and intellectually comprehend--"The Chimes"
as a London audience do. I am quite sure of it. I very much doubt the
Irish capacity of receiving the pathetic; but of their quickness as to
the humorous there can be no doubt. I shall see how they go along with
Little Paul, in his death, presently.

While I was at breakfast this morning, a general officer was announced
with great state--having a staff at the door--and came in, booted and
plumed, and covered with Crimean decorations. It was Cunninghame, whom
we knew in Genoa--then a captain. He was very hearty indeed, and came to
ask me to dinner. Of course I couldn't go. Olliffe has a brother at
Cork, who has just now (noon) written to me, proposing dinners and
excursions in that neighbourhood which would fill about a week; I being
there a day and a half, and reading three times. The work will be very
severe here, and I begin to feel depressed by it. (By "here," I mean
Ireland generally, please to observe.)

We meant, as I said in a letter to Katie, to go to Queenstown yesterday
and bask on the seashore. But there is always so much to do that we
couldn't manage it after all. We expect a tremendous house to-morrow
night as well as to-day; and Arthur is at the present instant up to his
eyes in business (and seats), and, between his regret at losing
to-night, and his desire to make the room hold twice as many as it
_will_ hold, is half distracted. I have become a wonderful
Irishman--must play an Irish part some day--and his only relaxation is
when I enact "John and the Boots," which I consequently do enact all day
long. The papers are full of remarks upon my white tie, and describe it
as being of enormous size, which is a wonderful delusion, because, as
you very well know, it is a small tie. Generally, I am happy to report,
the Emerald press is in favour of my appearance, and likes my eyes. But
one gentleman comes out with a letter at Cork, wherein he says that
although only forty-six I look like an old man. _He_ is a rum customer,
I think.

The Rutherfords are living here, and wanted me to dine with them, which,
I needn't say, could not be done; all manner of people have called, but
I have seen only two. John has given it up altogether as to rivalry with
the Boots, and did not come into my room this morning at all. Boots
appeared triumphant and alone. He was waiting for me at the hotel-door
last night. "Whaa't sart of a hoose, sur?" he asked me. "Capital." "The
Lard be praised fur the 'onor o' Dooblin!"

Arthur buys bad apples in the streets and brings them home and doesn't
eat them, and then I am obliged to put them in the balcony because they
make the room smell faint. Also he meets countrymen with honeycomb on
their heads, and leads them (by the buttonhole when they have one) to
this gorgeous establishment and requests the bar to buy honeycomb for
his breakfast; then it stands upon the sideboard uncovered and the flies
fall into it. He buys owls, too, and castles, and other horrible
objects, made in bog-oak (that material which is not appreciated at
Gad's Hill); and he is perpetually snipping pieces out of newspapers and
sending them all over the world. While I am reading he conducts the
correspondence, and his great delight is to show me seventeen or
eighteen letters when I come, exhausted, into the retiring-place. Berry
has not got into any particular trouble for forty-eight hours, except
that he is all over boils. I have prescribed the yeast, but
ineffectually. It is indeed a sight to see him and John sitting in
pay-boxes, and surveying Ireland out of pigeon-holes.

                                       _Same Evening before Bed-time._

Everybody was at "Little Dombey" to-day, and although I had some little
difficulty to work them up in consequence of the excessive crowding of
the place, and the difficulty of shaking the people into their seats,
the effect was unmistakable and profound. The crying was universal, and
they were extraordinarily affected. There is no doubt we could stay here
a week with that one reading, and fill the place every night. Hundreds
of people have been there to-night, under the impression that it would
come off again. It was a most decided and complete success.

Arthur has been imploring me to stop here on the Friday after Limerick,
and read "Little Dombey" again. But I have positively said "No." The
work is too hard. It is not like doing it in one easy room, and always
the same room. With a different place every night, and a different
audience with its own peculiarity every night, it is a tremendous
strain. I was sick of it to-day before I began, then got myself into
wonderful train.

Here follows a dialogue (but it requires imitation), which I had
yesterday morning with a little boy of the house--landlord's son, I
suppose--about Plorn's age. I am sitting on the sofa writing, and find
him sitting beside me.

        INIMITABLE. Holloa, old chap.

        YOUNG IRELAND. Hal-loo!

        INIMITABLE (_in his delightful way_). What a
        nice old fellow you are. I am very fond of
        little boys.

        YOUNG IRELAND. Air yer? Ye'r right.

        INIMITABLE. What do you learn, old fellow?

        YOUNG IRELAND (_very intent on Inimitable, and
        always childish, except in his brogue_). I
        lairn wureds of three sillibils, and wureds of
        two sillibils, and wureds of one sillibil.

        INIMITABLE (_gaily_). Get out, you humbug! You
        learn only words of one syllable.

        YOUNG IRELAND (_laughs heartily_). You may say
        that it is mostly wureds of one sillibil.

        INIMITABLE. Can you write?

        YOUNG IRELAND. Not yet. Things comes by
        deegrays.

        INIMITABLE. Can you cipher?

        YOUNG IRELAND (_very quickly_). Wha'at's that?

        INIMITABLE. Can you make figures?

        YOUNG IRELAND. I can make a nought, which is
        not asy, being roond.

        INIMITABLE. I say, old boy, wasn't it you I saw
        on Sunday morning in the hall, in a soldier's
        cap? You know--in a soldier's cap?

        YOUNG IRELAND (_cogitating deeply_). Was it a
        very good cap?

        INIMITABLE. Yes.

        YOUNG IRELAND. Did it fit unkommon?

        INIMITABLE. Yes.

        YOUNG IRELAND. Dat was me!

There are two stupid old louts at the room, to show people into their
places, whom John calls "them two old Paddies," and of whom he says,
that he "never see nothing like them (snigger) hold idiots" (snigger).
They bow and walk backwards before the grandees, and our men hustle them
while they are doing it.

We walked out last night, with the intention of going to the theatre;
but the Piccolomini establishment (they were doing the "Lucia") looked
so horribly like a very bad jail, and the Queen's looked so
blackguardly, that we came back again, and went to bed. I seem to be
always either in a railway carriage, or reading, or going to bed. I get
so knocked up, whenever I have a minute to remember it, that then I go
to bed as a matter of course.

I send my love to the noble Plorn, and to all the boys. To dear Mamie
and Katie, and to yourself of course, in the first degree. I am looking
forward to the last Irish reading on Thursday, with great impatience.
But when we shall have turned this week, once knocked off Belfast, I
shall see land, and shall (like poor Timber in the days of old) "keep up
a good heart." I get so wonderfully hot every night in my dress clothes,
that they positively won't dry in the short interval they get, and I
have been obliged to write to Doudney's to make me another suit, that I
may have a constant change.

                         Ever, my dearest Georgy, most affectionately.


[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]

                                 BELFAST, _Saturday, Aug. 28th, 1858._

When I went down to the Rotunda at Dublin on Thursday night, I said to
Arthur, who came rushing at me: "You needn't tell me. I know all about
it." The moment I had come out of the door of the hotel (a mile off), I
had come against the stream of people turned away. I had struggled
against it to the room. There, the crowd in all the lobbies and passages
was so great, that I had a difficulty in getting in. They had broken all
the glass in the pay-boxes. They had offered frantic prices for stalls.
Eleven bank-notes were thrust into that pay-box (Arthur saw them) at one
time, for eleven stalls. Our men were flattened against walls, and
squeezed against beams. Ladies stood all night with their chins against
my platform. Other ladies sat all night upon my steps. You never saw
such a sight. And the reading went tremendously! It is much to be
regretted that we troubled ourselves to go anywhere else in Ireland. We
turned away people enough to make immense houses for a week.

We arrived here yesterday at two. The room will not hold more than from
eighty to ninety pounds. The same scene was repeated with the additional
feature, that the people are much rougher here than in Dublin, and that
there was a very great uproar at the opening of the doors, which, the
police in attendance being quite inefficient and only looking on, it was
impossible to check. Arthur was in the deepest misery because shillings
got into stalls, and half-crowns got into shillings, and stalls got
nowhere, and there was immense confusion. It ceased, however, the moment
I showed myself; and all went most brilliantly, in spite of a great
piece of the cornice of the ceiling falling with a great crash within
four or five inches of the head of a young lady on my platform (I was
obliged to have people there), and in spite of my gas suddenly going out
at the time of the game of forfeits at Scrooge's nephew's, through some
Belfastian gentleman accidentally treading on the flexible pipe, and
needing to be relighted.

We shall not get to Cork before mid-day on Monday; it being difficult to
get from here on a Sunday. We hope to be able to start away to-morrow
morning to see the Giant's Causeway (some sixteen miles off), and in
that case we shall sleep at Dublin to-morrow night, leaving here by the
train at half-past three in the afternoon. Dublin, you must understand,
is on the way to Cork. This is a fine place, surrounded by lofty hills.
The streets are very wide, and the place is very prosperous. The whole
ride from Dublin here is through a very picturesque and various country;
and the amazing thing is, that it is all particularly neat and orderly,
and that the houses (outside at all events) are all brightly whitewashed
and remarkably clean. I want to climb one of the neighbouring hills
before this morning's "Dombey." I am now waiting for Arthur, who has
gone to the bank to remit his last accumulation of treasure to London.

Our men are rather indignant with the Irish crowds, because in the
struggle they don't sell books, and because, in the pressure, they can't
force a way into the room afterwards to sell them. They are deeply
interested in the success, however, and are as zealous and ardent as
possible. I shall write to Katie next. Give her my best love, and kiss
the darling Plorn for me, and give my love to all the boys.

                       Ever, my dearest Mamie,
                                        Your most affectionate Father.


[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]

            MORRISON'S HOTEL, DUBLIN, _Sunday Night, Aug. 29th, 1858._

I am so delighted to find your letter here to-night (eleven o'clock),
and so afraid that, in the wear and tear of this strange life, I have
written to Gad's Hill in the wrong order, and have not written to you,
as I should, that I resolve to write this before going to bed. You will
find it a wretchedly stupid letter; but you may imagine, my dearest
girl, that I am tired.

The success at Belfast has been equal to the success here. Enormous! We
turned away half the town. I think them a better audience, on the whole,
than Dublin; and the personal affection there was something
overwhelming. I wish you and the dear girls could have seen the people
look at me in the street; or heard them ask me, as I hurried to the
hotel after reading last night, to "do me the honour to shake hands,
Misther Dickens, and God bless you, sir; not ounly for the light you've
been to me this night, but for the light you've been in mee house, sir
(and God love your face), this many a year." Every night, by-the-bye,
since I have been in Ireland, the ladies have beguiled John out of the
bouquet from my coat. And yesterday morning, as I had showered the
leaves from my geranium in reading "Little Dombey," they mounted the
platform, after I was gone, and picked them all up as keepsakes!

I have never seen _men_ go in to cry so undisguisedly as they did at
that reading yesterday afternoon. They made no attempt whatever to hide
it, and certainly cried more than the women. As to the "Boots" at night,
and "Mrs. Gamp" too, it was just one roar with me and them; for they
made me laugh so that sometimes I _could not_ compose my face to go on.

You must not let the new idea of poor dear Landor efface the former
image of the fine old man. I wouldn't blot him out, in his tender
gallantry, as he sat upon that bed at Forster's that night, for a
million of wild mistakes at eighty years of age.

I hope to be at Tavistock House before five o'clock next Saturday
morning, and to lie in bed half the day, and come home by the 10.50 on
Sunday.

Tell the girls that Arthur and I have each ordered at Belfast a trim,
sparkling, slap-up _Irish jaunting-car_!!! I flatter myself we shall
astonish the Kentish people. It is the oddest carriage in the world, and
you are always falling off. But it is gay and bright in the highest
degree. Wonderfully Neapolitan.

What with a sixteen mile ride before we left Belfast, and a sea-beach
walk, and a two o'clock dinner, and a seven hours' railway ride since, I
am--as we say here--"a thrifle weary." But I really am in wonderful
force, considering the work. For which I am, as I ought to be, very
thankful.

Arthur was exceedingly unwell last night--could not cheer up at all. He
was so very unwell that he left the hall(!) and became invisible after
my five minutes' rest. I found him at the hotel in a jacket and
slippers, and with a hot bath just ready. He was in the last stage of
prostration. The local agent was with me, and proposed that he (the
wretched Arthur) should go to his office and balance the accounts then
and there. He went, in the jacket and slippers, and came back in twenty
minutes, _perfectly well_, in consequence of the admirable balance. He
is now sitting opposite to me ON THE BAG OF SILVER, forty pounds (it
must be dreadfully hard), writing to Boulogne.

I suppose it is clear that the next letter I write is Katie's. Either
from Cork or from Limerick, it shall report further. At Limerick I read
in the theatre, there being no other place.

Best love to Mamie and Katie, and dear Plorn, and all the boys left when
this comes to Gad's Hill; also to my dear good Anne, and her little
woman.

                                                  Ever affectionately.


[Sidenote: Mr. W. Wilkie Collins.]

                      GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,
                                            _Monday, Sept. 6th, 1858._

MY DEAR WILKIE,

First, let me report myself here for something less than eight-and-forty
hours. I come last (and direct--a pretty hard journey) from Limerick.
The success in Ireland has been immense.

The work is very hard, sometimes overpowering; but I am none the worse
for it, and arrived here quite fresh.

Secondly, will you let me recommend the enclosed letter from Wigan, as
the groundwork of a capital article, in your way, for H. W.? There is
not the least objection to a plain reference to him, or to Phelps, to
whom the same thing happened a year or two ago, near Islington, in the
case of a clever and capital little daughter of his. I think it a
capital opportunity for a discourse on gentility, with a glance at those
other schools which advertise that the "sons of gentlemen only" are
admitted, and a just recognition of the greater liberality of our public
schools. There are tradesmen's sons at Eton, and Charles Kean was at
Eton, and Macready (also an actor's son) was at Rugby. Some such title
as "Scholastic Flunkeydom," or anything infinitely contemptuous, would
help out the meaning. Surely such a schoolmaster must swallow all the
silver forks that the pupils are expected to take when they come, and
are not expected to take away with them when they go. And of course he
could not exist, unless he had flunkey customers by the dozen.

Secondly--no, this is thirdly now--about the Christmas number. I have
arranged so to stop my readings, as to be available for it on _the 15th
of November_, which will leave me time to write a good article, if I
clear my way to one. Do you see your way to our making a Christmas
number of this idea that I am going very briefly to hint? Some
disappointed person, man or woman, prematurely disgusted with the world,
for some reason or no reason (the person should be young, I think)
retires to an old lonely house, or an old lonely mill, or anything you
like, with one attendant, resolved to shut out the world, and hold no
communion with it. The one attendant sees the absurdity of the idea,
pretends to humour it, but really thus to slaughter it. Everything that
happens, everybody that comes near, every breath of human interest that
floats into the old place from the village, or the heath, or the four
cross-roads near which it stands, and from which belated travellers
stray into it, shows beyond mistake that you can't shut out the world;
that you are in it, to be of it; that you get into a false position the
moment you try to sever yourself from it; and that you must mingle with
it, and make the best of it, and make the best of yourself into the
bargain.

If we could plot out a way of doing this together, I would not be afraid
to take my part. If we could not, could we plot out a way of doing it,
and taking in stories by other hands? If we could not do either (but I
think we could), shall we fall back upon a round of stories again? That
I would rather not do, if possible. Will you think about it?

And can you come and dine at Tavistock House _on Monday, the 20th
September, at half-past five_? I purpose being at home there with the
girls that day.

Answer this, according to my printed list for the week. I am off to
Huddersfield on Wednesday morning.

I think I will now leave off; merely adding that I have got a splendid
brogue (it really is exactly like the people), and that I think of
coming out as the only legitimate successor of poor Power.

                           Ever, my dear Wilkie, affectionately yours.


[Sidenote: Miss Mary Boyle.]

                      STATION HOTEL, YORK, _Friday, Sept. 10th, 1858._

DEAREST MEERY,

First let me tell you that all the magicians and spirits in your employ
have fulfilled the instructions of their wondrous mistress to
admiration. Flowers have fallen in my path wherever I have trod; and
when they rained upon me at Cork I was more amazed than you ever saw me.

Secondly, receive my hearty and loving thanks for that same. (Excuse a
little Irish in the turn of that sentence, but I can't help it).

Thirdly, I have written direct to Mr. Boddington, explaining that I am
bound to be in Edinburgh on the day when he courteously proposes to do
me honour.

I really cannot tell you how truly and tenderly I feel your letter, and
how gratified I am by its contents. Your truth and attachment are
always so precious to me that I can_not_ get my heart out on my sleeve
to show it you. It is like a child, and, at the sound of some familiar
voices, "goes and hides."

You know what an affection I have for Mrs. Watson, and how happy it made
me to see her again--younger, much, than when I first knew her in
Switzerland.

God bless you always!

                                            Ever affectionately yours.


[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]

                 ROYAL HOTEL, SCARBOROUGH, _Sunday, Sept. 11th, 1858._

MY DEAREST GEORGY,

We had a very fine house indeed at York. All kinds of applications have
been made for another reading there, and no doubt it would be
exceedingly productive; but it cannot be done. At Harrogate yesterday;
the queerest place, with the strangest people in it, leading the oddest
lives of dancing, newspaper reading, and tables d'hote. The piety of
York obliging us to leave that place for this at six this morning, and
there being no night train from Harrogate, we had to engage a special
engine. We got to bed at one, and were up again before five; which,
after yesterday's fatigues, leaves me a little worn out at this present.

I have no accounts of this place as yet, nor have I received any letter
here. But the post of this morning is not yet delivered, I believe. We
have a charming room, overlooking the sea. Leech is here (living within
a few doors), with the partner of his bosom, and his young family. I
write at ten in the morning, having been here two hours; and you will
readily suppose that I have not seen him.

Of news, I have not the faintest breath. I seem to have been doing
nothing all my life but riding in railway-carriages and reading. The
railway of the morning brought us through Castle Howard, and under the
woods of Easthorpe, and then just below Malton Abbey, where I went to
poor Smithson's funeral. It was a most lovely morning, and, tired as I
was, I couldn't sleep for looking out of window.

Yesterday, at Harrogate, two circumstances occurred which gave Arthur
great delight. Firstly, he chafed his legs sore with his black bag of
silver. Secondly, the landlord asked him as a favour, "If he could
oblige him with a little silver." He obliged him directly with some
forty pounds' worth; and I suspect the landlord to have repented of
having approached the subject. After the reading last night we walked
over the moor to the railway, three miles, leaving our men to follow
with the luggage in a light cart. They passed us just short of the
railway, and John was making the night hideous and terrifying the
sleeping country, by _playing the horn_ in prodigiously horrible and
unmusical blasts.

My dearest love, of course, to the dear girls, and to the noble Plorn.
Apropos of children, there was one gentleman at the "Little Dombey"
yesterday morning, who exhibited, or rather concealed, the profoundest
grief. After crying a good deal without hiding it, he covered his face
with both his hands, and laid it down on the back of the seat before
him, and really shook with emotion. He was not in mourning, but I
supposed him to have lost some child in old time. There was a remarkably
good fellow of thirty or so, too, who found something so very ludicrous
in "Toots," that he _could not_ compose himself at all, but laughed
until he sat wiping his eyes with his handkerchief. And whenever he felt
"Toots" coming again he began to laugh and wipe his eyes afresh, and
when he came he gave a kind of cry, as if it were too much for him. It
was uncommonly droll, and made me laugh heartily.

                            Ever, dear Georgy, your most affectionate.


[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]

               SCARBOROUGH ARMS, LEEDS, _Wednesday, Sept. 15th, 1858._

MY DEAREST MAMIE,

I have added a pound to the cheque. I would recommend your seeing the
poor railway man again and giving him ten shillings, and telling him to
let you see him again in about a week. If he be then still unable to
lift weights and handle heavy things, I would then give him another ten
shillings, and so on.

Since I wrote to Georgy from Scarborough, we have had, thank God,
nothing but success. The Hull people (not generally considered
excitable, even on their own showing) were so enthusiastic, that we were
obliged to promise to go back there for two readings. I have positively
resolved not to lengthen out the time of my tour, so we are now
arranging to drop some small places, and substitute Hull again and York
again. But you will perhaps have heard this in the main from Arthur. I
know he wrote to you after the reading last night. This place I have
always doubted, knowing that we should come here when it was recovering
from the double excitement of the festival and the Queen. But there is a
very large hall let indeed, and the prospect of to-night consequently
looks bright.

Arthur told you, I suppose, that he had his shirt-front and waistcoat
torn off last night? He was perfectly enraptured in consequence. Our men
got so knocked about that he gave them five shillings apiece on the
spot. John passed several minutes upside down against a wall, with his
head amongst the people's boots. He came out of the difficulty in an
exceedingly touzled condition, and with his face much flushed. For all
this, and their being packed as you may conceive they would be packed,
they settled down the instant I went in, and never wavered in the
closest attention for an instant. It was a very high room, and required
a great effort.

Oddly enough, I slept in this house three days last year with Wilkie.
Arthur has the bedroom I occupied then, and I have one two doors from
it, and Gordon has the one between. Not only is he still with us, but he
_has_ talked of going on to Manchester, going on to London, and coming
back with us to Darlington next Tuesday!!!

These streets look like a great circus with the season just finished.
All sorts of garish triumphal arches were put up for the Queen, and they
have got smoky, and have been looked out of countenance by the sun, and
are blistered and patchy, and half up and half down, and are hideous to
behold. Spiritless men (evidently drunk for some time in the royal
honour) are slowly removing them, and on the whole it is more like the
clearing away of "The Frozen Deep" at Tavistock House than anything
within your knowledge--with the exception that we are not in the least
sorry, as we were then. Vague ideas are in Arthur's head that when we
come back to Hull, we are to come here, and are to have the Town Hall (a
beautiful building), and read to the million. I can't say yet. That
depends. I remember that when I was here before (I came from Rockingham
to make a speech), I thought them a dull and slow audience. I hope I may
have been mistaken. I never saw better audiences than the Yorkshire
audiences generally.

I am so perpetually at work or asleep, that I have not a scrap of news.
I saw the Leech family at Scarboro', both in my own house (that is to
say, hotel) and in theirs. They were not at either reading. Scarboro' is
gay and pretty, and I think Gordon had an idea that we were always at
some such place.

Kiss the darling Plorn for me, and give him my love; dear Katie too,
giving her the same. I feel sorry that I cannot get down to Gad's Hill
this next time, but I shall look forward to our being there with Georgy,
after Scotland. Tell the servants that I remember them, and hope they
will live with us many years.

                              Ever, my dearest Mamie,
                                        Your most affectionate Father.


[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]

                   KING'S HEAD, SHEFFIELD, _Friday, Sept. 17th, 1858._

I write you a few lines to Tavistock House, thinking you may not be
sorry to find a note from me there on your arrival from Gad's Hill.

Halifax was too small for us. I never saw such an audience though. They
were really worth reading to for nothing, though I didn't do exactly
that. It is as horrible a place as I ever saw, I think.

The run upon the tickets here is so immense that Arthur is obliged to
get great bills out, signifying that no more can be sold. It will be by
no means easy to get into the place the numbers who have already paid.
It is the hall we acted in. Crammed to the roof and the passages. We
must come back here towards the end of October, and are again altering
the list and striking out small places.

The trains are so strange and unintelligible in this part of the country
that we were obliged to leave Halifax at eight this morning, and
breakfast on the road--at Huddersfield again, where we had an hour's
wait. Wills was in attendance on the platform, and took me (here at
Sheffield, I mean) out to Frederick Lehmann's house to see Mrs. Wills.
She looked pretty much the same as ever, I thought, and was taking care
of a very pretty little boy. The house and grounds are as nice as
anything _can_ be in this smoke. A heavy thunderstorm is passing over
the town, and it is raining hard too.

This is a stupid letter, my dearest Georgy, but I write in a hurry, and
in the thunder and lightning, and with the crowd of to-night before me.

                                             Ever most affectionately.


[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]

                               STATION HOTEL, NEWCASTLE-ON-TYNE,
                                           _Sunday, Sept. 26th, 1858._

                              EXTRACT.

The girls (as I have no doubt they have already told you for themselves)
arrived here in good time yesterday, and in very fresh condition. They
persisted in going to the room last night, though I had arranged for
their remaining quiet.

We have done a vast deal here. I suppose you know that we are going to
Berwick, and that we mean to sleep there and go on to Edinburgh on
Monday morning, arriving there before noon? If it be as fine to-morrow
as it is to-day, the girls will see the coast piece of railway between
Berwick and Edinburgh to great advantage. I was anxious that they
should, because that kind of pleasure is really almost the only one they
are likely to have in their present trip.

Stanfield and Roberts are in Edinburgh, and the Scottish Royal Academy
gave them a dinner on Wednesday, to which I was very pressingly
invited. But, of course, my going was impossible. I read twice that day.

Remembering what you do of Sunderland, you will be surprised that our
profit there was very considerable. I read in a beautiful new theatre,
and (I thought to myself) quite wonderfully. Such an audience I never
beheld for rapidity and enthusiasm. The room in which we acted
(converted into a theatre afterwards) was burnt to the ground a year or
two ago. We found the hotel, so bad in our time, really good. I walked
from Durham to Sunderland, and from Sunderland to Newcastle.

Don't you think, as we shall be at home at eleven in the forenoon this
day fortnight, that it will be best for you and Plornish to come to
Tavistock House for that Sunday, and for us all to go down to Gad's Hill
next day? My best love to the noble Plornish. If he is quite reconciled
to the postponement of his trousers, I should like to behold his first
appearance in them. But, if not, as he is such a good fellow, I think it
would be a pity to disappoint and try him.

And now, my dearest Georgy, I think I have said all I have to say before
I go out for a little air. I had a very hard day yesterday, and am
tired.

                                          Ever your most affectionate.


[Sidenote: Mr. John Forster.]

                       TAVISTOCK HOUSE, TAVISTOCK SQUARE, LONDON,
                                            _Sunday, Oct. 10th, 1858._

MY DEAR FORSTER,

As to the truth of the readings, I cannot tell you what the
demonstrations of personal regard and respect are. How the densest and
most uncomfortably-packed crowd will be hushed in an instant when I show
my face. How the youth of colleges, and the old men of business in the
town, seem equally unable to get near enough to me when they cheer me
away at night. How common people and gentlefolks will stop me in the
streets and say: "Mr. Dickens, will you let me touch the hand that has
filled my home with so many friends?" And if you saw the mothers, and
fathers, and sisters, and brothers in mourning, who invariably come to
"Little Dombey," and if you studied the wonderful expression of comfort
and reliance with which they hang about me, as if I had been with them,
all kindness and delicacy, at their own little death-bed, you would
think it one of the strangest things in the world.

As to the mere effect, of course I don't go on doing the thing so often
without carefully observing myself and the people too in every little
thing, and without (in consequence) greatly improving in it.

At Aberdeen, we were crammed to the street twice in one day. At Perth
(where I thought when I arrived there literally could be nobody to
come), the nobility came posting in from thirty miles round, and the
whole town came and filled an immense hall. As to the effect, if you had
seen them after Lilian died, in "The Chimes," or when Scrooge woke and
talked to the boy outside the window, I doubt if you would ever have
forgotten it. And at the end of "Dombey" yesterday afternoon, in the
cold light of day, they all got up, after a short pause, gentle and
simple, and thundered and waved their hats with that astonishing
heartiness and fondness for me, that for the first time in all my public
career they took me completely off my legs, and I saw the whole eighteen
hundred of them reel on one side as if a shock from without had shaken
the hall.

The dear girls have enjoyed themselves immensely, and their trip has
been a great success. I hope I told you (but I forget whether I did or
no) how splendidly Newcastle[4] came out. I am reminded of Newcastle at
the moment because they joined me there.

I am anxious to get to the end of my readings, and to be at home again,
and able to sit down and think in my own study. But the fatigue, though
sometimes very great indeed, hardly tells upon me at all. And although
all our people, from Smith downwards, have given in, more or less, at
times, I have never been in the least unequal to the work, though
sometimes sufficiently disinclined for it. My kindest and best love to
Mrs. Forster.

                                                  Ever affectionately.


[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]

                        ROYAL HOTEL, DERBY, _Friday, Oct. 22nd, 1858._

MY DEAREST MAMIE,

I am writing in a very poor condition; I have a bad cold all over me,
pains in my back and limbs, and a very sensitive and uncomfortable
throat. There was a great draught up some stone steps near me last
night, and I daresay that caused it.

The weather on my first two nights at Birmingham was so intolerably
bad--it blew hard, and never left off raining for one single
moment--that the houses were not what they otherwise would have been. On
the last night the weather cleared, and we had a grand house.

Last night at Nottingham was almost, if not quite, the most amazing we
have had. It is not a very large place, and the room is by no means a
very large one, but three hundred and twenty stalls were let, and all
the other tickets were sold.

Here we have two hundred and twenty stalls let for to-night, and the
other tickets are gone in proportion. It is a pretty room, but not
large.

I have just been saying to Arthur that if there is not a large let for
York, I would rather give it up, and get Monday at Gad's Hill. We have
telegraphed to know. If the answer comes (as I suppose it will) before
post time, I will tell you in a postscript what we decide to do. Coming
to London in the night of to-morrow (Saturday), and having to see Mr.
Ouvry on Sunday, and having to start for York early on Monday, I fear I
should not be able to get to Gad's Hill at all. You won't expect me till
you see me.

Arthur and I have considered Plornish's joke in all the immense number
of aspects in which it presents itself to reflective minds. We have come
to the conclusion that it is the best joke ever made. Give the dear boy
my love, and the same to Georgy, and the same to Katey, and take the
same yourself. Arthur (excessively low and inarticulate) mutters that he
"unites."

[We knocked up Boylett, Berry, and John so frightfully yesterday, by
tearing the room to pieces and altogether reversing it, as late as four
o'clock, that we gave them a supper last night. They shine all over
to-day, as if it had been entirely composed of grease.]

                          Ever, my dearest Mamie,
                                        Your most affectionate Father.


[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]

                           WOLVERHAMPTON, _Wednesday, Nov. 3rd, 1858._

Little Leamington came out in the most amazing manner yesterday--turned
away hundreds upon hundreds of people. They are represented as the
dullest and worst of audiences. I found them very good indeed, even in
the morning.

There awaited me at the hotel, a letter from the Rev. Mr. Young,
Wentworth Watson's tutor, saying that Mrs. Watson wished her boy to
shake hands with me, and that he would bring him in the evening. I
expected him at the hotel before the readings. But he did not come. He
spoke to John about it in the room at night. The crowd and confusion,
however, were very great, and I saw nothing of him. In his letter he
said that Mrs. Watson was at Paris on her way home, and would be at
Brighton at the end of this week. I suppose I shall see her there at the
end of next week.

We find a let of two hundred stalls here, which is very large for this
place. The evening being fine too, and blue being to be seen in the sky
beyond the smoke, we expect to have a very full hall. Tell Mamey and
Katey that if they had been with us on the railway to-day between
Leamington and this place, they would have seen (though it is only an
hour and ten minutes by the express) fires and smoke indeed. We came
through a part of the Black Country that you know, and it looked at its
blackest. All the furnaces seemed in full blast, and all the coal-pits
to be working.

It is market-day here, and the ironmasters are standing out in the
street (where they always hold high change), making such an iron hum and
buzz, that they confuse me horribly. In addition, there is a bellman
announcing something--not the readings, I beg to say--and there is an
excavation being made in the centre of the open place, for a statue, or
a pump, or a lamp-post, or something or other, round which all the
Wolverhampton boys are yelling and struggling.

And here is Arthur, begging to have dinner at half-past three instead of
four, because he foresees "a wiry evening" in store for him. Under which
complication of distractions, to which a waitress with a tray at this
moment adds herself, I sink, and leave off.

My best love to the dear girls, and to the noble Plorn, and to you.
Marguerite and Ellen Stone not forgotten. All yesterday and to-day I
have been doing everything to the tune of:

        And the day is dark and dreary.

                     Ever, dearest Georgy,
                                  Your most affectionate and faithful.

P.S.--I hope the brazier is intolerably hot, and half stifles all the
family. Then, and not otherwise, I shall think it in satisfactory work.


[Sidenote: Rev. James White.]

                TAVISTOCK HOUSE, TAVISTOCK SQUARE, LONDON, W. C.,
                                             _Friday, Nov. 5th, 1858._

MY DEAR WHITE,

May I entreat you to thank Mr. Carter very earnestly and kindly in my
name, for his proffered hospitality; and, further, to explain to him
that since my readings began, I have known them to be incompatible with
all social enjoyments, and have neither set foot in a friend's house nor
sat down to a friend's table in any one of all the many places I have
been to, but have rigidly kept myself to my hotels. To this resolution I
must hold until the last. There is not the least virtue in it. It is a
matter of stern necessity, and I submit with the worst grace possible.

Will you let me know, either at Southampton or Portsmouth, whether any
of you, and how many of you, if any, are coming over, so that Arthur
Smith may reserve good seats? Tell Lotty I hope she does not contemplate
coming to the morning reading; I always hate it so myself.

Mary and Katey are down at Gad's Hill with Georgy and Plornish, and they
have Marguerite Power and Ellen Stone staying there. I am sorry to say
that even my benevolence descries no prospect of their being able to
come to my native place.

On Saturday week, the 13th, my tour, please God, ends.

My best love to Mrs. White, and to Lotty, and to Clara.

                            Ever, my dear White, affectionately yours.


[Sidenote: Mr. Frank Stone, A.R.A.]

                 TAVISTOCK HOUSE, TAVISTOCK SQUARE, LONDON, W.C.,
                                            _Monday, Dec. 13th, 1858._

MY DEAR STONE,

Many thanks for these discourses. They are very good, I think, as
expressing what many men have felt and thought; otherwise not specially
remarkable. They have one fatal mistake, which is a canker at the foot
of their ever being widely useful. Half the misery and hypocrisy of the
Christian world arises (as I take it) from a stubborn determination to
refuse the New Testament as a sufficient guide in itself, and to force
the Old Testament into alliance with it--whereof comes all manner of
camel-swallowing and of gnat-straining. But so to resent this miserable
error, or to (by any implication) depreciate the divine goodness and
beauty of the New Testament, is to commit even a worse error. And to
class Jesus Christ with Mahomet is simply audacity and folly. I might as
well hoist myself on to a high platform, to inform my disciples that the
lives of King George the Fourth and of King Alfred the Great belonged to
one and the same category.

                                                  Ever affectionately.


[Sidenote: Mr. B. W. Procter.]

                           TAVISTOCK HOUSE, _Sunday, Dec. 18th, 1858._

MY DEAR PROCTER,

A thousand thanks for the little song. I am charmed with it, and shall
be delighted to brighten "Household Words" with such a wise and genial
light. I no more believe that your poetical faculty has gone by, than I
believe that you have yourself passed to the better land. You and it
will travel thither in company, rely upon it. So I still hope to hear
more of the trade-songs, and to learn that the blacksmith has hammered
out no end of iron into good fashion of verse, like a cunning workman,
as I know him of old to be.

                               Very faithfully yours, my dear Procter.

FOOTNOTES:

[3] Niece to the Rev. W. Harness.

[4] The birthplace of Mr. Forster.




1859.

NARRATIVE.


During the winter, Charles Dickens was living at Tavistock House,
removing to Gad's Hill for the summer early in June, and returning to
London in November. At this time a change was made in his weekly
journal. "Household Words" became absolutely his own--Mr. Wills being
his partner and editor, as before--and was "incorporated with 'All the
Year Round,'" under which title it was known thenceforth. The office was
still in Wellington Street, but in a different house. The first number
with the new name appeared on the 30th April, and it contained the
opening of "A Tale of Two Cities."

The first letter which follows shows that a proposal for a series of
readings in America had already been made to him. It was carefully
considered and abandoned for the time. But the proposal was constantly
renewed, and the idea never wholly relinquished for many years before he
actually decided on making so distant a "reading tour."

Mr. Procter contributed to the early numbers of "All the Year Round"
some very spirited "Songs of the Trades." We give notes from Charles
Dickens to the veteran poet, both in the last year, and in this year,
expressing his strong approval of them.

The letter and two notes to Mr. (afterwards Sir Antonio) Panizzi, for
which we are indebted to Mr. Louis Fagan, one of Sir A. Panizzi's
executors, show the warm sympathy and interest which he always felt for
the cause of Italian liberty, and for the sufferings of the State
prisoners who at this time took refuge in England.

We give a little note to the dear friend and companion of Charles
Dickens's daughters, "Lotty" White, because it is a pretty specimen of
his writing, and because the young girl, who is playfully "commanded" to
get well and strong, died early in July of this year. She was, at the
time this note was written, first attacked with the illness which was
fatal to all her sisters. Mamie and Kate Dickens went from Gad's Hill to
Bonchurch to pay a last visit to their friend, and he writes to his
eldest daughter there. Also we give notes of loving sympathy and
condolence to the bereaved father and mother.

In the course of this summer Charles Dickens was not well, and went for
a week to his old favourite, Broadstairs--where Mr. Wilkie Collins and
his brother, Mr. Charles Allston Collins, were staying--for sea-air and
change, preparatory to another reading tour, in England only. His letter
from Peterborough to Mr. Frank Stone, giving him an account of a reading
at Manchester (Mr. Stone's native town), was one of the last ever
addressed to that affectionate friend, who died very suddenly, to the
great grief of Charles Dickens, in November. The letter to Mr. Thomas
Longman, which closes this year, was one of introduction to that
gentleman of young Marcus Stone, then just beginning his career as an
artist, and to whom the premature death of his father made it doubly
desirable that he should have powerful helping hands.

Charles Dickens refers, in a letter to Mrs. Watson, to his portrait by
Mr. Frith, which was finished at the end of 1858. It was painted for Mr.
Forster, and is now in the "Forster Collection" at South Kensington
Museum.

The Christmas number of this year, again written by several hands as
well as his own, was "The Haunted House." In November, his story of "A
Tale of Two Cities" was finished in "All the Year Round," and in
December was published, complete, with dedication to Lord John Russell.


[Sidenote: Mr. Arthur Smith.]

             TAVISTOCK HOUSE, TAVISTOCK SQUARE, LONDON, W.C.,
                                         _Wednesday, Jan. 26th, 1859._

MY DEAR ARTHUR,

Will you first read the enclosed letters, having previously welcomed,
with all possible cordiality, the bearer, Mr. Thomas C. Evans, from New
York?

You having read them, let me explain that Mr. Fields is a highly
respectable and influential man, one of the heads of the most classical
and most respected publishing house in America; that Mr. Richard Grant
White is a man of high reputation; and that Felton is the Greek
Professor in their Cambridge University, perhaps the most distinguished
scholar in the States.

The address to myself, referred to in one of the letters, being on its
way, it is quite clear that I must give some decided and definite answer
to the American proposal. Now, will you carefully discuss it with Mr.
Evans before I enter on it at all? Then, will you dine here with him on
Sunday--which I will propose to him--and arrange to meet at half-past
four for an hour's discussion?

The points are these:

First. I have a very grave question within myself whether I could go to
America at all.

Secondly. If I did go, I could not possibly go before the autumn.

Thirdly. If I did go, how long must I stay?

Fourthly. If the stay were a short one, could _you_ go?

Fifthly. What is his project? What could I make? What occurs to you upon
his proposal?

I have told him that the business arrangements of the readings have been
from the first so entirely in your hands, that I enter upon nothing
connected with them without previous reference to you.

                                                      Ever faithfully.


[Sidenote: M. de Cerjat.]

                           TAVISTOCK HOUSE, _Tuesday, Feb. 1st, 1859._

MY DEAR CERJAT,

I received your always welcome annual with even more interest than usual
this year, being (in common with my two girls and their aunt) much
excited and pleased by your account of your daughter's engagement. Apart
from the high sense I have of the affectionate confidence with which you
tell me what lies so tenderly on your own heart, I have followed the
little history with a lively sympathy and regard for her. I hope, with
you, that it is full of promise, and that you will all be happy in it.
The separation, even in the present condition of travel (and no man can
say how much the discovery of a day may advance it), is nothing. And so
God bless her and all of you, and may the rosy summer bring her all the
fulness of joy that we all wish her.

To pass from the altar to Townshend (which is a long way), let me report
him severely treated by Bully, who rules him with a paw of iron; and
complaining, moreover, of indigestion. He drives here every Sunday, but
at all other times is mostly shut up in his beautiful house, where I
occasionally go and dine with him _tete-a-tete_, and where we always
talk of you and drink to you. That is a rule with us from which we never
depart. He is "seeing a volume of poems through the press;" rather an
expensive amusement. He has not been out at night (except to this house)
save last Friday, when he went to hear me read "The Poor Traveller,"
"Mrs. Gamp," and "The Trial" from "Pickwick." He came into my room at
St. Martin's Hall, and I fortified him with weak brandy-and-water. You
will be glad to hear that the said readings are a greater _furore_ than
they ever have been, and that every night on which they now take
place--once a week--hundreds go away, unable to get in, though the hall
holds thirteen hundred people. I dine with ---- to-day, by-the-bye,
along with his agent; concerning whom I observe him to be always divided
between an unbounded confidence and a little latent suspicion. He always
tells me that he is a gem of the first water; oh yes, the best of
business men! and then says that he did not quite like his conduct
respecting that farm-tenant and those hay-ricks.

There is a general impression here, among the best-informed, that war in
Italy, to begin with, is inevitable, and will break out before April. I
know a gentleman at Genoa (Swiss by birth), deeply in with the
authorities at Turin, who is already sending children home.

In England we are quiet enough. There is a world of talk, as you know,
about Reform bills; but I don't believe there is any general strong
feeling on the subject. According to my perceptions, it is undeniable
that the public has fallen into a state of indifference about public
affairs, mainly referable, as I think, to the people who administer
them--and there I mean the people of all parties--which is a very bad
sign of the times. The general mind seems weary of debates and
honourable members, and to have taken _laissez-aller_ for its motto.

My affairs domestic (which I know are not without their interest for
you) flow peacefully. My eldest daughter is a capital housekeeper, heads
the table gracefully, delegates certain appropriate duties to her sister
and her aunt, and they are all three devotedly attached. Charley, my
eldest boy, remains in Barings' house. Your present correspondent is
more popular than he ever has been. I rather think that the readings in
the country have opened up a new public who were outside before; but
however that may be, his books have a wider range than they ever had,
and his public welcomes are prodigious. Said correspondent is at present
overwhelmed with proposals to go and read in America. Will never go,
unless a small fortune be first paid down in money on this side of the
Atlantic. Stated the figure of such payment, between ourselves, only
yesterday. Expects to hear no more of it, and assuredly will never go
for less. You don't say, my dear Cerjat, when you are coming to England!
Somehow I feel that this marriage ought to bring you over, though I
don't know why. You shall have a bed here and a bed at Gad's Hill, and
we will go and see strange sights together. When I was in Ireland, I
ordered the brightest jaunting-car that ever was seen. It has just this
minute arrived per steamer from Belfast. Say you are coming, and you
shall be the first man turned over by it; somebody must be (for my
daughter Mary drives anything that can be harnessed, and I know of no
English horse that would understand a jaunting-car coming down a Kentish
hill), and you shall be that somebody if you will. They turned the
basket-phaeton over, last summer, in a bye-road--Mary and the other
two--and had to get it up again; which they did, and came home as if
nothing had happened. They send their loves to Mrs. Cerjat, and to you,
and to all, and particularly to the dear _fiancee_. So do I, with all my
heart, and am ever your attached and affectionate friend.


[Sidenote: Mr. Antonio Panizzi.]

                    TAVISTOCK HOUSE, _Monday Night, March 14th, 1859._

MY DEAR PANIZZI,

If you should feel no delicacy in mentioning, or should see no objection
to mentioning, to Signor Poerio, or any of the wronged Neapolitan
gentlemen to whom it is your happiness and honour to be a friend on
their arrival in this country, an idea that has occurred to me, I should
regard it as a great kindness in you if you would be my exponent. I
think you will have no difficulty in believing that I would not, on any
consideration, obtrude my name or projects upon any one of those noble
souls, if there were any reason of the slightest kind against it. And if
you see any such reason, I pray you instantly to banish my letter from
your thoughts.

It seems to me probable that some narrative of their ten years'
suffering will, somehow or other, sooner or later, be by some of them
laid before the English people. The just interest and indignation alive
here, will (I suppose) elicit it. False narratives and garbled stories
will, in any case, of a certainty get about. If the true history of the
matter is to be told, I have that sympathy with them and respect for
them which would, all other considerations apart, render it unspeakably
gratifying to me to be the means of its diffusion. What I desire to lay
before them is simply this. If for my new successor to "Household Words"
a narrative of their ten years' trial could be written, I would take any
conceivable pains to have it rendered into English, and presented in the
sincerest and best way to a very large and comprehensive audience. It
should be published exactly as you might think best for them, and
remunerated in any way that you might think generous and right. They
want no mouthpiece and no introducer, but perhaps they might have no
objection to be associated with an English writer, who is possibly not
unknown to them by some general reputation, and who certainly would be
animated by a strong public and private respect for their honour,
spirit, and unmerited misfortunes. This is the whole matter; assuming
that such a thing is to be done, I long for the privilege of helping to
do it. These gentlemen might consider it an independent means of making
money, and I should be delighted to pay the money.

In my absence from town, my friend and sub-editor, Mr. Wills (to whom I
had expressed my feeling on the subject), has seen, I think, three of
the gentlemen together. But as I hear, returning home to-night, that
they are in your good hands, and as nobody can be a better judge than
you of anything that concerns them, I at once decide to write to you and
to take no other step whatever. Forgive me for the trouble I have
occasioned you in the reading of this letter, and never think of it
again if you think that by pursuing it you would cause them an instant's
uneasiness.

                                    Believe me, very faithfully yours.


[Sidenote: Mr. Antonio Panizzi.]

                         TAVISTOCK HOUSE, _Tuesday, March 15th, 1859._

MY DEAR PANIZZI,

Let me thank you heartily for your kind and prompt letter. I am really
and truly sensible of your friendliness.

I have not heard from Higgins, but of course I am ready to serve on the
Committee.

                                              Always faithfully yours.


[Sidenote: Mr. B. W. Procter.]

                        TAVISTOCK HOUSE, _Saturday, March 19th, 1859._

MY DEAR PROCTER,

I think the songs are simply ADMIRABLE! and I have no doubt of this
being a popular feature in "All the Year Round." I would not omit the
sexton, and I would not omit the spinners and weavers; and I would omit
the hack-writers, and (I think) the alderman; but I am not so clear
about the chorister. The pastoral I a little doubt finding audience for;
but I am not at all sure yet that my doubt is well founded.

Had I not better send them all to the printer, and let you have proofs
kept by you for publishing? I shall not have to make up the first number
of "All the Year Round" until early in April. I don't like to send the
manuscript back, and I never do like to do so when I get anything that I
know to be thoroughly, soundly, and unquestionably good. I am hard at
work upon my story, and expect a magnificent start. With hearty thanks,

                                            Ever yours affectionately.


[Sidenote: Mr. Edmund Yates.]

                 TAVISTOCK HOUSE, TAVISTOCK SQUARE, LONDON, W.C.,
                                          _Tuesday, March 29th, 1859._

MY DEAR EDMUND,

1. I think that no one seeing the place can well doubt that my house at
Gad's Hill is the place for the letter-box. The wall is accessible by
all sorts and conditions of men, on the bold high road, and the house
altogether is the great landmark of the whole neighbourhood. Captain
Goldsmith's _house_ is up a lane considerably off the high road; but he
has a garden _wall_ abutting on the road itself.

2. "The Pic-Nic Papers" were originally sold to Colburn, for the benefit
of the widow of Mr. Macrone, of St. James's Square, publisher, deceased.
Two volumes were contributed--of course gratuitously--by writers who had
had transactions with Macrone. Mr. Colburn, wanting three volumes in all
for trade purposes, added a third, consisting of an American reprint.
Of that volume I didn't know, and don't know, anything. The other two I
edited, gratuitously as aforesaid, and wrote the Lamplighter's story in.
It was all done many years ago. There was a preface originally,
delicately setting forth how the book came to be.

3. I suppose ---- to be, as Mr. Samuel Weller expresses it somewhere in
"Pickwick," "ravin' mad with the consciousness o' willany." Under their
advertisement in _The Times_ to-day, you will see, without a word of
comment, the shorthand writer's verbatim report of the judgment.

                                                      Ever faithfully.


[Sidenote: Mr. Antonio Panizzi.]

             "ALL THE YEAR ROUND" OFFICE, _Thursday, April 7th, 1859._

MY DEAR PANIZZI,

If you don't know, I think you should know that a number of letters are
passing through the post-office, purporting to be addressed to the
charitable by "Italian Exiles in London," asking for aid to raise a fund
for a tribute to "London's Lord Mayor," in grateful recognition of the
reception of the Neapolitan exiles. I know this to be the case, and have
no doubt in my own mind that the whole thing is an imposture and a "do."
The letters are signed "Gratitudine Italiana."

                                                Ever faithfully yours.


[Sidenote: Miss White.]

                  TAVISTOCK HOUSE, TAVISTOCK SQUARE, LONDON, W.C.,
                                           _Monday, April 18th, 1859._

MY DEAR LOTTY,

This is merely a notice to you that I must positively insist on your
getting well, strong, and into good spirits, with the least possible
delay. Also, that I look forward to seeing you at Gad's Hill sometime in
the summer, staying with the girls, and heartlessly putting down the
Plorn You know that there is no appeal from the Plorn's inimitable
father. What _he_ says must be done. Therefore I send you my love (which
please take care of), and my commands (which please obey).

                                               Ever your affectionate.


[Sidenote: The Hon. Mrs. Watson.]

                  TAVISTOCK HOUSE, TAVISTOCK SQUARE, LONDON, W.C.,
                                            _Tuesday, May 31st, 1859._

MY DEAR MRS. WATSON,

You surprise me by supposing that there is ever latent a defiant and
roused expression in the undersigned lamb! Apart from this singular
delusion of yours, and wholly unaccountable departure from your usual
accuracy in all things, your satisfaction with the portrait is a great
pleasure to me. It has received every conceivable pains at Frith's
hands, and ought on his account to be good. It is a little too much (to
my thinking) as if my next-door neighbour were my deadly foe, uninsured,
and I had just received tidings of his house being afire; otherwise very
good.

I cannot tell you how delighted we shall be if you would come to Gad's
Hill. You should see some charming woods and a rare old castle, and you
should have such a snug room looking over a Kentish prospect, with every
facility in it for pondering on the beauties of its master's beard! _Do_
come, but you positively _must not_ come and go on the same day.

We retreat there on Monday, and shall be there all the summer.

My small boy is perfectly happy at Southsea, and likes the school very
much. I had the finest letter two or three days ago, from another of my
boys--Frank Jeffrey--at Hamburg. In this wonderful epistle he says:
"Dear papa, I write to tell you that I have given up all thoughts of
being a doctor. My conviction that I shall never get over my stammering
is the cause; all professions are barred against me. The only thing I
should like to be is a gentleman farmer, either at the Cape, in Canada,
or Australia. With my passage paid, fifteen pounds, a horse, and a
rifle, I could go two or three hundred miles up country, sow grain, buy
cattle, and in time be very comfortable."

Considering the consequences of executing the little commission by the
next steamer, I perceived that the first consequence of the fifteen
pounds would be that he would be robbed of it--of the horse, that it
would throw him--and of the rifle, that it would blow his head off;
which probabilities I took the liberty of mentioning, as being against
the scheme. With best love from all,

                  Ever believe me, my dear Mrs. Watson,
                                       Your faithful and affectionate.


[Sidenote: Mrs. White.]

                            TAVISTOCK HOUSE, _Sunday, June 5th, 1859._

MY DEAR MRS. WHITE,

I do not write to you this morning because I have anything to say--I
well know where your consolation is set, and to what beneficent figure
your thoughts are raised--but simply because you are so much in my mind
that it is a relief to send you and dear White my love. You are always
in our hearts and on our lips. May the great God comfort you! You know
that Mary and Katie are coming on Thursday. They will bring dear Lotty
what she little needs with you by her side--love; and I hope their
company will interest and please her. There is nothing that they, or any
of us, would not do for her. She is a part of us all, and has belonged
to us, as well as to you, these many years.

                                  Ever your affectionate and faithful.


[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]

                          GAD'S HILL, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,
                                            _Monday, June 11th, 1859._

MY DEAREST MAMIE,

On Saturday night I found, very much to my surprise and pleasure, the
photograph on my table at Tavistock House. It is not a very pleasant or
cheerful presentation of my daughters; but it is wonderfully like for
all that, and in some details remarkably good. When I came home here
yesterday I tried it in the large Townshend stereoscope, in which it
shows to great advantage. It is in the little stereoscope at present on
the drawing-room table. One of the balustrades of the destroyed old
Rochester bridge has been (very nicely) presented to me by the
contractor for the works, and has been duly stonemasoned and set up on
the lawn behind the house. I have ordered a sun-dial for the top of it,
and it will be a very good object indeed. The Plorn is highly excited
to-day by reason of an institution which he tells me (after questioning
George) is called the "Cobb, or Bodderin," holding a festival at The
Falstaff. He is possessed of some vague information that they go to
Higham Church, in pursuance of some old usage, and attend service there,
and afterwards march round the village. It so far looks probable that
they certainly started off at eleven very spare in numbers, and came
back considerably recruited, which looks to me like the difference
between going to church and coming to dinner. They bore no end of bright
banners and broad sashes, and had a band with a terrific drum, and are
now (at half-past two) dining at The Falstaff, partly in the side room
on the ground-floor, and partly in a tent improvised this morning. The
drum is hung up to a tree in The Falstaff garden, and looks like a
tropical sort of gourd. I have presented the band with five shillings,
which munificence has been highly appreciated. Ices don't seem to be
provided for the ladies in the gallery--I mean the garden; they are
prowling about there, endeavouring to peep in at the beef and mutton
through the holes in the tent, on the whole, in a debased and degraded
manner.

Turk somehow cut his foot in Cobham Lanes yesterday, and Linda hers.
They are both lame, and looking at each other. Fancy Mr. Townshend not
intending to go for another three weeks, and designing to come down here
for a few days--with Henri and Bully--on Wednesday! I wish you could
have seen him alone with me on Saturday; he was so extraordinarily
earnest and affectionate on my belongings and affairs in general, and
not least of all on you and Katie, that he cried in a most pathetic
manner, and was so affected that I was obliged to leave him among the
flowerpots in the long passage at the end of the dining-room. It was a
very good piece of truthfulness and sincerity, especially in one of his
years, able to take life so easily.

Mr. and Mrs. Wills are here now (but I daresay you know it from your
aunt), and return to town with me to-morrow morning. We are now going on
to the castle. Mrs. Wills was very droll last night, and told me some
good stories. My dear, I wish particularly to impress upon you and dear
Katie (to whom I send my other best love) that I hope your stay will not
be very long. I don't think it very good for either of you, though of
course I know that Lotty will be, and must be, and should be the first
consideration with you both. I am very anxious to know how you found her
and how you are yourself.

Best love to dear Lotty and Mrs. White. The same to Mr. White and Clara.
We are always talking about you all.

                        Ever, dearest Mamie, your affectionate Father.


[Sidenote: Rev. James White.]

                      GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,
                                           _Thursday, July 7th, 1859._

MY DEAR WHITE,

I send my heartiest and most affectionate love to Mrs. White and you,
and to Clara. You know all that I could add; you have felt it all; let
it be unspoken and unwritten--it is expressed within us.

Do you not think that you could all three come here, and stay with us?
You and Mrs. White should have your own large room and your own ways,
and should be among us when you felt disposed, and never otherwise. I do
hope you would find peace here. Can it not be done?

We have talked very much about it among ourselves, and the girls are
strong upon it. Think of it--do!

                                               Ever your affectionate.


[Sidenote: Mr. John Forster.]

                        GAD'S HILL, _Thursday Night, Aug. 25th, 1859._

MY DEAR FORSTER,

Heartily glad to get your letter this morning.

I cannot easily tell you how much interested I am by what you tell me of
our brave and excellent friend the Chief Baron, in connection with that
ruffian. I followed the case with so much interest, and have followed
the miserable knaves and asses who have perverted it since, with so much
indignation, that I have often had more than half a mind to write and
thank the upright judge who tried him. I declare to God that I believe
such a service one of the greatest that a man of intellect and courage
can render to society. Of course I saw the beast of a prisoner (with my
mind's eye) delivering his cut-and-dried speech, and read in every word
of it that no one but the murderer could have delivered or conceived
it. Of course I have been driving the girls out of their wits here, by
incessantly proclaiming that there needed no medical evidence either
way, and that the case was plain without it. Lastly, of course (though a
merciful man--because a merciful man I mean), I would hang any Home
Secretary (Whig, Tory, Radical, or otherwise) who should step in between
that black scoundrel and the gallows. I can_not_ believe--and my belief
in all wrong as to public matters is enormous--that such a thing will be
done.

I am reminded of Tennyson, by thinking that King Arthur would have made
short work of the amiable ----, whom the newspapers strangely delight to
make a sort of gentleman of. How fine the "Idylls" are! Lord! what a
blessed thing it is to read a man who can write! I thought nothing could
be grander than the first poem till I came to the third; but when I had
read the last, it seemed to be absolutely unapproached and
unapproachable.

To come to myself. I have written and begged the "All the Year Round"
publisher to send you directly four weeks' proofs beyond the current
number, that are in type. I hope you will like them. Nothing but the
interest of the subject, and the pleasure of striving with the
difficulty of the forms of treatment, nothing in the mere way of money,
I mean, could also repay the time and trouble of the incessant
condensation. But I set myself the little task of making a _picturesque_
story, rising in every chapter with characters true to nature, but whom
the story itself should express, more than they should express
themselves, by dialogue. I mean, in other words, that I fancied a story
of incident might be written, in place of the bestiality that _is_
written under that pretence, pounding the characters out in its own
mortar, and beating their own interests out of them. If you could have
read the story all at once, I hope you wouldn't have stopped halfway.

As to coming to your retreat, my dear Forster, think how helpless I am.
I am not well yet. I have an instinctive feeling that nothing but the
sea will restore me, and I am planning to go and work at Ballard's, at
Broadstairs, from next Wednesday to Monday. I generally go to town on
Monday afternoon. All Tuesday I am at the office, on Wednesday I come
back here, and go to work again. I don't leave off till Monday comes
round once more. I am fighting to get my story done by the first week in
October. On the 10th of October I am going away to read for a fortnight
at Ipswich, Norwich, Oxford, Cambridge, and a few other places. Judge
what my spare time is just now!

I am very much surprised and very sorry to find from the enclosed that
Elliotson has been ill. I never heard a word of it.

Georgy sends best love to you and to Mrs. Forster, so do I, so does
Plorn, so does Frank. The girls are, for five days, with the Whites at
Ramsgate. It is raining, intensely hot, and stormy. Eighteen creatures,
like little tortoises, have dashed in at the window and fallen on the
paper since I began this paragraph [Illustration: ink-blot] (that was
one!). I am a wretched sort of creature in my way, but it is a way that
gets on somehow. And all ways have the same fingerpost at the head of
them, and at every turning in them.

                                                  Ever affectionately.


[Sidenote: Miss Dickens and Miss Katie Dickens.]

                       ALBION, BROADSTAIRS, _Friday, Sept. 2nd, 1859._

MY DEAREST MAMIE AND KATIE,

I have been "moved" here, and am now (Ballard having added to the hotel
a house we lived in three years) in our old dining-room and
sitting-room, and our old drawing-room as a bedroom. My cold is so bad,
both in my throat and in my chest, that I can't bathe in the sea; Tom
Collin dissuaded me--thought it "bad"--but I get a heavy shower-bath at
Mrs. Crampton's every morning. The baths are still hers and her
husband's, but they have retired and live in "Nuckells"--are going to
give a stained-glass window, value three hundred pounds, to St. Peter's
Church. Tom Collin is of opinion that the Miss Dickenses has growed two
fine young women--leastwise, asking pardon, ladies. An evangelical
family of most disagreeable girls prowl about here and trip people up
with tracts, which they put in the paths with stones upon them to keep
them from blowing away. Charles Collins and I having seen a bill
yesterday--about a mesmeric young lady who did feats, one of which was
set forth in the bill, in a line by itself, as

                            THE RIGID LEGS,

--were overpowered with curiosity, and resolved to go. It came off in
the Assembly Room, now more exquisitely desolate than words can
describe. Eighteen shillings was the "take." Behind a screen among the
company, we heard mysterious gurglings of water before the entertainment
began, and then a slippery sound which occasioned me to whisper C. C.
(who laughed in the most ridiculous manner), "Soap." It proved to be the
young lady washing herself. She must have been wonderfully dirty, for
she took a world of trouble, and didn't come out clean after all--in a
wretched dirty muslin frock, with blue ribbons. She was the alleged
mesmeriser, and a boy who distributed bills the alleged mesmerised. It
was a most preposterous imposition, but more ludicrous than any poor
sight I ever saw. The boy is clearly out of pantomime, and when he
pretended to be in the mesmeric state, made the company back by going
in among them head over heels, backwards, half-a-dozen times, in a most
insupportable way. The pianist had struck; and the manner in which the
lecturer implored "some lady" to play a "polker," and the manner in
which no lady would; and in which the few ladies who were there sat with
their hats on, and the elastic under their chins, as if it were going to
blow, is never to be forgotten. I have been writing all the morning, and
am going for a walk to Ramsgate. This is a beast of a letter, but I am
not well, and have been addling my head.

                           Ever, dear Girls, your affectionate Father.


[Sidenote: Mr. W. Wilkie Collins.]

                     GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,
                                     _Friday Night, Sept. 16th, 1859._

MY DEAR WILKIE,

Just a word to say that I have received yours, and that I look forward
to the reunion on Thursday, when I hope to have the satisfaction of
recounting to you the plot of a play that has been laid before me for
commending advice.

Ditto to what you say respecting the _Great Eastern_. I went right up to
London Bridge by the boat that day, on purpose that I might pass her. I
thought her the ugliest and most unshiplike thing these eyes ever
beheld. I wouldn't go to sea in her, shiver my ould timbers and rouse me
up with a monkey's tail (man-of-war metaphor), not to chuck a biscuit
into Davy Jones's weather eye, and see double with my own old toplights.

Turk has been so good as to produce from his mouth, for the wholesome
consternation of the family, eighteen feet of worm. When he had brought
it up, he seemed to think it might be turned to account in the
housekeeping and was proud. Pony has kicked a shaft off the cart, and is
to be sold. Why don't you buy her? she'd never kick with you.

Barber's opinion is, that them fruit-trees, one and all, is touchwood,
and not fit for burning at any gentleman's fire; also that the stocking
of this here garden is worth less than nothing, because you wouldn't
have to grub up nothing, and something takes a man to do it at
three-and-sixpence a day. Was "left desponding" by your reporter.

I have had immense difficulty to find a man for the stable-yard here.
Barber having at last engaged one this morning, I enquired if he had a
decent hat for driving in, to which Barber returned this answer:

"Why, sir, not to deceive you, that man flatly say that he never have
wore that article since man he was!"

I am consequently fortified into my room, and am afraid to go out to
look at him. Love from all.

                                                  Ever affectionately.


[Sidenote: Monsieur Regnier.]

                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,
                                          _Saturday, Oct. 15th, 1859._

MY DEAR REGNIER,

You will receive by railway parcel the proof-sheets of a story of mine,
that has been for some time in progress in my weekly journal, and that
will be published in a complete volume about the middle of November.
Nobody but Forster has yet seen the latter portions of it, or will see
them until they are published. I want you to read it for two reasons.
Firstly, because I hope it is the best story I have written. Secondly,
because it treats of a very remarkable time in France; and I should very
much like to know what you think of its being dramatised for a French
theatre. If you should think it likely to be done, I should be glad to
take some steps towards having it well done. The story is an
extraordinary success here, and I think the end of it is certain to make
a still greater sensation.

Don't trouble yourself to write to me, _mon ami_, until you shall have
had time to read the proofs. Remember, they are _proofs_, and _private_;
the latter chapters will not be before the public for five or six weeks
to come.

With kind regards to Madame Regnier, in which my daughters and their
aunt unite,

                                    Believe me, ever faithfully yours.

P.S.--The story (I daresay you have not seen any of it yet) is called
"A Tale of Two Cities."


[Sidenote: Mr. Frank Stone, A.R.A.]

                   PETERBOROUGH, _Wednesday Evening, Oct. 19th, 1859._

MY DEAR STONE,

We had a splendid rush last night--exactly as we supposed, with the
pressure on the two shillings, of whom we turned a crowd away. They were
a far finer audience than on the previous night; I think the finest I
have ever read to. They took every word of the "Dombey" in quite an
amazing manner, and after the child's death, paused a little, and then
set up a shout that it did one good to hear. Mrs. Gamp then set in with
a roar, which lasted until I had done. I think everybody for the time
forgot everything but the matter in hand. It was as fine an instance of
thorough absorption in a fiction as any of us are likely to see ever
again.

---- (in an exquisite red mantle), accompanied by her sister (in another
exquisite red mantle) and by the deaf lady, (who leaned a black
head-dress, exactly like an old-fashioned tea-urn without the top,
against the wall), was charming. HE couldn't get at her on account of
the pressure. HE tried to peep at her from the side door, but she (ha,
ha, ha!) was unconscious of his presence. I read to her, and goaded him
to madness. He is just sane enough to send his kindest regards.

This is a place which--except the cathedral, with the loveliest front I
ever saw--is like the back door to some other place. It is, I should
hope, the deadest and most utterly inert little town in the British
dominions. The magnates have taken places, and the bookseller is of
opinion that "such is the determination to do honour to Mr. Dickens,
that the doors _must_ be opened half an hour before the appointed time."
You will picture to yourself Arthur's quiet indignation at this, and the
manner in which he remarked to me at dinner, "that he turned away twice
Peterborough last night."

A very pretty room--though a Corn Exchange--and a room we should have
been glad of at Cambridge, as it is large, bright, and cheerful, and
wonderfully well lighted.

The difficulty of getting to Bradford from here to-morrow, at any time
convenient to us, turned out to be so great, that we are all going in
for Leeds (only three-quarters of an hour from Bradford) to-night after
the reading, at a quarter-past eleven. We are due at Leeds a quarter
before three.

So no more at present from,

                                                 Yours affectionately.


[Sidenote: Mr. W. R. Sculthorpe.]

                TAVISTOCK HOUSE, TAVISTOCK SQUARE, LONDON, W.C.,
                                          _Thursday, Nov. 10th, 1859._

DEAR SIR,

Judgment must go by default. I have not a word to plead against Dodson
and Fogg. I am without any defence to the action; and therefore, as law
goes, ought to win it.

Seriously, the date of your hospitable note disturbs my soul. But I have
been incessantly writing in Kent and reading in all sorts of places, and
have done nothing in my own personal character these many months; and
now I come to town and our friend[5] is away! Let me take that
defaulting miscreant into council when he comes back.

                                                     Faithfully yours.


[Sidenote: Monsieur Regnier.]

               TAVISTOCK HOUSE, TAVISTOCK SQUARE, LONDON, W.C.,
                                         _Wednesday, Nov. 16th, 1859._

MY DEAR REGNIER,

I send you ten thousand thanks for your kind and explicit letter. What I
particularly wished to ascertain from you was, whether it is likely the
Censor would allow such a piece to be played in Paris. In the case of
its being likely, then I wished to have the piece as well done as
possible, and would even have proposed to come to Paris to see it
rehearsed. But I very much doubted whether the general subject would not
be objectionable to the Government, and what you write with so much
sagacity and with such care convinces me at once that its representation
would be prohibited. Therefore I altogether abandon and relinquish the
idea. But I am just as heartily and cordially obliged to you for your
interest and friendship, as if the book had been turned into a play five
hundred times. I again thank you ten thousand times, and am quite sure
that you are right. I only hope you will forgive my causing you so much
trouble, after your hard work.

My girls and Georgina send their kindest regards to Madame Regnier and
to you. My Gad's Hill house (I think I omitted to tell you, in reply to
your enquiry) is on the very scene of Falstaff's robbery. There is a
little _cabaret_ at the roadside, still called The Sir John Falstaff.
And the country, in all its general features, is, at this time, what it
was in Shakespeare's. I hope you will see the house before long. It is
really a pretty place, and a good residence for an English writer, is it
not?

Macready, we are all happy to hear from himself, is going to leave the
dreary tomb in which he lives, at Sherborne, and to remove to
Cheltenham, a large and handsome place, about four or five hours'
railway journey from London, where his poor girls will at least see and
hear some life. Madame Celeste was with me yesterday, wishing to
dramatise "A Tale of Two Cities" for the Lyceum, after bringing out the
Christmas pantomime. I gave her my permission and the book; but I fear
that her company (troupe) is a very poor one.

This is all the news I have, except (which is no news at all) that I
feel as if I had not seen you for fifty years, and that

                          I am ever your attached and faithful Friend.


[Sidenote: Mr. T. Longman.]

                           TAVISTOCK HOUSE, _Monday, Nov. 28th, 1859._

MY DEAR LONGMAN,

I am very anxious to present to you, with the earnest hope that you will
hold him in your remembrance, young Mr. Marcus Stone, son of poor Frank
Stone, who died suddenly but a little week ago. You know, I daresay,
what a start this young man made in the last exhibition, and what a
favourable notice his picture attracted. He wishes to make an additional
opening for himself in the illustration of books. He is an admirable
draughtsman, has a most dexterous hand, a charming sense of grace and
beauty, and a capital power of observation. These qualities in him I
know well of my own knowledge. He is in all things modest, punctual, and
right; and I would answer for him, if it were needful, with my head.

If you will put anything in his way, you will do it a second time, I am
certain.

                                              Faithfully yours always.

FOOTNOTES:

[5] Mr. Edmund Yates.




1860.

NARRATIVE.


This winter was the last spent at Tavistock House. Charles Dickens had
for some time been inclining to the idea of making his home altogether
at Gad's Hill, giving up his London house, and taking a furnished house
for the sake of his daughters for a few months of the London season.
And, as his daughter Kate was to be married this summer to Mr. Charles
Collins, this intention was confirmed and carried out. He made
arrangements for the sale of Tavistock House to Mr. Davis, a Jewish
gentleman, and he gave up possession of it in September. Up to this time
Gad's Hill had been furnished merely as a temporary summer
residence--pictures, library, and all best furniture being left in the
London house. He now set about beautifying and making Gad's Hill
thoroughly comfortable and homelike. And there was not a year
afterwards, up to the year of his death, that he did not make some
addition or improvement to it. He also furnished, as a private
residence, a sitting-room and some bedrooms at his office in Wellington
Street, to be used, when there was no house in London, as occasional
town quarters by himself, his daughter, and sister-in-law.

He began in this summer his occasional papers for "All the Year Round,"
which he called "The Uncommercial Traveller," and which were continued
at intervals in his journal until 1869.

In the autumn of this year he began another story, to be published
weekly in "All the Year Round." The letter to Mr. Forster, which we
give, tells him of this beginning and gives him the name of the book.
The first number of "Great Expectations" appeared on the 1st December.
The Christmas number, this time, was written jointly by himself and Mr.
Wilkie Collins. The scene was laid at Clovelly, and they made a journey
together into Devonshire and Cornwall, for the purpose of this story, in
November.

The letter to Sir Edward Bulwer Lytton is, unfortunately, the only one
we have as yet been able to procure. The present Lord Lytton, the
Viceroy of India, has kindly endeavoured to help us even during his
absence from England. But it was found to be impossible without his own
assistance to make the necessary search among his father's papers. And
he has promised us that, on his return, he will find and lend to us,
many letters from Charles Dickens, which are certainly in existence, to
his distinguished fellow-writer and great friend. We hope, therefore, it
may be possible for us at some future time to be able to publish these
letters, as well as those addressed to the present Lord Lytton (when he
was Mr. Robert Lytton, otherwise "Owen Meredith," and frequent
contributor to "Household Words" and "All the Year Round"). We have the
same hope with regard to letters addressed to Sir Henry Layard, at
present Ambassador at Constantinople, which, of course, for the same
reason, cannot be lent to us at the present time.

We give a letter to Mr. Forster on one of his books on the Commonwealth,
the "Impeachment of the Five Members;" which, as with other letters
which we are glad to publish on the subject of Mr. Forster's own works,
was not used by himself for obvious reasons.

A letter to his daughter Mamie (who, after her sister's marriage, paid a
visit with her dear friends the White family to Scotland, where she had
a serious illness) introduces a recent addition to the family, who
became an important member of it, and one to whom Charles Dickens was
very tenderly attached--her little white Pomeranian dog "Mrs. Bouncer"
(so called after the celebrated lady of that name in "Box and Cox"). It
is quite necessary to make this formal introduction of the little pet
animal (who lived to be a very old dog and died in 1874), because future
letters to his daughter contain constant references and messages to
"Mrs. Bouncer," which would be quite unintelligible without this
explanation. "Boy," also referred to in this letter, was his daughter's
horse. The little dog and the horse were gifts to Mamie Dickens from her
friends Mr. and Mrs. Arthur Smith, and the sister of the latter, Miss
Craufurd.


[Sidenote: Mr. W. C. Macready.]

                            TAVISTOCK HOUSE, _Monday, Jan. 2nd, 1860._

MY DEAREST MACREADY,

A happy New Year to you, and many happy years! I cannot tell you how
delighted I was to receive your Christmas letter, or with what pleasure
I have received Forster's emphatic accounts of your health and spirits.
But when was I ever wrong? And when did I not tell you that you were an
impostor in pretending to grow older as the rest of us do, and that you
had a secret of your own for reversing the usual process! It happened
that I read at Cheltenham a couple of months ago, and that I have rarely
seen a place that so attracted my fancy. I had never seen it before.
Also I believe the character of its people to have greatly changed for
the better. All sorts of long-visaged prophets had told me that they
were dull, stolid, slow, and I don't know what more that is
disagreeable. I found them exactly the reverse in all respects; and I
saw an amount of beauty there--well--that is not to be more specifically
mentioned to you young fellows.

Katie dined with us yesterday, looking wonderfully well, and singing
"Excelsior" with a certain dramatic fire in her, whereof I seem to
remember having seen sparks afore now. Etc. etc. etc.

        With kindest love from all at home to all with you,
                       Ever, my dear Macready, your most affectionate.


[Sidenote: Mr. W. Wilkie Collins.]

                 TAVISTOCK HOUSE, TAVISTOCK SQUARE, LONDON, W.C.,
                                     _Saturday Night, Jan. 7th, 1860._

MY DEAR WILKIE,

I have read this book with great care and attention. There cannot be a
doubt that it is a very great advance on all your former writing, and
most especially in respect of tenderness. In character it is excellent.
Mr. Fairlie as good as the lawyer, and the lawyer as good as he. Mr.
Vesey and Miss Halcombe, in their different ways, equally meritorious.
Sir Percival, also, is most skilfully shown, though I doubt (you see
what small points I come to) whether any man ever showed uneasiness by
hand or foot without being forced by nature to show it in his face too.
The story is very interesting, and the writing of it admirable.

I seem to have noticed, here and there, that the great pains you take
express themselves a trifle too much, and you know that I always contest
your disposition to give an audience credit for nothing, which
necessarily involves the forcing of points on their attention, and which
I have always observed them to resent when they find it out--as they
always will and do. But on turning to the book again, I find it
difficult to take out an instance of this. It rather belongs to your
habit of thought and manner of going about the work. Perhaps I express
my meaning best when I say that the three people who write the
narratives in these proofs have a DISSECTIVE property in common, which
is essentially not theirs but yours; and that my own effort would be to
strike more of what is got _that way_ out of them by collision with one
another, and by the working of the story.

You know what an interest I have felt in your powers from the beginning
of our friendship, and how very high I rate them? _I_ know that this is
an admirable book, and that it grips the difficulties of the weekly
portion and throws them in masterly style. No one else could do it half
so well. I have stopped in every chapter to notice some instance of
ingenuity, or some happy turn of writing; and I am absolutely certain
that you never did half so well yourself.

So go on and prosper, and let me see some more, when you have enough
(for your own satisfaction) to show me. I think of coming in to back you
up if I can get an idea for my series of gossiping papers. One of those
days, please God, we may do a story together; I have very odd
half-formed notions, in a mist, of something that might be done that
way.

                                                  Ever affectionately.


[Sidenote: Mr. John Forster.]

              11, WELLINGTON STREET, NORTH STRAND, LONDON, W.C.,
                                           _Wednesday, May 2nd, 1860._

MY DEAR FORSTER,

It did not occur to me in reading your most excellent, interesting, and
remarkable book, that it could with any reason be called one-sided. If
Clarendon had never written his "History of the Rebellion," then I can
understand that it might be. But just as it would be impossible to
answer an advocate who had misstated the merits of a case for his own
purpose, without, in the interests of truth, and not of the other side
merely, re-stating the merits and showing them in their real form, so I
cannot see the practicability of telling what you had to tell without
in some sort championing the misrepresented side, and I think that you
don't do that as an advocate, but as a judge.

The evidence has been suppressed and , and the judge goes
through it and puts it straight. It is not _his_ fault if it all goes
one way and tends to one plain conclusion. Nor is it his fault that it
goes the further when it is laid out straight, or seems to do so,
because it was so knotted and twisted up before.

I can understand any man's, and particularly Carlyle's, having a
lingering respect that does not like to be disturbed for those (in the
best sense of the word) loyal gentlemen of the country who went with the
king and were so true to him. But I don't think Carlyle sufficiently
considers that the great mass of those gentlemen _didn't know the
truth_, that it was a part of their loyalty to believe what they were
told on the king's behalf, and that it is reasonable to suppose that the
king was too artful to make known to _them_ (especially after failure)
what were very acceptable designs to the desperate soldiers of fortune
about Whitehall. And it was to me a curious point of adventitious
interest arising out of your book, to reflect on the probability of
their having been as ignorant of the real scheme in Charles's head, as
their descendants and followers down to this time, and to think with
pity and admiration that they believed the cause to be so much better
than it was. This is a notion I was anxious to have expressed in our
account of the book in these pages. For I don't suppose Clarendon, or
any other such man to sit down and tell posterity something that he has
not "tried on" in his own time. Do you?

In the whole narrative I saw nothing anywhere to which I demurred. I
admired it all, went with it all, and was proud of my friend's having
written it all. I felt it to be all square and sound and right, and to
be of enormous importance in these times. Firstly, to the people who
(like myself) are so sick of the shortcomings of representative
government as to have no interest in it. Secondly, to the humbugs at
Westminster who have come down--a long, long way--from those men, as you
know. When the great remonstrance came out, I was in the thick of my
story, and was always busy with it; but I am very glad I didn't read it
then, as I shall read it now to much better purpose. All the time I was
at work on the "Two Cities," I read no books but such as had the air of
the time in them.

To return for a final word to the Five Members. I thought the marginal
references overdone. Here and there, they had a comical look to me for
that reason, and reminded me of shows and plays where everything is in
the bill.

Lastly, I should have written to you--as I had a strong inclination to
do, and ought to have done, immediately after reading the book--but for
a weak reason; of all things in the world I have lost heart in one--I
hope no other--I cannot, times out of calculation, make up my mind to
write a letter.

                          Ever, my dear Forster, affectionately yours.


[Sidenote: M. de Cerjat.]

                           TAVISTOCK HOUSE, _Thursday, May 3rd, 1860._

MY DEAR CERJAT,

The date of this letter would make me horribly ashamed of myself, if I
didn't know that _you_ know how difficult letter-writing is to one whose
trade it is to write.

You asked me on Christmas Eve about my children. My second daughter is
going to be married in the course of the summer to Charles Collins, the
brother of Wilkie Collins, the novelist. The father was one of the most
famous painters of English green lanes and coast pieces. He was bred an
artist; is a writer, too, and does "The Eye Witness," in "All the Year
Round." He is a gentleman, accomplished, and amiable. My eldest daughter
has not yet started any conveyance on the road to matrimony (that I know
of); but it is likely enough that she will, as she is very agreeable and
intelligent. They are both very pretty. My eldest boy, Charley, has been
in Barings' house for three or four years, and is now going to Hong
Kong, strongly backed up by Barings, to buy tea on his own account, as a
means of forming a connection and seeing more of the practical part of a
merchant's calling, before starting in London for himself. His brother
Frank (Jeffrey's godson) I have just recalled from France and Germany,
to come and learn business, and qualify himself to join his brother on
his return from the Celestial Empire. The next boy, Sydney Smith, is
designed for the navy, and is in training at Portsmouth, awaiting his
nomination. He is about three foot high, with the biggest eyes ever
seen, and is known in the Portsmouth parts as "Young Dickens, who can do
everything."

Another boy is at school in France; the youngest of all has a private
tutor at home. I have forgotten the second in order, who is in India. He
went out as ensign of a non-existent native regiment, got attached to
the 42nd Highlanders, one of the finest regiments in the Queen's
service; has remained with them ever since, and got made a lieutenant by
the chances of the rebellious campaign, before he was eighteen. Miss
Hogarth, always Miss Hogarth, is the guide, philosopher, and friend of
all the party, and a very close affection exists between her and the
girls. I doubt if she will ever marry. I don't know whether to be glad
of it or sorry for it.

I have laid down my pen and taken a long breath after writing this
family history. I have also considered whether there are any more
children, and I don't think there are. If I should remember two or three
others presently, I will mention them in a postscript.

We think Townshend looking a little the worse for the winter, and we
perceive Bully to be decidedly old upon his legs, and of a most
diabolical turn of mind. When they first arrived the weather was very
dark and cold, and kept them indoors. It has since turned very warm and
bright, but with a dusty and sharp east wind. They are still kept
indoors by this change, and I begin to wonder what change will let them
out. Townshend dines with us every Sunday. You may be sure that we
always talk of you and yours, and drink to you heartily.

Public matters here are thought to be rather improving; the deep
mistrust of the gentleman in Paris being counteracted by the vigorous
state of preparation into which the nation is getting. You will have
observed, of course, that we establish a new defaulter in respect of
some great trust, about once a quarter. The last one, the cashier of a
City bank, is considered to have distinguished himself greatly, a
quarter of a million of money being high game.

No, my friend, I have not shouldered my rifle yet, but I should do so on
more pressing occasion. Every other man in the row of men I know--if
they were all put in a row--is a volunteer though. There is a tendency
rather to overdo the wearing of the uniform, but that is natural enough
in the case of the youngest men. The turn-out is generally very
creditable indeed. At the ball they had (in a perfectly unventilated
building), their new leather belts and pouches smelt so fearfully that
it was, as my eldest daughter said, like shoemaking in a great prison.
She, consequently, distinguished herself by fainting away in the most
inaccessible place in the whole structure, and being brought out
(horizontally) by a file of volunteers, like some slain daughter of
Albion whom they were carrying into the street to rouse the indignant
valour of the populace.

Lord, my dear Cerjat, when I turn to that page of your letter where you
write like an ancient sage in whom the fire has paled into a meek-eyed
state of coolness and virtue, I half laugh and half cry! _You_ old!
_You_ a sort of hermit? Boh! Get out.

With this comes my love and all our loves, to you and Mrs. Cerjat, and
your daughter. I add my special and particular to the sweet "singing
cousin." When shall you and I meet, and where? Must I come to see
Townshend? I begin to think so.

                 Ever, my dear Cerjat, your affectionate and faithful.


[Sidenote: Sir Edward Bulwer Lytton.]

                                GAD'S HILL, _Tuesday, June 5th, 1860._

MY DEAR BULWER LYTTON,

I am very much interested and gratified by your letter concerning "A
Tale of Two Cities." I do not quite agree with you on two points, but
that is no deduction from my pleasure.

In the first place, although the surrender of the feudal privileges (on
a motion seconded by a nobleman of great rank) was the occasion of a
sentimental scene, I see no reason to doubt, but on the contrary, many
reasons to believe, that some of these privileges had been used to the
frightful oppression of the peasant, quite as near to the time of the
Revolution as the doctor's narrative, which, you will remember, dates
long before the Terror. And surely when the new philosophy was the talk
of the salons and the slang of the hour, it is not unreasonable or
unallowable to suppose a nobleman wedded to the old cruel ideas, and
representing the time going out, as his nephew represents the time
coming in; as to the condition of the peasant in France generally at
that day, I take it that if anything be certain on earth it is certain
that it was intolerable. No _ex post facto_ enquiries and provings by
figures will hold water, surely, against the tremendous testimony of men
living at the time.

There is a curious book printed at Amsterdam, written to make out no
case whatever, and tiresome enough in its literal dictionary-like
minuteness, scattered up and down the pages of which is full authority
for my marquis. This is "Mercier's Tableau de Paris." Rousseau is the
authority for the peasant's shutting up his house when he had a bit of
meat. The tax-taker was the authority for the wretched creature's
impoverishment.

I am not clear, and I never have been clear, respecting that canon of
fiction which forbids the interposition of accident in such a case as
Madame Defarge's death. Where the accident is inseparable from the
passion and emotion of the character, where it is strictly consistent
with the whole design, and arises out of some culminating proceeding on
the part of the character which the whole story has led up to, it seems
to me to become, as it were, an act of divine justice. And when I use
Miss Pross (though this is quite another question) to bring about that
catastrophe, I have the positive intention of making that half-comic
intervention a part of the desperate woman's failure, and of opposing
that mean death--instead of a desperate one in the streets, which she
wouldn't have minded--to the dignity of Carton's wrong or right; this
_was_ the design, and seemed to be in the fitness of things.

Now, as to the reading. I am sorry to say that it is out of the question
this season. I have had an attack of rheumatism--quite a stranger to
me--which remains hovering about my left side, after having doubled me
up in the back, and which would disable me from standing for two hours.
I have given up all dinners and town engagements, and come to my little
Falstaff House here, sensible of the necessity of country training all
through the summer. Smith would have proposed any appointment to see you
on the subject, but he has been dreadfully ill with tic. Whenever I read
in London, I will gladly put a night aside for your purpose, and we will
plot to connect your name with it, and give it some speciality. But this
could not be before Christmas time, as I should not be able to read
sooner, for in the hot weather it would be useless. Let me hear from you
about this when you have considered it. It would greatly diminish the
expenses, remember.

                                   Ever affectionately and faithfully.


[Sidenote: The Lord John Russell.]

                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,
                                            _Sunday, June 17th, 1860._

MY DEAR LORD JOHN RUSSELL,

I cannot thank you enough for your kind note and its most welcome
enclosure. My sailor-boy comes home from Portsmouth to-morrow, and will
be overjoyed. His masters have been as anxious for getting his
nomination as though it were some distinction for themselves.

                                       Ever your faithful and obliged.


[Sidenote: The Earl of Carlisle.]

                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,
                                          _Wednesday, Aug. 8th, 1860._

MY DEAR LORD CARLISLE,

Coming back here after an absence of three days in town, I find your
kind and cordial letter lying on my table. I heartily thank you for it,
and highly esteem it. I understand that the article on the spirits to
which you refer was written by ---- (he played an Irish porter in one
scene of Bulwer's comedy at Devonshire House). Between ourselves, I
think it must be taken with a few grains of salt, imperial measure. The
experiences referred to "came off" at ----, where the spirit of ----
(among an extensive and miscellaneous bodiless circle) _dines_
sometimes! Mr. ----, the high priest of the mysteries, I have some
considerable reason--derived from two honourable men--for mistrusting.
And that some of the disciples are very easy of belief I know.

This is Falstaff's own Gad's Hill, and I live on the top of it. All goes
well with me, thank God! I should be thoroughly delighted to see you
again, and to show you where the robbery was done. My eldest daughter
keeps my house, and it is one I was extraordinarily fond of when a
child.

                     My dear Lord Carlisle, ever affectionately yours.

P.S.--I am prowling about, meditating a new book.


[Sidenote: Mr. W. H. Wills.]

                                  OFFICE OF "ALL THE YEAR ROUND,"
                                           _Tuesday, Sept. 4th, 1860._

MY DEAR WILLS,

Your description of your sea-castle makes your room here look uncommonly
dusty. Likewise the costermongers in the street outside, and the one
customer (drunk, with his head on the table) in the Crown Coffee House
over the way, in York Street, have an earthy, and, as I may say, a
land-lubberly aspect. Cape Horn, to the best of _my_ belief, is a
tremendous way off, and there are more bricks and cabbage-leaves between
this office and that dismal point of land than _you_ can possibly
imagine.

Coming here from the station this morning, I met, coming from the
execution of the Wentworth murderer, such a tide of ruffians as never
could have flowed from any point but the gallows. Without any figure of
speech it turned one white and sick to behold them.

Tavistock House is cleared to-day, and possession delivered up. I must
say that in all things the purchaser has behaved thoroughly well, and
that I cannot call to mind any occasion when I have had money dealings
with a Christian that have been so satisfactory, considerate, and
trusting.

I am ornamented at present with one of my most intensely preposterous
and utterly indescribable colds. If you were to make a voyage from Cape
Horn to Wellington Street, you would scarcely recognise in the bowed
form, weeping eyes, rasped nose, and snivelling wretch whom you would
encounter here, the once gay and sparkling, etc. etc.

Everything else here is as quiet as possible. Business reports you
receive from Holsworth. Wilkie looked in to-day, going to
Gloucestershire for a week. The office is full of discarded curtains and
coverings from Tavistock House, which Georgina is coming up this evening
to select from and banish. Mary is in raptures with the beauties of
Dunkeld, but is not very well in health. The Admiral (Sydney) goes up
for his examination to-morrow. If he fails to pass with credit, I will
never believe in anybody again, so in that case look out for your own
reputation with me.

This is really all the news I have, except that I am lazy, and that
Wilkie dines here next Tuesday, in order that we may have a talk about
the Christmas number.

I beg to send my kind regard to Mrs. Wills, and to enquire how she likes
wearing a hat, which of course she does. I also want to know from her
in confidence whether _Crwllm festidiniog llymthll y wodd_?

Yesterday I burnt, in the field at Gad's Hill, the accumulated letters
and papers of twenty years. They sent up a smoke like the genie when he
got out of the casket on the seashore; and as it was an exquisite day
when I began, and rained very heavily when I finished, I suspect my
correspondence of having overcast the face of the heavens.

                                                      Ever faithfully.

P.S.--Kind regard to Mr. and Mrs. Novelli.[6]

I have just sent out for _The Globe_. No news.

Hullah's daughter (an artist) tells me that certain female students have
addressed the Royal Academy, entreating them to find a place for their
education. I think it a capital move, for which I can do something
popular and telling in _The Register_. Adelaide Procter is active in the
business, and has a copy of their letter. Will you write to her for
that, and anything else she may have about it, telling her that I
strongly approve, and want to help them myself?


[Sidenote: The Hon. Mrs. Watson.]

                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,
                                     _Friday Night, Sept. 14th, 1860._

MY DEAR MRS. WATSON,

I lose no time in answering your letter; and first as to business, the
school in the High Town at Boulogne was excellent. The boys all English,
the two proprietors an old Eton master and one of the Protestant
clergymen of the town. The teaching unusually sound and good. The manner
and conduct developed in the boys quite admirable. But I have never
seen a gentleman so perfectly acquainted with boy-nature as the Eton
master. There was a perfect understanding between him and his charges;
nothing pedantic on his part, nothing slavish on their parts. The result
was, that either with him or away from him, the boys combined an ease
and frankness with a modesty and sense of responsibility that was really
above all praise. Alfred went from there to a great school at Wimbledon,
where they train for India and the artillery and engineers. Sydney went
from there to Mr. Barrow, at Southsea. In both instances the new masters
wrote to me of their own accord, bearing quite unsolicited testimony to
the merits of the old, and expressing their high recognition of what
they had done. These things speak for themselves.

Sydney has just passed his examination as a naval cadet and come home,
all eyes and gold buttons. He has twelve days' leave before going on
board the training-ship. Katie and her husband are in France, and seem
likely to remain there for an indefinite period. Mary is on a month's
visit in Scotland; Georgina, Frank, and Plorn are at home here; and we
all want Mary and her little dog back again. I have sold Tavistock
House, am making this rather complete in its way, and am on the restless
eve of beginning a new big book; but mean to have a furnished house in
town (in some accessible quarter) from February or so to June. May we
meet there.

Your handwriting is always so full of pleasant memories to me, that when
I took it out of the post-office at Rochester this afternoon it quite
stirred my heart. But we must not think of old times as sad times, or
regard them as anything but the fathers and mothers of the present. We
must all climb steadily up the mountain after the talking bird, the
singing tree, and the yellow water, and must all bear in mind that the
previous climbers who were scared into looking back got turned into
black stone.

Mary Boyle was here a little while ago, as affectionate at heart as
ever, as young, and as pleasant. Of course we talked often of you. So
let me know when you are established in Halfmoon Street, and I shall be
truly delighted to come and see you.

For my attachments are strong attachments and never weaken. In right of
bygones, I feel as if "all Northamptonshire" belonged to me, as all
Northumberland did to Lord Bateman in the ballad. In memory of your
warming your feet at the fire in that waste of a waiting-room when I
read at Brighton, I have ever since taken that watering-place to my
bosom as I never did before. And you and Switzerland are always one to
me, and always inseparable.

Charley was heard of yesterday, from Shanghai, going to Japan, intending
to meet his brother Walter at Calcutta, and having an idea of beguiling
the time between whiles by asking to be taken as an amateur with the
English Chinese forces. Everybody caressed him and asked him everywhere,
and he seemed to go. With kind regards, my dear Mrs. Watson,

                                            Ever affectionately yours.


[Sidenote: Mr. Edmund Yates.]

                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,
                                           _Sunday, Sept. 23rd, 1860._

                       ON THE DEATH OF HIS MOTHER.

MY DEAR E. Y.,

I did not write to you in your bereavement, because I knew that the
girls had written to you, and because I instinctively shrunk from making
a form of what was so real. _You_ knew what a loving and faithful
remembrance I always had of your mother as a part of my youth--no more
capable of restoration than my youth itself. All the womanly goodness,
grace, and beauty of my drama went out with her. To the last I never
could hear her voice without emotion. I think of her as of a beautiful
part of my own youth, and this dream that we are all dreaming seems to
darken.

But it is not to say this that I write now. It comes to the point of my
pen in spite of me.

"Holding up the Mirror" is in next week's number. I have taken out all
this funeral part of it. Not because I disliked it (for, indeed, I
thought it the best part of the paper), but because it rather grated on
me, going over the proof at that time, as a remembrance that would be
better reserved a little while. Also because it made rather a mixture of
yourself as an individual, with something that does not belong or attach
to you as an individual. You can have the MS.; and as a part of a paper
describing your own juvenile remembrances of a theatre, there it is,
needing no change or adaption.

                                                      Ever faithfully.


[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]

                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,
                                           _Sunday, Sept. 23rd, 1860._

MY DEAREST MAMIE,

If you had been away from us and ill with anybody in the world but our
dear Mrs. White, I should have been in a state of the greatest anxiety
and uneasiness about you. But as I know it to be impossible that you
could be in kinder or better hands, I was not in the least restless
about you, otherwise than as it grieved me to hear of my poor dear
girl's suffering such pain. I hope it is over now for many a long day,
and that you will come back to us a thousand times better in health than
you left us.

Don't come back too soon. Take time and get well restored. There is no
hurry, the house is not near to-rights yet, and though we all want you,
and though Boy wants you, we all (including Boy) deprecate a fatiguing
journey being taken too soon.

As to the carpenters, they are absolutely maddening. They are always at
work, yet never seem to do anything. Lillie was down on Friday, and said
(his eye fixed on Maidstone, and rubbing his hand to conciliate his
moody employer) that "he didn't think there would be very much left to
do after Saturday, the 29th."

I didn't throw him out of the window. Your aunt tells you all the news,
and leaves me no chance of distinguishing myself, I know. You have been
told all about my brackets in the drawing-room, all about the glass
rescued from the famous stage-wreck of Tavistock House, all about
everything here and at the office. The office is really a success. As
comfortable, cheerful, and private as anything of the kind can possibly
be.

I took the Admiral (but this you know too, no doubt) to Dollond's, the
mathematical instrument maker's, last Monday, to buy that part of his
outfit. His sextant (which is about the size and shape of a cocked hat),
on being applied to his eye, entirely concealed him. Not the faintest
vestige of the distinguished officer behind it was perceptible to the
human vision. All through the City, people turned round and stared at
him with the sort of pleasure people take in a little model. We went on
to Chatham this day week, in search of some big man-of-war's-man who
should be under obligation to salute him--unfortunately found none. But
this no doubt you know too, and all my news falls flat.

I am driven out of my room by paint, and am writing in the best spare
room. The whole prospect is excessively wet; it does not rain now, but
yesterday it did tremendously, and it rained very heavily in the night.
We are even muddy; and that is saying a great deal in this dry country
of chalk and sand. Everywhere the corn is lying out and saturated with
wet. The hops (nearly everywhere) look as if they had been burnt.

In my mind's eye I behold Mrs. Bouncer, still with some traces of her
late anxiety on her faithful countenance, balancing herself a little
unequally on her bow fore-legs, pricking up her ears, with her head on
one side, and slightly opening her intellectual nostrils. I send my
loving and respectful duty to her.

To dear Mrs. White, and to White, and to Clara, say anything from me
that is loving and grateful.

                    My dearest Mamie,
                          Ever and ever your most affectionate Father.


[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]

                                  OFFICE OF "ALL THE YEAR ROUND,"
                                     _Monday Night, Sept. 24th, 1860._

MY DEAREST GEORGY,

At the Waterloo station we were saluted with "Hallo! here's Dickens!"
from divers naval cadets, and Sir Richard Bromley introduced himself to
me, who had his cadet son with him, a friend of Sydney's. We went down
together, and the boys were in the closest alliance. Bromley being
Accountant-General of the Navy, and having influence on board, got their
hammocks changed so that they would be serving side by side, at which
they were greatly pleased. The moment we stepped on board, the "Hul-lo!
here's Dickens!" was repeated on all sides, and the Admiral (evidently
highly popular) shook hands with about fifty of his messmates. Taking
Bromley for my model (with whom I fraternised in the most pathetic
manner), I gave Sydney a sovereign before stepping over the side. He was
as little overcome as it was possible for a boy to be, and stood waving
the gold-banded cap as we came ashore in a boat.

There is no denying that he looks very small aboard a great ship, and
that a boy must have a strong and decided speciality for the sea to take
to such a life. Captain Harris was not on board, but the other chief
officers were, and were highly obliging. We went over the ship. I should
say that there can be little or no individuality of address to any
particular boy, but that they all tumble through their education in a
crowded way. The Admiral's servant (I mean our Admiral's) had an idiotic
appearance, but perhaps it did him injustice (a mahogany-faced marine by
station). The Admiral's washing apparatus is about the size of a
muffin-plate, and he could easily live in his chest. The meeting with
Bromley was a piece of great good fortune, and the dear old chap could
not have been left more happily.

                      Ever, my dearest Georgy, your most affectionate.


[Sidenote: Miss Power.]

                                  OFFICE OF "ALL THE YEAR ROUND,"
                                          _Tuesday, Sept. 25th, 1860._

MY DEAR MARGUERITE,

I like the article exceedingly, and think the translations
_admirable_--spirited, fresh, bold, and evidently faithful. I will get
the paper into the next number I make up, No. 78. I will send a proof to
you for your correction, either next Monday or this day week. Or would
you like to come here next Monday and dine with us at five, and go over
to Madame Celeste's opening? Then you could correct your paper on the
premises, as they drink their beer at the beer-shops.

Some of the introductory remarks on French literature I propose to
strike out, as a little too essayical for this purpose, and likely to
throw out a large portion of the large audience at starting, as
suggesting some very different kind of article. My daring pen shall have
imbued its murderous heart with ink before you see the proof.

                                    With kind regards,
                                                  Ever affectionately.


[Sidenote: Mr. John Forster.]

                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,
                                           _Thursday, Oct. 4th, 1860._

MY DEAR FORSTER,

It would be a great pleasure to me to come to you, an immense pleasure,
and to sniff the sea I love (from the shore); but I fear I must come
down one morning and come back at night. I will tell you why.

Last week, I got to work on a new story. I called a council of war at
the office on Tuesday. It was perfectly clear that the one thing to be
done was, for me to strike in. I have therefore decided to begin a
story, the length of the "Tale of Two Cities," on the 1st of
December--begin publishing, that is. I must make the most I can out of
the book. When I come down, I will bring you the first two or three
weekly parts. The name is, "GREAT EXPECTATIONS." I think a good name?

Now the preparations to get ahead, combined with the absolute necessity
of my giving a good deal of time to the Christmas number, will tie me to
the grindstone pretty tightly. It will be just as much as I can hope to
do. Therefore, what I had hoped would be a few days at Eastbourne
diminish to a few hours.

I took the Admiral down to Portsmouth. Every maritime person in the town
knew him. He seemed to know every boy on board the _Britannia_, and was
a tremendous favourite evidently. It was very characteristic of him that
they good-naturedly helped him, he being so very small, into his hammock
at night. But he couldn't rest in it on these terms, and got out again
to learn the right way of getting in independently. Official report
stated that "after a few spills, he succeeded perfectly, and went to
sleep." He is perfectly happy on board, takes tea with the captain,
leads choruses on Saturday nights, and has an immense marine for a
servant.

I saw Edmund Yates at the office, and he told me that during all his
mother's wanderings of mind, which were almost incessant at last, she
never once went back to the old Adelphi days until she was just dying,
when he heard her say, in great perplexity: "I can _not_ get the words."

Best love to Mrs. Forster.

                                Ever, my dear Forster, affectionately.


[Sidenote: Mr. W. Wilkie Collins.]

                                  OFFICE OF "ALL THE YEAR ROUND,"
                                         _Wednesday, Oct. 24th, 1860._

MY DEAR WILKIE,

I have been down to Brighton to see Forster, and found your letter there
on arriving by express this morning. I also found a letter from
Georgina, describing that Mary's horse went down suddenly on a stone,
and how Mary was thrown, and had her riding-habit torn to pieces, and
has a deep cut just above the knee--fortunately not in the knee itself,
which is doing exceedingly well, but which will probably incapacitate
her from walking for days and days to come. It is well it was no worse.
The accident occurred at Milton, near Gravesend, and they found Mary in
a public-house there, wonderfully taken care of and looked after.

I propose that we start on Thursday morning, the 1st of November. The
train for Penzance leaves the Great Western terminus at a quarter-past
nine in the morning. It is a twelve hours' journey. Shall we meet at the
terminus at nine? I shall be here all the previous day, and shall dine
here.

Your account of your passage goes to my heart through my stomach. What a
pity I was not there on board to present that green-visaged, but
sweet-tempered and uncomplaining spectacle of imbecility, at which I am
so expert under stormy circumstances, in the poet's phrase:

        As I sweep
        Through the deep,
        When the stormy winds do blow.

What a pity I am not there, at Meurice's, to sleep the sleep of infancy
through the long plays where the gentlemen stand with their backs to the
mantelpieces. What a pity I am not with you to make a third at the Trois
Freres, and drink no end of bottles of Bordeaux, without ever getting a
touch of redness in my (poet's phrase again) "innocent nose." But I must
go down to Gad's to-night, and get to work again. Four weekly numbers
have been ground off the wheel, and at least another must be turned
before we meet. They shall be yours in the slumberous railway-carriage.

I don't think Forster is at all in good health. He was tremendously
hospitable and hearty. I walked six hours and a half on the downs
yesterday, and never stopped or sat. Early in the morning, before
breakfast, I went to the nearest baths to get a shower-bath. They kept
me waiting longer than I thought reasonable, and seeing a man in a cap
in the passage, I went to him and said: "I really must request that
you'll be good enough to see about this shower-bath;" and it was Hullah!
waiting for another bath.

Rumours were brought into the house on Saturday night, that there was a
"ghost" up at Larkins's monument. Plorn was frightened to death, and I
was apprehensive of the ghost's spreading and coming there, and causing
"warning" and desertion among the servants. Frank was at home, and
Andrew Gordon was with us. Time, nine o'clock. Village talk and
credulity, amazing. I armed the two boys with a short stick apiece, and
shouldered my double-barrelled gun, well loaded with shot. "Now
observe," says I to the domestics, "if anybody is playing tricks and has
got a head, I'll blow it off." Immense impression. New groom evidently
convinced that he has entered the service of a bloodthirsty demon. We
ascend to the monument. Stop at the gate. Moon is rising. Heavy shadows.
"Now, look out!" (from the bloodthirsty demon, in a loud, distinct
voice). "If the ghost is here and I see him, so help me God I'll fire at
him!" Suddenly, as we enter the field, a most extraordinary noise
responds--terrific noise--human noise--and yet superhuman noise. B. T.
D. brings piece to shoulder. "Did you hear that, pa?" says Frank. "I
did," says I. Noise repeated--portentous, derisive, dull, dismal,
damnable. We advance towards the sound. Something white comes lumbering
through the darkness. An asthmatic sheep! Dead, as I judge, by this
time. Leaving Frank to guard him, I took Andrew with me, and went all
round the monument, and down into the ditch, and examined the field
well, thinking it likely that somebody might be taking advantage of the
sheep to frighten the village. Drama ends with discovery of no one, and
triumphant return to rum-and-water.

                                                  Ever affectionately.


[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]

              BIDEFORD, NORTH DEVON, _Thursday Night, Nov. 1st, 1860._

MY DEAREST GEORGY,

I write (with the most impracticable iron pen on earth) to report our
safe arrival here, in a beastly hotel. We start to-morrow morning at
nine on a two days' posting between this and Liskeard in Cornwall. We
are due in Liskeard (but nobody seems to know anything about the roads)
on Saturday afternoon, and we purpose making an excursion in that
neighbourhood on Sunday, and coming up from Liskeard on Monday by Great
Western fast train, which will get us to London, please God, in good
time on Monday evening. There I shall hear from you, and know whether
dear Mamie will move to London too.

We had a pleasant journey down here, and a beautiful day. No adventures
whatever. Nothing has happened to Wilkie, and he sends love.

We had stinking fish for dinner, and have been able to drink nothing,
though we have ordered wine, beer, and brandy-and-water. There is
nothing in the house but two tarts and a pair of snuffers. The landlady
is playing cribbage with the landlord in the next room (behind a thin
partition), and they seem quite comfortable.

                      Ever, my dearest Georgy, your most affectionate.


[Sidenote: Miss Mary Boyle.]

                                  OFFICE OF "ALL THE YEAR ROUND,"
                                            _Friday, Dec. 28th, 1860._

MY DEAR MARY,

I cannot tell you how much I thank you for the beautiful cigar-case, and
how seasonable, and friendly, and good, and warm-hearted it looked when
I opened it at Gad's Hill. Besides which, it is a cigar-case, and will
hold cigars; two crowning merits that I never yet knew to be possessed
by any article claiming the same name. For all of these reasons, but
more than all because it comes from you, I love it, and send you
eighteen hundred and sixty kisses, with one in for the new year.

Both excellent stories and perfectly new. Your Joe swears that he never
heard either--never a word or syllable of either--after he laughed at
'em this blessed day.

I have no news, except that I am not quite well, and am being doctored.
Pray read "Great Expectations." I think it is very droll. It is a very
great success, and seems universally liked. I suppose because it opens
funnily, and with an interest too.

I pass my time here (I am staying here alone) in working, taking physic,
and taking a stall at a theatre every night. On Boxing Night I was at
Covent Garden. A dull pantomime was "worked" (as we say) better than I
ever saw a heavy piece worked on a first night, until suddenly and
without a moment's warning, every scene on that immense stage fell over
on its face, and disclosed chaos by gaslight behind! There never was
such a business; about sixty people who were on the stage being
extinguished in the most remarkable manner. Not a soul was hurt. In the
uproar, some moon-calf rescued a porter pot, six feet high (out of which
the clown had been drinking when the accident happened), and stood it on
the cushion of the lowest proscenium box, P.S., beside a lady and
gentleman, who were dreadfully ashamed of it. The moment the house knew
that nobody was injured, they directed their whole attention to this
gigantic porter pot in its genteel position (the lady and gentleman
trying to hide behind it), and roared with laughter. When a modest
footman came from behind the curtain to clear it, and took it up in his
arms like a Brobdingnagian baby, we all laughed more than ever we had
laughed in our lives. I don't know why.

We have had a fire here, but our people put it out before the
parish-engine arrived, like a drivelling perambulator, with _the beadle
in it_, like an imbecile baby. Popular opinion, disappointed in the fire
having been put out, snowballed the beadle. God bless it!

Over the way at the Lyceum, there is a very fair Christmas piece, with
one or two uncommonly well-done <DW65> songs--one remarkably gay and
mad, done in the finale to a scene. Also a very nice transformation,
though I don't know what it means.

The poor actors waylay me in Bow Street, to represent their necessities;
and I often see one cut down a court when he beholds me coming, cut
round Drury Lane to face me, and come up towards me near this door in
the freshest and most accidental way, as if I was the last person he
expected to see on the surface of this globe. The other day, there thus
appeared before me (simultaneously with a scent of rum in the air) one
aged and greasy man, with a pair of pumps under his arm. He said he
thought if he could get down to somewhere (I think it was Newcastle), he
would get "taken on" as Pantaloon, the existing Pantaloon being "a
stick, sir--a mere muff." I observed that I was sorry times were so bad
with him. "Mr. Dickens, you know our profession, sir--no one knows it
better, sir--there is no right feeling in it. I was Harlequin on your
own circuit, sir, for five-and-thirty years, and was displaced by a boy,
sir!--a boy!"

So no more at present, except love to Mrs. Watson and Bedgey Prig and
all, from my dear Mary.

                                              Your ever affectionate
                                                                  JOE.

P.S.--DON'T I pine neither?

P.P.S.--I did my best to arouse Forster's worst feelings; but he had got
into a Christmas habit of mind, and wouldn't respond.

FOOTNOTES:

[6] With whom Mr. and Mrs. Wills were staying at Aberystwith.




NARRATIVE.

1861.


This, as far as his movements were concerned, was again a very unsettled
year with Charles Dickens. He hired a furnished house in the Regent's
Park, which he, with his household, occupied for some months. During the
season he gave several readings at St. James's Hall. After a short
summer holiday at Gad's Hill, he started, in the autumn, on a reading
tour in the English provinces. Mr. Arthur Smith, being seriously ill,
could not accompany him in this tour; and Mr. Headland, who was formerly
in office at the St. Martin's Hall, was engaged as business-manager of
these readings. Mr. Arthur Smith died in October, and Charles Dickens's
distress at the loss of this loved friend and companion is touchingly
expressed in many of his letters of this year.

There are also sorrowful allusions to the death of his brother-in-law,
Mr. Henry Austin, which sad event likewise happened in October. And the
letter we give to Mrs. Austin ("Letitia") has reference to her sad
affliction.

In June of this year he paid a short visit to Sir E. B. Lytton at
Knebworth, accompanied by his daughter and sister-in-law, who also
during his autumn tour joined him in Edinburgh. But this course of
readings was brought rather suddenly to an end on account of the death
of the Prince Consort.

Besides being constantly occupied with the business of these readings,
Charles Dickens was still at work on his story of "Great Expectations,"
which was appearing weekly in "All the Year Round." The story closed on
the 3rd of August, when it was published as a whole in three volumes,
and inscribed to Mr. Chauncey Hare Townshend. The Christmas number of
"All the Year Round" was called "Tom Tiddler's Ground," to which Charles
Dickens contributed three stories.

Our second letter in this year is given more as a specimen of the claims
which were constantly being made upon Charles Dickens's time and
patience, than because we consider the letter itself to contain much
public interest; excepting, indeed, as showing his always considerate
and courteous replies to such constant applications.

"The fire" mentioned in the letter to Mr. Forster was the great fire in
Tooley Street. The "Morgan" was an American sea-captain, well known in
those days, and greatly liked and respected. It may interest our readers
to know that the character of Captain Jorgan, in the Christmas number of
the previous year, was suggested by this pleasant sailor, for whom
Charles Dickens had a hearty liking. Young Mr. Morgan was, during the
years he passed in England, a constant visitor at Gad's Hill. The
"Elwin" mentioned in the letter written from Bury St. Edmunds, was the
Rev. Whitwell Elwin, a Norfolk gentleman, well known in the literary
world, and who was for many years editor of "The Quarterly Review."

The explanation of the letter to Mr. John Agate, of Dover, we give in
that gentleman's own words:

"There are few public men with the strain upon their time and energies
which he had particularly (and which I know better now that I have read
his life), who would have spared the time to have written such a long
courteous letter.

"I wrote to him rather in anger, and left the letter myself at The Lord
Warden, as I and my family were very much disappointed, after having
purchased our tickets so long before, to find we could not got into the
room, as money was being received, but his kind letter explained all."


[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]

                                  OFFICE OF "ALL THE YEAR ROUND,"
                                          _Wednesday, Jan. 9th, 1861._

MY DEAREST GEORGY,

"We" are in the full swing of stopping managers from playing "A Message
from the Sea." I privately doubt the strength of our position in the
Court of Chancery, if we try it; but it is worth trying.

I am aware that Mr. Lane of the Britannia sent an emissary to Gad's Hill
yesterday. It unfortunately happens that the first man "we" have to
assert the principle against is a very good man, whom I really respect.

I have no news, except that I really hope and believe I am gradually
getting well. If I have no check, I hope to be soon discharged by the
medico.

                                                  Ever affectionately.

P.S.--Best love to Mamie, also to the boys and Miss Craufurd.


    OFFICE OF "ALL THE YEAR ROUND," 26, WELLINGTON STREET, W.C.,
                                    _Tuesday Evening, Jan. 9th, 1861._

DEAR SIR,

I feel it quite hopeless to endeavour to present my position before you,
in reference to such a letter as yours, in its plain and true light.
When you suppose it would have cost Mr. Thackeray "but a word" to use
his influence to obtain you some curatorship or the like, you fill me
with the sense of impossibility of leading you to a more charitable
judgment of Mr. Dickens.

Nevertheless, I will put the truth before you. Scarcely a day of my life
passes, or has passed for many years, without bringing me some letters
similar to yours. Often they will come by dozens--scores--hundreds. My
time and attention would be pretty well occupied without them, and the
claims upon me (some very near home), for all the influence and means of
help that I do and do not possess, are not commonly heavy. I have no
power to aid you towards the attainment of your object. It is the simple
exact truth, and nothing can alter it. So great is the disquietude I
constantly undergo from having to write to some new correspondent in
this strain, that, God knows, I would resort to another relief if I
could.

Your studies from nature appear to me to express an excellent
observation of nature, in a loving and healthy spirit. But what then?
The dealers and dealers' prices of which you complain will not be
influenced by that honest opinion. Nor will it have the least effect
upon the President of the Royal Academy, or the Directors of the School
of Design. Assuming your supposition to be correct that these
authorities are adverse to you, I have no more power than you have to
render them favourable. And assuming them to be quite disinterested and
dispassionate towards you, I have no voice or weight in any appointment
that any of them make.

I will retain your packet over to-morrow, and will then cause it to be
sent to your house. I write under the pressure of occupation and
business, and therefore write briefly.

                                                     Faithfully yours.


[Sidenote: M. de Cerjat.]

             OFFICE OF "ALL THE YEAR ROUND," _Friday, Feb. 1st, 1861._

MY DEAR CERJAT,

You have read in the papers of our heavy English frost. At Gad's Hill it
was so intensely cold, that in our warm dining-room on Christmas Day we
could hardly sit at the table. In my study on that morning, long after a
great fire of coal and wood had been lighted, the thermometer was I
don't know where below freezing. The bath froze, and all the pipes
froze, and remained in a stony state for five or six weeks. The water in
the bedroom-jugs froze, and blew up the crockery. The snow on the top of
the house froze, and was imperfectly removed with axes. My beard froze
as I walked about, and I couldn't detach my cravat and coat from it
until I was thawed at the fire. My boys and half the officers stationed
at Chatham skated away without a check to Gravesend--five miles off--and
repeated the performance for three or four weeks. At last the thaw came,
and then everything split, blew up, dripped, poured, perspired, and got
spoilt. Since then we have had a small visitation of the plague of
servants; the cook (in a riding-habit) and the groom (in a dress-coat
and jewels) having mounted Mary's horse and mine, in our absence, and
scoured the neighbouring country at a rattling pace. And when I went
home last Saturday, I innocently wondered how the horses came to be out
of condition, and gravely consulted the said groom on the subject, who
gave it as his opinion "which they wanted reg'lar work." We are now
coming to town until midsummer. Having sold my own house, to be more
free and independent, I have taken a very pretty furnished house, No. 3,
Hanover Terrace, Regent's Park. This, of course, on my daughter's
account. For I have very good and cheerful bachelor rooms here, with an
old servant in charge, who is the cleverest man of his kind in the
world, and can do anything, from excellent carpentery to excellent
cookery, and has been with me three-and-twenty years.

The American business is the greatest English sensation at present. I
venture to predict that the struggle of violence will be a very short
one, and will be soon succeeded by some new compact between the Northern
and Southern States. Meantime the Lancashire mill-owners are getting
very uneasy.

The Italian state of things is not regarded as looking very cheerful.
What from one's natural sympathies with a people so oppressed as the
Italians, and one's natural antagonism to a pope and a Bourbon (both of
which superstitions I do suppose the world to have had more than enough
of), I agree with you concerning Victor Emmanuel, and greatly fear that
the Southern Italians are much degraded. Still, an united Italy would be
of vast importance to the peace of the world, and would be a rock in
Louis Napoleon's way, as he very well knows. Therefore the idea must be
championed, however much against hope.

My eldest boy, just home from China, was descried by Townshend's Henri
the moment he landed at Marseilles, and was by him borne in triumph to
Townshend's rooms. The weather was snowy, slushy, beastly; and
Marseilles was, as it usually is to my thinking, well-nigh intolerable.
My boy could not stay with Townshend, as he was coming on by express
train; but he says: "I sat with him and saw him dine. He had a leg of
lamb, and a tremendous cold." That is the whole description I have been
able to extract from him.

This journal is doing gloriously, and "Great Expectations" is a great
success. I have taken my third boy, Frank (Jeffrey's godson), into this
office. If I am not mistaken, he has a natural literary taste and
capacity, and may do very well with a chance so congenial to his mind,
and being also entered at the Bar.

Dear me, when I have to show you about London, and we dine _en garcon_
at odd places, I shall scarcely know where to begin. Only yesterday I
walked out from here in the afternoon, and thought I would go down by
the Houses of Parliament. When I got there, the day was so beautifully
bright and warm, that I thought I would walk on by Millbank, to see the
river. I walked straight on _for three miles_ on a splendid broad
esplanade overhanging the Thames, with immense factories, railway works,
and what-not erected on it, and with the strangest beginnings and ends
of wealthy streets pushing themselves into the very Thames. When I was a
rower on that river, it was all broken ground and ditch, with here and
there a public-house or two, an old mill, and a tall chimney. I had
never seen it in any state of transition, though I suppose myself to
know this rather large city as well as anyone in it.

       *       *       *       *       *


[Sidenote: Mr. E. M. Ward, R.A.]

                              3, HANOVER TERRACE, REGENT'S PARK,
                                    _Saturday Night, March 9th, 1861._

MY DEAR WARD,

I cannot tell you how gratified I have been by your letter, and what a
splendid recompense it is for any pleasure I am giving you. Such
generous and earnest sympathy from such a brother-artist gives me true
delight. I am proud of it, believe me, and moved by it to do all the
better.

                                                Ever faithfully yours.


[Sidenote: Mr. W. C. Macready.]

              "ALL THE YEAR ROUND" OFFICE, _Tuesday, June 11th, 1861._

MY DEAREST MACREADY,

There is little doubt, I think, of my reading at Cheltenham somewhere
about November. I submit myself so entirely to Arthur Smith's
arrangements for me, that I express my sentiments on this head with
modesty. But I think there is scarcely a doubt of my seeing you then.

I have just finished my book of "Great Expectations," and am the worse
for wear. Neuralgic pains in the face have troubled me a good deal, and
the work has been pretty close. But I hope that the book is a good book,
and I have no doubt of very soon throwing off the little damage it has
done me.

What with Blondin at the Crystal Palace and Leotard at Leicester Square,
we seem to be going back to barbaric excitements. I have not seen, and
don't intend to see, the Hero of Niagara (as the posters call him), but
I have been beguiled into seeing Leotard, and it is at once the most
fearful and most graceful thing I have ever seen done.

Clara White (grown pretty) has been staying with us.

I am sore afraid that _The Times_, by playing fast and loose with the
American question, has very seriously compromised this country. The
Americans northward are perfectly furious on the subject; and Motley the
historian (a very sensible man, strongly English in his sympathies)
assured me the other day that he thought the harm done very serious
indeed, and the dangerous nature of the daily widening breach scarcely
calculable.

Kindest and best love to all. Wilkie Collins has just come in, and sends
best regard.

                        Ever most affectionately, my dearest Macready.


[Sidenote: Mr. John Forster.]

                                 GAD'S HILL, _Monday, July 1st, 1861._

MY DEAR FORSTER,

       *       *       *       *       *

You will be surprised to hear that I have changed the end of "Great
Expectations" from and after Pip's return to Joe's, and finding his
little likeness there.

Bulwer (who has been, as I think I told you, extraordinarily taken by
the book), so strongly urged it upon me, after reading the proofs, and
supported his views with such good reasons, that I resolved to make the
change. You shall have it when you come back to town. I have put in a
very pretty piece of writing, and I have no doubt the story will be more
acceptable through the alteration.

I have not seen Bulwer's changed story. I brought back the first month
with me, and I know the nature of his changes throughout; but I have not
yet had the revised proofs. He was in a better state at Knebworth than I
have ever seen him in all these years, a little weird occasionally
regarding magic and spirits, but perfectly fair and frank under
opposition. He was talkative, anecdotical, and droll; looked young and
well, laughed heartily, and enjoyed some games we played with great
zest. In his artist character and talk he was full of interest and
matter, but that he always is. Socially, he seemed to me almost a new
man. I thoroughly enjoyed myself, and so did Georgina and Mary.

The fire I did not see until the Monday morning, but it was blazing
fiercely then, and was blazing hardly less furiously when I came down
here again last Friday. I was here on the night of its breaking out. If
I had been in London I should have been on the scene, pretty surely.

You will be perhaps surprised to hear that it is Morgan's conviction
(his son was here yesterday), that the North will put down the South,
and that speedily. In his management of his large business, he is
proceeding steadily on that conviction. He says that the South has no
money and no credit, and that it is impossible for it to make a
successful stand. He may be all wrong, but he is certainly a very shrewd
man, and he has never been, as to the United States, an enthusiast of
any class.

Poor Lord Campbell's seems to me as easy and good a death as one could
desire. There must be a sweep of these men very soon, and one feels as
if it must fall out like the breaking of an arch--one stone goes from a
prominent place, and then the rest begin to drop. So one looks towards
Brougham, and Lyndhurst, and Pollock.

I will add no more to this, or I know I shall not send it; for I am in
the first desperate laziness of having done my book, and think of
offering myself to the village school as a live example of that vice for
the edification of youth.

                                Ever, my dear Forster, affectionately.


[Sidenote: The Hon. Mrs. Watson.]

                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,
                                             _Monday, July 8th, 1861._

MY DEAR MRS. WATSON,

I have owed you a letter for so long a time that I fear you may
sometimes have misconstrued my silence. But I hope that the sight of the
handwriting of your old friend will undeceive you, if you have, and will
put that right.

During the progress of my last story, I have been working so hard that
very, very little correspondence--except enforced correspondence on
business--has passed this pen. And now that I am free again, I devote a
few of my first leisure moments to this note.

You seemed in your last to think that I had forgotten you in respect of
the Christmas number. Not so at all. I discussed with them here where
you were, how you were to be addressed, and the like; finally left the
number in a blank envelope, and did not add the address to it until it
would have been absurd to send you such stale bread. This was my fault,
but this was all. And I should be so pained at heart if you supposed me
capable of failing in my truth and cordiality, or in the warm
remembrance of the time we have passed together, that perhaps I make
more of it than you meant to do.

My sailor-boy is at home--I was going to write, for the holidays, but I
suppose I must substitute "on leave." Under the new regulations, he must
not pass out of the _Britannia_ before December. The younger boys are
all at school, and coming home this week for the holidays. Mary keeps
house, of course, and Katie and her husband surprised us yesterday, and
are here now. Charley is holiday-making at Guernsey and Jersey. He has
been for some time seeking a partnership in business, and has not yet
found one. The matter is in the hands of Mr. Bates, the managing partner
in Barings' house, and seems as slow a matter to adjust itself as ever I
looked on at. Georgina is, as usual, the general friend and confidante
and factotum of the whole party.

Your present correspondent read at St. James's Hall in the beginning of
the season, to perfectly astounding audiences; but finding that fatigue
and excitement very difficult to manage in conjunction with a story,
deemed it prudent to leave off reading in high tide and mid-career, the
rather by reason of something like neuralgia in the face. At the end of
October I begin again; and if you are at Brighton in November, I shall
try to see you there. I deliver myself up to Mr. Arthur Smith, and I
know it is one of the places for which he has put me down.

This is all about me and mine, and next I want to know why you never
come to Gad's Hill, and whether you are never coming. The stress I lay
on these questions you will infer from the size of the following note of
interrogation[HW: =?=]

I am in the constant receipt of news from Lausanne. Of Mary Boyle, I
daresay you have seen and heard more than I have lately. Rumours
occasionally reach me of her acting in every English shire incessantly,
and getting in a harvest of laurels all the year round. Cavendish I have
not seen for a long time, but when I did see him last, it was at
Tavistock House, and we dined together jovially. Mention of that
locality reminds me that when you DO come here, you will see the
pictures looking wonderfully better, and more precious than they ever
did in town. Brought together in country light and air, they really are
quite a baby collection and very pretty.

I direct this to Rockingham, supposing you to be there in this summer
time. If you are as leafy in Northamptonshire as we are in Kent, you are
greener than you have been for some years. I hope you may have seen a
large-headed photograph with little legs, representing the undersigned,
pen in hand, tapping his forehead to knock an idea out. It has just
sprung up so abundantly in all the shops, that I am ashamed to go about
town looking in at the picture-windows, which is my delight. It seems to
me extraordinarily ludicrous, and much more like than the grave portrait
done in earnest. It made me laugh when I first came upon it, until I
shook again, in open sunlighted Piccadilly.

Pray be a good Christian to me, and don't be retributive in measuring
out the time that shall pass before you write to me. And believe me
ever,

                                       Your affectionate and faithful.


[Sidenote: Mr. W. Wilkie Collins.]

                                  OFFICE OF "ALL THE YEAR ROUND,"
                                         _Wednesday, Aug. 28th, 1861._

MY DEAR WILKIE,

I have been going to write to you ever since I received your letter from
Whitby, and now I hear from Charley that you are coming home, and must
be addressed in the Rue Harley. Let me know whether you will dine here
this day week at the usual five. I am at present so addle-headed (having
hard Wednesday work in Wills's absence) that I can't write much.

I have got the "Copperfield" reading ready for delivery, and am now
going to blaze away at "Nickleby," which I don't like half as well.
Every morning I "go in" at these marks for two or three hours, and then
collapse and do nothing whatever (counting as nothing much cricket and
rounders).

In my time that curious railroad by the Whitby Moor was so much the more
curious, that you were balanced against a counter-weight of water, and
that you did it like Blondin. But in these remote days the one inn of
Whitby was up a back-yard, and oyster-shell grottoes were the only view
from the best private room. Likewise, sir, I have posted to Whitby.
"Pity the sorrows of a poor old man."

The sun is glaring in at these windows with an amount of ferocity
insupportable by one of the landed interest, who lies upon his back with
an imbecile hold on grass, from lunch to dinner. Feebleness of mind and
head are the result.

                                                  Ever affectionately.

P.S.--The boys have multiplied themselves by fifty daily, and have
seemed to appear in hosts (especially in the hottest days) round all the
corners at Gad's Hill. I call them the prowlers, and each has a
distinguishing name attached, derived from his style of prowling.


[Sidenote: Mr. Arthur Smith.]

                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,
                                           _Tuesday, Sept. 3rd, 1861._

MY DEAR ARTHUR,

I cannot tell you how sorry I am to receive your bad account of your
health, or how anxious I shall be to receive a better one as soon as you
can possibly give it.

If you go away, don't you think in the main you would be better here
than anywhere? You know how well you would be nursed, what care we
should take of you, and how perfectly quiet and at home you would be,
until you become strong enough to take to the Medway. Moreover, I think
you would be less anxious about the tour, here, than away from such
association. I would come to Worthing to fetch you, I needn't say, and
would take the most careful charge of you. I will write no more about
this, because I wish to avoid giving you more to read than can be
helped; but I do sincerely believe it would be at once your wisest and
least anxious course. As to a long journey into Wales, or any long
journey, it would never do. Nice is not to be thought of. Its dust, and
its sharp winds (I know it well), towards October are very bad indeed.

I send you the enclosed letters, firstly, because I have no circular to
answer them with, and, secondly, because I fear I might confuse your
arrangements by interfering with the correspondence. I shall hope to
have a word from you very soon. I am at work for the tour every day,
except my town Wednesdays.

                                                      Ever faithfully.

P.S.--Kindest regards from all.


[Sidenote: Mr. John Watkins.]

                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,
                                   _Saturday Night, Sept. 28th, 1861._

DEAR MR. WATKINS,

In reply to your kind letter I must explain that I have not yet brought
down any of your large photographs of myself, and therefore cannot
report upon their effect here. I think the "cartes" are all liked.

A general howl of horror greeted the appearance of No. 18, and a riotous
attempt was made to throw it out of window. I calmed the popular fury
by promising that it should never again be beheld within these walls. I
think I mentioned to you when you showed it to me, that I felt persuaded
it would not be liked. It has a grim and wasted aspect, and perhaps
might be made useful as a portrait of the Ancient Mariner.

I feel that I owe you an apology for being (innocently) a difficult
subject. When I once excused myself to Ary Scheffer while sitting to
him, he received the apology as strictly his due, and said with a vexed
air: "At this moment, _mon cher_ Dickens, you look more like an
energetic Dutch admiral than anything else;" for which I apologised
again.

In the hope that the pains you have bestowed upon me will not be thrown
away, but that your success will prove of some use to you, believe me,

                                                     Faithfully yours.


[Sidenote: Mr. Edmund Yates.]

                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,
                                             _Sunday, Oct. 6th, 1861._

              AFTER THE DEATH OF MR. ARTHUR SMITH.

MY DEAR EDMUND,

Coming back here to-day, I find your letter.

I was so very much distressed last night in thinking of it all, and I
find it so very difficult to preserve my composure when I dwell in my
mind on the many times fast approaching when I shall sorely miss the
familiar face, that I am hardly steady enough yet to refer to the
readings like a man. But your kind reference to them makes me desirous
to tell you that I took Headland (formerly of St. Martin's Hall, who has
always been with us in London) to conduct the business, when I knew that
our poor dear fellow could never do it, even if he had recovered
strength to go; and that I consulted with himself about it when I saw
him for the last time on earth, and that it seemed to please him, and he
said: "We couldn't do better."

Write to me before you come; and remember that I go to town Wednesday
mornings.

                                                      Ever faithfully.


[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]

                             OFFICE OF "ALL THE YEAR ROUND,"
                                          _Thursday, Oct. 10th, 1861._

MY DEAREST MAMIE,

I received your affectionate little letter here this morning, and was
very glad to get it. Poor dear Arthur is a sad loss to me, and indeed I
was very fond of him. But the readings must be fought out, like all the
rest of life.

                                               Ever your affectionate.


[Sidenote: Mr. W. C. Macready.]

                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,
                                            _Sunday, Oct. 13th, 1861._

MY DEAREST MACREADY,

This is a short note. But the moment I know for certain what is designed
for me at Cheltenham, I write to you in order that you may know it from
me and not by chance from anyone else.

I am to read there on the evening of Friday, the 3rd of January, and on
the morning of Saturday, the 4th; as I have nothing to do on Thursday,
the 2nd, but come from Leamington, I shall come to you, please God, for
a quiet dinner that day.

The death of Arthur Smith has caused me great distress and anxiety. I
had a great regard for him, and he made the reading part of my life as
light and pleasant as it _could_ be made. I had hoped to bring him to
see you, and had pictured to myself how amused and interested you would
have been with his wonderful tact and consummate mastery of arrangement.
But it's all over.

I begin at Norwich on the 28th, and am going north in the middle of
November. I am going to do "Copperfield," and shall be curious to test
its effect on the Edinburgh people. It has been quite a job so to piece
portions of the long book together as to make something continuous out
of it; but I hope I have got something varied and dramatic. I am also
(not to slight _your_ book) going to do "Nickleby at Mr. Squeers's." It
is clear that both must be trotted out at Cheltenham.

With kindest love and regard to all your house,

                    Ever, my dearest Macready, your most affectionate.

P.S.--Fourth edition of "Great Expectations" almost gone!


[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]

                                  ANGEL HOTEL, BURY ST. EDMUNDS,
                                         _Wednesday, Oct. 13th, 1861._

MY DEAREST GEORGY,

I have just now received your welcome letter, and I hasten to report
(having very little time) that we had a splendid hall last night, and
that I think "Nickleby" tops all the readings. Somehow it seems to have
got in it, by accident, exactly the qualities best suited to the
purpose, and it went last night not only with roars, but with a general
hilarity and pleasure that I have never seen surpassed.

We are full here for to-night.

Fancy this: last night at about six, who should walk in but Elwin! He
was exactly in his usual state, only more demonstrative than ever, and
had been driven in by some neighbours who were coming to the reading. I
had tea up for him, and he went down at seven with me to the dismal den
where I dressed, and sat by the fire while I dressed, and was childishly
happy in that great privilege! During the reading he sat on a corner of
the platform and roared incessantly. He brought in a lady and gentleman
to introduce while I was undressing, and went away in a perfect and
absolute rapture.


[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]

                     ROYAL HOTEL, NORWICH, _Tuesday, Oct. 29th, 1861._

I cannot say that we began well last night. We had not a good hall, and
they were a very lumpish audience indeed. This did not tend to cheer the
strangeness I felt in being without Arthur, and I was not at all myself.
We have a large let for to-night, I think two hundred and fifty stalls,
which is very large, and I hope that both they and I will go better. I
could have done perfectly last night, if the audience had been bright,
but they were an intent and staring audience. They laughed though very
well, and the storm made them shake themselves again. But they were not
magnetic, and the great big place was out of sorts somehow.

To-morrow I will write you another short note, however short. It is
"Nickleby" and the "Trial" to-night; "Copperfield" again to-morrow. A
wet day here, with glimpses of blue. I shall not forget Katey's health
at dinner. A pleasant journey down.

                      Ever, my dearest Georgy, your most affectionate.


[Sidenote: The same.]

             THE GREAT WHITE HORSE, IPSWICH, _Friday, Nov. 1st, 1861._

I cannot quite remember in the whirl of travelling and reading, whether
or no I wrote you a line from Bury St. Edmunds. But I think (and hope)
I did. We had a fine room there, and "Copperfield" made a great
impression. At mid-day we go on to Colchester, where I shall expect the
young Morgans. I sent a telegram on yesterday, after receiving your
note, to secure places for them. The answer returned by telegraph was:
"No box-seats left but on the fourth row." If they prefer to sit on the
stage (for I read in the theatre, there being no other large public
room), they shall. Meantime I have told John, who went forward this
morning with the other men, to let the people at the inn know that if
three travellers answering that description appear before my
dinner-time, they are to dine with me.

Plorn's admission that he likes the school very much indeed, is the
great social triumph of modern times.

I am looking forward to Sunday's rest at Gad's, and shall be down by the
ten o'clock train from town. I miss poor Arthur dreadfully. It is
scarcely possible to imagine how much. It is not only that his loss to
me socially is quite irreparable, but that the sense I used to have of
compactness and comfort about me while I was reading is quite gone. And
when I come out for the ten minutes, when I used to find him always
ready for me with something cheerful to say, it is forlorn. I cannot but
fancy, too, that the audience must miss the old speciality of a
pervading gentleman.

Nobody I know has turned up yet except Elwin. I have had many
invitations to all sorts of houses in all sorts of places, and have of
course accepted them every one.

Love to Mamie, if she has come home, and to Bouncer, if _she_ has come;
also Marguerite, who I hope is by this time much better.

                         Ever, my dear Georgy, your most affectionate.


[Sidenote: Mrs. Henry Austin.]

                                 GAD'S HILL, _Sunday, Nov. 3rd, 1861._

EXTRACT.

I am heartily glad to hear that you have been out in the air, and I hope
you will go again very soon and make a point of continuing to go. There
is a soothing influence in the sight of the earth and sky, which God put
into them for our relief when He made the world in which we are all to
suffer, and strive, and die.

I will not fail to write to you from many points of my tour, and if you
ever want to write to me you may be sure of a quick response, and may be
certain that I am sympathetic and true.

                                                  Ever affectionately.


[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]

            FOUNTAIN HOTEL, CANTERBURY, _Windy Night, Nov. 4th, 1861._

MY DEAREST MAMIE,

A word of report before I go to bed. An excellent house to-night, and an
audience positively perfect. The greatest part of it stalls, and an
intelligent and delightful response in them, like the touch of a
beautiful instrument. "Copperfield" wound up in a real burst of feeling
and delight.

                                                  Ever affectionately.


[Sidenote: Mr. John Agate.]

                LORD WARDEN HOTEL, DOVER, _Wednesday, Nov. 6th, 1861._

SIR,

I am exceedingly sorry to find, from the letter you have addressed to
me, that you had just cause of complaint in being excluded from my
reading here last night. It will now and then unfortunately happen when
the place of reading is small (as in this case), that some confusion
and inconvenience arise from the local agents over-estimating, in
perfect good faith and sincerity, the capacity of the room. Such a
mistake, I am assured, was made last night; and thus all the available
space was filled before the people in charge were at all prepared for
that circumstance.

You may readily suppose that I can have no personal knowledge of the
proceedings of the people in my employment at such a time. But I wish to
assure you very earnestly, that they are all old servants, well
acquainted with my principles and wishes, and that they are under the
strongest injunction to avoid any approach to mercenary dealing; and to
behave to all comers equally with as much consideration and politeness
as they know I should myself display. The recent death of a
much-regretted friend of mine, who managed this business for me, and on
whom these men were accustomed to rely in any little difficulty, caused
them (I have no doubt) to feel rather at a loss in your case. Do me the
favour to understand that under any other circumstances you would, as a
matter of course, have been provided with any places whatever that could
be found, without the smallest reference to what you had originally
paid. This is scanty satisfaction to you, but it is so strictly the
truth, that yours is the first complaint of the kind I have ever
received.

I hope to read in Dover again, but it is quite impossible that I can
make any present arrangement for that purpose. Whenever I may return
here, you may be sure I shall not fail to remember that I owe you a
recompense for a disappointment. In the meanwhile I very sincerely
regret it.

                                                     Faithfully yours.


[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]

                  BEDFORD HOTEL, BRIGHTON, _Thursday, Nov. 7th, 1861._

MY DEAR GEORGY,

       *       *       *       *       *

The Duchess of Cambridge comes to-night to "Copperfield." The bad
weather has not in the least touched us, and beyond all doubt a great
deal of money has been left untaken at each place.

The storm was most magnificent at Dover. All the great side of The Lord
Warden next the sea had to be emptied, the break of the sea was so
prodigious, and the noise was so utterly confounding. The sea came in
like a great sky of immense clouds, for ever breaking suddenly into
furious rain. All kinds of wreck were washed in. Miss Birmingham and I
saw, among other things, a very pretty brass-bound chest being thrown
about like a feather. On Tuesday night, the unhappy Ostend packet could
not get in, neither could she go back, and she beat about the Channel
until noon yesterday. I saw her come in then, _with five men at the
wheel_; such a picture of misery, as to the crew (of passengers there
were no signs), as you can scarcely imagine.

Tho effect at Hastings and at Dover really seems to have outdone the
best usual impression, and at Dover they wouldn't go, but sat applauding
like mad. The most delicate audience I have seen in any provincial place
is Canterbury. The audience with the greatest sense of humour certainly
is Dover. The people in the stalls set the example of laughing, in the
most curiously unreserved way; and they really laughed when Squeers read
the boys' letters, with such cordial enjoyment, that the contagion
extended to me, for one couldn't hear them without laughing too.

So, thank God, all goes well, and the recompense for the trouble is in
every way great. There is rather an alarming breakdown at Newcastle, in
respect of all the bills having been, in some inscrutable way, lost on
the road. I have resolved to send Berry there, with full powers to do
all manner of things, early next week.

The amended route-list is not printed yet, because I am trying to get
off Manchester and Liverpool; both of which I strongly doubt, in the
present state of American affairs. Therefore I can't send it for
Marguerite; but I can, and do, send her my love and God-speed. This is
addressed to the office because I suppose you will be there to-morrow.

                                                  Ever affectionately.


[Sidenote: The Earl of Carlisle.]

                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,
                                                _November 15th, 1861._

MY DEAR LORD CARLISLE,

You know poor Austin, and what his work was, and how he did it. If you
have no private objection to signing the enclosed memorial (which will
receive the right signatures before being presented), I think you will
have no public objection. I shall be heartily glad if you can put your
name to it, and shall esteem your doing so as a very kind service. Will
you return the memorial under cover to Mr. Tom Taylor, at the Local
Government Act Office, Whitehall? He is generously exerting himself in
furtherance of it, and so delay will be avoided.

                       My dear Lord Carlisle, faithfully yours always.


[Sidenote: Miss Mary Boyle.]

                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,
                                            _Sunday, Nov. 17th, 1861._

MY DEAR MARY,

I am perfectly enraptured with the quilt. It is one of the most
tasteful, lively, elegant things I have ever seen; and I need not tell
you that while it is valuable to me for its own ornamental sake, it is
precious to me as a rainbow-hint of your friendship and affectionate
remembrance.

Please God you shall see it next summer occupying its allotted place of
state in my brand-new bedroom here. You shall behold it then, with all
cheerful surroundings, the envy of mankind.

My readings have been doing absolute wonders. Your Duchess and Princess
came to hear first "Nickleby" and the "Pickwick Trial," then
"Copperfield," at Brighton. I think they were pleased with me, and I am
sure I was with them; for they are the very best audience one could
possibly desire. I shall always have a pleasant remembrance of them.

On Wednesday I am away again for the longest part of my trip.

Yes, Mary dear, I must say that I like my Carton, and I have a faint
idea sometimes that if I had acted him, I could have done something with
his life and death.

                    Believe me, ever your affectionate and faithful
                                                                  JOE.


[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]

                   QUEEN'S HEAD, NEWCASTLE, _Friday, Nov. 22nd, 1861._

I received your letter this morning, and grieve to report that the
unlucky Headland has broken down most awfully!

First, as perhaps you remember, this is the place where the bills were
"lost" for a week or two. The consequence has been that the agent could
not announce all through the "Jenny Lind" time (the most important for
announcing), and could but stand still and stare when people came to ask
what I was going to read. Last night I read "Copperfield" to the most
enthusiastic and appreciative audience imaginable, but in numbers about
half what they might have been. To-night we shall have a famous house;
but we might have had it last night too. To-morrow (knowing by this time
what can, of a certainty, be done with "Copperfield"), I had, of course,
given out "Copperfield" to be read again. Conceive my amazement and
dismay when I find the printer to have announced "Little Dombey"!!!
This, I declare, I had no more intention of reading than I had of
reading an account of the solar system. And this, after a sensation last
night, of a really extraordinary nature in its intensity and delight!

Says the unlucky Headland to this first head of misery: "Johnson's
mistake" (Johnson being the printer).

Second, I read at Edinburgh for the first time--observe the day--_next
Wednesday_. Jenny Lind's concert at Edinburgh is to-night. This morning
comes a frantic letter from the Edinburgh agent. "I have no bills, no
tickets; I lose all the announcement I would have made to hundreds upon
hundreds of people to-night, all of the most desirable class to be well
informed beforehand. I can't announce what Mr. Dickens is going to read;
I can answer no question; I have, upon my responsibility, put a dreary
advertisement into the papers announcing that he _is_ going to read so
many times, and that particulars will shortly be ready; and I stand
bound hand and foot." "Johnson's mistake," says the unlucky Headland.

Of course, I know that the man who never made a mistake in poor Arthur's
time is not likely to be always making mistakes now. But I have written
by this post to Wills, to go to him and investigate. I have also
detached Berry from here, and have sent him on by train at a few
minutes' notice to Edinburgh, and then to Glasgow (where I have no doubt
everything is wrong too). Glasgow we may save; Edinburgh I hold to be
irretrievably damaged. If it can be picked up at all, it can only be at
the loss of the two first nights, and by the expenditure of no end of
spirits and force. And this is the harder, because it is impossible not
to see that the last readings polished and prepared the audiences in
general, and that I have not to work them up in any place where I have
been before, but that they start with a London intelligence, and with a
respect and preparation for what they are going to hear.

I hope by the time you and Mamie come to me, we shall have got into some
good method. I must take the thing more into my own hands and look after
it from hour to hour. If such a thing as this Edinburgh business could
have happened under poor Arthur, I really believe he would have fallen
into a fit, or gone distracted. No one can ever know what he was but I
who have been with him and without him. Headland is so anxious and so
good-tempered that I cannot be very stormy with him; but it is the
simple fact that he has no notion of the requirements of such work as
this. Without him, and with a larger salary to Berry (though there are
objections to the latter as _first_ man), I could have done a hundred
times better.

As Forster will have a strong interest in knowing all about the
proceedings, perhaps you will send him this letter to read. There is no
very tremendous harm, indeed, done as yet. At Edinburgh I KNOW what I
can do with "Copperfield." I think it is not too much to say that for
every one who does come to hear it on the first night, I can get back
fifty on the second. And whatever can be worked up there will tell on
Glasgow. Berry I shall continue to send on ahead, and I shall take
nothing on trust and more as being done.

On Sunday morning at six, I have to start for Berwick. From Berwick, in
the course of that day, I will write again; to Mamie next time.

With best love to her and Mrs. B.


[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]

                                QUEEN'S HEAD, NEWCASTLE-ON-TYNE,
                                          _Saturday, Nov. 23rd, 1861._

A most tremendous hall here last night; something almost terrible in the
cram. A fearful thing might have happened. Suddenly, when they were all
very still over Smike, my gas batten came down, and it looked as if the
room was falling. There were three great galleries crammed to the roof,
and a high steep flight of stairs, and a panic must have destroyed
numbers of people. A lady in the front row of stalls screamed, and ran
out wildly towards me, and for one instant there was a terrible wave in
the crowd. I addressed that lady laughing (for I knew she was in sight
of everybody there), and called out as if it happened every night,
"There's nothing the matter, I assure you; don't be alarmed; pray sit
down;" and she sat down directly, and there was a thunder of applause.
It took some few minutes to mend, and I looked on with my hands in my
pockets; for I think if I had turned my back for a moment there might
still have been a move. My people were dreadfully alarmed, Boylett in
particular, who I suppose had some notion that the whole place might
have taken fire.

"But there stood the master," he did me the honour to say afterwards, in
addressing the rest, "as cool as ever I see him a-lounging at a railway
station."

A telegram from Berry at Edinburgh yesterday evening, to say that he
had got the bills, and that they would all be up and dispersed yesterday
evening under his own eyes. So no time was lost in setting things as
right as they can be set. He has now gone on to Glasgow.

P.S.--Duty to Mrs. Bouncer.


[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]

                          BERWICK-ON-TWEED, _Monday, Nov. 25th, 1861._

I write (in a gale of wind, with a high sea running), to let you know
that we go on to Edinburgh at half-past eight to-morrow morning.

A most ridiculous room was designed for me in this odd out-of-the-way
place. An immense Corn Exchange made of glass and iron, round,
dome-topped, lofty, utterly absurd for any such purpose, and full of
thundering echoes, with a little lofty crow's-nest of a stone gallery
breast high, deep in the wall, into which it was designed to put _me_! I
instantly struck, of course, and said I would either read in a room
attached to this house (a very snug one, capable of holding five hundred
people) or not at all. Terrified local agents glowered, but fell
prostrate.

Berry has this moment come back from Edinburgh and Glasgow with hopeful
accounts. He seems to have done the business extremely well, and he says
that it was quite curious and cheering to see how the Glasgow people
assembled round the bills the instant they were posted, and evidently
with a great interest in them.

We left Newcastle yesterday morning in the dark, when it was intensely
cold and froze very hard. So it did here. But towards night the wind
went round to the S.W., and all night it has been blowing very hard
indeed. So it is now.

Tell Mamie that I have the same sitting-room as we had when we came here
with poor Arthur, and that my bedroom is the room out of it which she
and Katie had. Surely it is the oddest town to read in! But it is taken
on poor Arthur's principle that a place in the way pays the expenses of
a through journey; and the people would seem to be coming up to the
scratch gallantly. It was a dull Sunday, though; O it _was_ a dull
Sunday, without a book! For I had forgotten to buy one at Newcastle,
until it was too late. So after dark I made a jug of whisky-punch, and
drowned the unlucky Headland's remembrance of his failures.

I shall hope to hear very soon that the workmen have "broken through,"
and that you have been in the state apartments, and that upholstery
measurements have come off.

There has been a horrible accident in Edinburgh. One of the seven-storey
old houses in the High Street fell when it was full of people. Berry was
at the bill-poster's house, a few doors off, waiting for him to come
home, when he heard what seemed like thunder, and then the air was
darkened with dust, "as if an immense quantity of steam had been blown
off," and then all that dismal quarter set up shrieks, which he says
were most dreadful.


[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]

              WATERLOO HOTEL, EDINBURGH, _Wednesday, Nov. 27th, 1861._

Mrs. Bouncer must decidedly come with you to Carlisle. She shall be
received with open arms. Apropos of Carlisle, let me know _when_ you
purpose coming there. We shall be there, please God, on the Saturday in
good time, as I finish at Glasgow on the Friday night.

I have very little notion of the state of affairs here, as Headland
brought no more decisive information from the agents yesterday (he never
_can_ get decisive information from any agents), than "the teeckets air
joost moving reecht and left." I hope this may be taken as satisfactory.
Jenny Lind carried off a world of money from here. Miss Glyn, or Mrs.
Dallas, is playing Lady Macbeth at the theatre, and Mr. Shirley Brooks
is giving two lectures at the Philosophical Society on the House of
Commons and Horace Walpole. Grisi's farewell benefits are (I think) on
my last two nights here.

Gordon dined with me yesterday. He is, if anything, rather better, I
think, than when we last saw him in town. He was immensely pleased to be
with me. I went with him (as his office goes anywhere) right into and
among the ruins of the fallen building yesterday. They were still at
work trying to find two men (brothers), a young girl, and an old woman,
known to be all lying there. On the walls two or three common clocks are
still hanging; one of them, judging from the time at which it stopped,
would seem to have gone for an hour or so after the fall. Great interest
had been taken in a poor linnet in a cage, hanging in the wind and rain
high up against the broken wall. A fireman got it down alive, and great
exultation had been raised over it. One woman, who was dug out unhurt,
staggered into the street, stared all round her, instantly ran away, and
has never been heard of since. It is a most extraordinary sight, and of
course makes a great sensation.


[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]

                 WATERLOO HOTEL, EDINBURGH, _Friday, Nov. 29th, 1861._

I think it is my turn to write to you, and I therefore send a brief
despatch, like a telegram, to let you know that in a gale of wind and a
fierce rain, last night, we turned away a thousand people. There was no
getting into the hall, no getting near the hall, no stirring among the
people, no getting out, no possibility of getting rid of them. And yet,
in spite of all that, and of their being steaming wet, they never
flagged for an instant, never made a complaint, and took up the trial
upon their very shoulders, to the last word, in a triumphant roar.

The talk about "Copperfield" rings through the whole place. It is done
again to-morrow night. To-morrow morning I read "Dombey." To-morrow
morning is Grisi's "farewell" morning concert, and last night was her
"farewell" evening concert. Neither she, nor Jenny Lind, nor anything,
nor anybody seems to make the least effect on the draw of the readings.

I lunch with Blackwood to-day. He was at the reading last night; a
capital audience. Young Blackwood has also called here. A very good
young fellow, I think.


[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]

            CARRICK'S ROYAL HOTEL, GLASGOW, _Tuesday, Dec. 3rd, 1861._

I send you by this post another _Scotsman_. From a paragraph in it, a
letter, and an advertisement, you may be able to form some dim guess of
the scene at Edinburgh last night. Such a pouring of hundreds into a
place already full to the throat, such indescribable confusion, such a
rending and tearing of dresses, and yet such a scene of good humour on
the whole. I never saw the faintest approach to it. While I addressed
the crowd in the room, Gordon addressed the crowd in the street. Fifty
frantic men got up in all parts of the hall and addressed me all at
once. Other frantic men made speeches to the walls. The whole Blackwood
family were borne in on the top of a wave, and landed with their faces
against the front of the platform. I read with the platform crammed with
people. I got them to lie down upon it, and it was like some impossible
tableau or gigantic picnic; one pretty girl in full dress lying on her
side all night, holding on to one of the legs of my table. It was the
most extraordinary sight. And yet from the moment I began to the moment
of my leaving off, they never missed a point, and they ended with a
burst of cheers.

The confusion was decidedly owing to the local agents. But I think it
may have been a little heightened by Headland's way of sending them the
tickets to sell in the first instance.

Now, as I must read again in Edinburgh on Saturday night, your
travelling arrangements are affected. So observe carefully (you and
Mamie) all that I am going to say. It appears to me that the best course
will be for you to come to _Edinburgh_ on Saturday; taking the fast
train from the Great Northern station at nine in the morning. This would
bring you to the Waterloo at Edinburgh, at about nine or so at night,
and I should be home at ten. We could then have a quiet Sunday in
Edinburgh, and go over to Carlisle on the Monday morning.

The expenditure of lungs and spirits was (as you may suppose) rather
great last night, and to sleep well was out of the question; I am
therefore rather fagged to-day. And as the hall in which I read to-night
is a large one, I must make my letter a short one.

My people were torn to ribbons last night. They have not a hat among
them, and scarcely a coat.

Give my love to Mamie. To her question, "Will there be war with
America?" I answer, "Yes;" I fear the North to be utterly mad, and war
to be unavoidable.


[Sidenote: Mr. W. H. Wills.]

                   VICTORIA HOTEL, PRESTON, _Friday, Dec. 13th, 1861._

MY DEAR WILLS,

The news of the Christmas number is indeed glorious, and nothing can
look brighter or better than the prospects of the illustrious
publication.

Both Carlisle and Lancaster have come out admirably, though I doubted
both, as you did. But, unlike you, I always doubted this place. I do so
still. It is a poor place at the best (you remember?), and the mills are
working half time, and trade is very bad. The expenses, however, will be
a mere nothing. The accounts from Manchester for to-morrow, and from
Liverpool for the readings generally, are very cheering indeed.

The young lady who sells the papers at the station is just the same as
ever. Has orders for to-night, and is coming "with a person." "_The_
person?" said I. "Never _you_ mind," said she.

I was so charmed with Robert Chambers's "Traditions of Edinburgh" (which
I read _in_ Edinburgh), that I was obliged to write to him and say so.

Glasgow finished nobly, and the last night in Edinburgh was signally
successful and positively splendid.

Will you give my small Admiral, on his personal application, one
sovereign? I have told him to come to you for that recognition of his
meritorious services.

                                                      Ever faithfully.


[Sidenote: Mr. W. H. Wills.]

                  ADELPHI HOTEL, LIVERPOOL, _Sunday, Dec. 15th, 1861._

MY DEAR WILLS,

I sent you a telegram to-day, and I write before the answer has come to
hand.

I have been very doubtful what to do here. We have a great let for
to-morrow night. The Mayor recommends closing to-morrow, and going on on
Tuesday and Wednesday, so does the town clerk, so do the agents. But I
have a misgiving that they hardly understand what the public general
sympathy with the Queen will be. Further, I feel personally that the
Queen has always been very considerate and gracious to me, and I would
on no account do anything that might seem unfeeling or disrespectful. I
shall attach great weight, in this state of indecision, to your
telegram.

A capital audience at Preston. Not a capacious room, but full. Great
appreciation.

The scene at Manchester last night was really magnificent. I had had the
platform carried forward to our "Frozen Deep" point, and my table and
screen built in with a proscenium and room scenery. When I went in
(there was a very fine hall), they applauded in the most tremendous
manner; and the extent to which they were taken aback and taken by storm
by "Copperfield" was really a thing to see.

The post closes early here on a Sunday, and I shall close this also
without further reference to "a message from the" W. H. W. being
probably on the road.

Radley is ill, and supposed to be fast declining, poor fellow. The house
is crammed, the assizes on, and troops perpetually embarking for Canada,
and their officers passing through the hotel.

                                     Kindest regards, ever faithfully.


[Sidenote: Miss Mary Boyle.]

                          GAD'S HILL, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,
                                          _Saturday, Dec. 28th, 1861._

MY DEAR MARY,

On Monday (as you know) I am away again, but I am not sorry to see land
and a little rest before me; albeit, these are great experiences of the
public heart.

The little Admiral has gone to visit America in the _Orlando_, supposed
to be one of the foremost ships in the Service, and the best found, best
manned, and best officered that ever sailed from England. He went away
much gamer than any giant, attended by a chest in which he could easily
have stowed himself and a wife and family of his own proportions.

                                 Ever and always, your affectionate
                                                                  JOE.




1862.

NARRATIVE.


At the beginning of this year, Charles Dickens resumed the reading tour
which he had commenced at the close of the previous year and continued
up to Christmas. The first letter which follows, to Mr. Wills, a New
Year's greeting, is written from a railway station between one town and
another on this journey. Mr. Macready, who had married for the second
time not very long before this, was now settled at Cheltenham. Charles
Dickens had arranged to give readings there, chiefly for the pleasure of
visiting him, and of having him as one of his audience.

This reading tour went on until the beginning of February. One of the
last of the series was in his favourite "beautiful room," the St.
George's Hall at Liverpool. In February, he made an exchange of houses
with his friends Mr. and Mrs. Hogge, they going to Gad's Hill, and he
and his family to Mr. Hogge's house in Hyde Park Gate South. In March he
commenced a series of readings at St. James's Hall, which went on until
the middle of June, when he, very gladly, returned to his country home.

A letter beginning "My dear Girls," addressed to some American ladies
who happened to be at Colchester, in the same inn with him when he was
reading there, was published by one of them under the name of "Our
Letter," in the "St. Nicholas Magazine," New York, in 1877. We think it
best to explain it in the young lady's own words, which are, therefore,
appended to the letter.

Mr. Walter Thornbury was one of Charles Dickens's most valuable
contributors to "All the Year Round." His letters to him about the
subjects of his articles for that journal, are specimens of the minute
and careful attention and personal supervision, never neglected or
distracted by any other work on which he might be engaged, were it ever
so hard or engrossing.

The letter addressed to Mr. Baylis we give chiefly because it has, since
Mr. Baylis's death, been added to the collection of MSS. in the British
Museum. He was a very intimate and confidential friend of the late Lord
Lytton, and accompanied him on a visit to Gad's Hill in that year.

We give an extract from another letter from Charles Dickens to his
sister, as a beautiful specimen of a letter of condolence and
encouragement to one who was striving, very bravely, but by very slow
degrees, to recover from the overwhelming grief of her bereavement. Mr.
Wilkie Collins was at this time engaged on his novel of "No Name," which
appeared in "All the Year Round," and was threatened with a very serious
breakdown in health. Charles Dickens wrote the letter which we give, to
relieve Mr. Collins's mind as to his work. Happily he recovered
sufficiently to make an end to his own story without any help; but the
true friendship and kindness which suggested the offer were none the
less appreciated, and may, very likely, by lessening his anxiety, have
helped to restore his health. At the end of October in this year,
Charles Dickens, accompanied by his daughter and sister-in-law, went to
reside for a couple of months in Paris, taking an apartment in the Rue
du Faubourg St. Honore. From thence he writes to M. Charles Fechter. He
had been greatly interested in this fine artist from the time of his
first appearance in England, and was always one of his warmest friends
and supporters during his stay in this country. M. Fechter was, at this
time, preparing for the opening of the Lyceum Theatre, under his own
management, at the beginning of the following year.

Just before Christmas, Charles Dickens returned to Gad's Hill. The
Christmas number for this year was "Somebody's Luggage."


[Sidenote: Mr. W. H. Wills.]


                AT THE BIRMINGHAM STATION, _Thursday, Jan. 2nd, 1862._

MY DEAR WILLS,

Being stationed here for an hour, on my way from Leamington to
Cheltenham, I write to you.

Firstly, to reciprocate all your cordial and affectionate wishes for the
New Year, and to express my earnest hope that we may go on through many
years to come, as we have gone on through many years that are gone. And
I think we can say that we doubt whether any two men can have gone on
more happily and smoothly, or with greater trust and confidence in one
another.

A little packet will come to you from Hunt and Roskell's, almost at the
same time, I think, as this note.

The packet will contain a claret-jug. I hope it is a pretty thing in
itself for your table, and I know that you and Mrs. Wills will like it
none the worse because it comes from me.

It is not made of a perishable material, and is so far expressive of our
friendship. I have had your name and mine set upon it, in token of our
many years of mutual reliance and trustfulness. It will never be so full
of wine as it is to-day of affectionate regard.

                                                Ever faithfully yours.


[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]

                                 CHELTENHAM, _Friday, Jan. 3rd, 1862._

MY DEAREST GEORGY,

Mrs. Macready in voice is very like poor Mrs. Macready dead and gone;
not in the least like her otherwise. She is perfectly satisfactory, and
exceedingly winning. Quite perfect in her manner with him and in her
ease with his children, sensible, gay, pleasant, sweet-tempered; not in
the faintest degree stiff or pedantic; accessible instantly. I have very
rarely seen a more agreeable woman. The house is (on a smaller scale)
any house we have known them in. Furnished with the old furniture,
pictures, engravings, mirrors, tables, and chairs. Butty is too tall for
strength, I am afraid, but handsome, with a face of great power and
character, and a very nice girl. Katie you know all about. Macready,
decidedly much older and infirm. Very much changed. His old force has
gone out of him strangely. I don't think I left off talking a minute
from the time of my entering the house to my going to bed last night,
and he was as much amused and interested as ever I saw him; still he
was, and is, unquestionably aged.

And even now I am obliged to cut this letter short by having to go and
look after Headland. It would never do to be away from the rest of them.
I have no idea what we are doing here; no notion whether things are
right or wrong; no conception where the room is; no hold of the business
at all. For which reason I cannot rest without going and looking after
the worthy man.


[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]

                                 TORQUAY, _Wednesday, Jan. 8th, 1862._

You know, I think, that I was very averse to going to Plymouth, and
would not have gone there again but for poor Arthur. But on the last
night I read "Copperfield," and positively enthralled the people. It was
a most overpowering effect, and poor Andrew[7] came behind the screen,
after the storm, and cried in the best and manliest manner. Also there
were two or three lines of his shipmates and other sailors, and they
were extraordinarily affected. But its culminating effect was on
Macready at Cheltenham. When I got home after "Copperfield," I found him
quite unable to speak, and able to do nothing but square his dear old
jaw all on one side, and roll his eyes (half closed), like Jackson's
picture of him. And when I said something light about it, he returned:
"No--er--Dickens! I swear to Heaven that, as a piece of passion and
playfulness--er--indescribably mixed up together, it does--er--no,
really, Dickens!--amaze me as profoundly as it moves me. But as a piece
of art--and you know--er--that I--no, Dickens! By ----! have seen the
best art in a great time--it is incomprehensible to me. How is it got
at--er--how is it done--er--how one man can--well? It lays me on
my--er--back, and it is of no use talking about it!" With which he put
his hand upon my breast and pulled out his pocket-handkerchief, and I
felt as if I were doing somebody to his Werner. Katie, by-the-bye, is a
wonderful audience, and has a great fund of wild feeling in her. Johnny
not at all unlike Plorn.

I have not yet seen the room here, but imagine it to be very small.
Exeter I know, and that is small also. I am very much used up, on the
whole, for I cannot bear this moist warm climate. It would kill me very
soon. And I have now got to the point of taking so much out of myself
with "Copperfield," that I might as well do Richard Wardour.

You have now, my dearest Georgy, the fullest extent of my tidings. This
is a very pretty place--a compound of Hastings, Tunbridge Wells, and
little bits of the hills about Naples; but I met four respirators as I
came up from the station, and three pale curates without them, who
seemed in a bad way.

Frightful intelligence has just been brought in by Boylett, concerning
the small size of the room. I have terrified Headland by sending him to
look at it, and swearing that if it's too small I will go away to
Exeter.


[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]

                  ADELPHI HOTEL, LIVERPOOL, _Tuesday, Jan. 28th, 1862._

The beautiful room was crammed to excess last night, and numbers were
turned away. Its beauty and completeness when it is lighted up are most
brilliant to behold, and for a reading it is simply perfect. You
remember that a Liverpool audience is usually dull, but they put me on
my mettle last night, for I never saw such an audience--no, not even in
Edinburgh!

I slept horribly last night, and have been over to Birkenhead for a
little change of air to-day. My head is dazed and worn by gas and heat,
and I fear that "Copperfield" and "Bob" together to-night won't mend it.

Best love to Mamie and Katie, if still at Gad's. I am going to bring the
boys some toffee.


[Sidenote: The Misses Armstrong]

                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,
                                            _Monday, Feb. 10th, 1862._

MY DEAR GIRLS,

For if I were to write "young friends," it would look like a
schoolmaster; and if I were to write "young ladies," it would look like
a schoolmistress; and worse than that, neither form of words would look
familiar and natural, or in character with our snowy ride that
tooth-chattering morning.

I cannot tell you both how gratified I was by your remembrance, or how
often I think of you as I smoke the admirable cigars. But I almost think
you must have had some magnetic consciousness across the Atlantic, of my
whiffing my love towards you from the garden here.

My daughter says that when you have settled those little public affairs
at home, she hopes you will come back to England (possibly in united
states) and give a minute or two to this part of Kent. _Her_ words are,
"a day or two;" but I remember your Italian flights, and correct the
message.

I have only just now finished my country readings, and have had nobody
to make breakfast for me since the remote ages of Colchester!

                                                Ever faithfully yours.


OUR LETTER.

By M. F. ARMSTRONG.

"From among all my treasures--to each one of which some pleasant history
is bound--I choose this letter, written on coarse blue paper.

The letter was received in answer to cigars sent from America to Mr.
Dickens.

The 'little public affairs at home' refers to the war of the Rebellion.

At Colchester, he read 'The Trial' from 'Pickwick,' and selections from
'Nicholas Nickleby.'

The lady, her two sisters, and her brother were Mr. Dickens's guests at
the queer old English inn at Colchester.

Through the softly falling snow we came back together to London, and on
the railway platform parted, with a hearty hand-shaking, from the man
who will for ever be enshrined in our hearts as the kindest and most
generous, not to say most brilliant of hosts."


[Sidenote: M. de Cerjat.]

                      16, HYDE PARK GATE, SOUTH KENSINGTON GORE,
                                           _Sunday, March 16th, 1862._

MY DEAR CERJAT,

My daughter naturally liking to be in town at this time of year, I have
changed houses with a friend for three months.

My eldest boy is in business as an Eastern merchant in the City, and
will do well if he can find continuous energy; otherwise not. My second
boy is with the 42nd Highlanders in India. My third boy, a good steady
fellow, is educating expressly for engineers or artillery. My fourth
(this sounds like a charade), a born little sailor, is a midshipman in
H.M.S. _Orlando_, now at Bermuda, and will make his way anywhere.
Remaining two at school, elder of said remaining two very bright and
clever. Georgina and Mary keeping house for me; and Francis Jeffrey (I
ought to have counted him as the third boy, so we'll take him in here as
number two and a half) in my office at present. Now you have the family
bill of fare.

You ask me about Fechter and his Hamlet. It was a performance of
extraordinary merit; by far the most coherent, consistent, and
intelligible Hamlet I ever saw. Some of the delicacies with which he
rendered his conception clear were extremely subtle; and in particular
he avoided that brutality towards Ophelia which, with a greater or less
amount of coarseness, I have seen in all other Hamlets. As a mere _tour
de force_, it would have been very remarkable in its disclosure of a
perfectly wonderful knowledge of the force of the English language; but
its merit was far beyond and above this. Foreign accent, of course, but
not at all a disagreeable one. And he was so obviously safe and at ease,
that you were never in pain for him as a foreigner. Add to this a
perfectly picturesque and romantic "make up," and a remorseless
destruction of all conventionalities, and you have the leading virtues
of the impersonation. In Othello he did not succeed. In Iago he is very
good. He is an admirable artist, and far beyond anyone on our stage. A
real artist and a gentleman.

Last Thursday I began reading again in London--a condensation of
"Copperfield," and "Mr. Bob Sawyer's Party," from "Pickwick," to finish
merrily. The success of "Copperfield" is astounding. It made an
impression that _I_ must not describe. I may only remark that I was half
dead when I had done; and that although I had looked forward, all
through the summer, when I was carefully getting it up, to its being a
London sensation; and that although Macready, hearing it at Cheltenham,
told me to be prepared for a great effect, it even went beyond my hopes.
I read again next Thursday, and the rush for places is quite furious.
Tell Townshend this with my love, if you see him before I have time to
write to him; and tell him that I thought the people would never let me
go away, they became so excited, and showed it so very warmly. I am
trying to plan out a new book, but have not got beyond trying.

                                                 Yours affectionately.


[Sidenote: Mr. Walter Thornbury.]

                                  OFFICE OF "ALL THE YEAR ROUND,"
                                           _Friday, April 18th, 1862._


MY DEAR THORNBURY,

The Bow Street runners ceased out of the land soon after the
introduction of the new police. I remember them very well as standing
about the door of the office in Bow Street. They had no other uniform
than a blue dress-coat, brass buttons (I am not even now sure that that
was necessary), and a bright red cloth waistcoat. The waistcoat was
indispensable, and the slang name for them was "redbreasts," in
consequence.

They kept company with thieves and the like, much more than the
detective police do. I don't know what their pay was, but I have no
doubt their principal complements were got under the rose. It was a very
slack institution, and its head-quarters were The Brown Bear, in Bow
Street, a public-house of more than doubtful reputation, opposite the
police-office; and either the house which is now the theatrical costume
maker's, or the next door to it.

Field, who advertises the Secret Enquiry Office, was a Bow Street
runner, and can tell you all about it; Goddard, who also advertises an
enquiry office, was another of the fraternity. They are the only two I
know of as yet existing in a "questionable shape."

                                              Faithfully yours always.


[Sidenote: Mr. Baylis.]

                        GAD'S HILL, ETC., _Wednesday, July 2nd, 1862._

MY DEAR MR. BAYLIS,

I have been in France, and in London, and in other parts of Kent than
this, and everywhere but here, for weeks and weeks. Pray excuse my not
having (for this reason specially) answered your kind note sooner.

After carefully cross-examining my daughter, I do NOT believe her to be
worthy of the fernery. Last autumn we transplanted into the shrubbery a
quantity of evergreens previously clustered close to the front of the
house, and trained more ivy about the wall and the like. When I ask her
where she would have the fernery and what she would do with it, the
witness falters, turns pale, becomes confused, and says: "Perhaps it
would be better not to have it at all." I am quite confident that the
constancy of the young person is not to be trusted, and that she had
better attach her fernery to one of her chateaux in Spain, or one of her
English castles in the air. None the less do I thank you for your more
than kind proposal.

We have been in great anxiety respecting Miss Hogarth, the sudden
decline of whose health and spirits has greatly distressed us. Although
she is better than she was, and the doctors are, on the whole, cheerful,
she requires great care, and fills us with apprehension. The necessity
of providing change for her will probably take us across the water very
early in the autumn; and this again unsettles home schemes here, and
withers many kinds of fern. If they knew (by "they" I mean my daughter
and Miss Hogarth) that I was writing to you, they would charge me with
many messages of regard. But as I am shut up in my room in a ferocious
and unapproachable condition, owing to the great accumulation of letters
I have to answer, I will tell them at lunch that I have anticipated
their wish. As I know they have bills for me to pay, and are at present
shy of producing them, I wish to preserve a gloomy and repellent
reputation.

                          My dear Mr. Baylis, faithfully yours always.


[Sidenote: Mrs. Henry Austin.]

                                GAD'S HILL, _Tuesday, Oct. 7th, 1862._

       *       *       *       *       *

I do not preach consolation because I am unwilling to preach at any
time, and know my own weakness too well. But in this world there is no
stay but the hope of a better, and no reliance but on the mercy and
goodness of God. Through those two harbours of a shipwrecked heart, I
fully believe that you will, in time, find a peaceful resting-place even
on this careworn earth. Heaven speed the time, and do you try hard to
help it on! It is impossible to say but that our prolonged grief for the
beloved dead may grieve them in their unknown abiding-place, and give
them trouble. The one influencing consideration in all you do as to
your disposition of yourself (coupled, of course, with a real earnest
strenuous endeavour to recover the lost tone of spirit) is, that you
think and feel you _can_ do. I do not in the least regard your change of
course in going to Havre as any evidence of instability. But I rather
hope it is likely that through such restlessness you will come to a far
quieter frame of mind. The disturbed mind and affections, like the
tossed sea, seldom calm without an intervening time of confusion and
trouble.

But nothing is to be attained without striving. In a determined effort
to settle the thoughts, to parcel out the day, to find occupation
regularly or to make it, to be up and doing something, are chiefly to be
found the mere mechanical means which must come to the aid of the best
mental efforts.

It is a wilderness of a day, here, in the way of blowing and raining,
and as darkly dismal, at four o'clock, as need be. My head is but just
now raised from a day's writing, but I will not lose the post without
sending you a word.

Katie was here yesterday, just come back from Clara White's (that was),
in Scotland. In the midst of her brilliant fortune, it is too clear to
me that she is already beckoned away to follow her dead sisters.
Macready was here from Saturday evening to yesterday morning, older but
looking wonderfully well, and (what is very rare in these times) with
the old thick sweep of hair upon his head. Georgina being left alone
here the other day, was done no good to by a great consternation among
the servants. On going downstairs, she found Marsh (the stableman)
seated with great dignity and anguish in an arm-chair, and incessantly
crying out: "I am dead." To which the women servants said with great
pathos (and with some appearance of reason): "No, you ain't, Marsh!" And
to which he persisted in replying: "Yes, I am; I am dead!" Some
neighbouring vagabond was impressed to drive a cart over to Rochester
and fetch the doctor, who said (the patient and his consolers being all
very anxious that the heart should be the scene of affliction):
"Stomach."


[Sidenote: Mr. W. Wilkie Collins.]

                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,
                                     _Tuesday Night, Oct. 14th, 1862._

MY DEAR WILKIE,

Frank Beard has been here this evening, of course since I posted my this
day's letter to you, and has told me that you are not at all well, and
how he has given you something which he hopes and believes will bring
you round. It is not to convey this insignificant piece of intelligence,
or to tell you how anxious I am that you should come up with a wet sheet
and a flowing sail (as we say at sea when we are not sick), that I
write. It is simply to say what follows, which I hope may save you some
mental uneasiness. For I was stricken ill when I was doing "Bleak
House," and I shall not easily forget what I suffered under the fear of
not being able to come up to time.

Dismiss that fear (if you have it) altogether from your mind. Write to
me at Paris at any moment, and say you are unequal to your work, and
want me, and I will come to London straight and do your work. I am quite
confident that, with your notes and a few words of explanation, I could
take it up at any time and do it. Absurdly unnecessary to say that it
would be a makeshift! But I could do it at a pinch, so like you as that
no one should find out the difference. Don't make much of this offer in
your mind; it is nothing, except to ease it. If you should want help, I
am as safe as the bank. The trouble would be nothing to me, and the
triumph of overcoming a difficulty great. Think it a Christmas number,
an "Idle Apprentice," a "Lighthouse," a "Frozen Deep." I am as ready as
in any of these cases to strike in and hammer the hot iron out.

You won't want me. You will be well (and thankless!) in no time. But
there I am; and I hope that the knowledge may be a comfort to you. Call
me, and I come.

As Beard always has a sense of medical responsibility, and says anything
important about a patient in confidence, I have merely remarked here
that "Wilkie" is out of sorts. Charley (who is here with Katie) has no
other cue from me.

                                                  Ever affectionately.


[Sidenote: M. Charles Fechter.]

                          PARIS, RUE DU FAUBOURG ST. HONORE, 27,
                                            _Tuesday, Nov. 4th, 1862._

MY DEAR FECHTER,

You know, I believe, how our letters crossed, and that I am here until
Christmas. Also, you know with what pleasure and readiness I should have
responded to your invitation if I had been in London.

Pray tell Paul Feval that I shall be charmed to know him, and that I
shall feel the strongest interest in making his acquaintance. It almost
puts me out of humour with Paris (and it takes a great deal to do that!)
to think that I was not at home to prevail upon him to come with you,
and be welcomed to Gad's Hill; but either there or here, I hope to
become his friend before this present old year is out. Pray tell him so.

You say nothing in your note of your Lyceum preparations. I trust they
are all going on well. There is a fine opening for you, I am sure, with
a good beginning; but the importance of a good beginning is very great.
If you ever have time and inclination to tell me in a short note what
you are about, you can scarcely interest me more, as my wishes and
strongest sympathies are for and with your success--_mais cela va sans
dire_.

I went to the Chatelet (a beautiful theatre!) the other night to see
"Rothomago," but was so mortally _gene_ with the poor nature of the
piece and of the acting, that I came out again when there was a week or
two (I mean an hour or two, but the hours seemed weeks) yet to get
through.

                        My dear Fechter, very faithfully yours always.


[Sidenote: Mr. Clarkson Stanfield, R.A.]

                          PARIS, RUE DU FAUBOURG ST. HONORE, 27,
                                             _Friday, Dec. 5th, 1862._

MY DEAR STANNY,

We have been here for two months, and I shall probably come back here
after Christmas (we go home for Christmas week) and stay on into
February. But I shall write and propose a theatre before Christmas is
out, so this is to warn you to get yourself into working pantomime
order!

I hope Wills has duly sent you our new Christmas number. As you may like
to know what I myself wrote of it, understand the Dick contributions to
be, _his leaving it till called for_, and _his wonderful end_, _his
boots_, and _his brown paper parcel_.

Since you were at Gad's Hill I have been travelling a good deal, and
looking up many odd things for use. I want to know how you are in health
and spirits, and it would be the greatest of pleasures to me to have a
line under your hand.

God bless you and yours with all the blessings of the time of year, and
of all times!

                                Ever your affectionate and faithful
                                                                 DICK.


[Sidenote: M. Charles Fechter.]

                                    PARIS, _Saturday, Dec. 6th, 1862._

MY DEAR FECHTER,

I have read "The White Rose" attentively, and think it an extremely good
play. It is vigorously written with a great knowledge of the stage, and
presents many striking situations. I think the close particularly fine,
impressive, bold, and new.

But I greatly doubt the expediency of your doing _any_ historical play
early in your management. By the words "historical play," I mean a play
founded on any incident in English history. Our public are accustomed to
associate historical plays with Shakespeare. In any other hands, I
believe they care very little for crowns and dukedoms. What you want is
something with an interest of a more domestic and general nature--an
interest as romantic as you please, but having a more general and wider
response than a disputed succession to the throne can have for
Englishmen at this time of day. Such interest culminated in the last
Stuart, and has worn itself out. It would be uphill work to evoke an
interest in Perkin Warbeck.

I do not doubt the play's being well received, but my fear is that these
people would be looked upon as mere abstractions, and would have but a
cold welcome in consequence, and would not lay hold of your audience.
Now, when you _have_ laid hold of your audience and have accustomed them
to your theatre, you may produce "The White Rose," with far greater
justice to the author, and to the manager also. Wait. Feel your way.
Perkin Warbeck is too far removed from analogy with the sympathies and
lives of the people for a beginning.

                               My dear Fechter, ever faithfully yours.


[Sidenote: Miss Mary Boyle.]

                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,
                                          _Saturday, Dec. 27th, 1862._

MY DEAR MARY,

I must send you my Christmas greeting and happy New Year wishes in
return for yours; most heartily and fervently reciprocating your
interest and affection. You are among the few whom I most care for and
best love.

Being in London two evenings in the opening week, I tried to persuade my
legs (for whose judgment I have the highest respect) to go to an evening
party. But I _could not_ induce them to pass Leicester Square. The
faltering presentiment under which they laboured so impressed me, that
at that point I yielded to their terrors. They immediately ran away to
the east, and I accompanied them to the Olympic, where I saw a very good
play, "Camilla's Husband," very well played. Real merit in Mr. Neville
and Miss Saville.

We came across directly after the gale, with the Channel all bestrewn
with floating wreck, and with a hundred and fifty sick schoolboys from
Calais on board. I am going back on the morning after Fechter's opening
night, and have promised to read "Copperfield" at the Embassy, for a
British charity.

Georgy continues wonderfully well, and she and Mary send you their best
love. The house is pervaded by boys; and every boy has (as usual) an
unaccountable and awful power of producing himself in every part of the
house at every moment, apparently in fourteen pairs of creaking boots.

                              My dear Mary, ever affectionately your
                                                                  JOE.

FOOTNOTES:

[7] Lieutenant Andrew Gordon, R.N., son of the Sheriff of Midlothian.




1863.

NARRATIVE.


At the beginning of this year, Charles Dickens was in Paris for the
purpose of giving a reading at the English Embassy.

He remained in Paris until the beginning of February, staying with his
servant "John" at the Hotel du Helder. There was a series of readings in
London this season at the Hanover Square Rooms. The Christmas number of
"All the Year Round" was entitled "Mrs. Lirriper's Lodgings," to which
Charles Dickens contributed the first and last chapter.

The Lyceum Theatre, under the management of M. Fechter, was opened in
January with "The Duke's Motto," and the letter given here has reference
to this first night.

We regret very much having no letters to Lady Molesworth, who was an old
and dear friend of Charles Dickens. But this lady explains to us that
she has long ceased to preserve any letters addressed to her.

The "Mr. and Mrs. Humphery" (now Sir William and Lady Humphery)
mentioned in the first letter for this year, were dear and intimate
friends of his eldest daughter, and were frequent guests in her father's
house. Mrs. Humphery and her sister Lady Olliffe were daughters of the
late Mr. William Cubitt, M.P.

We have in this year the first letter of Charles Dickens to Mr. Percy
Fitzgerald. This gentleman had been a valuable contributor to his
journal before he became personally known to Charles Dickens. The
acquaintance once made soon ripened into friendship, and for the future
Mr. Fitzgerald was a constant and always a welcome visitor to Gad's
Hill.

The letter to Mr. Charles Reade alludes to his story, "Hard Cash," which
was then appearing in "All the Year Round." As a writer, and as a
friend, he was held by Charles Dickens in the highest estimation.

Charles Dickens's correspondence with his solicitor and excellent
friend, Mr. Frederic Ouvry (now a vice-president of the Society of
Antiquaries), was almost entirely of a business character; but we are
glad to give one or two notes to that gentleman, although of little
public interest, in order to have the name in our book of one of the
kindest of our own friends.


[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]

                          PARIS, HOTEL DU HELDER, RUE DU HELDER,
                                            _Friday, Jan. 16th, 1863._

MY DEAREST MAMIE,

As I send a line to your aunt to-day and know that you will not see it,
I send another to you to report my safe (and neuralgic) arrival here. My
little rooms are perfectly comfortable, and I like the hotel better than
any I have ever put up at in Paris. John's amazement at, and
appreciation of, Paris are indescribable. He goes about with his mouth
open, staring at everything and being tumbled over by everybody.

The state dinner at the Embassy, yesterday, coming off in the room where
I am to read, the carpenters did not get in until this morning. But
their platforms were ready--or supposed to be--and the preparations are
in brisk progress. I think it will be a handsome affair to look at--a
very handsome one. There seems to be great artistic curiosity in Paris,
to know what kind of thing the reading is.

I know a "rela-shon" (with one weak eye), who is in the gunmaking line,
very near here. There is a strong family resemblance--but no muzzle.
Lady Molesworth and I have not begun to "toddle" yet, but have exchanged
affectionate greetings. I am going round to see her presently, and I
dine with her on Sunday. The only remaining news is, that I am beset by
mysterious adorers, and smuggle myself in and out of the house in the
meanest and basest manner.

With kind regard to Mr. and Mrs. Humphery,

                     Ever, my dearest Mamey, your affectionate Father.

P.S.--_Hommage a Madame B.!_


[Sidenote: Monsieur Regnier.]

                                      PARIS, _Sunday, Feb. 1st, 1863._

MY DEAR REGNIER,

I was charmed by the receipt of your cordial and sympathetic letter, and
I shall always preserve it carefully as a most noble tribute from a
great and real artist.

I wished you had been at the Embassy on Friday evening. The audience was
a fine one, and the "Carol" is particularly well adapted to the purpose.
It is an uncommon pleasure to me to learn that I am to meet you on
Tuesday, for there are not many men whom I meet with greater pleasure
than you. Heaven! how the years roll by! We are quite old friends now,
in counting by years. If we add sympathies, we have been friends at
least a thousand years.

                                            Affectionately yours ever.


[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]

                     HOTEL DU HELDER, PARIS, _Sunday, Feb. 1st, 1863._

MY DEAREST MAMIE,

I cannot give you any idea of the success of the readings here, because
no one can imagine the scene of last Friday night at the Embassy. Such
audiences and such enthusiasm I have never seen, but the thing
culminated on Friday night in a two hours' storm of excitement and
pleasure. They actually recommenced and applauded right away into their
carriages and down the street.

You know your parent's horror of being lionised, and will not be
surprised to hear that I am half dead of it. I cannot leave here until
Thursday (though I am every hour in danger of running away) because I
have to dine out, to say nothing of breakfasting--think of me
breakfasting!--every intervening day. But my project is to send John
home on Thursday, and then to go on a little perfectly quiet tour for
about ten days, touching the sea at Boulogne. When I get there, I will
write to your aunt (in case you should not be at home), saying when I
shall arrive at the office. I must go to the office instead of Gad's,
because I have much to do with Forster about Elliotson.

I enclose a short note for each of the little boys. Give Harry ten
shillings pocket-money, and Plorn six.

The Olliffe girls, very nice. Florence at the readings, prodigiously
excited.



[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]

                                      PARIS, _Sunday, Feb. 1st, 1863._

From my hurried note to Mamie, you will get some faint general idea of a
new star's having arisen in Paris. But of its brightness you can have no
adequate conception.

[John has locked me up and gone out, and the little bell at the door is
ringing demoniacally while I write.]

You have never heard me read yet. I have been twice goaded and lifted
out of myself into a state that astonished _me_ almost as much as the
audience. I have a cold, but no neuralgia, and am "as well as can be
expected."

I forgot to tell Mamie that I went (with Lady Molesworth) to hear
"Faust" last night. It is a splendid work, in which that noble and sad
story is most nobly and sadly rendered, and perfectly delighted me. But
I think it requires too much of the audience to do for a London opera
house. The composer must be a very remarkable man indeed. Some
management of light throughout the story is also very poetical and fine.
We had Carvalho's box. I could hardly bear the thing, it affected me so.

But, as a certain Frenchman said, "No weakness, Danton!" So I leave off.


[Sidenote: M. Charles Fechter.]

                                   PARIS, _Wednesday, Feb. 4th, 1863._

MY DEAR FECHTER,

A thousand congratulations on your great success! Never mind what they
say, or do, _pour vous ecraser_; you have the game in your hands. The
romantic drama, thoroughly well done (with a touch of Shakespeare now
and then), is the speciality of your theatre. Give the public the
picturesque, romantic drama, with yourself in it; and (as I told you in
the beginning) you may throw down your gauntlet in defiance of all
comers.

It is a most brilliant success indeed, and it thoroughly rejoices my
heart!

Unfortunately I cannot now hope to see "Maquet," because I am packing up
and going out to dinner (it is late in the afternoon), and I leave
to-morrow morning when all sensible people, except myself, are in bed;
and I do not come back to Paris or near it. I had hoped to see him at
breakfast last Monday, but he was not there. Paul Feval was there, and I
found him a capital fellow. If I can do anything to help you on with
"Maquet"[8] when I come back I will most gladly do it.

My readings here have had the finest possible reception, and have
achieved a most noble success. I never before read to such fine
audiences, so very quick of perception, and so enthusiastically
responsive.

I shall be heartily pleased to see you again, my dear Fechter, and to
share your triumphs with the real earnestness of a real friend. And so
go on and prosper, and believe me, as I truly am,


                                                 Most cordially yours.


[Sidenote: Mr. W. C. Macready.]

                                  OFFICE OF "ALL THE YEAR ROUND,"
                                          _Thursday, Feb. 19th, 1863._

MY DEAREST MACREADY,

I have just come back from Paris, where the readings--"Copperfield,"
"Dombey" and "Trial," and "Carol" and "Trial"--have made a sensation
which modesty (my natural modesty) renders it impossible for me to
describe. You know what a noble audience the Paris audience is! They
were at their very noblest with me.

I was very much concerned by hearing hurriedly from Georgy that you
were ill. But when I came home at night, she showed me Katie's letter,
and that set me up again. Ah, you have the best of companions and
nurses, and can afford to be ill now and then for the happiness of being
so brought through it. But don't do it again yet awhile for all that.

Legouve (whom you remember in Paris as writing for the Ristori) was
anxious that I should bring you the enclosed. A manly and generous
effort, I think? Regnier desired to be warmly remembered to you. He
looks just as of yore.

Paris generally is about as wicked and extravagant as in the days of the
Regency. Madame Viardot in the "Orphee," most splendid. An opera of
"Faust," a very sad and noble rendering of that sad and noble story.
Stage management remarkable for some admirable, and really poetical,
effects of light. In the more striking situations, Mephistopheles
surrounded by an infernal red atmosphere of his own. Marguerite by a
pale blue mournful light. The two never blending. After Marguerite has
taken the jewels placed in her way in the garden, a weird evening draws
on, and the bloom fades from the flowers, and the leaves of the trees
droop and lose their fresh green, and mournful shadows overhang her
chamber window, which was innocently bright and gay at first. I couldn't
bear it, and gave in completely.

Fechter doing wonders over the way here, with a picturesque French
drama. Miss Kate Terry, in a small part in it, perfectly charming. You
may remember her making a noise, years ago, doing a boy at an inn, in
"The Courier of Lyons"? She has a tender love-scene in this piece, which
is a really beautiful and artistic thing. I saw her do it at about three
in the morning of the day when the theatre opened, surrounded by
shavings and carpenters, and (of course) with that inevitable hammer
going; and I told Fechter: "That is the very best piece of womanly
tenderness I have ever seen on the stage, and you'll find that no
audience can miss it." It is a comfort to add that it was instantly
seized upon, and is much talked of.

Stanfield was very ill for some months, then suddenly picked up, and is
really rosy and jovial again. Going to see him when he was very
despondent, I told him the story of Fechter's piece (then in rehearsal)
with appropriate action; fighting a duel with the washing-stand, defying
the bedstead, and saving the life of the sofa-cushion. This so kindled
his old theatrical ardour, that I think he turned the corner on the
spot.

With love to Mrs. Macready and Katie, and (be still my heart!)
Benvenuta, and the exiled Johnny (not too attentive at school, I hope?),
and the personally-unknown young Parr,

                    Ever, my dearest Macready, your most affectionate.


[Sidenote: Miss Power.]

                                  OFFICE OF "ALL THE YEAR ROUND,"
                                          _Thursday, Feb. 26th, 1863._

MY DEAR MARGUERITE,

I think I have found a first-rate title for your book, with an early and
a delightful association in most people's minds, and a strong suggestion
of Oriental pictures:

                        "ARABIAN DAYS AND NIGHTS."

I have sent it to Low's. If they have the wit to see it, do you in your
first chapter touch that string, so as to bring a fanciful explanation
in aid of the title, and sound it afterwards, now and again, when you
come to anything where Haroun al Raschid, and the Grand Vizier, and
Mesrour, the chief of the guard, and any of that wonderful _dramatis
personae_ are vividly brought to mind.

                                                  Ever affectionately.


[Sidenote: Mr. Charles Knight.]

                                  OFFICE OF "ALL THE YEAR ROUND,"
                                         _Wednesday, March 4th, 1863._

MY DEAR CHARLES KNIGHT,

At a quarter to seven on Monday, the 16th, a stately form will be
descried breathing birthday cordialities and affectionate amenities, as
it descends the broken and gently dipping ground by which the level
country of the Clifton Road is attained. A practised eye will be able to
discern two humble figures in attendance, which from their flowing
crinolines may, without exposing the prophet to the imputation of
rashness, be predicted to be women. Though certes their importance,
absorbed and as it were swallowed up in the illustrious bearing and
determined purpose of the maturer stranger, will not enthrall the gaze
that wanders over the forest of San Giovanni as the night gathers in.

                                           Ever affectionately,
                                                       G. P. R. JAMES.


[Sidenote: Mrs. Dallas.[9]]


EXTRACT.

THE TIME OF THE PRINCESS ALEXANDRA'S ARRIVAL IN LONDON.

It is curious to see London gone mad. Down in the Strand here, the
monomaniacal tricks it is playing are grievous to behold, but along
Fleet Street and Cheapside it gradually becomes frenzied, dressing
itself up in all sorts of odds and ends, and knocking itself about in a
most amazing manner. At London Bridge it raves, principally about the
Kings of Denmark and their portraits. I have been looking among them for
Hamlet's uncle, and have discovered one personage with a high nose, who
I think is the man.

                                              Faithfully yours always.


[Sidenote: Mrs. Lehmann.]

      OFFICE OF "ALL THE YEAR ROUND," NO. 26, WELLINGTON STREET,
                               STRAND, LONDON, W.C.,
                                          _Tuesday, March 10th, 1863._

DEAR MRS. LEHMANN,

Two stalls for to-morrow's reading were sent to you by post before I
heard from you this morning. Two will always come to you while you
remain a Gummidge, and I hope I need not say that if you want more, none
could be better bestowed in my sight.

Pray tell Lehmann, when you next write to him, that I find I owe him a
mint of money for the delightful Swedish sleigh-bells. They are the
wonder, awe, and admiration of the whole country side, and I never go
out without them.

Let us make an exchange of child stories. I heard of a little fellow the
other day whose mamma had been telling him that a French governess was
coming over to him from Paris, and had been expatiating on the blessings
and advantages of having foreign tongues. After leaning his plump little
cheek against the window glass in a dreary little way for some minutes,
he looked round and enquired in a general way, and not as if it had any
special application, whether she didn't think "that the Tower of Babel
was a great mistake altogether?"

                                                Ever faithfully yours.


[Sidenote: Mrs. Major.[10]]

  OFFICE OF "ALL THE YEAR ROUND," A WEEKLY JOURNAL, ETC. ETC.,
                     26, WELLINGTON STREET, STRAND,
                                         _Thursday, March 12th, 1863._

MY DEAR MARY,

I am quite concerned to hear that you and your party (including your
brother Willie) paid for seats at my reading last night. You must
promise me never to do so any more. My old affections and attachments
are not so lightly cherished or so easily forgotten as that I can bear
the thought of you and yours coming to hear me like so many strangers.
It will at all times delight me if you will send a little note to me, or
to Georgina, or to Mary, saying when you feel inclined to come, and how
many stalls you want. You may always be certain, even on the fullest
nights, of room being made for you. And I shall always be interested and
pleased by knowing that you are present.

Mind! You are to be exceedingly penitent for last night's offence, and
to make me a promise that it shall never be repeated. On which condition
accept my noble forgiveness.

With kind regard to Mr. Major, my dear Mary,

                                                 Affectionately yours.


[Sidenote: Mr. W. C. Macready.]

                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,
                                         _Thursday, March 31st, 1863._

MY DEAREST MACREADY,

I mean to go on reading into June. For the sake of the finer effects (in
"Copperfield" principally), I have changed from St. James's Hall to the
Hanover Square Room. The latter is quite a wonderful room for sound, and
so easy that the least inflection will tell anywhere in the place
exactly as it leaves your lips; but I miss my dear old shilling
galleries--six or eight hundred strong--with a certain roaring sea of
response in them, that you have stood upon the beach of many and many a
time.

The summer, I hope and trust, will quicken the pace at which you grow
stronger again. I am but in dull spirits myself just now, or I should
remonstrate with you on your slowness.

Having two little boys sent home from school "to see the illuminations"
on the marriage-night, I chartered an enormous van, at a cost of five
pounds, and we started in majesty from the office in London, fourteen
strong. We crossed Waterloo Bridge with the happy design of beginning
the sight at London Bridge, and working our way through the City to
Regent Street. In a by-street in the Borough, over against a dead wall
and under a railway bridge, we were blocked for four hours. We were
obliged to walk home at last, having seen nothing whatever. The wretched
van turned up in the course of the next morning; and the best of it was
that at Rochester here they illuminated the fine old castle, and really
made a very splendid and picturesque thing (so my neighbours tell me).

With love to Mrs. Macready and Katie,

                    Ever, my dearest Macready, your most affectionate.


[Sidenote: Mr. W. Wilkie Collins.]

                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,
                                        _Wednesday, April 22nd, 1863._


                  ON THE DEATH OF MR. EGG.

EXTRACT.

Ah, poor Egg! I knew what you would think and feel about it. When we saw
him in Paris on his way out I was struck by his extreme nervousness, and
derived from it an uneasy foreboding of his state. What a large piece of
a good many years he seems to have taken with him! How often have I
thought, since the news of his death came, of his putting his part in
the saucepan (with the cover on) when we rehearsed "The Lighthouse;" of
his falling out of the hammock when we rehearsed "The Frozen Deep;" of
his learning Italian numbers when he ate the garlic in the carriage; of
the thousands (I was going to say) of dark mornings when I apostrophised
him as "Kernel;" of his losing my invaluable knife in that beastly
stage-coach; of his posting up that mysterious book[11] every night! I
hardly know why, but I have always associated that volume most with
Venice. In my memory of the dear gentle little fellow, he will be (as
since those days he always has been) eternally posting up that book at
the large table in the middle of our Venice sitting-room, incidentally
asking the name of an hotel three weeks back! And his pretty house is to
be laid waste and sold. If there be a sale on the spot I shall try to
buy something in loving remembrance of him, good dear little fellow.
Think what a great "Frozen Deep" lay close under those boards we acted
on! My brother Alfred, Luard, Arthur, Albert, Austin, Egg. Even among
the audience, Prince Albert and poor Stone! "I heard the"--I forget what
it was I used to say--"come up from the great deep;" and it rings in my
ears now, like a sort of mad prophecy.

However, this won't do. We must close up the ranks and march on.


[Sidenote: Rev. W. Brookfield.]

                                         GAD'S HILL, _May 17th, 1863._

MY DEAR BROOKFIELD,

It occurs to me that you may perhaps know, or know of, a kind of man
that I want to discover.

One of my boys (the youngest) now is at Wimbledon School. He is a
docile, amiable boy of fair abilities, but sensitive and shy. And he
writes me so very earnestly that he feels the school to be confusingly
large for him, and that he is sure he could do better with some
gentleman who gave his own personal attention to the education of
half-a-dozen or a dozen boys, as to impress me with the belief that I
ought to heed his conviction.

Has any such phenomenon as a good and reliable man in this wise ever
come in your way? Forgive my troubling you, and believe me,

                                                      Cordially yours.


[Sidenote: Rev. W. Brookfield.]

                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,
                                                     _May 24th, 1863._

MY DEAR BROOKFIELD,

I am most truly obliged to you for your kind and ready help.

When I am in town next week, I will call upon the Bishop of Natal, more
to thank him than with the hope of profiting by that gentleman of whom
he writes, as the limitation to "little boys" seems to stop the way. I
want to find someone with whom this particular boy could remain; if
there were a mutual interest and liking, that would be a great point
gained.

Why did the kings in the fairy tales want children? I suppose in the
weakness of the royal intellect.

Concerning "Nickleby," I am so much of your mind (comparing it with
"Copperfield"), that it was a long time before I could take a pleasure
in reading it. But I got better, as I found the audience always taking
to it. I have been trying, alone by myself, the "Oliver Twist" murder,
but have got something so horrible out of it that I am afraid to try it
in public.

                                                Ever faithfully yours.


[Sidenote: M. de Cerjat.]

                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,
                                           _Thursday, May 28th, 1863._

MY DEAR CERJAT,

I don't wonder at your finding it difficult to reconcile your mind to a
French Hamlet; but I assure you that Fechter's is a very remarkable
performance perfectly consistent with itself (whether it be my
particular Hamlet, or your particular Hamlet, or no), a coherent and
intelligent whole, and done by a true artist. I have never seen, I
think, an intelligent and clear view of the whole character so well
sustained throughout; and there is a very captivating air of romance and
picturesqueness added, which is quite new. Rely upon it, the public were
right. The thing could not have been sustained by oddity; it would have
perished upon that, very soon. As to the mere accent, there is far less
drawback in that than you would suppose. For this reason, he obviously
knows English so thoroughly that you feel he is safe. You are never in
pain for him. This sense of ease is gained directly, and then you think
very little more about it.

The Colenso and Jowett matter is a more difficult question, but
here again I don't go with you. The position of the writers of "Essays
and Reviews" is, that certain parts of the Old Testament have done
their intended function in the education of the world _as it was_;
but that mankind, like the individual man, is designed by the Almighty
to have an infancy and a maturity, and that as it advances, the
machinery of its education must advance too. For example: inasmuch as
ever since there was a sun and there was vapour, there _must have_ been
a rainbow under certain conditions, so surely it would be better now to
recognise that indisputable fact. Similarly, Joshua might command the
sun to stand still, under the impression that it moved round the earth;
but he could not possibly have inverted the relations of the earth and
the sun, whatever his impressions were. Again, it is contended that the
science of geology is quite as much a revelation to man, as books of an
immense age and of (at the best) doubtful origin, and that your
consideration of the latter must reasonably be influenced by the former.
As I understand the importance of timely suggestions such as these, it
is, that the Church should not gradually shock and lose the more
thoughtful and logical of human minds; but should be so gently and
considerately yielding as to retain them, and, through them, hundreds
of thousands. This seems to me, as I understand the temper and tendency
of the time, whether for good or evil, to be a very wise and necessary
position. And as I understand the danger, it is not chargeable on those
who take this ground, but on those who in reply call names and argue
nothing. What these bishops and such-like say about revelation, in
assuming it to be finished and done with, I can't in the least understand.
Nothing is discovered without God's intention and assistance, and I
suppose every new knowledge of His works that is conceded to man to be
distinctly a revelation by which men are to guide themselves. Lastly,
in the mere matter of religious doctrine and dogmas, these men
(Protestants--protestors--successors of the men who protested against
human judgment being set aside) talk and write as if they were all
settled by the direct act of Heaven; not as if they had been, as we know
they were, a matter of temporary accommodation and adjustment among
disputing mortals as fallible as you or I.

Coming nearer home, I hope that Georgina is almost quite well. She has
no attack of pain or flurry now, and is in all respects immensely
better. Mary is neither married nor (that I know of) going to be. She
and Katie and a lot of them have been playing croquet outside my window
here for these last four days, to a mad and maddening extent. My
sailor-boy's ship, the _Orlando_, is fortunately in Chatham Dockyard--so
he is pretty constantly at home--while the shipwrights are repairing a
leak in her. I am reading in London every Friday just now. Great crams
and great enthusiasm. Townshend I suppose to have left Lausanne
somewhere about this day. His house in the park is hermetically sealed,
ready for him. The Prince and Princess of Wales go about (wisely) very
much, and have as fair a chance of popularity as ever prince and
princess had. The City ball in their honour is to be a tremendously
gorgeous business, and Mary is highly excited by her father's being
invited, and she with him. Meantime the unworthy parent is devising all
kinds of subterfuges for sending her and getting out of it himself. A
very intelligent German friend of mine, just home from America,
maintains that the conscription will succeed in the North, and that the
war will be indefinitely prolonged. _I_ say "No," and that however mad
and villainous the North is, the war will finish by reason of its not
supplying soldiers. We shall see. The more they brag the more I don't
believe in them.

       *       *       *       *       *


[Sidenote: Mr. Percy Fitzgerald.]


                   GAD'S HILL PLACE, _Saturday Night, July 4th_, 1863.

MY DEAR MR. FITZGERALD,

I have been most heartily gratified by the perusal of your article on my
dogs. It has given me an amount and a kind of pleasure very unusual, and
for which I thank you earnestly. The owner of the renowned dog Caesar
understands me so sympathetically, that I trust with perfect confidence
to his feeling what I really mean in these few words. You interest me
very much by your kind promise, the redemption of which I hereby claim,
to send me your life of Sterne when it comes out. If you should be in
England before this, I should be delighted to see you here on the top of
Falstaff's own Gad's Hill. It is a very pretty country, not thirty
miles from London; and if you could spare a day or two for its fine
walks, I and my two latest dogs, a St. Bernard and a bloodhound, would
be charmed with your company as one of ourselves.

                                    Believe me, very faithfully yours.


                                        _Friday, July 10th, 1863._[12]

DEAR MADAM,

I hope you will excuse this tardy reply to your letter. It is often
impossible for me, by any means, to keep pace with my correspondents. I
must take leave to say, that if there be any general feeling on the part
of the intelligent Jewish people, that I have done them what you
describe as "a great wrong," they are a far less sensible, a far less
just, and a far less good-tempered people than I have always supposed
them to be. Fagin, in "Oliver Twist," is a Jew, because it unfortunately
was true of the time to which that story refers, that that class of
criminal almost invariably was a Jew. But surely no sensible man or
woman of your persuasion can fail to observe--firstly, that all the rest
of the wicked _dramatis personae_ are Christians; and secondly, that he
is called the "Jew," not because of his religion, but because of his
race. If I were to write a story, in which I described a Frenchman or a
Spaniard as "the Roman Catholic," I should do a very indecent and
unjustifiable thing; but I make mention of Fagin as the Jew, because he
is one of the Jewish people, and because it conveys that kind of idea of
him which I should give my readers of a Chinaman, by calling him a
Chinese.

The enclosed is quite a nominal subscription towards the good object in
which you are interested; but I hope it may serve to show you that I
have no feeling towards the Jewish people but a friendly one. I always
speak well of them, whether in public or in private, and bear my
testimony (as I ought to do) to their perfect good faith in such
transactions as I have ever had with them; and in my "Child's History of
England," I have lost no opportunity of setting forth their cruel
persecution in old times.

                                         Dear Madam, faithfully yours.


In reply to this, the Jewish lady thanks him for his kind letter and its
enclosure, still remonstrating and pointing out that though, as he
observes, "all the other criminal characters were Christians, they are,
at least, contrasted with characters of good Christians; this wretched
Fagin stands alone as the Jew."

The reply to _this_ letter afterwards was the character of Riah, in "Our
Mutual Friend," and some favourable sketches of Jewish character in the
lower class, in some articles in "All the Year Round."


[Sidenote: Mr. Ouvry.]

                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,
                                   _Wednesday Night, July 29th, 1863._

MY DEAR OUVRY,

I have had some undefined idea that you were to let me know if you were
coming to the archaeologs at Rochester. (I myself am keeping out of their
way, as having had enough of crowding and speech-making in London.) Will
you tell me where you are, whether you are in this neighbourhood or out
of it, whether you will come here on Saturday and stay till Monday or
till Tuesday morning? If you will come, I _know_ I can give you the
heartiest welcome in Kent, and I _think_ I can give you the best wine in
this part of it. Send me a word in reply. I will fetch you from
anywhere, at any indicated time.

We have very pretty places in the neighbourhood, and are not
uncomfortable people (I believe) to stay with.

                                                Faithfully yours ever.


[Sidenote: Mr. Charles Reade.]

                                  OFFICE OF "ALL THE YEAR ROUND,"
                                        _Wednesday, Sept. 30th, 1863._

MY DEAR READE,

I _must_ write you one line to say how interested I am in your story,
and to congratulate you upon its admirable art and its surprising grace
and vigour.

And to hint my hope, at the same time, that you will be able to find
leisure for a little dash for the Christmas number. It would be a really
great and true pleasure to me if you could.

                                              Faithfully yours always.


[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]

                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,
                                          _Wednesday, Oct. 7th, 1863._

MY DEAREST GEORGY,

You will see by to-day's _Times_ that it _was_ an earthquake that shook
me, and that my watch showed exactly the same time as the man's who
writes from Blackheath so near us--twenty minutes past three.

It is a great satisfaction to me to make it out so precisely; I wish you
would enquire whether the servants felt it. I thought it was the voice
of the cook that answered me, but that was nearly half an hour later. I
am strongly inclined to think that there is a peculiar susceptibility in
iron--at all events in our part of the country--to the shock, as though
there were something magnetic in it. For, whereas my long iron bedstead
was so violently shaken, I certainly heard nothing rattle in the room.

I will write about my return as soon as I get on with the still unbegun
"Uncommercial."

                                                  Ever affectionately.


[Sidenote: Mr. W. H. Wills.]

                                GAD'S HILL, _Sunday, Dec. 20th, 1863._

MY DEAR WILLS,

I am clear that you took my cold. Why didn't you do the thing
completely, and take it away from me? for it hangs by me still.

Will you tell Mrs. Linton that in looking over her admirable account
(_most_ admirable) of Mrs. Gordon's book, I have taken out the
references to Lockhart, not because I in the least doubt their justice,
but because I knew him and he liked me; and because one bright day in
Rome, I walked about with him for some hours when he was dying fast, and
all the old faults had faded out of him, and the now ghost of the
handsome man I had first known when Scott's daughter was at the head of
his house, had little more to do with this world than she in her grave,
or Scott in his, or small Hugh Littlejohn in his. Lockhart had been
anxious to see me all the previous day (when I was away on the
Campagna), and as we walked about I knew very well that _he_ knew very
well why. He talked of getting better, but I never saw him again. This
makes me stay Mrs. Linton's hand, gentle as it is.

Mrs. Lirriper is indeed a most brilliant old lady. God bless her.

I am glad to hear of your being "haunted," and hope to increase your
stock of such ghosts pretty liberally.

                                                      Ever faithfully.

FOOTNOTES:

[8] Alluding to a translation of a play by M. Maquet, which M. Fechter
was then preparing for his theatre.

[9] Now Mrs. Dallas Glyn.

[10] Formerly Miss Talfourd.

[11] His travelling journal.

[12] Answer to letter from Jewish lady, remonstrating with him on
injustice to the Jews, shown in the character of Fagin, and asking for
subscription for the benefit of the Jewish poor.




1864.

NARRATIVE.


Charles Dickens was, as usual, at Gad's Hill, with a family and friendly
party, at the opening of this year, and had been much shocked and
distressed by the news of the sudden death of Mr. Thackeray, brought to
him by friends arriving from London on the Christmas Eve of 1863, the
day on which the sad event happened. He writes of it, in the first
letter of the year, to Mr. Wilkie Collins, who was passing the winter in
Italy. He tells him, also, of his having got well to work upon a new
serial story, the first number of which ("Our Mutual Friend") was
published on the 1st of May.

The year began very sadly for Charles Dickens. On the 7th of February
(his own birthday) he received the mournful announcement of the death of
his second son, Walter Landor (a lieutenant in the 42nd Royal
Highlanders), who had died quite suddenly at Calcutta, on the last night
of the year of 1863, at the age of twenty-three. His third son, Francis
Jeffrey, had started for India at the end of January.

His annual letter to M. de Cerjat contains an allusion to "another
generation beginning to peep above the table"--the children of his son
Charles, who had been married three years before, to Miss Bessie Evans.

In the middle of February he removed to a house in London (57,
Gloucester Place, Hyde Park), where he made a stay of the usual
duration, up to the middle of June, all the time being hard at work upon
"Our Mutual Friend" and "All the Year Round." Mr. Marcus Stone was the
illustrator of the new monthly work, and we give a specimen of one of
many letters which he wrote to him about his "subjects."

His old friend, Mr. Charles Knight, with whom for many years Charles
Dickens had dined on his birthday, was staying, this spring, in the Isle
of Wight. To him he writes of the death of Walter, and of another sad
death which happened at this time, and which affected him almost as
much. Clara, the last surviving daughter of Mr. and Mrs. White, who had
been happily married to Mr. Gordon, of Cluny, not more than two years,
had just died at Bonchurch. Her father, as will be seen by the touching
allusion to him in this letter, had died a short time after this
daughter's marriage.

A letter to Mr. Edmund Ollier has reference to certain additions which
Charles Dickens wished him to make to an article (by Mr. Ollier) on
Working Men's Clubs, published in "All the Year Round."

We are glad to have one letter to the Lord Chief Baron, Sir Frederick
Pollock, which shows the great friendship and regard Charles Dickens had
for him, and his admiration of his qualities in his judicial capacity.

We give a pleasant letter to Mrs. Storrar, for whom, and for her
husband, Dr. Storrar, Charles Dickens had affectionate regard, because
we are glad to have their names in our book. The letter speaks for
itself and needs no explanation.

The latter part of the year was uneventful. Hard at work, he passed the
summer and autumn at Gad's Hill, taking holidays by receiving visitors
at home (among them, this year, Sir J. Emerson Tennent, his wife and
daughter, who were kindly urgent for his paying them a return visit in
Ireland) and occasional "runs" into France. The last letters we give are
his annual one to M. de Cerjat, and a graceful little New Year's note to
his dear old friend "Barry Cornwall."

The Christmas number was "Mrs. Lirriper's Legacy," the first and last
part written by himself, as in the case of the previous year's "Mrs.
Lirriper."


[Sidenote: Mr. W. Wilkie Collins.]

                                GAD'S HILL, _Monday, Jan. 24th, 1864._

                              EXTRACT.

MY DEAR WILKIE,

I am horribly behindhand in answering your welcome letter; but I have
been so busy, and have had the house so full for Christmas and the New
Year, and have had so much to see to in getting Frank out to India,
that I have not been able to settle down to a regular long letter, which
I mean this to be, but which it may not turn out to be, after all.

First, I will answer your enquiries about the Christmas number and the
new book. The Christmas number has been the greatest success of all; has
shot ahead of last year; has sold about two hundred and twenty thousand;
and has made the name of Mrs. Lirriper so swiftly and domestically
famous as never was. I had a very strong belief in her when I wrote
about her, finding that she made a great effect upon me; but she
certainly has gone beyond my hopes. (Probably you know nothing about
her? which is a very unpleasant consideration.) Of the new book, I have
done the two first numbers, and am now beginning the third. It is a
combination of drollery with romance which requires a great deal of
pains and a perfect throwing away of points that might be amplified; but
I hope it is _very good_. I confess, in short, that I think it is.
Strange to say, I felt at first quite dazed in getting back to the large
canvas and the big brushes; and even now, I have a sensation as of
acting at the San Carlo after Tavistock House, which I could hardly have
supposed would have come upon so old a stager.

You will have read about poor Thackeray's death--sudden, and yet not
sudden, for he had long been alarmingly ill. At the solicitation of Mr.
Smith and some of his friends, I have done what I would most gladly have
excused myself from doing, if I felt I could--written a couple of pages
about him in what was his own magazine.

Concerning the Italian experiment, De la Rue is more hopeful than you.
He and his bank are closely leagued with the powers at Turin, and he has
long been devoted to Cavour; but he gave me the strongest assurances
(with illustrations) of the fusion between place and place, and of the
blending of small mutually antagonistic characters into one national
character, progressing cheeringly and certainly. Of course there must be
discouragements and discrepancies in the first struggles of a country
previously so degraded and enslaved, and the time, as yet, has been very
short.

I should like to have a day with you at the Coliseum, and on the Appian
Way, and among the tombs, and with the Orvieto. But Rome and I are wide
asunder, physically as well as morally. I wonder whether the dramatic
stable, where we saw the marionettes, still receives the Roman public?
And Lord! when I think of you in that hotel, how I think of poor dear
Egg in the long front drawing-room, giving on to the piazza, posting up
that wonderful necromantic volume which we never shall see opened!


[Sidenote: Mr. Marcus Stone.]

                    57, GLOUCESTER PLACE, HYDE PARK,, HYDE PARK,
                                           _Tuesday, Feb. 23rd, 1864._

MY DEAR MARCUS,

I think the design for the cover _excellent_, and do not doubt its
coming out to perfection. The slight alteration I am going to suggest
originates in a business consideration not to be overlooked.

The word "Our" in the title must be out in the open like "Mutual
Friend," making the title three distinct large lines--"Our" as big as
"Mutual Friend." This would give you too much design at the bottom. I
would therefore take out the dustman, and put the Wegg and Boffin
composition (which is capital) in its place. I don't want Mr. Inspector
or the murder reward bill, because these points are sufficiently
indicated in the river at the top. Therefore you can have an indication
of the dustman in Mr. Inspector's place. Note, that the dustman's face
should be droll, and not horrible. Twemlow's elbow will still go out of
the frame as it does now, and the same with Lizzie's skirts on the
opposite side. With these changes, work away!

Mrs. Boffin, as I judge of her from the sketch, "very good, indeed." I
want Boffin's oddity, without being at all blinked, to be an oddity of a
very honest kind, that people will like.

The doll's dressmaker is immensely better than she was. I think she
should now come extremely well. A weird sharpness not without beauty is
the thing I want.

                                                Affectionately always.


[Sidenote: Mr. Charles Knight.]

                                       57, GLOUCESTER PLACE, W.,
                                           _Tuesday, March 1st, 1864._

MY DEAR KNIGHT,

We knew of your being in the Isle of Wight, and had said that we should
have this year to drink your health in your absence. Rely on my being
always ready and happy to renew our old friendship in the flesh. In the
spirit it needs no renewal, because it has no break.

Ah, poor Mrs. White! A sad, sad story! It is better for poor White that
that little churchyard by the sea received his ashes a while ago, than
that he should have lived to this time.

My poor boy was on his way home from an up-country station, on sick
leave. He had been very ill, but was not so at the time. He was talking
to some brother-officers in the Calcutta hospital about his preparations
for home, when he suddenly became excited, had a rush of blood from the
mouth, and was dead. His brother Frank would arrive out at Calcutta,
expecting to see him after six years, and he would have been dead a
month.

My "working life" is resolving itself at the present into another book,
in twenty green leaves. You work like a Trojan at Ventnor, but you do
that everywhere; and that's why you are so young.

Mary and Georgina unite in kindest regard to you, and to Mrs. Knight,
and to your daughters. So do I. And I am ever, my dear Knight,

                                                 Affectionately yours.

P.S.--Serene View! What a placid address!


[Sidenote: Mr. Edmund Ollier.]

                           "ALL THE YEAR ROUND" OFFICE, _March, 1864._

                                 EXTRACT.

I want the article on "Working Men's Clubs" to refer back to "The Poor
Man and his Beer" in No. 1, and to maintain the principle involved in
that effort.

Also, emphatically, to show that trustfulness is at the bottom of all
social institutions, and that to trust a man, as one of a body of men,
is to place him under a wholesome restraint of social opinion, and is a
very much better thing than to make a baby of him.

Also, to point out that the rejection of beer in this club, tobacco in
that club, dancing or what-not in another club, are instances that such
clubs are founded on mere whims, and therefore cannot successfully
address human nature in the general, and hope to last.

Also, again to urge that patronage is the curse and blight of all such
endeavours, and to impress upon the working men that they must originate
and manage for themselves. And to ask them the question, can they
possibly show their detestation of drunkenness better, or better strive
to get rid of it from among them, than to make it a hopeless
disqualification in all their clubs, and a reason for expulsion.

Also, to encourage them to declare to themselves and their fellow
working men that they want social rest and social recreation for
themselves and their families; and that these clubs are intended for
that laudable and necessary purpose, and do not need educational
pretences or flourishes. Do not let them be afraid or ashamed of wanting
to be amused and pleased.


[Sidenote: The Lord Chief Baron.]

                    57, GLOUCESTER PLACE, _Tuesday, March 15th, 1864._

MY DEAR CHIEF BARON,

Many thanks for your kind letter, which I find on my return from a
week's holiday.

Your answer concerning poor Thackeray I will duly make known to the
active spirit in that matter, Mr. Shirley Brooks.

Your kind invitation to me to come and see you and yours, and hear the
nightingales, I shall not fail to discuss with Forster, and with an eye
to spring. I expect to see him presently; the rather as I found a note
from him when I came back yesterday, describing himself somewhat
gloomily as not having been well, and as feeling a little out of heart.

It is not out of order, I hope, to remark that you have been much in my
thoughts and on my lips lately? For I really have not been able to
repress my admiration of the vigorous dignity and sense and spirit, with
which one of the best of judges set right one of the dullest of juries
in a recent case.

                               Believe me ever, very faithfully yours.


[Sidenote: Mr. John Forster.]

                     57, GLOUCESTER PLACE, _Tuesday, March 29th, 1864._

MY DEAR FORSTER,

I meant to write to you last night, but to enable Wills to get away I
had to read a book of Fitzgerald's through before I went to bed.

Concerning Eliot, I sat down, as I told you, and read the book through
with the strangest interest and the highest admiration. I believe it to
be as honest, spirited, patient, reliable, and gallant a piece of
biography as ever was written, the care and pains of it astonishing, the
completeness of it masterly; and what I particularly feel about it is
that the dignity of the man, and the dignity of the book that tells
about the man, always go together, and fit each other. This same quality
has always impressed me as the great leading speciality of the
Goldsmith, and enjoins sympathy with the subject, knowledge of it, and
pursuit of it in its own spirit; but I think it even more remarkable
here. I declare that apart from the interest of having been so put into
the time, and enabled to understand it, I personally feel quite as much
the credit and honour done to literature by such a book. It quite clears
out of the remembrance a thousand pitiful things, and sets one up in
heart again. I am not surprised in the least by Bulwer's enthusiasm. I
was as confident about the effect of the book when I closed the first
volume, as I was when I closed the second with a full heart. No man less
in earnest than Eliot himself could have done it, and I make bold to add
that it never could have been done by a man who was so distinctly born
to do the work as Eliot was to do his.

Saturday at Hastings I must give up. I have wavered and considered, and
considered and wavered, but if I take that sort of holiday, I must have
a day to spare after it, and at this critical time I have not. If I were
to lose a page of the five numbers I have purposed to myself to be
ready by the publication day, I should feel that I had fallen short. I
have grown hard to satisfy, and write very slowly, and I have so much
bad fiction, that _will_ be thought of when I don't want to think of it,
that I am forced to take more care than I ever took.

                                                  Ever affectionately.


[Sidenote: Mrs. Storrar.]

                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,
                                     _Sunday Morning, May 15th, 1864._

MY DEAR MRS. STORRAR,

Our family dinner must come off at Gad's Hill, where I have improvements
to exhibit, and where I shall be truly pleased to see you and the doctor
again. I have deferred answering your note, while I have been scheming
and scheming for a day between this time and our departure. But it is
all in vain. My engagements have accumulated, and become such a whirl,
that no day is left me. Nothing is left me but to get away. I look
forward to my release from this dining life with an inexpressible
longing after quiet and my own pursuits. What with public speechifying,
private eating and drinking, and perpetual simmering in hot rooms, I
have made London too hot to hold me and my work together. Mary and
Georgina acknowledge the condition of imbecility to which we have become
reduced in reference to your kind reminder. They say, when I stare at
them in a forlorn way with your note in my hand: "What CAN you do!" To
which I can only reply, implicating them: "See what you have brought me
to!"

With our united kind regard to yourself and Dr. Storrar, I entreat your
pity and compassion for an unfortunate wretch whom a too-confiding
disposition has brought to this pass. If I had not allowed my "cheeild"
to pledge me to all manner of fellow-creatures, I and my digestion might
have been in a state of honourable independence this day.

                                      Faithfully and penitently yours.


[Sidenote: Mr. Percy Fitzgerald.]

                  OFFICE OF "ALL THE YEAR ROUND," ETC. ETC. ETC.
                                         _Wednesday, July 27th, 1864._

MY DEAR MR. FITZGERALD,

First, let me assure you that it gave us all real pleasure to see your
sister and you at Gad's Hill, and that we all hope you will both come
and stay a day or two with us when you are next in England.

Next, let me convey to you the intelligence that I resolve to launch
"Miss Manuel," fully confiding in your conviction of the power of the
story. On all business points, Wills will communicate with you. I
purpose beginning its publication in our first September number,
therefore there is no time to be lost.

The only suggestion I have to make as to the MS. in hand and type is,
that Captain Fermor wants relief. It is a disagreeable character, as you
mean it to be, and I should be afraid to do so much with him, if the
case were mine, without taking the taste of him, here and there, out of
the reader's mouth. It is remarkable that if you do not administer a
disagreeable character carefully, the public have a decided tendency to
think that the _story_ is disagreeable, and not merely the fictitious
person.

What do you think of the title,

                              NEVER FORGOTTEN?

It is a good one in itself, would express the eldest sister's pursuit,
and glanced at now and then in the text, would hold the reader in
suspense. I would propose to add the line,

                       BY THE AUTHOR OF BELLA DONNA.

Let me know your opinion as to the title. I need not assure you that the
greatest care will be taken of you here, and that we shall make you as
thoroughly well and widely known as we possibly can.

                                                Very faithfully yours.


[Sidenote: Sir James Emerson Tennent.]

                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,
                                            _Friday, Aug. 26th, 1864._

MY DEAR TENNENT,

Believe me, I fully intended to come to you--did not doubt that I should
come--and have greatly disappointed Mary and her aunt, as well as
myself, by not coming. But I do not feel safe in going out for a visit.
The mere knowledge that I had such a thing before me would put me out.
It is not the length of time consumed, or the distance traversed, but it
is the departure from a settled habit and a continuous sacrifice of
pleasures that comes in question. This is an old story with me. I have
never divided a book of my writing with anything else, but have always
wrought at it to the exclusion of everything else; and it is now too
late to change.

After receiving your kind note I resolved to make another trial. But the
hot weather and a few other drawbacks did not mend the matter, for I
have dropped astern this month instead of going ahead. So I have seen
Forster, and shown him my chains, and am reduced to taking exercise in
them, like Baron Trenck.

I am heartily pleased that you set so much store by the dedication. You
may be sure that it does not make me the less anxious to take pains, and
to work out well what I have in my mind.

Mary and Georgina unite with me in kindest regards to Lady Tennent and
Miss Tennent, and wish me to report that while they are seriously
disappointed, they still feel there is no help for it. I can testify
that they had great pleasure in the anticipation of the visit, and that
their faces were very long and blank indeed when I began to hint my
doubts. They fought against them valiantly as long as there was a
chance, but they see my difficulty as well as anyone not myself can.

                  Believe me, my dear Tennent, ever faithfully yours.


[Sidenote: Mr. Clarkson Stanfield, R.A.]

                          THE ATHENAEUM, _Wednesday, Sept. 21st, 1864._

MY DEAR STANNY,

I met George in the street a few days ago, and he gave me a wonderful
account of the effect of your natural element upon you at Ramsgate. I
expect you to come back looking about twenty-nine, and feeling about
nineteen.

This morning I have looked in here to put down Fechter as a candidate,
on the chance of the committee's electing him some day or other. He is a
most devoted worshipper of yours, and would take it as a great honour if
you would second him. Supposing you to have not the least objection (of
course, if you should have any, I can in a moment provide a substitute),
will you write your name in the candidates' book as his seconder when
you are next in town and passing this way?

Lastly, if you should be in town on his opening night (a Saturday, and
in all probability the 22nd of October), will you come and dine at the
office and see his new piece? You have not yet "pronounced" in the
matter of that new French stage of his, on which Calcott for the said
new piece has built up all manner of villages, camps, Versailles
gardens, etc. etc. etc. etc., with no wings, no flies, no looking off
in any direction. If you tell me that you are to be in town by that
time, I will not fail to refresh your memory as to the precise day.

        With kind regard to Mrs. Stanfield,
                Believe me, my dear old boy, ever your affectionate
                                                                 DICK.


[Sidenote: M. de Cerjat.]

                          GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER,
                                           _Tuesday, Oct. 25th, 1864._

MY DEAR CERJAT,

Here is a limping brute of a reply to your always-welcome Christmas
letter! But, as usual, when I have done my day's work, I jump up from my
desk and rush into air and exercise, and find letter-writing the most
difficult thing in my daily life.

I hope that your asthmatic tendencies may not be strong just now; but
Townshend's account of the premature winter at Lausanne is not
encouraging, and with us here in England all such disorders have been
aggravated this autumn. However, a man of your dignity _must_ have
either asthma or gout, and I hope you have got the better of the two.

In London there is, as you see by the papers, extraordinarily little
news. At present the apprehension (rather less than it was thought) of a
commercial crisis, and the trial of Mueller next Thursday, are the two
chief sensations. I hope that gentleman will be hanged, and have hardly
a doubt of it, though croakers contrariwise are not wanting. It is
difficult to conceive any other line of defence than that the
circumstances proved, taken separately, are slight. But a sound judge
will immediately charge the jury that the strength of the circumstances
lies in their being put together, and will thread them together on a
fatal rope.

As to the Church, my friend, I am sick of it. The spectacle presented by
the indecent squabbles of priests of most denominations, and the
exemplary unfairness and rancour with which they conduct their
differences, utterly repel me. And the idea of the Protestant
establishment, in the face of its own history, seeking to trample out
discussion and private judgment, is an enormity so cool, that I wonder
the Right Reverends, Very Reverends, and all other Reverends, who commit
it, can look in one another's faces without laughing, as the old
soothsayers did. Perhaps they can't and don't. How our sublime and
so-different Christian religion is to be administered in the future I
cannot pretend to say, but that the Church's hand is at its own throat I
am fully convinced. Here, more Popery, there, more Methodism--as many
forms of consignment to eternal damnation as there are articles, and all
in one forever quarrelling body--the Master of the New Testament put out
of sight, and the rage and fury almost always turning on the letter of
obscure parts of the Old Testament, which itself has been the subject of
accommodation, adaptation, varying interpretation without end--these
things cannot last. The Church that is to have its part in the coming
time must be a more Christian one, with less arbitrary pretensions and a
stronger hold upon the mantle of our Saviour, as He walked and talked
upon this earth.

Of family intelligence I have very little. Charles Collins continuing in
a very poor way, and showing no signs of amendment. He and my daughter
Katie went to Wiesbaden and thence to Nice, where they are now. I have
strong apprehensions that he will never recover, and that she will be
left a young widow. All the rest are as they were. Mary neither married
nor going to be; Georgina holding them all together and perpetually
corresponding with the distant ones; occasional rallyings coming off
here, in which another generation begins to peep above the table. I once
used to think what a horrible thing it was to be a grandfather. Finding
that the calamity falls upon me without my perceiving any other change
in myself, I bear it like a man.

Mrs. Watson has bought a house in town, to which she repairs in the
season, for the bringing out of her daughter. She is now at Rockingham.
Her eldest son is said to be as good an eldest son as ever was, and to
make her position there a perfectly independent and happy one. I have
not seen him for some years; her I often see; but he ought to be a good
fellow, and is very popular in his neighbourhood.

I have altered this place very much since you were here, and have made a
pretty (I think an unusually pretty) drawing-room. I wish you would come
back and see it. My being on the Dover line, and my being very fond of
France, occasion me to cross the Channel perpetually. Whenever I feel
that I have worked too much, or am on the eve of overdoing it, and want
a change, away I go by the mail-train, and turn up in Paris or anywhere
else that suits my humour, next morning. So I come back as fresh as a
daisy, and preserve as ruddy a face as though I never leant over a sheet
of paper. When I retire from a literary life I think of setting up as a
Channel pilot.

Pray give my love to Mrs. Cerjat, and tell her that I should like to go
up the Great St. Bernard again, and shall be glad to know if she is open
to another ascent. Old days in Switzerland are ever fresh to me, and
sometimes I walk with you again, after dark, outside the hotel at
Martigny, while Lady Mary Taylour (wasn't it?) sang within very
prettily. Lord, how the time goes! How many years ago!

                                                 Affectionately yours.


                                     _Wednesday, Nov. 16th, 1864._[13]

DEAR MADAM,

I have received your letter with great pleasure, and hope to be (as I
have always been at heart) the best of friends with the Jewish people.
The error you point out to me had occurred to me, as most errors do to
most people, when it was too late to correct it. But it will do no harm.
The peculiarities of dress and manner are fused together for the sake of
picturesqueness.

                                         Dear Madam, faithfully yours.


[Sidenote: Mr. B. W. Procter.]

                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,
                                          _Saturday, Dec. 31st, 1864._

MY DEAR PROCTER,

I have reserved my acknowledgment of your delightful note (the youngest
note I have had in all this year) until to-day, in order that I might
send, most heartily and affectionately, all seasonable good wishes to
you and to Mrs. Procter, and to those who are nearest and dearest to
you. Take them from an old friend who loves you.

Mamie returns the tender compliments, and Georgina does what the
Americans call "endorse them." Mrs. Lirriper is proud to be so
remembered, and says over and over again "that it's worth twenty times
the trouble she has taken with the narrative, since Barry Cornwall,
Esquire, is pleased to like it."

I got rid of a touch of neuralgia in France (as I always do there), but
I found no old friends in my voyages of discovery on that side, such as
I have left on this.

                              My dear Procter, ever your affectionate.


FOOTNOTES:

[13] In answer to another letter from the "Jewish lady," in which she
gives her reasons for still being dissatisfied with the character of
Riah.




1865.

NARRATIVE.


For this spring a furnished house in Somer's Place, Hyde Park, had been
taken, which Charles Dickens occupied, with his sister-in-law and
daughter, from the beginning of March until June.

During the year he paid two short visits to France.

He was still at work upon "Our Mutual Friend," two numbers of which had
been issued in January and February, when the first volume was
published, with dedication to Sir James Emerson Tennent. The remaining
numbers were issued between March and November, when the complete work
was published in two volumes.

The Christmas number, to which Charles Dickens contributed three
stories, was called "Doctor Marigold's Prescriptions."

Being out of health, and much overworked, Charles Dickens, at the end of
May, took his first short holiday trip into France. And on his way home,
and on a day afterwards so fatal to him, the 9th of June, he was in that
most terrible railway accident at Staplehurst. Many of our letters for
this year have reference to this awful experience--an experience from
the effects of which his nerves never wholly recovered. His letters to
Mr. Thomas Mitton and to Mrs. Hulkes (an esteemed friend and neighbour)
are graphic descriptions of this disaster. But they do NOT tell of the
wonderful presence of mind and energy shown by Charles Dickens when most
of the terrified passengers were incapable of thought or action, or of
his gentleness and goodness to the dead and dying. The Mr. Dickenson[14]
mentioned in the letter to Mrs. Hulkes soon recovered. He always
considers that he owes his life to Charles Dickens, the latter having
discovered and extricated him from beneath a carriage before it was too
late.

Our first letter to Mr. Kent is one of congratulation upon his having
become the proprietor of _The Sun_ newspaper.

Professor Owen has been so kind as to give us some notes, which we
publish for the sake of his great name. Charles Dickens had not much
correspondence with Professor Owen, but there was a firm friendship and
great mutual admiration between them.

The letter to Mrs. Procter is in answer to one from her, asking Charles
Dickens to write a memoir of her daughter Adelaide, as a preface to a
collected edition of her poems.


[Sidenote: Mr. William Charles Kent.]

                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,
                                           _Tuesday, Jan. 17th, 1865._

MY DEAR KENT,

I meant to have written instantly on the appearance of your paper in its
beautiful freshness, to congratulate you on its handsome appearance, and
to send you my heartiest good wishes for its thriving and prosperous
career. Through a mistake of the postman's, that remarkable letter has
been tesselated into the Infernal Pavement instead of being delivered in
the Strand.

We have been looking and waiting for your being well enough to propose
yourself for a mouthful of fresh air. Are you well enough to come on
Sunday? We shall be coming down from Charing Cross on Sunday morning,
and I shall be going up again at nine on Monday morning.

It amuses me to find that you don't see your way with a certain "Mutual
Friend" of ours. I have a horrible suspicion that you may begin to be
fearfully knowing at somewhere about No. 12 or 13. But you shan't if I
can help it.

Your note delighted me because it dwelt upon the places in the number
that _I_ dwell on. Not that that is anything new in your case, but it is
always new to me in the pleasure I derive from it, which is truly
inexpressible.

                                                 Ever cordially yours.


[Sidenote: Mrs. Procter.]

                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,
                                         _Wednesday, Feb. 15th, 1865._

MY DEAR MRS. PROCTER,

Of course I will do it, and of course I will do it for the love of you
and Procter. You can give me my brief, and we can speak about its
details. Once again, of course I will do it, and with all my heart.

I have registered a vow (in which there is not the least merit, for I
couldn't help it) that when I am, as I am now, very hard at work upon a
book, I never will dine out more than one day in a week. Why didn't you
ask me for the Wednesday, before I stood engaged to Lady Molesworth for
the Tuesday?

It is so delightful to me to sit by your side anywhere and be brightened
up, that I lay a handsome sacrifice upon the altar of "Our Mutual
Friend" in writing this note, very much against my will. But for as many
years as can be made consistent with my present juvenility, I always
have given my work the first place in my life, and what can I do now at
35!--or at least at the two figures, never mind their order.

I send my love to Procter, hoping you may appropriate a little of it by
the way.

                                                 Affectionately yours.


[Sidenote: Mr. W. C. Macready.]

                                  OFFICE OF "ALL THE YEAR ROUND,"
                                         _Wednesday, March 1st, 1865._

MY DEAREST MACREADY,

I have been laid up here with a frost-bitten foot (from hard walking in
the snow), or you would have heard from me sooner.

My reply to Professor Agassiz is short, but conclusive. Daily seeing
improper uses made of confidential letters in the addressing of them to
a public audience that have no business with them, I made not long ago a
great fire in my field at Gad's Hill, and burnt every letter I
possessed. And now I always destroy every letter I receive not on
absolute business, and my mind is so far at ease. Poor dear Felton's
letters went up into the air with the rest, or his highly distinguished
representative should have had them most willingly.

We never fail to drink old P.'s health on his birthday, or to make him
the subject of a thousand loving remembrances. With best love to Mrs.
Macready and Katie,

                          Ever, my dearest Macready,
                                        Your most affectionate Friend.


[Sidenote: Mr. W. C. Macready.]

                                   16, SOMER'S PLACE, HYDE PARK,
                                   _Saturday Night, April 22nd, 1865._

MY DEAREST MACREADY,

A thousand thanks for your kind letter, most heartily welcome.

My frost-bitten foot, after causing me great inconvenience and much
pain, has begun to conduct itself amiably. I can now again walk my ten
miles in the morning without inconvenience, but am absurdly obliged to
sit shoeless all the evening--a very slight penalty, as I detest going
out to dinner (which killed the original old Parr by-the-bye).

I am working like a dragon at my book, and am a terror to the household,
likewise to all the organs and brass bands in this quarter. Gad's Hill
is being gorgeously painted, and we are here until the 1st of June. I
wish I might hope you would be there any time this summer; I really
_have_ made the place comfortable and pretty by this time.

It is delightful to us to hear such good news of Butty. She made so
deep an impression on Fechter that he always asks me what Ceylon has
done for her, and always beams when I tell him how thoroughly well it
has made her. As to _you_, you are the youngest man (worth mentioning as
a thorough man) that I know. Oh, let me be as young when I am as----did
you think I was going to write "old?" No, sir--withdrawn from the wear
and tear of busy life is my expression.

Poole still holds out at Kentish Town, and says he is dying of solitude.
His memory is astoundingly good. I see him about once in two or three
months, and in the meantime he makes notes of questions to ask me when I
come. Having fallen in arrear of the time, these generally refer to
unknown words he has encountered in the newspapers. His three last (he
always reads them with tremendous difficulty through an enormous
magnifying-glass) were as follows:

        1. What's croquet?
        2. What's an Albert chain?
        3. Let me know the state of mind of the Queen.

When I had delivered a neat exposition on these heads, he turned back to
his memoranda, and came to something that the utmost power of the
enormous magnifying-glass couldn't render legible. After a quarter of an
hour or so, he said: "O yes, I know." And then rose and clasped his
hands above his head, and said: "Thank God, I am not a dram-drinker."

Do think of coming to Gad's in the summer; and do give my love to Mrs.
Macready, and tell her I know she can make you come if she will. Mary
and Georgy send best and dearest loves to her, to you, and to Katie, and
to baby. Johnny we suppose to be climbing the tree of knowledge
elsewhere.

                  My dearest Macready, ever yours most affectionately.


[Sidenote: Mr. W. C. Macready.]

                                GAD'S HILL, _Monday, June 12th, 1865._

MY DEAREST MACREADY,

                    [_So far in his own writing._]

Many thanks for your kind words of remembrance.[15] This is not all in
my own hand, because I am too much shaken to write many notes. Not by
the beating and dragging of the carriage in which I was--it did not go
over, but was caught on the turn, among the ruins of the bridge--but by
the work afterwards to get out the dying and dead, which was terrible.

                   [_The rest in his own writing_.]

                                        Ever your affectionate Friend.

P.S.--My love to Mrs. Macready.


[Sidenote: Mr. Thomas Mitton.]

                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,
                                           _Tuesday, June 13th, 1865._

MY DEAR MITTON,

I should have written to you yesterday or the day before, if I had been
quite up to writing.

I was in the only carriage that did not go over into the stream. It was
caught upon the turn by some of the ruin of the bridge, and hung
suspended and balanced in an apparently impossible manner. Two ladies
were my fellow-passengers, an old one and a young one. This is exactly
what passed. You may judge from it the precise length of the suspense:
Suddenly we were off the rail, and beating the ground as the car of a
half-emptied balloon might. The old lady cried out, "My God!" and the
young one screamed. I caught hold of them both (the old lady sat
opposite and the young one on my left), and said: "We can't help
ourselves, but we can be quiet and composed. Pray don't cry out." The
old lady immediately answered: "Thank you. Rely upon me. Upon my soul I
will be quiet." We were then all tilted down together in a corner of the
carriage, and stopped. I said to them thereupon: "You may be sure
nothing worse can happen. Our danger _must_ be over. Will you remain
here without stirring, while I get out of the window?" They both
answered quite collectedly, "Yes," and I got out without the least
notion what had happened. Fortunately I got out with great caution and
stood upon the step. Looking down I saw the bridge gone, and nothing
below me but the line of rail. Some people in the two other compartments
were madly trying to plunge out at window, and had no idea that there
was an open swampy field fifteen feet down below them, and nothing else!
The two guards (one with his face cut) were running up and down on the
down side of the bridge (which was not torn up) quite wildly. I called
out to them: "Look at me. Do stop an instant and look at me, and tell me
whether you don't know me." One of them answered: "We know you very
well, Mr. Dickens." "Then," I said, "my good fellow, for God's sake give
me your key, and send one of those labourers here, and I'll empty this
carriage." We did it quite safely, by means of a plank or two, and when
it was done I saw all the rest of the train, except the two baggage
vans, down in the stream. I got into the carriage again for my brandy
flask, took off my travelling hat for a basin, climbed down the
brickwork, and filled my hat with water.

Suddenly I came upon a staggering man covered with blood (I think he
must have been flung clean out of his carriage), with such a frightful
cut across the skull that I couldn't bear to look at him. I poured some
water over his face and gave him some to drink, then gave him some
brandy, and laid him down on the grass, and he said, "I am gone," and
died afterwards. Then I stumbled over a lady lying on her back against a
little pollard-tree, with the blood streaming over her face (which was
lead colour) in a number of distinct little streams from the head. I
asked her if she could swallow a little brandy and she just nodded, and
I gave her some and left her for somebody else. The next time I passed
her she was dead. Then a man, examined at the inquest yesterday (who
evidently had not the least remembrance of what really passed), came
running up to me and implored me to help him find his wife, who was
afterwards found dead. No imagination can conceive the ruin of the
carriages, or the extraordinary weights under which the people were
lying, or the complications into which they were twisted up among iron
and wood, and mud and water.

I don't want to be examined at the inquest, and I don't want to write
about it. I could do no good either way, and I could only seem to speak
about myself, which, of course, I would rather not do. I am keeping very
quiet here. I have a--I don't know what to call it--constitutional (I
suppose) presence of mind, and was not in the least fluttered at the
time. I instantly remembered that I had the MS. of a number with me, and
clambered back into the carriage for it. But in writing these scanty
words of recollection I feel the shake and am obliged to stop.

                                                      Ever faithfully.


[Sidenote: Mr. Walter Jones.]

                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,
                                        _Saturday, June 17th, 1865_.[16]

SIR,

I beg you to assure the Committee of the Newsvendors' Benevolent and
Provident Institution, that I have been deeply affected by their special
remembrance of me in my late escape from death or mutilation, and that I
thank them with my whole heart.

                                          Faithfully yours and theirs.


[Sidenote: Mrs. Hulkes.]

                                GAD'S HILL, _Sunday, June 18th, 1865._

MY DEAR MRS. HULKES,

I return the _Examiner_ with many thanks. The account is true, except
that I _had_ brandy. By an extraordinary chance I had a bottle and a
half with me. I slung the half-bottle round my neck, and carried my hat
full of water in my hands. But I can understand the describer (whoever
he is) making the mistake in perfect good faith, and supposing that I
called for brandy, when I really called to the others who were helping:
"I have brandy here." The Mr. Dickenson mentioned had changed places
with a Frenchman, who did not like the window down, a few minutes before
the accident. The Frenchman was killed, and a labourer and I got Mr.
Dickenson out of a most extraordinary heap of dark ruins, in which he
was jammed upside down. He was bleeding at the eyes, ears, nose, and
mouth; but he didn't seem to know that afterwards, and of course I
didn't tell him. In the moment of going over the viaduct the whole of
his pockets were shaken empty! He had no watch, no chain, no money, no
pocket-book, no handkerchief, when we got him out. He had been choking
a quarter of an hour when I heard him groaning. If I had not had the
brandy to give him at the moment, I think he would have been done for.
As it was, I brought him up to London in the carriage with me, and
couldn't make him believe he was hurt. He was the first person whom the
brandy saved. As I ran back to the carriage for the whole full bottle, I
saw the first two people I had helped lying dead. A bit of shade from
the hot sun, into which we got the unhurt ladies, soon had as many dead
in it as living.

                                              Faithfully yours always.


[Sidenote: Mr. Arthur Ryland.]

                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,
                                         _Wednesday, June 21st, 1865._

MY DEAR MR. RYLAND,

I need not assure you that I regard the unanimous desire of the Town
Council Committee as a great honour, and that I feel the strongest
interest in the occasion, and the strongest wish to associate myself
with it.

But, after careful consideration, I most unwillingly come to the
conclusion that I must decline. At the time in question I shall, please
God, either have just finished, or be just finishing, my present book.
Country rest and reflection will then be invaluable to me, before
casting about for Christmas. I am a little shaken in my nervous system
by the terrible and affecting incidents of the late railway accident,
from which I bodily escaped. I am withdrawing myself from engagements of
all kinds, in order that I may pursue my story with the comfortable
sense of being perfectly free while it is a-doing, and when it is done.
The consciousness of having made this engagement would, if I were to
make it, render such sense incomplete, and so open the way to others.
This is the real state of the case, and the whole reason for my
declining.

                                              Faithfully yours always.


[Sidenote: Mrs. Lehmann.]

                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,
                                           _Tuesday, June 29th, 1865._

DEAR MRS. LEHMANN,

Come (with self and partner) on either of the days you name, and you
will be heartily welcomed by the humble youth who now addresses you, and
will then cast himself at your feet.

I am quite right again, I thank God, and have even got my voice back; I
most unaccountably brought somebody else's out of that terrible scene.
The directors have sent me a Resolution of Thanks for assistance to the
unhappy passengers.

                             With kind regards to Lehmann, ever yours.


[Sidenote: Mr. Percy Fitzgerald.]

                                  OFFICE OF "ALL THE YEAR ROUND,"
                                             _Friday, July 7th, 1865._

MY DEAR FITZGERALD,

I shall be delighted to see you at Gad's Hill on Sunday, and I hope you
will bring a bag with you and will not think of returning to London at
night.

We are a small party just now, for my daughter Mary has been decoyed to
Andover for the election week, in the Conservative interest; think of my
feelings as a Radical parent! The wrong-headed member and his wife are
the friends with whom she hunts, and she helps to receive (and
_de_ceive) the voters, which is very awful!

But in the week after next we shall be in great croquet force. I shall
hope to persuade you to come back to us then for a few days, and we will
try to make you some amends for a dull Sunday. Turn it over in your mind
and try to manage it.

                                                 Sincerely yours ever.


[Sidenote: Professor Owen, F.R.S.]

                             GAD'S HILL, _Wednesday, July 12th, 1865._

MY DEAR OWEN,

Studying the gorilla last night for the twentieth time, it suddenly came
into my head that I had never thanked you for that admirable treatise.
This is to bear witness to my blushes and repentance. If you knew how
much interest it has awakened in me, and how often it has set me
a-thinking, you would consider me a more thankless beast than any
gorilla that ever lived. But happily you do _not_ know, and I am not
going to tell you.

                                    Believe me, ever faithfully yours.


[Sidenote: The Earl Russell.]

                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,
                                         _Wednesday, Aug. 16th, 1865._

MY DEAR LORD RUSSELL,

Mr. Dallas, who is a candidate for the Scotch professional chair left
vacant by Aytoun's death, has asked me if I would object to introduce to
you the first volume of a book he has in the press with my publishers,
on "The Gay Science of Art and Criticism." I have replied I would _not_
object, as I have read as many of the sheets as I could get, with
extreme pleasure, and as I know you will find it a very winning and
brilliant piece of writing. Therefore he will send the proofs of the
volume to you as soon as he can get them from the printer (at about the
end of this week I take it), and if you read them you will not be hard
upon me for bearing the responsibility of his doing so, I feel assured.

I suppose Mr. Dallas to have some impression that his pleasing you with
his book might advance his Scottish suit. But all I know is, that he is
a gentleman of great attainments and erudition, much distinguished as
the writer of the best critical literary pieces in _The Times_, and
thoroughly versed in the subjects which Professor Aytoun represented
officially.

I beg to send my regard to Lady Russell and all the house, and am ever,
my dear Lord Russell,

                                            Your faithful and obliged.

P.S.--I am happy to report that my sailor-boy's captain, relinquishing
his ship on sick leave, departs from the mere form of certificate given
to all the rest, and adds that his obedience to orders is remarkable,
and that he is a highly intelligent and promising young officer.


[Sidenote: Mr. Marcus Stone.]

                HOTEL DU HELDER, PARIS, _Wednesday, Sept. 13th, 1865._

MY DEAR MARCUS,

I leave here to-morrow, and propose going to the office by tidal train
_next Saturday evening_. Through the whole of next week, on and off, I
shall be at the office; when not there, at Gad's; but much oftener at
the office. The sooner I can know about the subjects you take for
illustration the better, as I can then fill the list of illustrations to
the second volume for the printer, and enable him to make up his last
sheet. Necessarily that list is now left blank, as I cannot give him the
titles of the subjects, not knowing them myself.

It has been fearfully hot on this side, but is something cooler.

                                            Ever affectionately yours.

P.S.--On glancing over this note, I find it very like the king's
love-letter in "Ruy Blas." "Madam, there is a high wind. I have shot six
wolves."

I think the frontispiece to the second volume should be the dustyard
with the three mounds, and Mr. Boffin digging up the Dutch bottle, and
Venus restraining Wegg's ardour to get at him. Or Mr. Boffin might be
coming down with the bottle, and Venus might be dragging Wegg out of the
way as described.


[Sidenote: Mr. Percy Fitzgerald.]

                                  OFFICE OF "ALL THE YEAR ROUND,"
                                         _Saturday, Sept. 23rd, 1865._

MY DEAR FITZGERALD,

I cannot thank you too much for Sultan. He is a noble fellow, has fallen
into the ways of the family with a grace and dignity that denote the
gentleman, and came down to the railway a day or two since to welcome me
home (it was our first meeting), with a profound absence of interest in
my individual opinion of him which captivated me completely. I am going
home to-day to take him about the country, and improve his acquaintance.
You will find a perfect understanding between us, I hope, when you next
come to Gad's Hill. (He has only swallowed Bouncer once, and
temporarily.)

Your hint that you were getting on with your story and liked it was more
than golden intelligence to me in foreign parts. The intensity of the
heat, both in Paris and the provinces, was such that I found nothing
else so refreshing in the course of my rambles.

With many more thanks for the dog than my sheet of paper would hold,

                               Believe me, ever very faithfully yours.


[Sidenote: Mrs. Procter.]

                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,
                                                   _Sept. 26th, 1865._

MY DEAR MRS. PROCTER,

I have written the little introduction, and have sent it to my printer,
in order that you may read it without trouble. But if you would like to
keep the few pages of MS., of course they are yours.

It is brief, and I have aimed at perfect simplicity, and an avoidance of
all that your beloved Adelaide would have wished avoided. Do not expect
too much from it. If there should be anything wrong in fact, or anything
that you would like changed for any reason, _of course you will tell me
so_, and of course you will not deem it possible that you can trouble me
by making any such request most freely.

You will probably receive the proof either on Friday or Saturday. Don't
write to me until you have read it. In the meantime I send you back the
two books, with the two letters in the bound one.

                           With love to Procter,
                                        Ever your affectionate Friend.


[Sidenote: Mr. Edmund Yates.]

                HOTEL DU HELDER, PARIS, _Wednesday, Sept. 30th, 1865._

MY DEAR EDMUND,

I leave here to-morrow and purpose being at the office on Saturday
night; all next week I shall be there, off and on--"off" meaning Gad's
Hill; the office will be my last address. The heat has been excessive on
this side of the Channel, and I got a slight sunstroke last Thursday,
and was obliged to be doctored and put to bed for a day; but, thank God,
I am all right again. The man who sells the _tisane_ on the Boulevards
can't keep the flies out of his glasses, and as he wears them on his red
velvet bands, the flies work themselves into the ends of the tumblers,
trying to get through and tickle the man. If fly life were long enough,
I think they would at last. Three paving blouses came to work at the
corner of this street last Monday, pulled up a bit of road, sat down to
look at it, and fell asleep. On Tuesday one of the blouses spat on his
hands and seemed to be going to begin, but didn't. The other two have
shown no sign of life whatever. This morning the industrious one ate a
loaf. You may rely upon this as the latest news from the French capital.

                                                      Faithfully ever.


[Sidenote: Mr. William Charles Kent.]

                      26, WELLINGTON STREET, _Monday, Nov. 6th, 1865._

MY DEAR KENT,

_No_, I _won't_ write in this book, because I have sent another to the
binder's for you.

I have been unwell with a relaxed throat, or I should have written to
you sooner to thank you for your dedication, to assure you that it
heartily, most heartily, gratifies me, as the sincere tribute of a true
and generous heart, and to tell you that I have been charmed with your
book itself. I am proud of having given a name to anything so
picturesque, so sympathetic and spirited.

I hope and believe the "Doctor" is nothing but a good 'un. He has
perfectly astonished Forster, who writes: "Neither good, gooder, nor
goodest, but super-excellent; all through there is such a relish of you
at your best, as I could not have believed in, after a long story."

I shall be charmed to see you to-night.

                                                  Ever affectionately.


[Sidenote: M. de Cerjat.]

                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,
                                                _November 13th, 1865._

                                EXTRACT.

MY DEAR CERJAT,

Having achieved my book and my Christmas number, and having shaken
myself after two years' work, I send you my annual greeting. How are
you? Asthmatic, I know you will reply; but as my poor father (who was
asthmatic, too, and the jolliest of men) used philosophically to say,
"one must have something wrong, I suppose, and I like to know what it
is."

In England we are groaning under the brigandage of the butcher, which is
being carried to that height that I think I foresee resistance on the
part of the middle-class, and some combination in perspective for
abolishing the middleman, whensoever he turns up (which is everywhere)
between producer and consumer. The cattle plague is the butcher's
stalking-horse, and it is unquestionably worse than it was; but seeing
that the great majority of creatures lost or destroyed have been cows,
and likewise that the rise in butchers' meat bears no reasonable
proportion to the market prices of the beasts, one comes to the
conclusion that the public is done. The commission has ended very weakly
and ineffectually, as such things in England rather frequently do; and
everybody writes to _The Times_, and nobody does anything else.

If the Americans don't embroil us in a war before long it will not be
their fault. What with their swagger and bombast, what with their claims
for indemnification, what with Ireland and Fenianism, and what with
Canada, I have strong apprehensions. With a settled animosity towards
the French usurper, I believe him to have always been sound in his
desire to divide the States against themselves, and that we were
unsound and wrong in "letting I dare not wait upon I would." The Jamaica
insurrection is another hopeful piece of business. That
platform-sympathy with the black--or the native, or the devil--afar off,
and that platform indifference to our own countrymen at enormous odds in
the midst of bloodshed and savagery, makes me stark wild. Only the other
day, here was a meeting of jawbones of asses at Manchester, to censure
the Jamaica Governor for his manner of putting down the insurrection! So
we are badgered about New Zealanders and Hottentots, as if they were
identical with men in clean shirts at Camberwell, and were to be bound
by pen and ink accordingly. So Exeter Hall holds us in mortal submission
to missionaries, who (Livingstone always excepted) are perfect
nuisances, and leave every place worse than they found it.

Of all the many evidences that are visible of our being ill-governed, no
one is so remarkable to me as our ignorance of what is going on under
our Government. What will future generations think of that enormous
Indian Mutiny being ripened without suspicion, until whole regiments
arose and killed their officers? A week ago, red tape, half-bouncing and
half pooh-poohing what it bounced at, would have scouted the idea of a
Dublin jail not being able to hold a political prisoner. But for the
blacks in Jamaica being over-impatient and before their time, the whites
might have been exterminated, without a previous hint or suspicion that
there was anything amiss. _Laissez aller_, and Britons never, never,
never!----

Meantime, if your honour were in London, you would see a great
embankment rising high and dry out of the Thames on the Middlesex shore,
from Westminster Bridge to Blackfriars. A really fine work, and really
getting on. Moreover, a great system of drainage. Another really fine
work, and likewise really getting on. Lastly, a muddle of railways in
all directions possible and impossible, with no general public scheme,
no general public supervision, enormous waste of money, no fixable
responsibility, no accountability but under Lord Campbell's Act. I think
of that accident in which I was preserved. Before the most furious and
notable train in the four-and-twenty hours, the head of a gang of
workmen takes up the rails. That train changes its time every day as the
tide changes, and that head workman is not provided by the railway
company with any clock or watch! Lord Shaftesbury wrote to me to ask me
what I thought of an obligation on railway companies to put strong walls
to all bridges and viaducts. I told him, of course, that the force of
such a shock would carry away anything that any company could set up,
and I added: "Ask the minister what _he_ thinks about the votes of the
railway interest in the House of Commons, and about his being afraid to
lay a finger on it with an eye to his majority."

I seem to be grumbling, but I am in the best of humours. All goes well
with me and mine, thank God.

Last night my gardener came upon a man in the garden and fired. The man
returned the compliment by kicking him in the groin and causing him
great pain. I set off, with a great mastiff-bloodhound I have, in
pursuit. Couldn't find the evil-doer, but had the greatest difficulty in
preventing the dog from tearing two policemen down. They were coming
towards us with professional mystery, and he was in the air on his way
to the throat of an eminently respectable constable when I caught him.

My daughter Mary and her aunt Georgina send kindest regard and
remembrance. Katey and her husband are going to try London this winter,
but I rather doubt (for they are both delicate) their being able to
weather it out. It has been blowing here tremendously for a fortnight,
but to-day is like a spring day, and plenty of roses are growing over
the labourers' cottages. The _Great Eastern_ lies at her moorings beyond
the window where I write these words; looks very dull and unpromising. A
dark column of smoke from Chatham Dockyard, where the iron shipbuilding
is in progress, has a greater significance in it, I fancy.


[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]

                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,
                                           _Tuesday, Nov. 14th, 1865._

MY DEAREST MAMIE,

As you want to know my views of the Sphinx, here they are. But I have
only seen it once; and it is so extraordinarily well done, that it ought
to be observed closely several times.

Anyone who attentively notices the flower trick will see that the two
little high tables hung with drapery cover each a trap. Each of those
tables, during that trick, hides a confederate, who changes the paper
cone twice. When the cone has been changed as often as is required, the
trap is closed and the table can be moved.

When the curtain is removed for the performance of the Sphinx trick,
there is a covered, that is, draped table on the stage, which is never
seen before or afterwards. In front of the middle of it, and between it
and the audience, stands one of those little draped tables covering a
trap; this is a third trap in the centre of the stage. The box for the
head is then upon IT, and the conjuror takes it off and shows it. The
man whose head is afterwards shown in that box is, I conceive, in the
table; that is to say, is lying on his chest in the thickness of the
table, in an extremely constrained attitude. To get him into the table,
and to enable him to use the trap in the table through which his head
comes into the box, the two hands of a confederate are necessary. That
confederate comes up a trap, and stands in the space afforded by the
interval below the stage and the height of the little draped table! his
back is towards the audience. The moment he has assisted the hidden man
sufficiently, he closes the trap, and the conjuror then immediately
removes the little draped table, and also the drapery of the larger
table; when he places the box on the last-named table _with the slide
on_ for the head to come into it, he stands with his back to the
audience and his face to the box, and masks the box considerably to
facilitate the insertion of the head. As soon as he knows the head to be
in its place, he undraws the slide. When the verses have been spoken and
the trick is done, he loses no time in replacing the slide. The curtain
is then immediately dropped, because the man cannot otherwise be got out
of the table, and has no doubt had quite enough of it. With kindest
regards to all at Penton,

                                          Ever your most affectionate.

FOOTNOTES:

[14] Now Captain E. Newton Dickenson.

[15] This was a circular note which he sent in answer to innumerable
letters of enquiry, after the accident.

[16] This letter was written in reply to the Committee's congratulations
upon Mr. Dickens's escape from the accident to the tidal train from
Folkestone, at Staplehurst, just previous to this date.




1866.

NARRATIVE.


The furnished house hired by Charles Dickens in the spring of this year
was in Southwick Place, Hyde Park.

Having entered into negotiations with the Messrs. Chappell for a series
of readings to be given in London, in the English provinces, in Scotland
and Ireland, Charles Dickens had no leisure for more than his usual
editorial work for "All the Year Round." He contributed four parts to
the Christmas number, which was entitled, "Mugby Junction."

For the future all his English readings were given in connection with
the Messrs. Chappell, and never in all his career had he more
satisfactory or more pleasant business relations than those connected
with these gentlemen. Moreover, out of this connection sprang a sincere
friendship on both sides.

Mr. Dolby is so constantly mentioned in future letters, that they
themselves will tell of the cordial companionship which existed between
Charles Dickens and this able and most obliging "manager."

The letter to "Lily" was in answer to a child's letter from Miss Lily
Benzon, inviting him to a birthday party.

The play alluded to in the letter to M. Fechter was called "A Long
Strike," and was performed at the Lyceum Theatre.

The "Sultan" mentioned in the letter to Mr. Fitzgerald was a noble Irish
bloodhound, presented by this gentleman to Charles Dickens. The story of
the dog's death is told in a letter to M. de Cerjat, which we give in
the following year.


[Sidenote: Miss Mary Boyle.]

                                  OFFICE OF "ALL THE YEAR ROUND,"
                                           _Saturday, Jan. 6th, 1866._

MY DEAR MARY,

Feeling pretty certain that I shall never answer your letter unless I
answer it at once (I got it this morning), here goes!

I did not dramatise "The Master of Ravenswood," though I did a good deal
towards and about the piece, having an earnest desire to put Scott, for
once, upon the stage in his own gallant manner. It is _an enormous
success_, and increases in attraction nightly. I have never seen the
people in all parts of the house so leaning forward, in lines sloping
towards the stage, earnestly and intently attractive, as while the story
gradually unfolds itself. But the astonishing circumstance of all is,
that Miss Leclercq (never thought of for Lucy till all other Lucies had
failed) is marvellously good, highly pathetic, and almost unrecognisable
in person! What note it touches in her, always dumb until now, I do not
pretend to say, but there is no one on the stage who could play the
contract scene better, or more simply and naturally, and I find it
impossible to see it without crying! Almost everyone plays well, the
whole is exceedingly picturesque, and there is scarcely a movement
throughout, or a look, that is not indicated by Scott. So you get a life
romance with beautiful illustrations, and I do not expect ever again to
see a book take up its bed and walk in like manner.

I am charmed to learn that you have had a freeze out of my ghost story.
It rather did give me a shiver up the back in the writing. "Dr.
Marigold" has just now accomplished his two hundred thousand. My only
other news about myself is that I am doubtful whether to read or not in
London this season. If I decide to do it at all, I shall probably do it
on a large scale.

Many happy years to you, my dear Mary. So prays

                                              Your ever affectionate
                                                                   Jo.


[Sidenote: Mr. William Charles Kent.]

                              GAD'S HILL, _Thursday, Jan. 18th, 1866._

MY DEAR KENT,

I cannot tell you how grieved we all are here to know that you are
suffering again. Your patient tone, however, and the hopefulness and
forbearance of Ferguson's course, gives us some reassurance. Apropos of
which latter reference I dined with Ferguson at the Lord Mayor's, last
Tuesday, and had a grimly distracted impulse upon me to defy the
toast-master and rush into a speech about him and his noble art, when I
sat pining under the imbecility of constitutional and corporational
idiots. I did seize him for a moment by the hair of his head (in
proposing the Lady Mayoress), and derived some faint consolation from
the company's response to the reference. O! no man will ever know under
what provocation to contradiction and a savage yell of repudiation I
suffered at the hands of ----, feebly complacent in the uniform of
Madame Tussaud's own military waxers, and almost the worst speaker I
ever heard in my life! Mary and Georgina, sitting on either side of me,
urged me to "look pleasant." I replied in expressions not to be
repeated. Shea (the judge) was just as good and graceful, as he (the
member) was bad and gawky.

Bulwer's "Lost Tales of Miletus" is a most noble book! He is an
extraordinary fellow, and fills me with admiration and wonder.

It is of no use writing to you about yourself, my dear Kent, because you
are likely to be tired of that constant companion, and so I have gone
scratching (with an exceedingly bad pen) about and about you. But I come
back to you to let you know that the reputation of this house as a
convalescent hospital stands (like the house itself) very high, and that
testimonials can be produced from credible persons who have recovered
health and spirits here swiftly. Try us, only try us, and we are content
to stake the reputation of the establishment on the result.

                                            Ever affectionately yours.


[Sidenote: Mr. Percy Fitzgerald.]

                                 GAD'S HILL, _Friday, Feb. 2nd, 1866._

MY DEAR FITZGERALD,

I ought to have written to you days and days ago, to thank you for your
charming book on Charles Lamb, to tell you with what interest and
pleasure I read it as soon as it came here, and to add that I was
honestly affected (far more so than your modesty will readily believe)
by your intimate knowledge of those touches of mine concerning
childhood.

Let me tell you now that I have not in the least cooled, after all,
either as to the graceful sympathetic book, or as to the part in it with
which I am honoured. It has become a matter of real feeling with me, and
I postponed its expression because I couldn't satisfactorily get it out
of myself, and at last I came to the conclusion that it must be left in.

                          My dear Fitzgerald, faithfully yours always.


[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]

             OFFICE OF "ALL THE YEAR ROUND," _Friday, Feb. 9th, 1866._

MY DEAREST GEORGY,

I found your letter here when I came back on Wednesday evening, and was
extremely glad to get it.

Frank Beard wrote me word that with such a pulse as I described, an
examination of the heart was absolutely necessary, and that I had better
make an appointment with him alone for the purpose. This I did. I was
not at all disconcerted, for I knew well beforehand that the effect
could not possibly be without that one cause at the bottom of it. There
seems to be degeneration of some functions of the heart. It does not
contract as it should. So I have got a prescription of iron, quinine,
and digitalis, to set it a-going, and send the blood more quickly
through the system. If it should not seem to succeed on a reasonable
trial, I will then propose a consultation with someone else. Of course I
am not so foolish as to suppose that all my work can have been achieved
without _some_ penalty, and I have noticed for some time a decided
change in my buoyancy and hopefulness--in other words, in my usual
"tone."

I shall wait to see Beard again on Monday, and shall most probably come
down that day. If I should not, I will telegraph after seeing him. Best
love to Mamie.


[Sidenote: Mrs. Brookfield.]

                                  OFFICE OF "ALL THE YEAR ROUND,"
                                           _Tuesday, Feb. 20th, 1866._

MY DEAR MRS. BROOKFIELD,

Having gone through your MS. (which I should have done sooner, but that
I have not been very well), I write these few following words about it.
Firstly, with a limited reference to its unsuitability to these pages.
Secondly, with a more enlarged reference to the merits of the story
itself.

If you will take any part of it and cut it up (in fancy) into the small
portions into which it would have to be divided here for only a month's
supply, you will (I think) at once discover the impossibility of
publishing it in weekly parts. The scheme of the chapters, the manner of
introducing the people, the progress of the interest, the places in
which the principal places fall, are all hopelessly against it. It would
seem as though the story were never coming, and hardly ever moving.
There must be a special design to overcome that specially trying mode of
publication, and I cannot better express the difficulty and labour of it
than by asking you to turn over any two weekly numbers of "A Tale of Two
Cities," or "Great Expectations," or Bulwer's story, or Wilkie
Collins's, or Reade's, or "At the Bar," and notice how patiently and
expressly the thing has to be planned for presentation in these
fragments, and yet for afterwards fusing together as an uninterrupted
whole.

Of the story itself I honestly say that I think highly. The style is
particularly easy and agreeable, infinitely above ordinary writing, and
sometimes reminds me of Mrs. Inchbald at her best. The characters are
remarkably well observed, and with a rare mixture of delicacy and
truthfulness. I observe this particularly in the brother and sister, and
in Mrs. Neville. But it strikes me that you constantly hurry your
narrative (and yet without getting on) _by telling it, in a sort of
impetuous breathless way, in your own person, when the people should
tell it and act it for themselves_. My notion always is, that when I
have made the people to play out the play, it is, as it were, their
business to do it, and not mine. Then, unless you really have led up to
a great situation like Basil's death, you are bound in art to make more
of it. Such a scene should form a chapter of itself. Impressed upon the
reader's memory, it would go far to make the fortune of the book.
Suppose yourself telling that affecting incident in a letter to a
friend. Wouldn't you describe how you went through the life and stir of
the streets and roads to the sick-room? Wouldn't you say what kind of
room it was, what time of day it was, whether it was sunlight,
starlight, or moonlight? Wouldn't you have a strong impression on your
mind of how you were received, when you first met the look of the dying
man, what strange contrasts were about you and struck you? I don't want
you, in a novel, to present _yourself_ to tell such things, but I want
the things to be there. You make no more of the situation than the index
might, or a descriptive playbill might in giving a summary of the
tragedy under representation.

As a mere piece of mechanical workmanship, I think all your chapters
should be shorter; that is to say, that they should be subdivided.
Also, when you change from narrative to dialogue, or _vice versa_, you
should make the transition more carefully. Also, taking the pains to sit
down and recall the principal landmarks in your story, you should then
make them far more elaborate and conspicuous than the rest. Even with
these changes I do not believe that the story would attract the
attention due to it, if it were published even in such monthly portions
as the space of "Fraser" would admit of. Even so brightened, it would
not, to the best of my judgment, express itself piecemeal. It seems to
me to be so constituted as to require to be read "off the reel." As a
book in two volumes I think it would have good claims to success, and
good chances of obtaining success. But I suppose the polishing I have
hinted at (not a meretricious adornment, but positively necessary to
good work and good art) to have been first thoroughly administered.

Now don't hate me if you can help it. I can afford to be hated by some
people, but I am not rich enough to put you in possession of that
luxury.

                                                Ever faithfully yours.

P.S.--The MS. shall be delivered at your house to-morrow. And your
petitioner again prays not to be, etc.


[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]

                       ADELPHI, LIVERPOOL, _Friday, April 13th, 1866._

MY DEAREST GEORGY,

The reception at Manchester last night was quite a magnificent sight;
the whole of the immense audience standing up and cheering. I thought
them a little slow with "Marigold," but believe it was only the
attention necessary in so vast a place. They gave a splendid burst at
the end. And after "Nickleby" (which went to perfection), they set up
such a call, that I was obliged to go in again. The unfortunate gasman,
a very steady fellow, got a fall off a ladder and sprained his leg. He
was put to bed in a public opposite, and was left there, poor man.

This is the first very fine day we have had. I have taken advantage of
it by crossing to Birkenhead and getting some air upon the water. It was
fresh and beautiful.

I send my best love to Mamie, and hope she is better. I am, of course,
tired (the pull of "Marigold" upon one's energy, in the Free Trade Hall,
was great); but I stick to my tonic, and feel, all things considered, in
very good tone. The room here (I mean the hall) being my special
favourite and extraordinarily easy, is _almost_ a rest!


[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]

                     ADELPHI, LIVERPOOL, _Saturday, April 14th, 1866._

MY DEAREST MAMIE,

The police reported officially that three thousand people were turned
away from the hall last night. I doubt if they were so numerous as that,
but they carried in the outer doors and pitched into Dolby with great
vigour. I need not add that every corner of the place was crammed. They
were a very fine audience, and took enthusiastically every point in
"Copperfield" and the "Trial." They made the reading a quarter of an
hour longer than usual. One man advertised in the morning paper that he
would give thirty shillings (double) for three stalls, but nobody would
sell, and he didn't get in.

Except that I cannot sleep, I really think myself in much better
training than I had anticipated. A dozen oysters and a little champagne
between the parts every night, constitute the best restorative I have
ever yet tried. John appears low, but I don't know why. A letter comes
for him daily; the hand is female; whether Smudger's, or a nearer one
still and a dearer one, I don't know. So it may or may not be the cause
of his gloom.

"Miss Emily" of Preston is married to a rich cotton lord, rides in open
carriages in gorgeous array, and is altogether splendid. With this
effective piece of news I close.


[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]

                                          GLASGOW, _April 17th, 1866._

We arrived here at ten yesterday evening. I don't think the journey
shook me at all. Dolby provided a superb cold collation and "the best of
drinks," and we dined in the carriage, and I made him laugh all the way.

The let here is very large. Every precaution taken to prevent my
platform from being captured as it was last time; but I don't feel at
all sure that it will not be stormed at one of the two readings. Wills
is to do the genteel to-night at the stalls, and Dolby is to stem the
shilling tide _if_ he can. The poor gasman cannot come on, and we have
got a new one here who is to go to Edinburgh with us. Of Edinburgh we
know nothing, but as its first night has always been shady, I suppose it
will stick to its antecedents.

I like to hear about Harness and his freshness. The let for the next
reading at St. James's is "going," they report, "admirably." Lady
Russell asked me to dinner to-morrow, and I have written her a note
to-day. The rest has certainly done me good. I slept thoroughly well
last night, and feel fresh. What to-night's work, and every night's
work this week, may do contrariwise, remains to be seen.

I hope Harry's knee may be in the way of mending, from what you relate
of it.


[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]

              WATERLOO HOTEL, EDINBURGH, _Wednesday, April 18th, 1866._

We had a tremendous house again last night at Glasgow; and turned away
great numbers. Not only that, but they were a most brilliant and
delicate audience, and took "Marigold" with a fine sense and quickness
not to be surpassed. The shillings pitched into Dolby again, and one man
writes a sensible letter in one of the papers this morning, showing to
_my_ satisfaction (?) that they really had, through the local agent,
some cause of complaint. Nevertheless, the shilling tickets are sold for
to-morrow, and it seems to be out of the question to take any money at
the doors, the call for all parts is so enormous. The thundering of
applause last night was quite staggering, and my people checked off my
reception by the minute hand of a watch, and stared at one another,
thinking I should never begin. I keep quite well, have happily taken to
sleeping these last three nights; and feel, all things considered, very
little conscious of fatigue. I cannot reconcile my town medicine with
the hours and journeys of reading life, and have therefore given it up
for the time. But for the moment, I think I am better without it. What
we are doing here I have not yet heard. I write at half-past one, and we
have been little more than an hour in the house. But I am quite prepared
for the inevitable this first Edinburgh night. Endeavours have been
made (from Glasgow yesterday) to telegraph the exact facts out of our
local agent; but hydraulic pressure wouldn't have squeezed a straight
answer out of him. "Friday and Saturday doing very well, Wednesday not
so good." This was all electricity could discover.

I am going to write a line this post to Katie, from whom I have a note.
I hope Harry's leg will now step out in the manner of the famous cork
leg in the song.


[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]

                              EDINBURGH, _Thursday, April 19th, 1866._

The house was more than twice better than any first night here
previously. They were, as usual here, remarkably intelligent, and the
reading went _brilliantly_. I have not sent up any newspapers, as they
are generally so poorly written, that you may know beforehand all the
commonplaces that they will write. But _The Scotsman_ has so pretty an
article this morning, and (so far as I know) so true a one, that I will
try to post it to you, either from here or Glasgow. John and Dolby went
over early, and Wills and I follow them at half-past eleven. It is cold
and wet here. We have laid half-crown bets with Dolby, that he will be
assaulted to-night at Glasgow. He has a surprising knowledge of what the
receipts will be always, and wins half-crowns every night. Chang is
living in this house. John (not knowing it) was rendered perfectly
drivelling last night, by meeting him on the stairs. The Tartar Dwarf is
always twining himself upstairs sideways, and drinks a bottle of whisky
per day, and is reported to be a surprising little villain.


[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]

                WATERLOO HOTEL, EDINBURGH, _Friday, April 20th, 1866._

No row at Glasgow last night. Great placards were posted about the town
by the anxious Dolby, announcing that no money would be taken at the
doors. This kept the crowd off. Two files of policemen and a double
staff everywhere did the rest, and nothing could be better-tempered or
more orderly. Tremendous enthusiasm with the "Carol" and "Trial." I was
dead beat afterwards, that reading being twenty minutes longer than
usual; but plucked up again, had some supper, slept well, and am quite
right to-day. It is a bright day, and the express ride over from Glasgow
was very pleasant.

Everything is gone here for to-night. But it is difficult to describe
what the readings have grown to be. The let at St. James's Hall is not
only immense for next Tuesday, but so large for the next reading
afterwards, that Chappell writes: "That will be the greatest house of
the three." From Manchester this morning they write: "Send us more
tickets instantly, for we are sold out and don't know what to do with
the people." Last night the whole of my money under the agreement had
been taken. I notice that a great bank has broken at Liverpool, which
may hurt us there, but when last heard of it was going as before. And
the audience, though so enormous, do somehow express a personal
affection, which makes them very strange and moving to see.

I have a story to answer you and your aunt with. Before I left Southwick
Place for Liverpool, I received a letter from Glasgow, saying, "Your
little Emily has been woo'd and married and a'! since you last saw her;"
and describing her house within a mile or two of the city, and asking
me to stay there. I wrote the usual refusal, and supposed Mrs. ---- to
be some romantic girl whom I had joked with, perhaps at Allison's or
where not. On the first night at Glasgow I received a bouquet from ----,
and wore one of the flowers. This morning at the Glasgow station, ----
appeared, and proved to be the identical Miss Emily, of whose marriage
Dolby had told me on our coming through Preston. She was attired in
magnificent raiment, and presented the happy ----.


[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]

                              LIVERPOOL, _Thursday, April 26th, 1866._

We noticed between London and Rugby (the first stoppage) something very
odd in our carriage yesterday, not so much in its motion as in its
sound. We examined it as well as we could out of both windows, but could
make nothing of it. On our arrival at Rugby, it was found to be on fire.
And as it was in the middle of the train, the train had to be broken to
get it off into a siding by itself and get another carriage on. With
this slight exception we came down all right.

My voice is much better, I am glad to report, and I mean to try Beard's
remedy after dinner to-day. This is all my present news.


[Sidenote: The same.]

                        DOWN HOTEL, CLIFTON, _Friday, May 11th, 1866._

I received your note before I left Birmingham this morning. It has been
very heavy work getting up at half-past six each morning after a heavy
night, and I am not at all well to-day. We had a tremendous hall at
Birmingham last night--two thousand one hundred people. I made a most
ridiculous mistake. Had "Nickleby" on my list to finish with, instead of
"Trial." Read "Nickleby" with great go, and the people remained. Went
back again at ten and explained the accident, and said if they liked, I
would give them the "Trial." They _did_ like, and I had another
half-hour of it in that enormous place.

This stoppage of Overend and Gurney in the City will play the ---- with
all public gaieties, and with all the arts.

My cold is no better. John fell off a platform about ten feet high
yesterday, and fainted. He looks all the colours of the rainbow to-day,
but does not seem much hurt beyond being puffed up one hand, arm, and
side.


[Sidenote: Miss Lily Benzon.]

                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,
                                            _Monday, June 18th, 1866._

MY DEAR LILY,

I am sorry that I cannot come to read to you "The Boots at the Holly
Tree Inn," as you ask me to do; but the truth is, that I am tired of
reading at this present time, and have come into the country to rest and
hear the birds sing. There are a good many birds, I daresay, in
Kensington Palace Gardens, and upon my word and honour they are much
better worth listening to than I am. So let them sing to you as hard as
ever they can, while their sweet voices last (they will be silent when
the winter comes); and very likely after you and I have eaten our next
Christmas pudding and mince-pies, you and I and Uncle Harry may all meet
together at St. James's Hall; Uncle Harry to bring you there, to hear
the "Boots;" I to receive you there, and read the "Boots;" and you (I
hope) to applaud very much, and tell me that you like the "Boots." So,
God bless you and me, and Uncle Harry, and the "Boots," and long life
and happiness to us all!

                                             Your affectionate Friend.

P.S.--There's a flourish!


[Sidenote: Mr. B. W. Procter.]

                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,
                                            _Monday, Aug. 13th, 1866._

MY DEAR PROCTER,

I have read your biography of Charles Lamb with inexpressible pleasure
and interest. I do not think it possible to tell a pathetic story with a
more unaffected and manly tenderness. And as to the force and vigour of
the style, if I did not know you I should have made sure that there was
a printer's error in the opening of your introduction, and that the word
"seventy" occupied the place of "forty."

Let me, my dear friend, most heartily congratulate you on your
achievement. It is not an ordinary triumph to do such justice to the
memory of such a man. And I venture to add, that the fresh spirit with
which you have done it impresses me as being perfectly wonderful.

                                            Ever affectionately yours.


[Sidenote: Sir James Emerson Tennent.]

                                GAD'S HILL, _Monday, Aug. 20th, 1866._

MY DEAR TENNENT,

I have been very much interested by your extract, and am strongly
inclined to believe that the founder of the Refuge for Poor Travellers
meant the kind of man to which it refers. Chaucer certainly meant the
Pardonere to be a humbug, living on the credulity of the people. After
describing the sham reliques he carried, he says:

        But with these relikes whawne that he found
        A poure personne dwelling up on lond
        Upon a day he gat him more monnie
        Than that the personne got in monthes time,
        And thus, with fained flattering and japes
        He made the personne, and the people, his apes.

And the worthy Watts (founder of the charity) may have had these very
lines in his mind when he excluded such a man.

When I last heard from my boy he was coming to you, and was full of
delight and dignity. My midshipman has just been appointed to the
_Bristol_, on the West Coast of Africa, and is on his voyage out to join
her. I wish it was another ship and another station. She has been
unlucky in losing men.

Kindest regard from all my house to yours.

                                                Faithfully yours ever.


[Sidenote: M. Charles Fechter.]

                               GAD'S HILL, _Tuesday, Sept. 4th, 1866._

MY DEAR FECHTER,

This morning I received the play to the end of the telegraph scene, and
I have since read it twice.

I clearly see the _ground_ of Mr. Boucicault's two objections; but I do
not see their _force_.

First, as to the writing. If the characters did not speak in a terse and
homely way, their idea and language would be inconsistent with their
dress and station, and they would lose, as characters, before the
audience. The dialogue seems to be exactly what is wanted. Its
simplicity (particularly in Mr. Boucicault's part) is often very
effective; and throughout there is an honest, straight-to-the-purpose
ruggedness in it, like the real life and the real people.

Secondly, as to the absence of the comic element. I really do not see
how more of it could be got into the story, and I think Mr. Boucicault
underrates the pleasant effect of his own part. The very notion of a
sailor, whose life is not among those little courts and streets, and
whose business does not lie with the monotonous machinery, but with the
four wild winds, is a relief to me in reading the play. I am quite
confident of its being an immense relief to the audience when they see
the sailor before them, with an entirely different bearing, action,
dress, complexion even, from the rest of the men. I would make him the
freshest and airiest sailor that ever was seen; and through him I can
distinctly see my way out of "the Black Country" into clearer air. (I
speak as one of the audience, mind.) I should like something of this
contrast to be expressed in the dialogue between the sailor and Jew, in
the second scene of the second act. Again, I feel Widdicomb's part
(which is charming, and ought to make the whole house cry) most
agreeable and welcome, much better than any amount in such a story, of
mere comicality.

It is unnecessary to say that the play is done with a master's hand. Its
closeness and movement are quite surprising. Its construction is
admirable. I have the strongest belief in its making a great success.
But I must add this proviso: I never saw a play so dangerously depending
in critical places on strict natural propriety in the manner and
perfection in the shaping of the small parts. Those small parts cannot
take the play up, but they can let it down. I would not leave a hair on
the head of one of them to the chance of the first night, but I would
see, to the minutest particular, the make-up of every one of them at a
night rehearsal.

Of course you are free to show this note to Mr. Boucicault, and I
suppose you will do so; let me throw out this suggestion to him and you.
Might it not ease the way with the Lord Chamberlain's office, and still
more with the audience, when there are Manchester champions in it, if
instead of "Manchester" you used a fictitious name? When I did "Hard
Times" I called the scene Coketown. Everybody knew what was meant, but
every cotton-spinning town said it was the other cotton-spinning town.

I shall be up on Saturday, and will come over about mid-day, unless you
name any other time.

                                                        Ever heartily.


[Sidenote: Mr. Walter Thornbury]

            "ALL THE YEAR ROUND" OFFICE, _Saturday, Sept. 15th, 1866._

MY DEAR THORNBURY,

Many thanks for your letter.

In reference to your Shakespeare queries, I am not so much enamoured of
the first and third subjects as I am of the Ariosto enquiry, which
should be highly interesting. But if you have so got the matter in your
mind, as that its execution would be incomplete and unsatisfactory to
you unless you write all the three papers, then by all means write the
three, and I will most gladly take them. For some years I have had so
much pleasure in reading you, that I can honestly warrant myself as what
actors call "a good audience."

The idea of old stories retold is decidedly a good one. I greatly like
the notion of that series. Of course you know De Quincey's paper on the
Ratcliffe Highway murderer? Do you know also the illustration (I have it
at Gad's Hill), representing the horrible creature as his dead body lay
on a cart, with a piece of wood for a pillow, and a stake lying by,
ready to be driven through him?

I don't _quite_ like the title, "The Social History of London." I should
better like some title to the effect, "The History of London's Social
Changes in so many Years." Such a title would promise more, and better
express your intention. What do you think of taking for a first title,
"London's Changes"? You could then add the second title, "Being a
History," etc.

I don't at all desire to fix a limit to the series of old stories
retold. I would state the general intention at the beginning of the
first paper, and go on like Banquo's line.

Don't let your London title remind people, by so much as the place of
the word "civilisation," of Buckle. It seems a ridiculous caution, but
the indolent part of the public (a large part!) on such points tumble
into extraordinary mistakes.

                                              Faithfully yours always.


[Sidenote: Mr. Percy Fitzgerald.]

                                GAD'S HILL, _Tuesday, Nov. 6th, 1866._

MY DEAR FITZGERALD,

It is always pleasant to me to hear from you, and I hope you will
believe that this is not a mere fashion of speech.

Concerning the green covers, I find the leaves to be budding--on
unquestionable newspaper authority; but, upon my soul, I have no other
knowledge of their being in embryo! Really, I do not see a chance of my
settling myself to such work until after I have accomplished forty-two
readings, to which I stand pledged.

I hope to begin this series somewhere about the middle of January, in
Dublin. Touching the details of the realisation of this hope, will you
tell me in a line as soon as you can--_Is the exhibition room a good
room for speaking in?_

Your mention of the late Sultan touches me nearly. He was the finest dog
I ever saw, and between him and me there was a perfect understanding.
But, to adopt the popular phrase, it was so very confidential that it
"went no further." He would fly at anybody else with the greatest
enthusiasm for destruction. I saw him, muzzled, pound into the heart of
a regiment of the line; and I have frequently seen him, muzzled, hold a
great dog down with his chest and feet. He has broken loose (muzzled)
and come home covered with blood, again and again. And yet he never
disobeyed me, unless he had first laid hold of a dog.

You heard of his going to execution, evidently supposing the procession
to be a party detached in pursuit of something to kill or eat? It was
very affecting. And also of his bolting a blue-eyed kitten, and making
me acquainted with the circumstance by his agonies of remorse (or
indigestion)?

I cannot find out that there is anyone in Rochester (a sleepy old city)
who has anything to tell about Garrick, except what is not true. His
brother, the wine merchant, would be more in Rochester way, I think. How
on earth do you find time to do all these books?

You make my hair stand on end; an agreeable sensation, for I am charmed
to find that I have any. Why don't you come yourself and look after
Garrick? I should be truly delighted to receive you.

                           My dear Fitzgerald, always faithfully yours.


[Sidenote: Mr. W. C. Macready.]

                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,
                                            _Friday, Dec. 28th, 1866._

MY DEAREST MACREADY,

I have received your letter with the utmost pleasure and we all send our
most affectionate love to you, Mrs. Macready, Katie, Johnny, and the boy
of boys. All good Christmas and New Year greetings are to be understood
as included.

You will be interested in knowing that, encouraged by the success of
summer cricket-matches, I got up a quantity of foot-races and rustic
sports in my field here on the 26th last past: as I have never yet had a
case of drunkenness, the landlord of The Falstaff had a drinking-booth
on the ground. All the prizes I gave were in money, too. We had two
thousand people here. Among the crowd were soldiers, navvies, and
labourers of all kinds. Not a stake was pulled up, or a rope slackened,
or one farthing's-worth of damage done. To every competitor (only) a
printed bill of general rules was given, with the concluding words: "Mr.
Dickens puts every man upon his honour to assist in preserving order."
There was not a dispute all day, and they went away at sunset rending
the air with cheers, and leaving every flag on a six hundred yards'
course as neat as they found it when the gates were opened at ten in the
morning. Surely this is a bright sign in the neighbourhood of such a
place as Chatham!

"Mugby Junction" turned, yesterday afternoon, the extraordinary number
of two hundred and fifty thousand!

In the middle of next month I begin a new course of forty-two readings.
If any of them bring me within reach of Cheltenham, with an hour to
spare, I shall come on to you, even for that hour. More of this when I
am afield and have my list, which Dolby (for Chappell) is now
preparing.

Forster and Mrs. Forster were to have come to us next Monday, to stay
until Saturday. I write "were," because I hear that Forster (who had a
touch of bronchitis when he wrote to me on Christmas Eve) is in bed.
Katie, who has been ill of low nervous fever, was brought here yesterday
from London. She bore the journey much better than I expected, and so I
hope will soon recover. This is my little stock of news.

I begin to discover in your riper years, that you have been secretly
vain of your handwriting all your life. For I swear I see no change in
it! What it always was since I first knew it (a year or two!) it _is_.
This I will maintain against all comers.

                             Ever affectionately, my dearest Macready.




1867.

NARRATIVE.


As the London and provincial readings were to be resumed early in the
year and continued until the end of March, Charles Dickens took no house
in London this spring. He came to his office quarters at intervals, for
the series in town; usually starting off again, on his country tour, the
day after a London reading. From some passages in his letters to his
daughter and sister-in-law during this country course, it will be seen
that (though he made very light of the fact) the great exertion of the
readings, combined with incessant railway travelling, was beginning to
tell upon his health, and he was frequently "heavily beaten" after
reading at his best to an enthusiastic audience in a large hall.

During the short intervals between his journeys, he was as constantly
and carefully at work upon the business of "All the Year Round" as if he
had no other work on hand. A proof of this is given in a letter dated
"5th February." It is written to a young man (the son of a friend), who
wrote a long novel when far too juvenile for such a task, and had
submitted it to Charles Dickens for his opinion, with a view to
publication. In the midst of his own hard and engrossing occupation he
read the book, and the letter which he wrote on the subject needs no
remark beyond this, that the young writer received the adverse criticism
with the best possible sense, and has since, in his literary profession,
profited by the advice so kindly given.

At this time the proposals to Charles Dickens for reading in America,
which had been perpetually renewed from the time of his first abandoning
the idea, became so urgent and so tempting, that he found at last he
must, at all events, give the subject his most serious consideration. He
took counsel with his two most confidential friends and advisers, Mr.
John Forster and Mr. W. H. Wills. They were both, at first, strongly
opposed to the undertaking, chiefly on the ground of the trial to his
health and strength which it would involve. But they could not deny the
counterbalancing advantages. And, after much deliberation, it was
resolved that Mr. George Dolby should be sent out by the Messrs.
Chappell, to take an impression, on the spot, as to the feeling of the
United States about the Readings. His report as to the undoubted
enthusiasm and urgency on the other side of the Atlantic it was
impossible to resist. Even his friends withdrew their opposition (though
still with misgivings as to the effect upon his health, which were but
too well founded!), and on the 30th September he telegraphed "Yes" to
America.

The "Alfred" alluded to in a letter from Glasgow was Charles Dickens's
fourth son, Alfred Tennyson, who had gone to Australia two years
previously.

We give, in April, the last letter to one of the friends for whom
Charles Dickens had always a most tender love--Mr. Stanfield. He was
then in failing health, and in May he died.

Another death which affected him very deeply happened this summer. Miss
Marguerite Power died in July. She had long been very ill, but, until it
became impossible for her to travel, she was a frequent and beloved
guest at Gad's Hill. The Mrs. Henderson to whom he writes was Miss
Power's youngest sister.

Before he started for America it was proposed to wish him God-speed by
giving him a public dinner at the Freemasons' Hall. The proposal was
most warmly and fully responded to. His zealous friend, Mr. Charles
Kent, willingly undertook the whole work of arrangement of this banquet.
It took place on the 2nd November, and Lord Lytton presided.

On the 8th he left London for Liverpool, accompanied by his daughters,
his sister-in-law, his eldest son, Mr. Arthur Chappell, Mr. Charles
Collins, Mr. Wilkie Collins, Mr. Kent, and Mr. Wills. The next morning
the whole party took a final leave of Charles Dickens on board the
_Cuba_, which sailed that day.

We give a letter which he wrote to Mr. J. L. Toole on the morning of the
dinner, thanking him for a parting gift and an earnest letter. That
excellent comedian was one of his most appreciative admirers, and, in
return, he had for Mr. Toole the greatest admiration and respect.

The Christmas number for this year, "No Thoroughfare," was written by
Charles Dickens and Mr. Wilkie Collins. It was dramatised by Mr. Collins
chiefly. But, in the midst of all the work of preparation for departure,
Charles Dickens gave minute attention to as much of the play as could be
completed before he left England. It was produced, after Christmas, at
the Adelphi Theatre, where M. Fechter was then acting, under the
management of Mr. Benjamin Webster.


[Sidenote: M. de Cerjat.]

                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,
                                               _New Year's Day, 1867._

MY DEAR CERJAT,

Thoroughly determined to be beforehand with "the middle of next summer,"
your penitent friend and remorseful correspondent thus addresses you.

The big dog, on a day last autumn, having seized a little girl (sister
to one of the servants) whom he knew, and was bound to respect, was
flogged by his master, and then sentenced to be shot at seven next
morning. He went out very cheerfully with the half-dozen men told off
for the purpose, evidently thinking that they were going to be the death
of somebody unknown. But observing in the procession an empty
wheelbarrow and a double-barrelled gun, he became meditative, and fixed
the bearer of the gun with his eyes. A stone deftly thrown across him by
the village blackguard (chief mourner) caused him to look round for an
instant, and he then fell dead, shot through the heart. Two posthumous
children are at this moment rolling on the lawn; one will evidently
inherit his ferocity, and will probably inherit the gun. The pheasant
was a little ailing towards Christmas Day, and was found dead under some
ivy in his cage, with his head under his wing, on the morning of the
twenty-seventh of December, one thousand eight hundred and sixty-six. I,
proprietor of the remains of the two deceased, am working hard, getting
up "Barbox" and "The Boy at Mugby," with which I begin a new series of
readings in London on the fifteenth. Next morning I believe I start into
the country. When I read, I _don't_ write. I only edit, and have the
proof-sheets sent me for the purpose. Here are your questions answered.

As to the Reform question, it should have been, and could have been,
perfectly known to any honest man in England that the more intelligent
part of the great masses were deeply dissatisfied with the state of
representation, but were in a very moderate and patient condition,
awaiting the better intellectual cultivation of numbers of their
fellows. The old insolent resource of assailing them and making the most
audaciously wicked statements that they are politically indifferent,
has borne the inevitable fruit. The perpetual taunt, "Where are they?"
has called them out with the answer: "Well then, if you _must_ know,
here we are." The intolerable injustice of vituperating the bribed to an
assembly of bribers, has goaded their sense of justice beyond endurance.
And now, what they would have taken they won't take, and whatever they
are steadily bent upon having they will get. Rely upon it, this is the
real state of the case. As to your friend "Punch," you will find him
begin to turn at the very selfsame instant when the new game shall
manifestly become the losing one. You may notice his shoes pinching him
a little already.

My dear fellow, I have no more power to stop that mutilation of my books
than you have. It is as certain as that every inventor of anything
designed for the public good, and offered to the English Government,
becomes _ipso facto_ a criminal, to have his heart broken on the
circumlocutional wheel. It is as certain as that the whole Crimean story
will be retold, whenever this country again goes to war. And to tell the
truth, I have such a very small opinion of what the great genteel have
done for us, that I am very philosophical indeed concerning what the
great vulgar may do, having a decided opinion that they can't do worse.

This is the time of year when the theatres do best, there being still
numbers of people who make it a sort of religion to see Christmas
pantomimes. Having my annual houseful, I have, as yet, seen nothing.
Fechter has neither pantomime nor burlesque, but is doing a new version
of the old "Trente Ans de la Vie d'un Joueur." I am afraid he will not
find his account in it. On the whole, the theatres, except in the
articles of scenery and pictorial effect, are poor enough. But in some
of the smaller houses there are actors who, if there were any dramatic
head-quarters as a school, might become very good. The most hopeless
feature is, that they have the smallest possible idea of an effective
and harmonious whole, each "going in" for himself or herself. The
music-halls attract an immense public, and don't refine the general
taste. But such things as they do are well done of their kind, and
always briskly and punctually.

The American yacht race is the last sensation. I hope the general
interest felt in it on this side will have a wholesome interest on that.
It will be a woeful day when John and Jonathan throw their caps into the
ring. The French Emperor is indubitably in a dangerous state. His
Parisian popularity wanes, and his army are discontented with him. I
hear on high authority that his secret police are always making
discoveries that render him desperately uneasy.

You know how we have been swindling in these parts. But perhaps you
don't know that Mr. ----, the "eminent" contractor, before he fell into
difficulties settled _one million of money_ on his wife. Such a good and
devoted husband!

My daughter Katie has been very ill of nervous fever. On the 27th of
December she was in a condition to be brought down here (old high road
and post-horses), and has been steadily getting better ever since. Her
husband is here too, and is on the whole as well as he ever is or ever
will be, I fear.

We played forfeit-games here, last night, and then pool. For a
billiard-room has been added to the house since you were here. Come and
play a match with me.

                                                Always affectionately.


[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]

                  ADELPHI HOTEL, LIVERPOOL, _Monday, Jan. 21st, 1867._

MY DEAREST GEORGY,

First I send you my most affectionate wishes for many, many happy
returns of your birthday. That done, from my heart of hearts, I go on to
my small report of myself.

The readings have produced such an immense effect here that we are
coming back for two more in the middle of February. "Marigold" and the
"Trial," on Friday night, and the "Carol," on Saturday afternoon, were a
perfect furore; and the surprise about "Barbox" has been amusingly
great. It is a most extraordinary thing, after the enormous sale of that
Christmas number, that the provincial public seems to have combined to
believe that it _won't_ make a reading. From Wolverhampton and Leeds we
have exactly the same expression of feelings _beforehand_. Exactly as I
made "Copperfield"--always to the poorest houses I had with Headland,
and against that luminary's entreaty--so I should have to make this, if
I hadn't "Marigold" always in demand.

It being next to impossible for people to come out at night with horses,
we have felt the weather in the stalls, and expect to do so through this
week. The half-crown and shilling publics have crushed to their places
most splendidly. The enthusiasm has been unbounded. On Friday night I
quite astonished myself; but I was taken so faint afterwards that they
laid me on a sofa at the hall for half an hour. I attribute it to my
distressing inability to sleep at night, and to nothing worse.

Scott does very well indeed. As a dresser he is perfect. In a quarter of
an hour after I go into the retiring-room, where all my clothes are
airing and everything is set out neatly in its own allotted space, I am
ready; and he then goes softly out, and sits outside the door. In the
morning he is equally punctual, quiet, and quick. He has his needles and
thread, buttons, and so forth, always at hand; and in travelling he is
very systematic with the luggage. What with Dolby and what with this
skilful valet, everything is made as easy to me as it possibly _can_ be,
and Dolby would do anything to lighten the work, and does everything.

There is great distress here among the poor (four thousand people
relieved last Saturday at one workhouse), and there is great anxiety
concerning _seven mail-steamers some days overdue_. Such a circumstance
as this last has never been known. It is supposed that some great
revolving storm has whirled them all out of their course. One of these
missing ships is an American mail, another an Australian mail.


                                                     _Same Afternoon._

We have been out for four hours in the bitter east wind, and walking on
the sea-shore, where there is a broad strip of great blocks of ice. My
hands are so rigid that I write with great difficulty.

We have been constantly talking of the terrible Regent's Park accident.
I hope and believe that nearly the worst of it is now known.


[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]

                                  CHESTER, _Tuesday, Jan. 22nd, 1867._

MY DEAREST MAMIE,

We came over here from Liverpool at eleven this forenoon. There was a
heavy swell in the Mersey breaking over the boat; the cold was nipping,
and all the roads we saw as we came along were wretched. We find a very
moderate let here; but I am myself rather surprised to know that a
hundred and twenty stalls have made up their minds to the undertaking of
getting to the hall. This seems to be a very nice hotel, but it is an
extraordinarily cold one. Our reading for to-night is "Marigold" and
"Trial." With amazing perversity the local agent said to Dolby: "They
hoped that Mr. Dickens _might_ have given them 'The Boy at Mugby.'"

Barton, the gasman who succeeded the man who sprained his leg, sprained
_his_ leg yesterday!! And that, not at his work, but in running
downstairs at the hotel. However, he has hobbled through it so far, and
I hope will hobble on, for he knows his work.

I have seldom seen a place look more hopelessly frozen up than this
place does. The hall is like a Methodist chapel in low spirits, and with
a cold in its head. A few blue people shiver at the corners of the
streets. And this house, which is outside the town, looks like an
ornament on an immense twelfth cake baked for 1847.

I am now going to the fire to try to warm myself, but have not the least
expectation of succeeding. The sitting-room has two large windows in it,
down to the ground and facing due east. The adjoining bedroom (mine) has
also two large windows in it, down to the ground and facing due east.
The very large doors are opposite the large windows, and I feel as if I
were something to eat in a pantry.


[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]

            HEN AND CHICKENS, BIRMINGHAM, _Thursday, Jan. 24th, 1867._

At Chester we read in a snowstorm and a fall of ice. I think it was the
worst weather I ever saw. Nevertheless, the people were enthusiastic. At
Wolverhampton last night the thaw had thoroughly set in, and it rained
heavily. We had not intended to go back there, but have arranged to do
so on the day after Ash Wednesday. Last night I was again heavily
beaten. We came on here after the reading (it is only a ride of forty
minutes), and it was as much as I could do to hold out the journey. But
I was not faint, as at Liverpool; I was only exhausted. I am all right
this morning; and to-night, as you know, I have a rest. I trust that
Charley Collins is better, and that Mamie is strong and well again.
Yesterday I had a note from Katie, which seemed hopeful and encouraging.


[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]

            HEN AND CHICKENS, BIRMINGHAM, _Thursday, Jan. 24th, 1867._

Since I wrote to your aunt just now, I have received your note addressed
to Wolverhampton. We left the men there last night, and they brought it
on with them at noon to-day.

The maimed gasman's foot is much swollen, but he limps about and does
his work. I have doctored him up with arnica. During the "Boy" last
night there was an escape of gas from the side of my top batten, which
caught the copper-wire and was within a thread of bringing down the
heavy reflector into the stalls. It was a very ticklish matter, though
the audience knew nothing about it. I saw it, and the gasman and Dolby
saw it, and stood at that side of the platform in agonies. We all three
calculated that there would be just time to finish and save it; when the
gas was turned out the instant I had done, the whole thing was at its
very last and utmost extremity. Whom it would have tumbled on, or what
might have been set on fire, it is impossible to say.

I hope you rewarded your police escort on Tuesday night. It was the most
tremendous night I ever saw at Chester.


[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]

                                      LEEDS, _Friday, Feb. 1st, 1867._

We got here prosperously, and had a good (but not great) house for
"Barbox" and "Boy" last night. For "Marigold" and "Trial," to-night,
everything is gone. And I even have my doubts of the possibility of
Dolby's cramming the people in. For "Marigold" and "Trial" at
Manchester, to-morrow, we also expect a fine hall.

I shall be at the office for next Wednesday. If Charley Collins should
have been got to Gad's, I will come there for that day. If not, I
suppose we had best open the official bower again.

This is a beastly place, with a very good hotel. Except Preston, it is
one of the nastiest places I know. The room is like a capacious coal
cellar, and is incredibly filthy; but for sound it is perfect.


[Sidenote: Anonymous.]

            OFFICE OF "ALL THE YEAR ROUND," _Tuesday, Feb. 5th, 1867._

DEAR SIR,

I have looked at the larger half of the first volume of your novel, and
have pursued the more difficult points of the story through the other
two volumes.

You will, of course, receive my opinion as that of an individual writer
and student of art, who by no means claims to be infallible.

I think you are too ambitious, and that you have not sufficient
knowledge of life or character to venture on so comprehensive an
attempt. Evidences of inexperience in every way, and of your power being
far below the situations that you imagine, present themselves to me in
almost every page I have read. It would greatly surprise me if you found
a publisher for this story, on trying your fortune in that line, or
derived anything from it but weariness and bitterness of spirit.

On the evidence thus put before me, I cannot even entirely satisfy
myself that you have the faculty of authorship latent within you. If you
have not, and yet pursue a vocation towards which you have no call, you
cannot choose but be a wretched man. Let me counsel you to have the
patience to form yourself carefully, and the courage to renounce the
endeavour if you cannot establish your case on a very much smaller
scale. You see around you every day, how many outlets there are for
short pieces of fiction in all kinds. Try if you can achieve any success
within these modest limits (I have practised in my time what I preach to
you), and in the meantime put your three volumes away.

                                                     Faithfully yours.

P.S.--Your MS. will be returned separately from this office.


[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]

                                 LIVERPOOL, _Friday, Feb. 15th, 1867._

My short report of myself is that we had an enormous turn-away last
night, and do not doubt about having a cram to-night. The day has been
very fine, and I have turned it to the wholesomest account by walking on
the sands at New Brighton all the morning. I am not quite right, but
believe it to be an effect of the railway shaking. There is no doubt of
the fact that, after the Staplehurst experience, it tells more and
more, instead of (as one might have expected) less and less.

The charming room here greatly lessens the fatigue of this fatiguing
week. I read last night with no more exertion than if I had been at
Gad's, and yet to eleven hundred people, and with astonishing effect. It
is "Copperfield" to-night, and Liverpool is the "Copperfield"
stronghold.


[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]

                                   GLASGOW, _Sunday, Feb. 17th, 1867._

We arrived here this morning at our time to the moment, five minutes
past ten. We turned away great numbers on both nights at Liverpool; and
Manchester last night was a splendid spectacle. They cheered to that
extent after it was over, that I was obliged to huddle on my clothes
(for I was undressing to prepare for the journey), and go back again.

After so heavy a week, it _was_ rather stiff to start on this long
journey at a quarter to two in the morning; but I got more sleep than I
ever got in a railway-carriage before, and it really was not tedious.
The travelling was admirable, and a wonderful contrast to my friend the
Midland.

I am not by any means knocked up, though I have, as I had in the last
series of readings, a curious feeling of soreness all round the body,
which I suppose to arise from the great exertion of voice. It is a mercy
that we were not both made really ill at Liverpool. On Friday morning I
was taken so faint and sick, that I was obliged to leave the table. On
the same afternoon the same thing happened to Dolby. We then found that
a part of the hotel close to us was dismantled for painting, and that
they were at that moment painting a green passage leading to our rooms,
with a most horrible mixture of white lead and arsenic. On pursuing the
enquiry, I found that the four lady book-keepers in the bar were all
suffering from the poison.


[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]

                          BRIDGE OF ALLAN, _Tuesday, Feb. 19th, 1867._

I was very glad to get your letter before leaving Glasgow this morning.
This is a poor return for it, but the post goes out early, and we come
in late.

Yesterday morning I was so unwell that I wrote to Frank Beard, from whom
I shall doubtless hear to-morrow. I mention it, only in case you should
come in his way, for I know how perversely such things fall out. I felt
it a little more exertion to read afterwards, and I passed a sleepless
night after that again; but otherwise I am in good force and spirits
to-day. I may say, in the best force.

The quiet of this little place is sure to do me good. The little inn in
which we are established seems a capital house of the best country sort.


[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]

                                 GLASGOW, _Thursday, Feb. 21st, 1867._

After two days' rest at the Bridge of Allan I am in renewed force, and
have nothing to complain of but inability to sleep. I have been in
excellent air all day since Tuesday at noon, and made an interesting
walk to Stirling yesterday, and saw its lions, and (strange to relate)
was not bored by them. Indeed, they left me so fresh that I knocked at
the gate of the prison, presented myself to the governor, and took Dolby
over the jail, to his unspeakable interest. We then walked back again
to our excellent country inn.

Enclosed is a letter from Alfred, which you and your aunt will be
interested in reading, and which I meant to send you sooner but forgot
it. Wonderful as it is to mention, the sun shines here to-day! But to
counterbalance that phenomenon I am in close hiding from ----, who has
christened his infant son in my name, and, consequently, haunts the
building. He and Dolby have already nearly come into collision, in
consequence of the latter being always under the dominion of the one
idea that he is bound to knock everybody down who asks for me.

       *       *       *       *       *

        The "Jewish lady," wishing to mark her
        "appreciation of Mr. Dickens's nobility of
        character," presented him with a copy of
        Benisch's Hebrew and English Bible, with this
        inscription: "Presented to Charles Dickens, in
        grateful and admiring recognition of his having
        exercised the noblest quality man can
        possess--that of atoning for an injury as soon
        as conscious of having inflicted it."

        The acknowledgment of the gift is the following
        letter:

[Sidenote: Jewish Lady.]

                       BRADFORD, YORKSHIRE, _Friday, March 1st, 1867._

MY DEAR MRS. ----,

I am working through a series of readings, widely dispersed through
England, Scotland, and Ireland, and am so constantly occupied that it is
very difficult for me to write letters. I have received your highly
esteemed note (forwarded from my home in Kent), and should have replied
to it sooner but that I had a hope of being able to get home and see
your present first. As I have not been able to do so, however, and am
hardly likely to do so for two months to come, I delay no longer. It is
safely awaiting me on my own desk in my own quiet room. I cannot thank
you for it too cordially, and cannot too earnestly assure you that I
shall always prize it highly. The terms in which you send me that mark
of your remembrance are more gratifying to me than I can possibly
express to you; for they assure me that there is nothing but goodwill
left between you and me and a people for whom I have a real regard, and
to whom I would not wilfully have given an offence or done an injustice
for any worldly consideration.

                                    Believe me, very faithfully yours.


[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]

                      NEWCASTLE-ON-TYNE, _Wednesday, March 6th, 1867._

The readings have made an immense effect in this place, and it is
remarkable that although the people are individually rough, collectively
they are an unusually tender and sympathetic audience; while their comic
perception is quite up to the high London standard. The atmosphere is so
very heavy that yesterday we escaped to Tynemouth for a two hours' sea
walk. There was a high north wind blowing and a magnificent sea running.
Large vessels were being towed in and out over the stormy bar, with
prodigious waves breaking on it; and spanning the restless uproar of the
waters was a quiet rainbow of transcendent beauty. The scene was quite
wonderful. We were in the full enjoyment of it when a heavy sea caught
us, knocked us over, and in a moment drenched us, and filled even our
pockets. We had nothing for it but to shake ourselves together (like
Doctor Marigold) and dry ourselves as well as we could by hard walking
in the wind and sunshine! But we were wet through for all that when we
came back here to dinner after half an hour's railway ride.

I am wonderfully well, and quite fresh and strong. Have had to doctor
Dolby for a bad cold; have not caught it (yet), and have set him on his
legs again.

Scott is striking the tents and loading the baggages, so I must deliver
up my writing-desk. We meet, please God, on Tuesday.


[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]

                 SHELBOURNE HOTEL, DUBLIN, _Friday, March 15th, 1867._

We made our journey through an incessant snowstorm on Wednesday night;
at last got snowed up among the Welsh mountains in a tremendous storm of
wind, came to a stop, and had to dig the engine out. We went to bed at
Holyhead at six in the morning of Thursday, and got aboard the packet at
two yesterday afternoon. It blew hard, but as the wind was right astern,
we only rolled and did not pitch much. As I walked about on the bridge
all the four hours, and had cold salt beef and biscuit there and
brandy-and-water, you will infer that my Channel training has not worn
out.

Our "business" here is _very bad_, though at Belfast it is enormous.
There is no doubt that great alarm prevails here. This hotel is
constantly filling and emptying as families leave the country, and set
in a current to the steamers. There is apprehension of some disturbance
between to-morrow night and Monday night (both inclusive), and I learn
this morning that all the drinking-shops are to be closed from to-night
until Tuesday. It is rumoured here that the Liverpool people are very
uneasy about some apprehended disturbance there at the same time. Very
likely you will know more about this than I do, and very likely it may
be nothing. There is no doubt whatever that alarm prevails, and the
manager of this hotel, an intelligent German, is very gloomy on the
subject. On the other hand, there is feasting going on, and I have been
asked to dinner-parties by divers civil and military authorities.

Don't _you_ be uneasy, I say once again. You may be absolutely certain
that there is no cause for it. We are splendidly housed here, and in
great comfort.

Love to Charley and Katey.


[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]

               SHELBOURNE HOTEL, DUBLIN, _Saturday, March 16th, 1867._

I daresay you know already that I held many councils in London about
coming to Ireland at all, and was much against it. Everything looked as
bad here as need be, but we did very well last night after all.

There is considerable alarm here beyond all question, and great
depression in all kinds of trade and commerce. To-morrow being St.
Patrick's Day, there are apprehensions of some disturbance, and croakers
predict that it will come off between to-night and Monday night. Of
course there are preparations on all sides, and large musters of
soldiers and police, though they are kept carefully out of sight. One
would not suppose, walking about the streets, that any disturbance was
impending; and yet there is no doubt that the materials of one lie
smouldering up and down the city and all over the country. [I have a
letter from Mrs. Bernal Osborne this morning, describing the fortified
way in which she is living in her own house in the County Tipperary.]

You may be quite sure that your venerable parent will take good care of
himself. If any riot were to break out, I should immediately stop the
readings here. Should all remain quiet, I begin to think they will be
satisfactorily remunerative after all. At Belfast, we shall have an
enormous house. I read "Copperfield" and "Bob" here on Monday;
"Marigold" and "Trial" at Belfast, on Wednesday; and "Carol" and "Trial"
here, on Friday. This is all my news, except that I am in perfect force.


[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]

                 SHELBOURNE HOTEL, DUBLIN, _Sunday, March 17th, 1867._

Everything remains in appearance perfectly quiet here. The streets are
gay all day, now that the weather is improved, and singularly quiet and
deserted at night. But the whole place is secretly girt in with a
military force. To-morrow night is supposed to be a critical time; but
in view of the enormous preparations, I should say that the chances are
at least one hundred to one against any disturbance.

I cannot make sure whether I wrote to you yesterday, and told you that
we had done very well at the first reading after all, even in money. The
reception was prodigious, and the readings are the town talk. But I
rather think I did actually write this to you. My doubt on the subject
arises from my having deliberated about writing on a Saturday.

The most curious, and for facilities of mere destruction, such as firing
houses in different quarters, the most dangerous piece of intelligence
imparted to me on authority is, that the Dublin domestic men-servants as
a class are all Fenians.


[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]

                               BELFAST, _Wednesday, March 20th, 1867._

The post goes out at twelve, and I have only time to report myself. The
snow not lying between this and Dublin, we got here yesterday to our
time, after a cold but pleasant journey. Fitzgerald came on with us. I
had a really charming letter from Mrs. Fitzgerald, asking me to stay
there. She must be a perfectly unaffected and genuine lady. There are
kind messages to you and Mary in it. I have sent it on to Mary, who will
probably in her turn show it to you. We had a wonderful crowd at Dublin
on Monday, and the greatest appreciation possible. We have a good let,
in a large hall, here to-night. But I am perfectly convinced that the
worst part of the Fenian business is to come yet.

All about the Fitzgeralds and everything else when we meet.


[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]

                                BELFAST, _Thursday, March 21st, 1867._

In spite of public affairs and dismal weather, we are doing wonders in
Ireland.

That the conspiracy is a far larger and more important one than would
seem from what it has done yet, there is no doubt. I have had a good
deal of talk with a certain colonel, whose duty it has been to
investigate it, day and night, since last September. That it will give a
world of trouble, and cost a world of money, I take to be (after what I
have thus learned) beyond all question. One regiment has been found to
contain five hundred Fenian soldiers every man of whom was sworn in the
barrack-yard. How information is swiftly and secretly conveyed all over
the country, the Government with all its means and money cannot
discover; but every hour it is found that instructions, warnings, and
other messages are circulated from end to end of Ireland. It is a very
serious business indeed.

I have just time to send this off, and to report myself quite well
except for a slight cold.


[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]

                                  NORWICH, _Friday, March 29th, 1867._

The reception at Cambridge last night was something to be proud of in
such a place. The colleges mustered in full force from the biggest guns
to the smallest, and went far beyond even Manchester in the roars of
welcome and the rounds of cheers. All through the readings, the whole of
the assembly, old men as well as young, and women as well as men, took
everything with a heartiness of enjoyment not to be described. The place
was crammed, and the success the most brilliant I have ever seen.

What we are doing in this sleepy old place I don't know, but I have no
doubt it is mild enough.


[Sidenote: Mr. Walter Thornbury]

                                  OFFICE OF "ALL THE YEAR ROUND,"
                                            _Monday, April 1st, 1867._

MY DEAR THORNBURY,

I am very doubtful indeed about "Vaux," and have kept it out of the
number in consequence. The mere details of such a rascal's proceedings,
whether recorded by himself or set down by the Reverend Ordinary, are
not wholesome for a large audience, and are scarcely justifiable (I
think) as claiming to be a piece of literature. I can understand
Barrington to be a good subject, as involving the representation of a
period, a style of manners, an order of dress, certain habits of street
life, assembly-room life, and coffee-room life, etc.; but there is a
very broad distinction between this and mere Newgate Calendar. The
latter would assuredly damage your book, and be protested against to me.
I have a conviction of it, founded on constant observation and
experience here.

Your kind invitation is extremely welcome and acceptable to me, but I am
sorry to add that I must not go a-visiting. For this reason: So
incessantly have I been "reading," that I have not once been at home at
Gad's Hill since last January, and am little likely to get there before
the middle of May. Judge how the master's eye must be kept on the place
when it does at length get a look at it after so long an absence! I hope
you will descry in this a reason for coming to me again, instead of my
coming to you.

The extinct prize-fighters, as a body, I take to be a good subject, for
much the same reason as George Barrington. Their patrons were a class of
men now extinct too, and the whole ring of those days (not to mention
Jackson's rooms in Bond Street) is a piece of social history. Now Vaux
is not, nor is he even a phenomenon among thieves.

                                              Faithfully yours always.


[Sidenote: Mr. Clarkson Stanfield, R.A.]

                          GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER,
                                         _Thursday, April 18th, 1867._

MY DEAR STANNY,

The time of year reminds me how the months have gone, since I last heard
from you through Mrs. Stanfield.

I hope you have not thought me unmindful of you in the meanwhile. I have
been almost constantly travelling and reading. England, Ireland, and
Scotland have laid hold of me by turns, and I have had no rest. As soon
as I had finished this kind of work last year, I had to fall to work
upon "All the Year Round" and the Christmas number. I was no sooner quit
of that task, and the Christmas season was but run out to its last day,
when I was tempted into another course of fifty readings that are not
yet over. I am here now for two days, and have not seen the place since
Twelfth Night. When a reading in London has been done, I have been
brought up for it from some great distance, and have next morning been
carried back again. But the fifty will be "paid out" (as we say at sea)
by the middle of May, and then I hope to see you.

Reading at Cheltenham the other day, I saw Macready, who sent his love
to you. His face was much more massive and as it used to be, than when I
saw him previous to his illness. His wife takes admirable care of him,
and is on the happiest terms with his daughter Katie. His boy by the
second marriage is a jolly little fellow, and leads a far easier life
than the children you and I remember, who used to come in at dessert and
have each a biscuit and a glass of water, in which last refreshment I
was always convinced that they drank, with the gloomiest malignity,
"Destruction to the gormandising grown-up company!"

I hope to look up your latest triumphs on the day of the Academy dinner.
Of course as yet I have had no opportunity of even hearing of what
anyone has done. I have been (in a general way) snowed up for four
months. The locomotive with which I was going to Ireland was dug out of
the snow at midnight, in Wales. Both passages across were made in a
furious snowstorm. The snow lay ankle-deep in Dublin, and froze hard at
Belfast. In Scotland it slanted before a perpetual east wind. In
Yorkshire, it derived novelty from thunder and lightning. Whirlwinds
everywhere I don't mention.

God bless you and yours. If I look like some weather-beaten pilot when
we meet, don't be surprised. Any mahogany-faced stranger who holds out
his hand to you will probably turn out, on inspection, to be the old
original Dick.

                 Ever, my dear Stanny, your faithful and affectionate.

P.S.--I wish you could have been with me (of course in a snowstorm) one
day on the pier at Tynemouth. There was a very heavy sea running, and a
perfect fleet of screw merchantmen were plunging in and out on the turn
of the tide at high-water. Suddenly there came a golden horizon, and a
most glorious rainbow burst out, arching one large ship, as if she were
sailing direct for heaven. I was so enchanted by the scene, that I
became oblivious of a few thousand tons of water coming on in an
enormous roller, and was knocked down and beaten by its spray when it
broke, and so completely wetted through and through, that the very
pockets in my pocket-book were full of sea.


[Sidenote: Mr. George Stanfield.]

                                  OFFICE OF "ALL THE YEAR ROUND,"
                                             _Sunday, May 19th, 1867._

                    ON THE DEATH OF HIS FATHER.

MY DEAR GEORGE,

When I came up to the house this afternoon and saw what had happened, I
had not the courage to ring, though I had thought I was fully prepared
by what I heard when I called yesterday. No one of your father's friends
can ever have loved him more dearly than I always did, or can have
better known the worth of his noble character.

It is idle to suppose that I can do anything for you; and yet I cannot
help saying that I am staying here for some days, and that if I could,
it would be a much greater relief to me than it could be a service to
you.

Your poor mother has been constantly in my thoughts since I saw the
quiet bravery with which she preserved her composure. The beauty of her
ministration sank into my heart when I saw him for the last time on
earth. May God be with her, and with you all, in your great loss.

                                          Affectionately yours always.


[Sidenote: Mr. W. H. Wills.]

                                           _Thursday, June 6th, 1867._

MY DEAR WILLS,

I cannot tell you how warmly I feel your letter, or how deeply I
appreciate the affection and regard in which it originates. I thank you
for it with all my heart.

You will not suppose that I make light of any of your misgivings if I
present the other side of the question. Every objection that you make
strongly impresses me, and will be revolved in my mind again and again.

When I went to America in '42, I was so much younger, but (I think) very
much weaker too. I had had a painful surgical operation performed
shortly before going out, and had had the labour from week to week of
"Master Humphrey's Clock." My life in the States was a life of continual
speech-making (quite as laborious as reading), and I was less patient
and more irritable then than I am now. My idea of a course of readings
in America is, that it would involve far less travelling than you
suppose, that the large first-class rooms would absorb the whole course,
and that the receipts would be very much larger than your estimate,
unless the demand for the readings is ENORMOUSLY EXAGGERATED ON ALL
HANDS. There is considerable reason for this view of the case. And I can
hardly think that all the speculators who beset, and all the private
correspondents who urge me, are in a conspiracy or under a common
delusion.

       *       *       *       *       *

I shall never rest much while my faculties last, and (if I know myself)
have a certain something in me that would still be active in rusting and
corroding me, if I flattered myself that I was in repose. On the other
hand, I think that my habit of easy self-abstraction and withdrawal into
fancies has always refreshed and strengthened me in short intervals
wonderfully. I always seem to myself to have rested far more than I have
worked; and I do really believe that I have some exceptional faculty of
accumulating young feelings in short pauses, which obliterates a
quantity of wear and tear.

My worldly circumstances (such a large family considered) are very good.
I don't want money. All my possessions are free and in the best order.
Still, at fifty-five or fifty-six, the likelihood of making a very great
addition to one's capital in half a year is an immense consideration....
I repeat the phrase, because there should be something large to set
against the objections.

I dine with Forster to-day, to talk it over. I have no doubt he will
urge most of your objections and particularly the last, though American
friends and correspondents he has, have undoubtedly staggered him more
than I ever knew him to be staggered on the money question. Be assured
that no one can present any argument to me which will weigh more
heartily with me than your kind words, and that whatever comes of my
present state of abeyance, I shall never forget your letter or cease to
be grateful for it.

                                Ever, my dear Wills, faithfully yours.


[Sidenote: Mr. W. H. Wills.]

                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,
                                            _Sunday, June 13th, 1867._

MY DEAR WILLS,

I have read the first three numbers of Wilkie's story this morning, and
have gone minutely through the plot of the rest to the last line. It
gives a series of "narratives," but it is a very curious story, wild,
and yet domestic, with excellent character in it, and great mystery. It
is prepared with extraordinary care, and has every chance of being a
hit. It is in many respects much better than anything he has done. The
question is, how shall we fill up the blank between Mabel's progress and
Wilkie? What do you think of proposing to Fitzgerald to do a story three
months long? I daresay he has some unfinished or projected something by
him.

I have an impression that it was not Silvester who tried Eliza Fenning,
but Knowles. One can hardly suppose Thornbury to make such a mistake,
but I wish you would look into the Annual Register. I have added a final
paragraph about the unfairness of the judge, whoever he was. I
distinctly recollect to have read of his "putting down" of Eliza
Fenning's father when the old man made some miserable suggestion in his
daughter's behalf (this is not noticed by Thornbury), and he also
stopped some suggestion that a knife thrust into a loaf adulterated with
alum would present the appearance that these knives presented. But I may
have got both these points from looking up some pamphlets in Upcott's
collection which I once had.

Your account of your journey reminds me of one of the latest American
stories, how a traveller by stage-coach said to the driver: "Did you
ever see a snail, sir?" "Yes, sir." "Where did you meet him, sir?" "I
_didn't_ meet him, sir!" "Wa'al, sir, I think you did, if you'll excuse
me, for I'm damned if you ever overtook him."

Ever faithfully.


[Sidenote: Mrs. Henderson.]

                               GAD'S HILL, _Thursday, July 4th, 1867._

MY DEAR MRS. HENDERSON,

I was more shocked than surprised by the receipt of your mother's
announcement of our poor dear Marguerite's death. When I heard of the
consultation, and recalled what had preceded it and what I have seen
here, my hopes were very slight.

Your letter did not reach me until last night, and thus I could not
avoid remaining here to-day, to keep an American appointment of unusual
importance. You and your mother both know, I think, that I had a great
affection for Marguerite, that we had many dear remembrances together,
and that her self-reliance and composed perseverance had awakened my
highest admiration in later times. No one could have stood by her grave
to-day with a better knowledge of all that was great and good in her
than I have, or with a more loving remembrance of her through all her
phases since she first came to London a pretty timid girl.

I do not trouble your mother by writing to her separately. It is a sad,
sad task to write at all. God help us!

                                                     Faithfully yours.


[Sidenote: Mr. Percy Fitzgerald.]

                                        GAD'S HILL, _July 21st, 1867._

MY DEAR FITZGERALD,

I am heartily glad to get your letter, and shall be thoroughly well
pleased to study you again in the pages of A. Y. R.

I have settled nothing yet about America, but am going to send Dolby out
on the 3rd of next month to survey the land, and come back with a report
on some heads whereon I require accurate information. Proposals (both
from American and English speculators) of a very tempting nature have
been repeatedly made to me; but I cannot endure the thought of binding
myself to give so many readings there whether I like it or no; and if I
go at all, am bent on going with Dolby single-handed.

I have been doing two things for America; one, the little story to which
you refer; the other, four little papers for a child's magazine. I like
them both, and think the latter a queer combination of a child's mind
with a grown-up joke. I have had them printed to assure correct printing
in the United States. You shall have the proof to read, with the
greatest pleasure. On second thoughts, why shouldn't I send you the
children's proof by this same post? I will, as I have it here, send it
under another cover. When you return it, you shall have the short story.

                                    Believe me, always heartily yours.


[Sidenote: Mr. Percy Fitzgerald.]

                                  EXTRACT.

                                                    _July 28th, 1867._

I am glad you like the children, and particularly glad you like the
pirate. I remember very well when I had a general idea of occupying that
place in history at the same age. But I loved more desperately than
Boldheart.


[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]

             ADELPHI HOTEL, LIVERPOOL, _Friday Night, Aug. 2nd, 1867._

MY DEAREST GEORGY,

I cannot get a boot on--wear a slipper on my left foot, and consequently
am here under difficulties. My foot is occasionally painful, but not
very. I don't think it worth while consulting anybody about it as yet. I
make out so many reasons against supposing it to be gouty, that I really
do not think it is.

Dolby begs me to send all manner of apologetic messages for his going to
America. He is very cheerful and hopeful, but evidently feels the
separation from his wife and child very much. His sister[17] was at
Euston Square this morning, looking very well. Sainton too, very light
and jovial.

With the view of keeping myself and my foot quiet, I think I will not
come to Gad's Hill until Monday. If I don't appear before, send basket
to Gravesend to meet me, leaving town by the 12.10 on Monday. This is
important, as I couldn't walk a quarter of a mile to-night for five
hundred pounds.

Love to all at Gad's.


[Sidenote: Mr. W. H. Wills.]

                                GAD'S HILL, _Monday, Sept. 2nd, 1867._

MY DEAR WILLS,

Like you, I was shocked when this new discovery burst upon me on Friday,
though, unlike you, I never could believe in ----, solely (I think)
because, often as I have tried him, I never found him standing by my
desk when I was writing a letter without trying to read it.

I fear there is no doubt that since ----'s discharge, he (----) has
stolen money at the readings. A case of an abstracted shilling seems to
have been clearly brought home to him by Chappell's people, and they
know very well what _that_ means. I supposed a very clear keeping off
from Anne's husband (whom I recommended for employment to Chappell) to
have been referable only to ----; but now I see how hopeless and unjust
it would be to expect belief from him with two such cases within his
knowledge.

But don't let the thing spoil your holiday. If we try to do our duty by
people we employ, by exacting their proper service from them on the one
hand, and treating them with all possible consistency, gentleness, and
consideration on the other, we know that we do right. Their doing wrong
cannot change our doing right, and that should be enough for us.

So I have given _my_ feathers a shake, and am all right again. Give
_your_ feathers a shake, and take a cheery flutter into the air of
Hertfordshire.

Great reports from Dolby and also from Fields! But I keep myself quite
calm, and hold my decision in abeyance until I shall have book, chapter,
and verse before me. Dolby hoped he could leave Uncle Sam on the 11th of
this month.

Sydney has passed as a lieutenant, and appeared at home yesterday, all
of a sudden, with the consequent golden garniture on his sleeve, which
I, God forgive me, stared at without the least idea that it meant
promotion.

I am glad you see a certain unlikeness to anything in the American
story. Upon myself it has made the strangest impression of reality and
originality!! And I feel as if I had read something (by somebody else),
which I should never get out of my mind!!! The main idea of the
narrator's position towards the other people was the idea that I _had_
for my next novel in A. Y. R. But it is very curious that I did not in
the least see how to begin his state of mind until I walked into Hoghton
Towers one bright April day with Dolby.

                                                      Faithfully ever.


[Sidenote: Mr. F. D. Finlay.]

           CONTRADICTING A NEWSPAPER REPORT OF HIS BEING IN A
                       CRITICAL STATE OF HEALTH.

                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,
                                           _Tuesday, Sept. 3rd, 1867._

This is to certify that the undersigned victim of a periodical
paragraph-disease, which usually breaks out once in every seven years
(proceeding to England by the overland route to India and per Cunard
line to America, where it strikes the base of the Rocky Mountains, and,
rebounding to Europe, perishes on the steppes of Russia), is _not_ in a
"critical state of health," and has _not_ consulted "eminent surgeons,"
and never was better in his life, and is _not_ recommended to proceed to
the United States for "cessation from literary labour," and has not had
so much as a headache for twenty years.

                                                      CHARLES DICKENS.


[Sidenote: M. Charles Fechter.]

                                    "ALL THE YEAR ROUND" OFFICE,
                                           _Monday, Sept. 16th, 1867._

MY DEAR FECHTER,

Going over the prompt-book carefully, I see one change in your part to
which (on Lytton's behalf) I positively object, as I am quite certain he
would not consent to it. It is highly injudicious besides, as striking
out the best known line in the play.

Turn to your part in Act III., the speech beginning

                                Pauline, _by pride
        Angels have fallen ere thy time_: by pride----

You have made a passage farther on stand:

                            _Then did I seek to rise
        Out of my mean estate. Thy bright image, etc._

I must stipulate for your restoring it thus:

                            Then did I seek to rise
        Out of the prison of my mean estate;
        And, with such jewels as the exploring mind
        Brings from the caves of knowledge, buy my ransom
        From those twin jailers of the daring heart--
        Low birth and iron fortune. Thy bright image, etc. etc.

The last figure has been again and again quoted; is identified with the
play; is fine in itself; and above all, I KNOW that Lytton would not let
it go. In writing to him to-day, fully explaining the changes in detail,
and saying that I disapprove of nothing else, I have told him that I
notice this change and that I immediately let you know that it must not
be made.

(There will not be a man in the house from any newspaper who would not
detect mutilations in that speech, moreover.)

                                                                 Ever.


[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]

                                           _Monday, Sept. 30th, 1867._

MY DEAREST GEORGY,

The telegram is despatched to Boston: "Yes. Go ahead." After a very
anxious consultation with Forster, and careful heed of what is to be
said for and against, I have made up my mind to see it out. I do not
expect as much money as the calculators estimate, but I cannot set the
hope of a large sum of money aside.

I am so nervous with travelling and anxiety to decide something, that I
can hardly write. But I send you these few words as my dearest and best
friend.


[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]

  OFFICE OF "ALL THE YEAR ROUND," NO. 26, WELLINGTON STREET, STRAND,
                                      LONDON, W.C.,
                                           _Monday, Sept. 30th, 1867._

MY DEAREST MAMIE,

You will have had my telegram that I go to America. After a long
discussion with Forster, and consideration of what is to be said on both
sides, I have decided to go through with it. I doubt the profit being as
great as the calculation makes it, but the prospect is sufficiently
alluring to turn the scale on the American side.

Unless I telegraph to the contrary, I will come to Gravesend (send
basket there) by 12 train on Wednesday. Love to all.

We have telegraphed "Yes" to Boston.

I begin to feel myself drawn towards America, as Darnay, in the "Tale of
Two Cities," was attracted to the Loadstone Rock, Paris.


[Sidenote: Mr. William Charles Kent.]

                   26, WELLINGTON STREET, _Saturday, Oct. 19th, 1867._

MY DEAR KENT,

In the midst of the great trouble you are taking in the cause of your
undersigned affectionate friend, I hope the reading of the enclosed may
be a sort of small godsend. Of course it is very strictly private. The
printers are not yet trusted with the name, but the name will be, "No
Thoroughfare." I have done the greater part of it; may you find it
interesting!

My solicitor, a man of some mark and well known, is anxious to be on the
Committee:

        Frederic Ouvry, Esquire,
                 66, Lincoln's Inn Fields.

                                            Ever affectionately yours.

P.S.--My sailor son!

I forgot him!!

Coming up from Portsmouth for the dinner!!!

Der--er--oo not cur--ur--urse me, I implore.

                                                           Penitently.


[Sidenote: Mrs. Power.]

                             GAD'S HILL, _Wednesday, Oct. 23rd, 1867._

MY DEAR MRS. POWER,

I have a sad pleasure in the knowledge that our dear Marguerite so
remembered her old friend, and I shall preserve the token of her
remembrance with loving care. The sight of it has brought back many old
days.

With kind remembrance to Mrs. Henderson,

                             Believe me always, very faithfully yours.


[Sidenote: Mr. J. L. Toole.]

                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,
                                           _Saturday, Nov. 2nd, 1867._

MY DEAR MR. TOOLE,

I heartily thank you for your elegant token of remembrance, and for your
earnest letter. Both have afforded me real pleasure, and the first-named
shall go with me on my journey.

Let me take this opportunity of saying that on receipt of your letter
concerning to-day's dinner, I immediately forwarded your request to the
honorary secretary. I hope you will understand that I could not, in
delicacy, otherwise take part in the matter.

Again thanking you most cordially,

                                  Believe me, always faithfully yours.


[Sidenote: Mr. W. H. Wills.]

                      26, WELLINGTON STREET, _Sunday, Nov. 3rd, 1867._

MY DEAR WILLS,

If you were to write me many such warm-hearted letters as you send this
morning, my heart would fail me! There is nothing that so breaks down my
determination, or shows me what an iron force I put upon myself, and how
weak it is, as a touch of true affection from a tried friend.

All that you so earnestly say about the goodwill and devotion of all
engaged, I perceived and deeply felt last night. It moved me even more
than the demonstration itself, though I do suppose it was the most
brilliant ever seen. When I got up to speak, but for taking a desperate
hold of myself, I should have lost my sight and voice and sat down
again.

God bless you, my dear fellow. I am, ever and ever,

                                                    Your affectionate.


[Sidenote: The Hon. Mrs. Watson.]

                                  OFFICE OF "ALL THE YEAR ROUND,"
                                            _Tuesday, Nov. 5th, 1867._

MY DEAR MRS. WATSON,

A thousand thanks for your kind letter, and many congratulations on your
having successfully attained a dignity which I never allow to be
mentioned in my presence. Charley's children are instructed from their
tenderest months only to know me as "Wenerables," which they sincerely
believe to be my name, and a kind of title that I have received from a
grateful country.

Alas! I cannot have the pleasure of seeing you before I presently go to
Liverpool. Every moment of my time is preoccupied. But I send you my
sincere love, and am always truthful to the dear old days, and the
memory of one of the dearest friends I ever loved.

                                                 Affectionately yours.


[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]

                          ABOARD THE "CUBA," QUEENSTOWN HARBOUR,
                                            _Sunday, Nov. 10th, 1867._

MY DEAREST MAMIE,

We arrived here at seven this morning, and shall probably remain
awaiting our mail, until four or five this afternoon. The weather in the
passage here was delightful, and we had scarcely any motion beyond that
of the screw.

We are nearly but not quite full of passengers. At table I sit next the
captain, on his right, on the outside of the table and close to the
door. My little cabin is big enough for everything but getting up in and
going to bed in. As it has a good window which I can leave open all
night, and a door which I can set open too, it suits my chief
requirements of it--plenty of air--admirably. On a writing-slab in it,
which pulls out when wanted, I now write in a majestic manner.

Many of the passengers are American, and I am already on the best terms
with nearly all the ship.

We began our voyage yesterday a very little while after you left us,
which was a great relief. The wind is S.E. this morning, and if it would
keep so we should go along nobly. My dearest love to your aunt, and
also to Katie and all the rest. I am in very good health, thank God, and
as well as possible.


[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]

                               ABOARD THE "CUBA," FIVE DAYS OUT,
                                         _Wednesday, Nov. 13th, 1867._

MY DEAREST GEORGY,

As I wrote to Mamie last, I now write to you, or mean to do it, if the
motion of the ship will let me.

We are very nearly halfway to-day. The weather was favourable for us
until yesterday morning, when we got a head-wind which still stands by
us. We have rolled and pitched, of course; but on the whole have been
wonderfully well off. I have had headache and have felt faint once or
twice, _but have not been sick at all_. My spacious cabin is very noisy
at night, as the most important working of the ship goes on outside my
window and over my head; but it is very airy, and if the weather be bad
and I can't open the window, I can open the door all night. If the
weather be fine (as it is now), I can open both door and window, and
write between them. Last night, I got a foot-bath under the dignified
circumstances of sitting on a camp-stool in my cabin, and having the
bath (and my feet) in the passage outside. The officers' quarters are
close to me, and, as I know them all, I get reports of the weather and
the way we are making when the watch is changed, and I am (as I usually
am) lying awake. The motion of the screw is at its slightest vibration
in my particular part of the ship. The silent captain, reported gruff,
is a very good fellow and an honest fellow. Kelly has been ill all the
time, and not of the slightest use, and is ill now. Scott always
cheerful, and useful, and ready; a better servant for the kind of work
there never can have been. Young Lowndes has been fearfully sick until
mid-day yesterday. His cabin is pitch dark, and full of blackbeetles. He
shares mine until nine o'clock at night, when Scott carries him off to
bed. He also dines with me in my magnificent chamber. This passage in
winter time cannot be said to be an enjoyable excursion, but I certainly
am making it under the best circumstances. (I find Dolby to have been
enormously popular on board, and to have known everybody and gone
everywhere.)

So much for my news, except that I have been constantly reading, and
find that "Pierra" that Mrs. Hogge sent me by Katie to be a very
remarkable book, not only for its grim and horrible story, but for its
suggestion of wheels within wheels, and sad human mysteries. Baker's
second book not nearly so good as his first, but his first anticipated
it.

We hope to get to Halifax either on Sunday or Monday, and to Boston
either on Tuesday or Wednesday. The glass is rising high to-day, and
everybody on board is hopeful of an easterly wind.


[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]

                                                     _Saturday, 16th._

Last Thursday afternoon a heavy gale of wind sprang up and blew hard
until dark, when it seemed to lull. But it then came on again with great
violence, and blew tremendously all night. The noise, and the rolling
and plunging of the ship, were awful. Nobody on board could get any
sleep, and numbers of passengers were rolled out of their berths. Having
a side-board to mine to keep me in, like a baby, I lay still. But it was
a dismal night indeed, and it was curious to see the change it had made
in the faces of all the passengers yesterday. It cannot be denied that
these winter crossings are very trying and startling; while the
personal discomfort of not being able to wash, and the miseries of
getting up and going to bed, with what small means there are all
sliding, and sloping, and slopping about, are really in their way
distressing.

This forenoon we made Cape Race, and are now running along at full speed
with the land beside us. Kelly still useless, and positively declining
to show on deck. Scott, with an eight-day-old moustache, more super like
than ever. My foot (I hope from walking on the boarded deck) in a very
shy condition to-day, and rather painful. I shaved this morning for the
first time since Liverpool; dodging at the glass, very much like
Fechter's imitation of ----. The white cat that came off with us in the
tender a general favourite. She belongs to the daughter of a Southerner,
returning with his wife and family from a two-years' tour in Europe.


                                                       _Sunday, 17th._

At four o'clock this morning we got into bad weather again, and the
state of things at breakfast-time was unutterably miserable. Nearly all
the passengers in their berths--no possibility of standing on
deck--sickness and groans--impracticable to pass a cup of tea from one
pair of hands to another. It has slightly moderated since (between two
and three in the afternoon I write), and the sun is shining, but the
rolling of the ship surpasses all imagination or description.

We expect to be at Halifax about an hour after midnight, and this letter
shall be posted there, to make certain of catching the return mail on
Wednesday. Boston is only thirty hours from Halifax.

Best love to Mamie, and to Katie and Charley. I know you will report me
and my love to Forster and Mrs. Forster. I write with great difficulty,
wedged up in a corner, and having my heels on the paper as often as the
pen. Kelly worse than ever, and Scott better than ever.

My desk and I have just arisen from the floor.


[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]

                    PARKER HOUSE, BOSTON, _Thursday, Nov. 21st, 1867._

I arrived here on Tuesday night, after a very slow passage from Halifax
against head-winds. All the tickets for the first four readings here
(all yet announced) were sold immediately on their being issued.

You know that I begin on the 2nd of December with "Carol" and "Trial"?
Shall be heartily glad to begin to count the readings off.

This is an immense hotel, with all manner of white marble public
passages and public rooms. I live in a corner high up, and have a hot
and cold bath in my bedroom (communicating with the sitting-room), and
comforts not in existence when I was here before. The cost of living is
enormous, but happily we can afford it. I dine to-day with Longfellow,
Emerson, Holmes, and Agassiz. Longfellow was here yesterday. Perfectly
white in hair and beard, but a remarkably handsome and notable-looking
man. The city has increased enormously in five-and-twenty years. It has
grown more mercantile--is like Leeds mixed with Preston, and flavoured
with New Brighton; but for smoke and fog you substitute an exquisitely
bright light air. I found my rooms beautifully decorated (by Mrs.
Fields) with choice flowers, and set off by a number of good books. I am
not much persecuted by people in general, as Dolby has happily made up
his mind that the less I am exhibited for nothing the better. So our men
sit outside the room door and wrestle with mankind.

We had speech-making and singing in the saloon of the _Cuba_ after the
last dinner of the voyage. I think I have acquired a higher reputation
from drawing out the captain, and getting him to take the second in
"All's Well," and likewise in "There's not in the wide world" (your
parent taking first), than from anything previously known of me on these
shores. I hope the effect of these achievements may not dim the lustre
of the readings. We also sang (with a Chicago lady, and a strong-minded
woman from I don't know where) "Auld Lang Syne," with a tender
melancholy, expressive of having all four been united from our cradles.
The more dismal we were, the more delighted the company were. Once (when
we paddled i' the burn) the captain took a little cruise round the
compass on his own account, touching at the "Canadian Boat Song," and
taking in supplies at "Jubilate," "Seas between us braid ha' roared,"
and roared like the seas themselves. Finally, I proposed the ladies in a
speech that convulsed the stewards, and we closed with a brilliant
success. But when you dine with Mr. Forster, ask him to read to you how
we got on at church in a heavy sea. Hillard has just been in and sent
his love "to those dear girls." He has grown much older. He is now
District Attorney of the State of Massachusetts, which is a very good
office. Best love to your aunt and Katie, and Charley and all his house,
and all friends.


[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]

                      PARKER HOUSE, BOSTON, _Monday, Nov. 25th, 1867._

I cannot remember to whom I wrote last, but it will not much matter if I
make a mistake; this being generally to report myself so well, that I am
constantly chafing at not having begun to-night instead of this night
week.

The tickets being all sold for next week, and no other announcement
being yet made, there is nothing new in that way to tell of. Dolby is
over at New York, where we are at our wits' end how to keep tickets out
of the hands of speculators. Morgan is staying with me; came yesterday
to breakfast, and goes home to-morrow. Fields and Mrs. Fields also dined
yesterday. She is a very nice woman, with a rare relish for humour and a
most contagious laugh. The Bostonians having been duly informed that I
wish to be quiet, really leave me as much so as I should be in
Manchester or Liverpool. This I cannot expect to last elsewhere; but it
is a most welcome relief here, as I have all the readings to get up. The
people are perfectly kind and perfectly agreeable. If I stop to look in
at a shop-window, a score of passers-by stop; and after I begin to read,
I cannot expect in the natural course of things to get off so easily.
But I every day take from seven to ten miles in peace.

Communications about readings incessantly come in from all parts of the
country. We take no offer whatever, lying by with our plans until after
the first series in New York, and designing, if we make a furore there,
to travel as little as possible. I fear I shall have to take Canada at
the end of the whole tour. They make such strong representations from
Montreal and Toronto, and from Nova Scotia--represented by St. John's
and Halifax--of the slight it would be to them, if I wound up with the
States, that I am shaken.

It is sad to see Longfellow's house (the house in which his wife was
burnt) with his young daughters in it, and the shadow of that terrible
story. The young undergraduates of Cambridge (he is a professor there)
have made a representation to him that they are five hundred strong,
and cannot get one ticket. I don't know what is to be done for them; I
suppose I must read there somehow. We are all in the clouds until I
shall have broken ground in New York, as to where readings will be
possible and where impossible.

Agassiz is one of the most natural and jovial of men. I go out
a-visiting as little as I can, but still have to dine, and what is
worse, sup pretty often. Socially, I am (as I was here before)
wonderfully reminded of Edinburgh when I had many friends in it.

Your account and Mamie's of the return journey to London gave me great
pleasure. I was delighted with your report of Wilkie, and not surprised
by Chappell's coming out gallantly.

My anxiety to get to work is greater than I can express, because time
seems to be making no movement towards home until I shall be reading
hard. Then I shall begin to count and count and count the upward steps
to May.

If ever you should be in a position to advise a traveller going on a sea
voyage, remember that there is some mysterious service done to the
bilious system when it is shaken, by baked apples. Noticing that they
were produced on board the _Cuba_, every day at lunch and dinner, I
thought I would make the experiment of always eating them freely. I am
confident that they did wonders, not only at the time, but in stopping
the imaginary pitching and rolling after the voyage is over, from which
many good amateur sailors suffer. I have hardly had the sensation at
all, except in washing of a morning. At that time I still hold on with
one knee to the washing-stand, and could swear that it rolls from left
to right. The _Cuba_ does not return until Wednesday, the 4th December.
You may suppose that every officer on board is coming on Monday, and
that Dolby has provided extra stools for them. His work is very hard
indeed. Cards are brought to him every minute in the day; his
correspondence is immense; and he is jerked off to New York, and I don't
know where else, on the shortest notice and the most unreasonable times.
Moreover, he has to be at "the bar" every night, and to "liquor up with
all creation" in the small hours. He does it all with the greatest good
humour, and flies at everybody who waylays the Chief, furiously. We have
divided our men into watches, so that one always sits outside the
drawing-room door. Dolby knows the whole Cunard line, and as we could
not get good English gin, went out in a steamer yesterday and got two
cases (twenty-four bottles) out of Cunard officers. Osgood and he were
detached together last evening for New York, whence they telegraph every
other hour about some new point in this precious sale of tickets. So
distracted a telegram arrived at three that I have telegraphed back,
"Explain yourselves," and am now waiting for the explanation. I think
you know that Osgood is a partner in Ticknor and Fields'.

Tuesday morning.--Dolby has come back from New York, where the prospects
seem immense. We sell tickets there next Friday and Saturday, and a
tremendous rush is expected.


[Sidenote: Mr. Charles Dickens.]

              PARKER HOUSE, BOSTON, U.S., _Saturday, Nov. 30th, 1867._

MY DEAR CHARLEY,

You will have heard before now how fortunate I was on my voyage, and how
I was not sick for a moment. These screws are tremendous ships for
carrying on, and for rolling, and their vibration is rather distressing.
But my little cabin, being for'ard of the machinery, was in the best
part of the vessel, and I had as much air in it, night and day, as I
chose. The saloon being kept absolutely without air, I mostly dined in
my own den, in spite of my being allotted the post of honour on the
right hand of the captain.

The tickets for the first four readings here (the only readings
announced) were all sold immediately, and many are now re-selling at a
large premium. The tickets for the first four readings in New York (the
only readings announced there also) were on sale yesterday, and were all
sold in a few hours. The receipts are very large indeed; but engagements
of any kind and every kind I steadily refuse, being resolved to take
what is to be taken myself. Dolby is nearly worked off his legs, is now
at New York, and goes backwards and forwards between this place and that
(about the distance from London to Liverpool, though they take nine
hours to do it) incessantly. Nothing can exceed his energy and good
humour, and he is extremely popular everywhere. My great desire is to
avoid much travelling, and to try to get the people to come to me,
instead of my going to them. If I can effect this to any moderate
extent, I shall be saved a great deal of knocking about. My original
purpose was not to go to Canada at all; but Canada is so up in arms on
the subject that I think I shall be obliged to take it at last. In that
case I should work round to Halifax, Nova Scotia, and then take the
packet for home.

As they don't seem (Americans who have heard me on their travels
excepted) to have the least idea here of what the readings are like, and
as they are accustomed to mere readings out of a book, I am inclined to
think the excitement will increase when I shall have begun. Everybody
is very kind and considerate, and I have a number of old friends here,
at the Bar and connected with the University. I am now negotiating to
bring out the dramatic version of "No Thoroughfare" at New York. It is
quite upon the cards that it may turn up trumps.

I was interrupted in that place by a call from my old secretary in the
States, Mr. Putnam. It was quite affecting to see his delight in meeting
his old master again. And when I told him that Anne was married, and
that I had (unacknowledged) grandchildren, he laughed and cried
together. I suppose you don't remember Longfellow, though he remembers
you in a black velvet frock very well. He is now white-haired and
white-bearded, but remarkably handsome. He still lives in his old house,
where his beautiful wife was burnt to death. I dined with him the other
day, and could not get the terrific scene out of my imagination. She was
in a blaze in an instant, rushed into his arms with a wild cry, and
never spoke afterwards.

My love to Bessie, and to Mekitty, and all the babbies. I will lay this
by until Tuesday morning, and then add a final line to it.

                      Ever, my dear Charley, your affectionate Father.


                                            _Tuesday, Dec. 3rd, 1867._

Success last night beyond description or exaggeration. The whole city is
quite frantic about it to-day, and it is impossible that prospects could
be more brilliant.


[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]

                       PARKER HOUSE, BOSTON, _Sunday, Dec. 1st, 1867._

I received yours of the 18th November, yesterday. As I left Halifax in
the _Cuba_ that very day, you probably saw us telegraphed in _The Times_
on the 19th.

Dolby came back from another run to New York, this morning. The receipts
are very large indeed, far exceeding our careful estimate made at Gad's.
I think you had best in future (unless I give you intimation to the
contrary) address your letters to me, at the Westminster Hotel, Irving
Place, New York City. It is a more central position than this, and we
are likely to be much more there than here. I am going to set up a
brougham in New York, and keep my rooms at that hotel. The account of
Matilda is a very melancholy one, and really distresses me. What she
must sink into, it is sad to consider. However, there was nothing for it
but to send her away, that is quite clear.

They are said to be a very quiet audience here, appreciative but not
demonstrative. I shall try to change their character a little.

I have been going on very well. A horrible custom obtains in these parts
of asking you to dinner somewhere at half-past two, and to supper
somewhere else about eight. I have run this gauntlet more than once, and
its effect is, that there is no day for any useful purpose, and that the
length of the evening is multiplied by a hundred. Yesterday I dined with
a club at half-past two, and came back here at half-past eight, with a
general impression that it was at least two o'clock in the morning. Two
days before I dined with Longfellow at half-past two, and came back at
eight, supposing it to be midnight. To-day we have a state dinner-party
in our rooms at six, Mr. and Mrs. Fields, and Mr. and Mrs. Bigelow. (He
is a friend of Forster's, and was American Minister in Paris). There are
no <DW64> waiters here, all the servants are Irish--willing, but not
able. The dinners and wines are very good. I keep our own rooms well
ventilated by opening the windows, but no window is ever opened in the
halls or passages, and they are so overheated by a great furnace, that
they make me faint and sick. The air is like that of a pre-Adamite
ironing-day in full blast. Your respected parent is immensely popular in
Boston society, and its cordiality and unaffected heartiness are
charming. I wish I could carry it with me.

The leading New York papers have sent men over for to-morrow night with
instructions to telegraph columns of descriptions. Great excitement and
expectation everywhere. Fields says he has looked forward to it so long
that he knows he will die at five minutes to eight.

At the New York barriers, where the tickets are on sale and the people
ranged as at the Paris theatres, speculators went up and down offering
"twenty dollars for anybody's place." The money was in no case accepted.
One man sold two tickets for the second, third, and fourth night for
"one ticket for the first, fifty dollars" (about seven pounds ten
shillings), "and a brandy cocktail," which is an iced bitter drink. The
weather has been rather muggy and languid until yesterday, when there
was the coldest wind blowing that I ever felt. In the night it froze
very hard, and to-day the sky is beautiful.


                                                  _Tuesday, Dec. 3rd._

Most magnificent reception last night, and most signal and complete
success. Nothing could be more triumphant. The people will hear of
nothing else and talk of nothing else. Nothing that was ever done here,
they all agree, evoked any approach to such enthusiasm. I was quite as
cool and quick as if I were reading at Greenwich, and went at it
accordingly. Tell your aunt, with my best love, that I have this morning
received hers of the 21st, and that I will write to her next. That will
be from New York. My love to Mr. and Mrs. Hulkes and the boy, and to Mr.
and Mrs. Malleson.[18]


[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]

                                  BOSTON, _Wednesday, Dec. 4th, 1867._

I find that by going off to the _Cuba_ myself this morning I can send
you the enclosed for Mary Boyle (I don't know how to address her), whose
usual flower for my button-hole was produced in the most extraordinary
manner here last Monday night! All well and prosperous. "Copperfield"
and "Bob" last night; great success.


[Sidenote: Miss Mary Boyle.]

                                         BOSTON, _December 4th, 1867._

MY DEAR MEERY,

You can have no idea of the glow of pleasure and amazement with which I
saw your remembrance of me lying on my dressing-table here last Monday
night. Whosoever undertook that commission accomplished it to a miracle.
But you must go away four thousand miles, and have such a token conveyed
to _you_, before you can quite appreciate the feeling of receiving it.
Ten thousand loving thanks.

Immense success here, and unbounded enthusiasm. My largest expectations
far surpassed.

                                              Ever your affectionate
                                                                   Jo.


[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]

                 WESTMINSTER HOTEL, IRVING PLACE, NEW YORK CITY,
                                          _Wednesday, Dec 11th, 1867._

Amazing success here. A very fine audience; _far better than that at
Boston_. Great reception. Great, "Carol" and "Trial," on the first
night; still greater, "Copperfield" and "Bob," on the second. Dolby
sends you a few papers by this post. You will see from their tone what a
success it is.

I cannot pay this letter, because I give it at the latest moment to the
mail-officer, who is going on board the Cunard packet in charge of the
mails, and who is staying in this house. We are now selling (at the
hall) the tickets for the four readings of next week. At nine o'clock
this morning there were two thousand people in waiting, and they had
begun to assemble in the bitter cold as early as two o'clock. All night
long Dolby and our man have been stamping tickets. (Immediately over my
head, by-the-bye, and keeping me awake.) This hotel is quite as quiet as
Mivart's, in Brook Street. It is not very much larger. There are
American hotels close by, with five hundred bedrooms, and I don't know
how many boarders; but this is conducted on what is called "the European
principle," and is an admirable mixture of a first-class French and
English house. I keep a very smart carriage and pair; and if you were to
behold me driving out, furred up to the moustache, with furs on the
coach-boy and on the driver, and with an immense white, red, and yellow
striped rug for a covering, you would suppose me to be of Hungarian or
Polish nationality.

Will you report the success here to Mr. Forster with my love, and tell
him he shall hear from me by next mail?

Dolby sends his kindest regards. He is just come in from our ticket
sales, and has put such an immense untidy heap of paper money on the
table that it looks like a family wash. He hardly ever dines, and is
always tearing about at unreasonable hours. He works very hard.

My best love to your aunt (to whom I will write next), and to Katie, and
to both the Charleys, and all the Christmas circle, not forgetting
Chorley, to whom give my special remembrance. You may get this by
Christmas Day. _We_ shall have to keep it travelling from Boston here;
for I read at Boston on the 23rd and 24th, and here again on the 26th.


[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]

                 WESTMINSTER HOTEL, IRVING PLACE, NEW YORK CITY,
                                            _Monday, Dec. 16th, 1867._

We have been snowed up here, and the communication with Boston is still
very much retarded. Thus we have received no letters by the Cunard
steamer that came in last Wednesday, and are in a grim state of mind on
that subject.

Last night I was getting into bed just at twelve o'clock, when Dolby
came to my door to inform me that the house was on fire (I had
previously smelt fire for two hours). I got Scott up directly, told him
to pack the books and clothes for the readings first, dressed, and
pocketed my jewels and papers, while Dolby stuffed himself out with
money. Meanwhile the police and firemen were in the house, endeavouring
to find where the fire was. For some time it baffled their endeavours,
but at last, bursting out through some stairs, they cut the stairs away,
and traced it to its source in a certain fire-grate. By this time the
hose was laid all through the house from a great tank on the roof, and
everybody turned out to help. It was the oddest sight, and people had
put the strangest things on! After a little chopping and cutting with
axes and handing about of water, the fire was confined to a dining-room
in which it had originated, and then everybody talked to everybody else,
the ladies being particularly loquacious and cheerful. And so we got to
bed again at about two.

The excitement of the readings continues unabated, the tickets for
readings are sold as soon as they are ready, and the public pay treble
prices to the speculators who buy them up. They are a wonderfully fine
audience, even better than Edinburgh, and almost, if not quite, as good
as Paris.

Dolby continues to be the most unpopular man in America (mainly because
he can't get four thousand people into a room that holds two thousand),
and is reviled in print daily. Yesterday morning a newspaper proclaims
of him: "Surely it is time that the pudding-headed Dolby retired into
the native gloom from which he has emerged." He takes it very coolly,
and does his best. Mrs. Morgan sent me, the other night, I suppose the
finest and costliest basket of flowers ever seen, made of white
camellias, yellow roses, pink roses, and I don't know what else. It is a
yard and a half round at its smallest part.

I must bring this to a close, as I have to go to the hall to try an
enlarged background.


[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]

                                    BOSTON, _Sunday, Dec. 22nd, 1867._

Coming here from New York last night (after a detestable journey), I was
delighted to find your letter of the 6th. I read it at my ten o'clock
dinner with the greatest interest and pleasure, and then we talked of
home till we went to bed.

Our tour is now being made out, and I hope to be able to send it in my
next letter home, which will be to Mamie, from whom I have _not_ heard
(as you thought I had) by the mail that brought out yours. After very
careful consideration I have reversed Dolby's original plan, and have
decided on taking Baltimore, Washington, Cincinnati, _Chicago_ (!), St.
Louis, and a few other places nearer here, instead of staying in New
York. My reason is that we are doing immensely, both at New York and
here, and that I am sure it is in the peculiar character of the people
to prize a thing the more the less easily attainable it is made.
Therefore, I want, by absence, to get the greatest rush and pressure
upon the five farewell readings in New York in April. All our announced
readings are already crammed.

When we got here last Saturday night, we found that Mrs. Fields had not
only garnished the rooms with flowers, but also with holly (with real
red berries) and festoons of moss dependent from the looking-glasses and
picture frames. She is one of the dearest little women in the world. The
homely Christmas look of the place quite affected us. Yesterday we dined
at her house, and there was a plum-pudding, brought on blazing, and not
to be surpassed in any house in England. There is a certain Captain
Dolliver, belonging to the Boston Custom House, who came off in the
little steamer that brought me ashore from the _Cuba_. He took it into
his head that he would have a piece of English mistletoe brought out in
this week's Cunard, which should be laid upon my breakfast-table. And
there it was this morning. In such affectionate touches as this, these
New England people are especially amiable.

As a general rule, you may lay it down that whatever you see about me in
the papers is not true. But although my voyage out was of that highly
hilarious description that you first made known to me, you may
_generally_ lend a more believing ear to the Philadelphia correspondent
of _The Times_. I don't know him, but I know the source from which he
derives his information, and it is a very respectable one.

Did I tell you in a former letter from here, to tell Anne, with her old
master's love, that I had seen Putnam, my old secretary? Grey, and with
several front teeth out, but I would have known him anywhere. He is
coming to "Copperfield" to-night, accompanied by his wife and daughter,
and is in the seventh heaven at having his tickets given him.

Our hotel in New York was on fire _again_ the other night. But fires in
this country are quite matters of course. There was a large one there at
four this morning, and I don't think a single night has passed since I
have been under the protection of the Eagle, but I have heard the fire
bells dolefully clanging all over the city.

Dolby sends his kindest regard. His hair has become quite white, the
effect, I suppose, of the climate. He is so universally hauled over the
coals (for no reason on earth), that I fully expect to hear him, one of
these nights, assailed with a howl when he precedes me to the platform
steps. You may conceive what the low newspapers are here, when one of
them yesterday morning had, as an item of news, the intelligence:
"Dickens's Readings. The chap calling himself Dolby got drunk last
night, and was locked up in a police-station for fighting an Irishman."
I don't find that anybody is shocked by this liveliness.

My love to all, and to Mrs. Hulkes and the boy. By-the-bye, when we left
New York for this place, Dolby called my amazed attention to the
circumstance that Scott was leaning his head against the side of the
carriage and weeping bitterly. I asked him what was the matter, and he
replied: "The owdacious treatment of the luggage, which was more
outrageous than a man could bear." I told him not to make a fool of
himself; but they do knock it about cruelly. I think every trunk we have
is already broken.

I must leave off, as I am going out for a walk in a bright sunlight and
a complete break-up of the frost and snow. I am much better than I have
been during the last week, but have a cold.


[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]

                 WESTMINSTER HOTEL, IRVING PLACE, NEW YORK CITY,
                                          _Thursday, Dec. 26th, 1867._

I got your aunt's last letter at Boston yesterday, Christmas Day
morning, when I was starting at eleven o'clock to come back to this
place. I wanted it very much, for I had a frightful cold (English colds
are nothing to those of this country), and was exceedingly depressed and
miserable. Not that I had any reason but illness for being so, since the
Bostonians had been quite astounding in their demonstrations. I never
saw anything like them on Christmas Eve. But it is a bad country to be
unwell and travelling in; you are one of say a hundred people in a
heated car, with a great stove in it, and all the little windows closed,
and the hurrying and banging about are indescribable. The atmosphere is
detestable, and the motion often all but intolerable. However, we got
our dinner here at eight o'clock, and plucked up a little, and I made
some hot gin punch to drink a merry Christmas to all at home in. But it
must be confessed that we were both very dull. I have been in bed all
day until two o'clock, and here I am now (at three o'clock) a little
better. But I am not fit to read, and I must read to-night. After
watching the general character pretty closely, I became quite sure that
Dolby was wrong on the length of the stay and the number of readings we
had proposed in this place. I am quite certain that it is one of the
national peculiarities that what they want must be difficult of
attainment. I therefore a few days ago made a _coup d'etat_, and altered
the whole scheme. We shall go to Philadelphia, Baltimore, Washington,
also some New England towns between Boston and this place, away to the
falls of Niagara, and off far west to Chicago and St. Louis, before
coming back for ten farewell readings here, preceded by farewells at
Boston, leaving Canada altogether. This will not prolong the list beyond
eighty-four readings, the exact original number, and will, please God,
work it all out in April. In my next, I daresay, I shall be able to send
the exact list, so that you may know every day where we are. There has
been a great storm here for a few days, and the streets, though wet, are
becoming passable again. Dolby and Osgood are out in it to-day on a
variety of business, and left in grave and solemn state. Scott and the
gasman are stricken with dumb concern, not having received one single
letter from home since they left. What their wives can have done with
the letters they take it for granted they have written, is their stormy
speculation at the door of my hall dressing-room every night.

If I do not send a letter to Katie by this mail, it will be because I
shall probably be obliged to go across the water to Brooklyn to-morrow
to see a church, in which it is proposed that I shall read!!! Horrible
visions of being put in the pulpit already beset me. And whether the
audience will be in pews is another consideration which greatly disturbs
my mind. No paper ever comes out without a leader on Dolby, who of
course reads them all, and never can understand why I don't, in which he
is called all the bad names in (and not in) the language.

We always call him P. H. Dolby now, in consequence of one of these
graceful specimens of literature describing him as the "pudding-headed."

I fear that when we travel he will have to be always before me, so that
I may not see him six times in as many weeks. However, I shall have done
a fourth of the whole this very next week!

Best love to your aunt, and the boys, and Katie, and Charley, and all
true friends.


                                                             _Friday._

I managed to read last night, but it was as much as I could do. To-day I
am so very unwell, that I have sent for a doctor; he has just been, and
is in doubt whether I shall not have to stop reading for a while.


[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]

                      WESTMINSTER HOTEL, IRVING PLACE, NEW YORK,
                                            _Monday, Dec. 30th, 1867._

I am getting all right again. I have not been well, been very low, and
have been obliged to have a doctor; a very agreeable fellow indeed, who
soon turned out to be an old friend of Olliffe's.[19] He has set me on
my legs and taken his leave "professionally," though he means to give me
a call now and then.

In the library at Gad's is a bound book, "Remarkable Criminal Trials,"
translated by Lady Duff Gordon, from the original by Fauerbach. I want
that book, and a copy of Praed's poems, to be sent out to Boston, care
of Ticknor and Fields. If you will give the "Criminal Trials" to Wills,
and explain my wish, and ask him to buy a copy of Praed's poems and add
it to the parcel, he will know how to send the packet out. I think the
"Criminal Trials" book is in the corner book-case, by the window,
opposite the door.

No news here. All going on in the regular way. I read in that church I
told you of, about the middle of January. It is wonderfully seated for
two thousand people, and is as easy to speak in as if they were two
hundred. The people are seated in pews, and we let the pews. I stood on
a small platform from which the pulpit will be removed for the
occasion!! I emerge from the vestry!!! Philadelphia, Baltimore, and
another two nights in Boston will follow this coming month of January.
On Friday next I shall have read a fourth of my whole list, besides
having had twelve days' holiday when I first came out. So please God I
shall soon get to the half, and so begin to work hopefully round.

I suppose you were at the Adelphi on Thursday night last. They are
pirating the bill as well as the play here, everywhere. I have
registered the play as the property of an American citizen, but the law
is by no means clear that I established a right in it by so doing; and
of course the pirates knew very well that I could not, under existing
circumstances, try the question with them in an American court of law.
Nothing is being played here scarcely that is not founded on my
books--"Cricket," "Oliver Twist," "Our Mutual Friend," and I don't know
what else, every night. I can't get down Broadway for my own portrait;
and yet I live almost as quietly in this hotel, as if I were at the
office, and go in and out by a side door just as I might there.

I go back to Boston on Saturday to read there on Monday and Tuesday.
Then I am back here, and keep within six or seven hours' journey of
hereabouts till February. My further movements shall be duly reported as
the details are arranged.

I shall be curious to know who were at Gad's Hill on Christmas Day, and
how you (as they say in this country) "got along." It is exceedingly
cold here again, after two or three quite spring days.

FOOTNOTES:

[17] Madame Sainton Dolby.

[18] The nearest neighbour at Higham, and intimate friends.

[19] Dr. Fordyce Barker.




1868.

NARRATIVE.


Charles Dickens remained in America through the winter, returning home
from New York in the _Russia_, on the 19th of April. His letters show
how entirely he gave himself up to the business of the readings, how
severely his health suffered from the climate, and from the perpetual
travelling and hard work, and yet how he was able to battle through to
the end. These letters are also full of allusions to the many kind and
dear friends who contributed so largely to the pleasure of this American
visit, and whose love and attention gave a touch of _home_ to his
private life, and left such affection and gratitude in his heart as he
could never forget. Many of these friends paid visits to Gad's Hill; the
first to come during this summer being Mr. Longfellow, his daughters,
and Mr. Appleton, brother-in-law of Mr. Longfellow, and Mr. and Mrs.
Charles Eliot Norton, of Cambridge.

For the future, there were to be no more Christmas numbers of "All the
Year Round." Observing the extent to which they were now copied in all
directions, Charles Dickens supposed them likely to become tiresome to
the public, and so determined that in his journal they should be
discontinued.

While still in America, he made an agreement with the Messrs. Chappell
to give a series of farewell readings in England, to commence in the
autumn of this year. So, in October, Charles Dickens started off again
for a tour in the provinces. He had for some time been planning, by way
of a novelty for this series, a reading from the murder in "Oliver
Twist," but finding it so very horrible, he was fearful of trying its
effect for the first time on a public audience. It was therefore
resolved, that a trial of it should be made to a limited private
audience in St. James's Hall, on the evening of the 18th of November.
This trial proved eminently successful, and "The Murder from Oliver
Twist" became one of the most popular of his selections. But the
physical exertion it involved was far greater than that of any of his
previous readings, and added immensely to the excitement and exhaustion
which they caused him.

One of the first letters of the year from America is addressed to Mr.
Samuel Cartwright, of surgical and artistic reputation, and greatly
esteemed by Charles Dickens, both in his professional capacity and as a
private friend.

The letter written to Mrs. Cattermole, in May, tells of the illness of
Mr. George Cattermole. This dear old friend, so associated with Charles
Dickens and his works, died soon afterwards, and the letter to his widow
shows that Charles Dickens was exerting himself in her behalf.

The play of "No Thoroughfare" having been translated into French under
the title of "L'Abime," Charles Dickens went over to Paris to be present
at the first night of its production.

On the 26th of September, his youngest son, Edward Bulwer Lytton (the
"Plorn" so often mentioned), started for Australia, to join his brother
Alfred Tennyson, who was already established there. It will be seen by
his own words how deeply and how sadly Charles Dickens felt this
parting. In October of this year, his son Henry Fielding entered Trinity
Hall, Cambridge, as an undergraduate.

The Miss Forster mentioned in the letter to his sister-in-law, and for
whom the kind and considerate arrangements were suggested, was a sister
of Mr. John Forster, and a lady highly esteemed by Charles Dickens. The
illness from which she was then suffering was a fatal one. She died in
this same year, a few days before Christmas.

Mr. J. C. Parkinson, to whom a letter is addressed, was a gentleman
holding a Government appointment, and contributing largely to journalism
and periodical literature.

As our last letter for this year, we give one which Charles Dickens
wrote to his youngest son on his departure for Australia.


[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]

                      WESTMINSTER HOTEL, IRVING PLACE, NEW YORK,
                                             _Friday, Jan. 3rd, 1868._

MY DEAREST GEORGY,

I received yours of the 19th from Gad's and the office this morning. I
read here to-night, and go back to Boston to-morrow, to read there
Monday and Tuesday.

To-night, I read out the first quarter of my list. Our houses have been
very fine here, but have never quite recovered the Dolby uproar. It
seems impossible to devise any scheme for getting the tickets into the
people's hands without the intervention of speculators. The people _will
not_ help themselves; and, of course, the speculators and all other such
prowlers throw as great obstacles in Dolby's way (an Englishman's) as
they possibly can. He may be a little injudicious into the bargain. Last
night, for instance, he met one of the "ushers" (who show people to
their seats) coming in with Kelly. It is against orders that anyone
employed in front should go out during the readings, and he took this
man to task in the British manner. Instantly the free and independent
usher put on his hat and walked off. Seeing which, all the other free
and independent ushers (some twenty in number) put on _their_ hats and
walked off, leaving us absolutely devoid and destitute of a staff for
to-night. One has since been improvised; but it was a small matter to
raise a stir and ill will about, especially as one of our men was
equally in fault.

We have a regular clerk, a Bostonian whose name is Wild. He, Osgood,
Dolby, Kelly, Scott, George the gasman, and perhaps a boy or two,
constitute my body-guard. It seems a large number of people, but the
business cannot be done with fewer. The speculators buying the front
seats to sell at a premium (and we have found instances of this being
done by merchants in good position!), and the public perpetually
pitching into Dolby for selling them back seats, the result is that they
won't have the back seats, send back their tickets, write and print
volumes on the subject, and deter others from coming.

You may get an idea of the staff's work, by what is in hand now. They
are preparing, numbering, and stamping six thousand tickets for
Philadelphia, and eight thousand tickets for Brooklyn. The moment those
are done, another eight thousand tickets will be wanted for Baltimore,
and probably another six thousand for Washington. This in addition to
the correspondence, advertisements, accounts, travellings, and the
mighty business of the reading four times a week.

The Cunard steamers being now removed from Halifax, I have decided _not_
to go there, or to St. John's, New Brunswick. And as there would be a
perfect uproar if I picked out such a place in Canada as Quebec or
Montreal, and excluded those two places (which would guarantee three
hundred pounds a night), and further, as I don't want places, having
more than enough for my list of eighty-four, I have finally resolved not
to go to Canada either. This will enable me to embark for home in April
instead of May.

Tell Plorn, with my love, that I think he will find himself much
interested at that college,[20] and that it is very likely he may make
some acquaintances there that will thereafter be pleasant and useful to
him. Sir Sydney Dacres is the best of friends. I have a letter from Mrs.
Hulkes by this post, wherein the boy encloses a violet, now lying on the
table before me. Let her know that it arrived safely, and retaining its
colour. I took it for granted that Mary would have asked Chorley for
Christmas Day, and am very glad she ultimately did so. I am sorry that
Harry lost his prize, but believe it was not his fault. Let _him_ know
_that_, with my love. I would have written to him by this mail in answer
to his, but for other occupation. Did I tell you that my landlord made
me a drink (brandy, rum, and snow the principal ingredients) called a
"Rocky Mountain sneezer"? Or that the favourite drink before you get up
is an "eye-opener"? Or that Roberts (second landlord), no sooner saw me
on the night of the first fire, than, with his property blazing, he
insisted on taking me down into a roomful of hot smoke to drink brandy
and water with him? We have not been on fire again, by-the-bye, more
than once.

There has been another fall of snow, succeeded by a heavy thaw. I have
laid down my sledge, and taken up my carriage again, in consequence. I
am nearly all right, but cannot get rid of an intolerable cold in the
head. No more news.


[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]

                         PARKER HOUSE, BOSTON, U.S., _Jan. 4th, 1868._

I write to you by this opportunity, though I really have nothing to tell
you. The work is hard and the climate is hard. We made a tremendous hit
last night with "Nickleby" and "Boots," which the Bostonians certainly
on the whole appreciate more than "Copperfield"! Dolby is always going
about with an immense bundle that looks like a sofa cushion, but it is
in reality paper money; and always works like a Trojan. His business at
night is a mere nothing, for these people are so accustomed to take care
of themselves, that one of these immense audiences will fall into their
places with an ease amazing to a frequenter of St. James's Hall. And the
certainty with which they are all in, before I go on, is a very
acceptable mark of respect. I must add, too, that although there is a
conventional familiarity in the use of one's name in the newspapers as
"Dickens," "Charlie," and what not, I do not in the least see that
familiarity in the writers themselves. An inscrutable tone obtains in
journalism, which a stranger cannot understand. If I say in common
courtesy to one of them, when Dolby introduces, "I am much obliged to
you for your interest in me," or so forth, he seems quite shocked, and
has a bearing of perfect modesty and propriety. I am rather inclined to
think that they suppose their printed tone to be the public's love of
smartness, but it is immensely difficult to make out. All I can as yet
make out is, that my perfect freedom from bondage, and at any moment to
go on or leave off, or otherwise do as I like, is the only safe position
to occupy.

Again; there are two apparently irreconcilable contrasts here. Down
below in this hotel every night are the bar loungers, dram drinkers,
drunkards, swaggerers, loafers, that one might find in a Boucicault
play. Within half an hour is Cambridge, where a delightful domestic
life--simple, self-respectful, cordial, and affectionate--is seen in an
admirable aspect. All New England is primitive and puritanical. All
about and around it is a puddle of mixed human mud, with no such quality
in it. Perhaps I may in time sift out some tolerably intelligible whole,
but I certainly have not done so yet. It is a good sign, may be, that it
all seems immensely more difficult to understand than it was when I was
here before.

Felton left two daughters. I have only seen the eldest, a very sensible,
frank, pleasant girl of eight-and-twenty, perhaps, rather like him in
the face. A striking-looking daughter of Hawthorn's (who is also dead)
came into my room last night. The day has slipped on to three o'clock,
and I must get up "Dombey" for to-night. Hence this sudden break off.
Best love to Mamie, and to Katie and Charley Collins.


[Sidenote: Mr. W. Wilkie Collins.]

               WESTMINSTER HOTEL, NEW YORK, _Sunday, Jan. 12th, 1868._

MY DEAR WILKIE,

First, of the play.[21] I am truly delighted to learn that it made so
great a success, and I hope I may yet see it on the Adelphi boards. You
have had a world of trouble and work with it, but I hope will be repaid
in some degree by the pleasure of a triumph. Even for the alteration at
the end of the fourth act (of which you tell me in your letter received
yesterday), I was fully prepared, for I COULD NOT see the original
effect in the reading of the play, and COULD NOT make it go. I agree
with Webster in thinking it best that Obenreizer should die on the
stage; but no doubt that point is disposed of. In reading the play
before the representation, I felt that it was too long, and that there
was a good deal of unnecessary explanation. Those points are, no doubt,
disposed of too by this time.

We shall do nothing with it on this side. Pirates are producing their
own wretched versions in all directions, thus (as Wills would say)
anticipating and glutting "the market." I registered one play as the
property of Ticknor and Fields, American citizens. But, besides that the
law on the point is extremely doubtful, the manager of the Museum
Theatre, Boston, instantly announced his version. (You may suppose what
it is and how it is done, when I tell you that it was playing within ten
days of the arrival out of the Christmas number.) Thereupon, Ticknor and
Fields gave him notice that he mustn't play it. Unto which he replied,
that he meant to play it and would play it. Of course he knew very well
that if an injunction were applied for against him, there would be an
immediate howl against my persecution of an innocent, and he played it.
Then the noble host of pirates rushed in, and it is being done, in some
mangled form or other, everywhere.

It touches me to read what you write of your poor mother. But, of
course, at her age, each winter counts heavily. Do give her my love, and
tell her that I asked you about her.

I am going on here at the same great rate, but am always counting the
days that lie between me and home. I got through the first fourth of my
readings on Friday, January 3rd. I leave for two readings at
Philadelphia this evening.

Being at Boston last Sunday, I took it into my head to go over the
medical school, and survey the holes and corners in which that
extraordinary murder was done by Webster. There was the
furnace--stinking horribly, as if the dismembered pieces were still
inside it--and there are all the grim spouts, and sinks, and chemical
appliances, and what not. At dinner, afterwards, Longfellow told me a
terrific story. He dined with Webster within a year of the murder, one
of a party of ten or twelve. As they sat at their wine, Webster suddenly
ordered the lights to be turned out, and a bowl of some burning mineral
to be placed on the table, that the guests might see how ghostly it made
them look. As each man stared at all the rest in the weird light, all
were horrified to see Webster _with a rope round his neck_, holding it
up, over the bowl, with his head jerked on one side, and his tongue
lolled out, representing a man being hanged!

Poking into his life and character, I find (what I would have staked my
head upon) that he was always a cruel man.

So no more at present from,

        My dear Wilkie, yours ever affectionately.


[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]

               WESTMINSTER HOTEL, NEW YORK, _Sunday, Jan. 12th, 1868._

As I am off to Philadelphia this evening, I may as well post my letter
here. I have scarcely a word of news. My cold steadily refuses to leave
me; but otherwise I am as right as one can hope to be under this heavy
work. My New York readings are over (except four farewell nights in
April), and I look forward to the relief of being out of my hardest
hall. Last Friday night, though it was only "Nickleby" and "Boots," I
was again dead beat at the end, and was once more laid upon a sofa. But
the faintness went off after a little while. We have now cold, bright,
frosty weather, without snow--the best weather for me.

Having been in great trepidation about the play, I am correspondingly
elated by the belief that it really _is_ a success. No doubt the
unnecessary explanations will have been taken out, and the flatness of
the last act fetched up. At some points I could have done wonders to it,
in the way of screwing it up sharply and picturesquely, if I could have
rehearsed it. Your account of the first night interested me immensely,
but I was afraid to open the letter until Dolby rushed in with the
opened _Times_.

On Wednesday I come back here for my four church readings at Brooklyn.
Each evening an enormous ferryboat will convey me and my state carriage
(not to mention half-a-dozen waggons, and any number of people, and a
few score of horses) across the river, and will bring me back again. The
sale of tickets there was an amazing scene. The noble army of
speculators are now furnished (this is literally true, and I am quite
serious), each man with a straw mattress, a little bag of bread and
meat, two blankets, and a bottle of whisky. With this outfit _they lie
down in line on the pavement_ the whole night before the tickets are
sold, generally taking up their position at about ten. It being severely
cold at Brooklyn, they made an immense bonfire in the street--a narrow
street of wooden houses!--which the police turned out to extinguish. A
general fight then took place, out of which the people farthest off in
the line rushed bleeding when they saw a chance of displacing others
near the door, and put their mattresses in those places, and then held
on by the iron rails. At eight in the morning Dolby appeared with the
tickets in a portmanteau. He was immediately saluted with a roar of
"Halloa, Dolby! So Charley has let you have the carriage, has he, Dolby!
How is he, Dolby! Don't drop the tickets, Dolby! Look alive, Dolby!"
etc. etc. etc., in the midst of which he proceeded to business, and
concluded (as usual) by giving universal dissatisfaction.

He is now going off upon a little journey "to look over the ground and
cut back again." This little journey (to Chicago) is fifteen hundred
miles on end, by railway, and back again!

We have an excellent gasman, who is well up to that department. We have
enlarged the large staff by another clerk, yet even now the preparation
of such an immense number of new tickets constantly, and the keeping and
checking of the accounts, keep them hard at it. And they get so oddly
divided! Kelly is at Philadelphia, another man at Baltimore, two others
are stamping tickets at the top of this house, another is cruising over
New England, and Osgood will come on duty to-morrow (when Dolby starts
off) to pick me up after the reading, and take me to the hotel, and
mount guard over me, and bring me back here. You see that even such
wretched domesticity as Dolby and self by a fireside is broken up under
these conditions.

Dolby has been twice poisoned, and Osgood once. Morgan's sharpness has
discovered the cause. When the snow is deep upon the ground, and the
partridges cannot get their usual food, they eat something (I don't know
what, if anybody does) which does not poison _them_, but which poisons
the people who eat them. The symptoms, which last some twelve hours, are
violent sickness, cold perspiration, and the formation of some
detestable mucus in the stomach. You may infer that partridges have been
banished from our bill of fare. The appearance of our sufferers was
lamentable in the extreme.

Did I tell you that the severity of the weather, and the heat of the
intolerable furnaces, dry the hair and break the nails of strangers?
There is not a complete nail in the whole British suite, and my hair
cracks again when I brush it. (I am losing my hair with great rapidity,
and what I don't lose is getting very grey.)

The _Cuba_ will bring this. She has a jolly new captain--Moody, of the
_Java_--and her people rushed into the reading, the other night,
captain-headed, as if I were their peculiar property. Please God I shall
come home in her, in my old cabin; leaving here on the 22nd of April,
and finishing my eighty-fourth reading on the previous night! It is
likely enough that I shall read and go straight on board.

I think this is all my poor stock of intelligence. By-the-bye, on the
last Sunday in the old year, I lost my old year's pocket-book, "which,"
as Mr. Pepys would add, "do trouble me mightily." Give me Katie's new
address; I haven't got it.


[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]

                              PHILADELPHIA, _Monday, Jan. 13th, 1868._

I write you this note, a day later than your aunt's, not because I have
anything to add to the little I have told her, but because you may like
to have it.

We arrived here last night towards twelve o'clock, more than an hour
after our time. This is one of the immense American hotels (it is called
the Continental); but I find myself just as quiet here as elsewhere.
Everything is very good indeed, the waiter is German, and the greater
part of the house servants seem to be <DW52> people. The town is very
clean, and the day as blue and bright as a fine Italian day. But it
freezes very hard. All the tickets being sold here for six nights (three
visits of two nights each), the suite complain of want of excitement
already, having been here ten hours! Mr. and Mrs. Barney Williams, with
a couple of servants, and a pretty little child-daughter, were in the
train each night, and I talked with them a good deal. They are reported
to have made an enormous fortune by acting among the Californian
gold-diggers. My cold is no better, for the cars are so intolerably hot,
that I was often obliged to go and stand upon the break outside, and
then the frosty air was biting indeed. The great man of this place is
one Mr. Childs, a newspaper proprietor, and he is so exactly like Mr.
Esse in all conceivable respects except being an inch or so taller, that
I was quite confounded when I saw him waiting for me at the station
(always called depot here) with his carriage. During the last two or
three days, Dolby and I have been making up accounts, which are
excellently kept by Mr. Osgood, and I find them amazing, quite, in their
results.

I was very much interested in the home accounts of Christmas Day. I
think I have already mentioned that we were in very low spirits on that
day. I began to be unwell with my cold that morning, and a long day's
travel did not mend the matter. We scarcely spoke (except when we ate
our lunch), and sat dolefully staring out of window. I had a few
affectionate words from Chorley, dated from my room, on Christmas
morning, and will write him, probably by this mail, a brief
acknowledgment. I find it necessary (so oppressed am I with this
American catarrh, as they call it) to dine at three o'clock instead of
four, that I may have more time to get voice, so that the days are cut
short, and letter-writing is not easy.

My best love to Katie, and to Charley, and to our Charley, and to all
friends. If I could only get to the point of being able to hold my head
up and dispense with my pocket-handkerchief for five minutes, I should
be all right.


[Sidenote: Mr. Charles Dickens.]

                      WESTMINSTER HOTEL, IRVING PLACE, NEW YORK,
                                         _Wednesday, Jan. 15th, 1868._

MY DEAR CHARLEY,

Finding your letter here this afternoon on my return from Philadelphia
(where I have been reading two nights), I take advantage of a spare
half-hour in which to answer it at once, though it will not leave here
until Saturday. I had previously heard of the play, and had _The Times_.
It was a great relief and delight to me, for I had no confidence in its
success; being reduced to the confines of despair by its length. If I
could have rehearsed it, I should have taken the best part of an hour
out of it. Fechter must be very fine, and I should greatly like to see
him play the part.

I have not been very well generally, and am oppressed (and I begin to
think that I probably shall be until I leave) by a true American cold,
which I hope, for the comfort of human nature, may be peculiar to only
one of the four quarters of the world. The work, too, is very severe.
But I am going on at the same tremendous rate everywhere. The staff,
too, has had to be enlarged. Dolby was at Baltimore yesterday, is at
Washington to-day, and will come back in the night, and start away again
on Friday. We find it absolutely necessary for him to go on ahead. We
have not printed or posted a single bill here, and have just sold ninety
pounds' worth of paper we had got ready for bills. In such a rush a
short newspaper advertisement is all we want. "Doctor Marigold" made a
great hit here, and is looked forward to at Boston with especial
interest. I go to Boston for another fortnight, on end, the 24th of
February. The railway journeys distress me greatly. I get out into the
open air (upon the break), and it snows and blows, and the train bumps,
and the steam flies at me, until I am driven in again.

I have finished here (except four farewell nights in April), and begin
four nights at Brooklyn, on the opposite side of the river, to-night;
and thus oscillate between Philadelphia, Baltimore, and Washington, and
then cut into New England, and so work my way back to Boston for a
fortnight, after which come Chicago, Cincinnati, Detroit and Cleveland,
and Buffalo, and then Philadelphia, Boston, and New York farewells. I
will not pass my original bound of eighty-four readings in all. My mind
was made up as to that long ago. It will be quite enough. Chicago is
some fifteen hundred miles from here. What with travelling, and getting
ready for reading, and reading, the days are pretty fully occupied. Not
the less so because I rest very indifferently at night.

The people are exceedingly kind and considerate, and desire to be most
hospitable besides. But I cannot accept hospitality, and never go out,
except at Boston, or I should not be fit for the labour. If Dolby holds
out well to the last it will be a triumph, for he has to see everybody,
drink with everybody, sell all the tickets, take all the blame, and go
beforehand to all the places on the list. I shall not see him after
to-night for ten days or a fortnight, and he will be perpetually on the
road during the interval. When he leaves me, Osgood, a partner in
Ticknor and Fields' publishing firm, mounts guard over me, and has to go
into the hall from the platform door every night, and see how the public
are seating themselves. It is very odd to see how hard he finds it to
look a couple of thousand people in the face, on which head, by-the-bye,
I notice the papers to take "Mr. Dickens's extraordinary composure"
(their great phrase) rather ill, and on the whole to imply that it would
be taken as a suitable compliment if I would stagger on to the platform
and instantly drop, overpowered by the spectacle before me.

Dinner is announced (by Scott, with a stiff neck and a sore throat), and
I must break off with love to Bessie and the incipient Wenerableses. You
will be glad to hear of your distinguished parent that Philadelphia has
discovered that "he is not like the descriptions we have read of him at
the little red desk. He is not at all foppish in appearance. He wears a
heavy moustache and a Vandyke beard, and looks like a well-to-do
Philadelphian gentleman."

                      Ever, my dear Charley, your affectionate Father.

P.S.--Your paper is remarkably good. There is not the least doubt that
you can write constantly for A. Y. R. I am very pleased with it.


[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]

               WESTMINSTER HOTEL, NEW YORK, _Friday, Jan, 18th, 1868._

This will be but a very short report, as I must get out for a little
exercise before dinner.

My "true American catarrh" (the people seem to have a national pride in
it) sticks to me, but I am otherwise well. I began my church readings
last night, and it was very odd to see the pews crammed full of people,
all in a broad roar at the "Carol" and "Trial."

Best love to all. I have written Charley a few lines by this mail, and
also Chorley.


[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]

              WESTMINSTER HOTEL, NEW YORK, _Tuesday, Jan. 21st, 1868._

I finished my church to-night. It is Mrs. Stowe's brother's, and a most
wonderful place to speak in. We had it enormously full last night
("Marigold" and "Trial"), but it scarcely required an effort. Mr. Ward
Beecher (Mrs. Stowe's brother's name) being present in his pew. I sent
to invite him to come round before he left; and I found him to be an
unostentatious, straightforward, and agreeable fellow.

My cold sticks to me, and I can scarcely exaggerate what I sometimes
undergo from sleeplessness. The day before yesterday I could get no rest
until morning, and could not get up before twelve. This morning the
same. I rarely take any breakfast but an egg and a cup of tea, not even
toast or bread-and-butter. My dinner at three, and a little quail or
some such light thing when I come home at night, is my daily fare. At
the Hall I have established the custom of taking an egg beaten up in
sherry before going in, and another between the parts. I think that
pulls me up; at all events, I have since had no return of faintness.

As the men work very hard, and always with their hearts cheerfully in
the business, I cram them into and outside of the carriage, to bring
them back from Brooklyn with me. The other night, Scott (with a
portmanteau across his knees and a wideawake hat low down upon his nose)
told me that he had presented himself for admission in the circus (as
good as Franconi's, by-the-bye), and had been refused. "The only
theayter," he said in a melancholy way, "as I was ever in my life turned
from the door of." Says Kelly: "There must have been some mistake,
Scott, because George and me went, and we said, 'Mr. Dickens's staff,'
and they passed us to the best seats in the house. Go again, Scott."
"No, I thank you, Kelly," says Scott, more melancholy than before, "I'm
not a-going to put myself in the position of being refused again. It's
the only theayter as I was ever turned from the door of, and it shan't
be done twice. But it's a beastly country!" "Scott," interposed Majesty,
"don't you express your opinions about the country." "No, sir," says
Scott, "I never do, please, sir, but when you are turned from the door
of the only theayter you was ever turned from, sir, and when the beasts
in railway cars spits tobacco over your boots, you (privately) find
yourself in a beastly country."

I expect shortly to get myself snowed up on some railway or other, for
it is snowing hard now, and I begin to move to-morrow. There is so much
floating ice in the river that we are obliged to leave a pretty wide
margin of time for getting over the ferry to read. The dinner is coming
in, and I must leave off.


[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]

                            PHILADELPHIA, _Thursday, Jan. 23rd, 1868._

When I wrote to your aunt by the last mail, I accidentally omitted to
touch upon the question of helping Anne. So I will begin in this present
writing with reference to her sad position. I think it will be best for
you to be guided by an exact knowledge of her _wants_. Try to ascertain
from herself what means she has, whether her sick husband gets what he
ought to have, whether she is pinched in the articles of necessary
clothing, bedding, or the like of that; add to this intelligence your
own observation of the state of things about her, and supply what she
most wants, and help her where you find the greatest need. The question,
in the case of so old and faithful a servant, is not one of so much or
so little money on my side, but how _most efficiently_ to ease her mind
and help _her_. To do this at once kindly and sensibly is the only
consideration by which you have to be guided. Take _carte blanche_ from
me for all the rest.

My Washington week is the first week in February, beginning on Monday,
3rd. The tickets are sold, and the President is coming, and the chief
members of the Cabinet, and the leaders of parties, and so forth, are
coming; and, as the Holly Tree Boots says: "That's where it is, don't
you see!"

In my Washington doubts I recalled Dolby for conference, and he joined
me yesterday afternoon, and we have been in great discussion ever since
on the possibility of giving up the Far West, and avoiding such immense
distances and fatigues as would be involved in travelling to Chicago and
Cincinnati. We have sketched another tour for the last half of March,
which would be infinitely easier for me, though on the other hand less
profitable, the places and the halls being smaller. The worst of it is,
that everybody one advises with has a monomania respecting Chicago.
"Good heaven, sir," the great Philadelphian authority said to me this
morning, "if you don't read in Chicago, the people will go into fits."
In reference to fatigue, I answered: "Well, I would rather they went
into fits than I did." But he didn't seem to see it at all. ---- alone
constantly writes me: "Don't go to the West; you can get what you want
so much more easily." How we shall finally decide, I don't yet know. My
Brooklyn church has been an immense success, and I found its minister
was a bachelor, a clever, unparsonic, and straightforward man, and a man
with a good knowledge of art into the bargain.

We are not a bit too soon here, for the whole country is beginning to be
stirred and shaken by the presidential election, and trade is
exceedingly depressed, and will be more so. Fanny Kemble lives near this
place, but had gone away a day before my first visit here. _She_ is
going to read in February or March. Du Chaillu has been lecturing out
West about the gorilla, and has been to see me; I saw the Cunard steamer
_Persia_ out in the stream, yesterday, beautifully smart, her flags
flying, all her steam up, and she only waiting for her mails to slip
away. She gave me a horrible touch of home-sickness.

When the 1st of March arrives, and I can say "next month," I shall begin
to grow brighter. A fortnight's reading in Boston, too (last week of
February and first week of March), will help me on gaily, I hope (the
work so far off tells). It is impossible for the people to be more
affectionately attached to a third, I really believe, than Fields and
his wife are to me; and they are a landmark in the prospect.

Dolby sends kindest regards, and wishes it to be known that he has not
been bullied lately. We do _not_ go West at all, but take the easier
plan.


[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]

                              BALTIMORE, _Wednesday, Jan. 29th, 1868._

As I have an hour to spare, before starting to Philadelphia, I begin my
letter this morning. It has been snowing hard for four-and-twenty hours,
though this place is as far south as Valentia in Spain; and Dolby, being
on his way to New York, has a good chance of being snowed up somewhere.

They are a bright responsive people here, and very pleasant to read to.
I have rarely seen so many fine faces in an audience. I read here in a
charming little opera-house built by a society of Germans, quite a
delightful place for the purpose. I stand on the stage, with a drop
curtain down, and my screen before it. The whole scene is very pretty
and complete, and the audience have a "ring" in them that sounds in the
ear. I go from here to Philadelphia to read to-morrow night and Friday,
come through here again on Saturday on my way to Washington, come back
here on Saturday week for two finishing nights, then go to Philadelphia
for two farewells, and so turn my back on the southern part of the
country. Distances and travelling have obliged us to reduce the list of
readings by two, leaving eighty-two in all. Of course we afterwards
discovered that we had finally settled the list on a Friday! I shall be
halfway through it at Washington, of course, on a Friday also, and my
birthday!

Dolby and Osgood, who do the most ridiculous things to keep me in
spirits (I am often very heavy, and rarely sleep much), have decided to
have a walking-match at Boston, on Saturday, February 29th. Beginning
this design in joke, they have become tremendously in earnest, and Dolby
has actually sent home (much to his opponent's terror) for a pair of
seamless socks to walk in. Our men are hugely excited on the subject,
and continually make bets on "the men." Fields and I are to walk out six
miles, and "the men" are to turn and walk round us. Neither of them has
the least idea what twelve miles at a pace is. Being requested by both
to give them "a breather" yesterday, I gave them a stiff one of five
miles over a bad road in the snow, half the distance uphill. I took them
at a pace of four miles and a half an hour, and you never beheld such
objects as they were when we got back; both smoking like factories, and
both obliged to change everything before they could come to dinner. They
have the absurdest ideas of what are tests of walking power, and
continually get up in the maddest manner and see _how high they can
kick_ the wall! The wainscot here, in one place, is scored all over with
their pencil-marks. To see them doing this--Dolby, a big man, and
Osgood, a very little one, is ridiculous beyond description.


                                           PHILADELPHIA, _Same Night._

We came on here through a snowstorm all the way, but up to time. Fanny
Kemble (who begins to read shortly) is coming to "Marigold" and "Trial"
to-morrow night. I have written her a note, telling her that if it will
at all assist _her_ movements to know _mine_, my list is at her
service. Probably I shall see her to-morrow. Tell Mamie (to whom I will
write next), with my love, that I found her letter of the 10th of this
month awaiting me here. The _Siberia_ that brought it is a new Cunarder,
and made an unusually slow passage out. Probably because it would be
dangerous to work new machinery too fast on the Atlantic.


                                                     _Thursday, 30th._

My cold still sticks to me. The heat of the railway cars and their
unventilated condition invariably brings it back when I think it going.
This morning my head is as stuffed and heavy as ever! A superb sledge
and four horses have been offered me for a ride, but I am afraid to take
it, lest I should make the "true American catarrh" worse, and should get
hoarse. So I am going to give Osgood another "breather" on foot instead.

The communication with New York is not interrupted, so we consider the
zealous Dolby all right. You may imagine what his work is, when you hear
that he goes three times to every place we visit. Firstly, to look at
the hall, arrange the numberings, and make five hundred acquaintances,
whom he immediately calls by their christian-names; secondly, to sell
the tickets--a very nice business, requiring great tact and temper;
thirdly, with me. He will probably turn up at Washington next Sunday,
but only for a little while; for as soon as I am on the platform on
Monday night, he will start away again, probably to be seen no more
until we pass through New York in the middle of February.


[Sidenote: Mr. Samuel Cartwright]

                              BALTIMORE, _Wednesday, Jan. 29th, 1868._

MY DEAR CARTWRIGHT,

As I promised to report myself to you from this side of the Atlantic,
and as I have some leisure this morning, I am going to lighten my
conscience by keeping my word.

I am going on at a great pace and with immense success. Next week, at
Washington, I shall, please God, have got through half my readings. The
remaining half are all arranged, and they will carry me into the third
week of April. It is very hard work, but it is brilliantly paid. The
changes that I find in the country generally (this place is the least
changed of any I have yet seen) exceed my utmost expectations. I had
been in New York a couple of days before I began to recognise it at all;
and the handsomest part of Boston was a black swamp when I saw it
five-and-twenty years ago. Considerable advances, too, have been made
socially. Strange to say, the railways and railway arrangements (both
exceedingly defective) seem to have stood still while all other things
have been moving.

One of the most comical spectacles I have ever seen in my life was
"church," with a heavy sea on, in the saloon of the Cunard steamer
coming out. The officiating minister, an extremely modest young man, was
brought in between two big stewards, exactly as if he were coming up to
the scratch in a prize-fight. The ship was rolling and pitching so, that
the two big stewards had to stop and watch their opportunity of making a
dart at the reading-desk with their reverend charge, during which pause
he held on, now by one steward and now by the other, with the feeblest
expression of countenance and no legs whatever. At length they made a
dart at the wrong moment, and one steward was immediately beheld alone
in the extreme perspective, while the other and the reverend gentleman
_held on by the mast_ in the middle of the saloon--which the latter
embraced with both arms, as if it were his wife. All this time the
congregation was breaking up into sects and sliding away; every sect (as
in nature) pounding the other sect. And when at last the reverend
gentleman had been tumbled into his place, the desk (a loose one, put
upon the dining-table) deserted from the church bodily, and went over to
the purser. The scene was so extraordinarily ridiculous, and was made so
much more so by the exemplary gravity of all concerned in it, that I was
obliged to leave before the service began.

This is one of the places where Butler carried it with so high a hand in
the war, and where the ladies used to spit when they passed a Northern
soldier. It still wears, I fancy, a look of sullen remembrance. (The
ladies are remarkably handsome, with an Eastern look upon them, dress
with a strong sense of colour, and make a brilliant audience.) The ghost
of slavery haunts the houses; and the old, untidy, incapable, lounging,
shambling black serves you as a free man. Free of course he ought to be;
but the stupendous absurdity of making him a voter glares out of every
roll of his eye, stretch of his mouth, and bump of his head. I have a
strong impression that the race must fade out of the States very fast.
It never can hold its own against a striving, restless, shifty people.
In the penitentiary here, the other day, in a room full of all blacks
(too dull to be taught any of the work in hand), was one young brooding
fellow, very like a black rhinoceros. He sat glowering at life, as if it
were just endurable at dinner time, until four of his fellows began to
sing, most unmelodiously, a part song. He then set up a dismal howl, and
pounded his face on a form. I took him to have been rendered quite
desperate by having learnt anything. I send my kind regard to Mrs.
Cartwright, and sincerely hope that she and you have no new family
distresses or anxieties. My standing address is the Westminster Hotel,
Irving Place, New York City. And I am always, my dear Cartwright,

                                                      Cordially yours.


[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]

                              PHILADELPHIA, _Friday, Jan. 31st, 1868._

Since writing to your aunt I have received yours of the 7th, and am
truly glad to have the last news of you confirmed by yourself.

From a letter Wilkie has written to me, it seems there can be no doubt
that the "No Thoroughfare" drama is a real, genuine, and great success.
It is drawing immensely, and seems to "go" with great effect and
applause.

"Doctor Marigold" here last night (for the first time) was an immense
success, and all Philadelphia is going to rush at once for tickets for
the two Philadelphian farewells the week after next. The tickets are to
be sold to-morrow, and great excitement is anticipated in the streets.
Dolby not being here, a clerk will sell, and will probably wish himself
dead before he has done with it.

It appears to me that Chorley[22] writes to you on the legacy question
because he wishes you to understand that there is no danger of his
changing his mind, and at the bottom I descry an honest desire to pledge
himself as strongly as possible. You may receive it in that better
spirit, or I am much mistaken. Tell your aunt, with my best love, that I
wrote to Chauncey weeks ago, in answer to a letter from him. I am now
going out in a sleigh (and four) with unconceivable dignity and
grandeur; mentioning which reminds me that I am informed by trusty
scouts that ---- intends to waylay me at Washington, and may even
descend upon me in the train to-morrow.

Best love to Katie, the two Charleys, and all.


[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]

                                WASHINGTON, _Tuesday, Feb. 4th, 1868._

I began here last night with great success. The hall being small, the
prices were raised to three dollars each ticket. The audience was a
superior one, composed of the foremost public men and their families. At
the end of the "Carol" they gave a great break out, and applauded, I
really believe, for five minutes. You would suppose them to be
Manchester shillings instead of Washington half-sovereigns. Immense
enthusiasm.

A devoted adherent in this place (an Englishman) had represented to
Dolby that if I were taken to an hotel here it would be impossible to
secure me a minute's rest, and he undertook to get one Wheleker, a
German, who keeps a little Verey's, to furnish his private dining-rooms
for the illustrious traveller's reception. Accordingly here we are, on
the first and second floor of a small house, with no one else in it but
our people, a French waiter, and a very good French cuisine. Perfectly
private, in the city of all the world (I should say) where the hotels
are intolerable, and privacy the least possible, and quite comfortable.
"Wheleker's Restaurant" is our rather undignified address for the
present week.

I dined (against my rules) with Charles Sumner on Sunday, he having been
an old friend of mine. Mr. Secretary Staunton (War Minister) was there.
He is a man of a very remarkable memory, and famous for his
acquaintance with the minutest details of my books. Give him any passage
anywhere, and he will instantly cap it and go on with the context. He
was commander-in-chief of all the Northern forces concentrated here, and
never went to sleep at night without first reading something from my
books, which were always with him. I put him through a pretty severe
examination, but he was better up than I was.

The gas was very defective indeed last night, and I began with a small
speech, to the effect that I must trust to the brightness of their faces
for the illumination of mine; this was taken greatly. In the "Carol," a
most ridiculous incident occurred all of a sudden. I saw a dog look out
from among the seats into the centre aisle, and look very intently at
me. The general attention being fixed on me, I don't think anybody saw
the dog; but I felt so sure of his turning up again and barking, that I
kept my eye wandering about in search of him. He was a very comic dog,
and it was well for me that I was reading a very comic part of the book.
But when he bounced out into the centre aisle again, in an entirely new
place (still looking intently at me) and tried the effect of a bark upon
my proceedings, I was seized with such a paroxysm of laughter, that it
communicated itself to the audience, and we roared at one another loud
and long.

The President has sent to me twice, and I am going to see him to-morrow.
He has a whole row for his family every night. Dolby rejoined his chief
yesterday morning, and will probably remain in the august presence until
Sunday night. He and Osgood, "training for the match," are ludicrous
beyond belief. I saw them just now coming up a street, each trying to
pass the other, and immediately fled. Since I have been writing this,
they have burst in at the door and sat down on the floor to blow. Dolby
is now writing at a neighbouring table, with his bald head smoking as if
he were on fire. Kelly (his great adherent) asked me, when he was last
away, whether it was quite fair that I should take Mr. Osgood out for
"breathers" when Mr. Dolby had no such advantage. I begin to expect that
half Boston will turn out on the 29th to see the match. In which case it
will be unspeakably droll.


[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]

                            WASHINGTON, _my Birthday_, 1868.
                                      (_And my cold worse than ever._)

This will be but a short letter, as I have been to see the President
this morning, and have little time before the post goes. He had sent a
gentleman to me, most courteously begging me to make my own appointment,
and I did so. A man of very remarkable appearance indeed, of tremendous
firmness of purpose. Not to be turned or trifled with.

As I mention my cold's being so bad, I will add that I have never had
anything the matter with me since I came here _but_ the cold. It is now
in my throat, and slightly on my chest. It occasions me great
discomfort, and you would suppose, seeing me in the morning, that I
could not possibly read at night. But I have always come up to the
scratch, have not yet missed one night, and have gradually got used to
that. I had got much the better of it; but the dressing-room at the hall
here is singularly cold and draughty, and so I have slid back again.

The papers here having written about this being my birthday, the most
exquisite flowers came pouring in at breakfast time from all sorts of
people. The room is covered with them, made up into beautiful bouquets,
and arranged in all manner of green baskets. Probably I shall find
plenty more at the hall to-night. This is considered the dullest and
most apathetic place in America. _My_ audiences have been superb.

I mentioned the dog on the first night here. Next night I thought I
heard (in "Copperfield") a suddenly suppressed bark. It happened in this
wise: Osgood, standing just within the door, felt his leg touched, and
looking down beheld the dog staring intently at me, and evidently just
about to bark. In a transport of presence of mind and fury, he instantly
caught him up in both hands and threw him over his own head out into the
entry, where the check-takers received him like a game at ball. Last
night he came again _with another dog_; but our people were so sharply
on the look-out for him that he didn't get in. He had evidently promised
to pass the other dog free.


[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]

                          BALTIMORE, U.S., _Tuesday, Feb. 11th, 1868._

The weather has been desperately severe, and my cold quite as bad as
ever. I couldn't help laughing at myself on my birthday at Washington.
It was observed as much as though I were a little boy. Flowers and
garlands (of the most exquisite kind) bloomed all over the room; letters
radiant with good wishes poured in; a shirt pin, a handsome silver
travelling bottle, a set of gold shirt studs, and a set of gold sleeve
links were on the dinner-table. After "Boots," at night, the whole
audience rose and remained (Secretaries of State, President's family,
Judges of Supreme Court, and so forth) standing and cheering until I
went back to the table and made them a little speech. On the same
august day of the year I was received by the President, a man with a
very remarkable and determined face. Each of us looked at each other
very hard, and each of us managed the interview (I think) to the
satisfaction of the other. In the outer room was sitting a certain
sunburnt General Blair, with many evidences of the war upon him. He got
up to shake hands with me, and then I found he had been out in the
prairie with me five-and-twenty years ago. That afternoon my "catarrh"
was in such a state that Charles Sumner, coming in at five o'clock and
finding me covered with mustard poultice, and apparently voiceless,
turned to Dolby and said: "Surely, Mr. Dolby, it is impossible that he
can read to-night." Says Dolby: "Sir, I have told the dear Chief so four
times to-day, and I have been very anxious. But you have no idea how he
will change when he gets to the little table." After five minutes of the
little table, I was not (for the time) even hoarse. The frequent
experience of this return of force when it is wanted saves me a vast
amount of anxiety.

I wish you would get from Homan and report to me, as near as he can
make, an approximate estimate is the right term in the trade, I believe,
of the following work:

1. To re-cover, with red leather, all the dining-room chairs.

2. To ditto, with green leather, all the library chairs and the couch.

3. To provide and lay down new _Brussels_ carpets in the front spare and
the two top spares. Quality of carpet, quality of yours and mine.

I have some doubts about the state of the hall floor-cloth, and also the
floor-cloth in the dining-room. Will you and your aunt carefully examine
both (calling in Homan too, if necessary), _and report to me_?

It would seem that "No Thoroughfare" has really developed as a drama
into an amazing success. I begin to think that I shall see it. Dolby is
away this morning, to conquer or die in a terrific struggle with the
Mayor of Newhaven (where I am to read next week), who has assailed him
on a charge of false play in selling tickets. Osgood, my other keeper,
stands at the table to take me out, and have a "breather" for the
walking-match, so I must leave off.

Think of my dreaming of Mrs. Bouncer each night!!!


[Sidenote: Mr. Henry Fielding Dickens.]

                          BALTIMORE, U.S., _Tuesday, Feb. 11th, 1868._

MY DEAR HARRY,

I should have written to you before now, but for constant and arduous
occupation.

In reference to the cricket club's not being what it might be, I agree
with you in the main. There are some things to be considered, however,
which you have hardly taken into account. The first thing to be avoided
is, the slightest appearance of patronage (one of the curses of
England). The second thing to be avoided is, the deprival of the men of
their just right to manage their own affairs. I would rather have no
club at all, than have either of these great mistakes made. The way out
of them is this: Call the men together, and explain to them that the
club might be larger, richer, and better. Say that you think that more
of the neighbouring gentlemen could be got to be playing members. That
you submit to them that it would be better to have a captain who could
correspond with them, and talk to them, and in some sort manage them;
and that, being perfectly acquainted with the game, and having long
played it at a great public school, you propose yourself as captain, for
the foregoing reasons. That you propose to them to make the subscription
of the gentlemen members at least double that of the working men, for no
other reason than that the gentlemen can afford it better; but that both
classes of members shall have exactly the same right of voting equally
in all that concerns the club. Say that you have consulted me upon the
matter, and that I am of these opinions, and am ready to become chairman
of the club, and to preside at their meetings, and to overlook its
business affairs, and to give it five pounds a year, payable at the
commencement of each season. Then, having brought them to this point,
draw up the club's rules and regulations, amending them where they want
amendment.

Discreetly done, I see no difficulty in this. But it can only be
honourably and hopefully done by having the men together. And I would
not have them at The Falstaff, but in the hall or dining-room--the
servants' hall, an excellent place. Whatever you do, let the men ratify;
and let them feel their little importance, and at once perceive how much
better the business begins to be done.

I am very glad to hear of the success of your reading, and still more
glad that you went at it in downright earnest. I should never have made
my success in life if I had been shy of taking pains, or if I had not
bestowed upon the least thing I have ever undertaken exactly the same
attention and care that I have bestowed upon the greatest. Do everything
at your best. It was but this last year that I set to and learned every
word of my readings; and from ten years ago to last night, I have never
read to an audience but I have watched for an opportunity of striking
out something better somewhere. Look at such of my manuscripts as are
in the library at Gad's, and think of the patient hours devoted year
after year to single lines.

       *       *       *       *       *

The weather is very severe here, and the work is very hard. Dolby,
having been violently pitched into by the Mayor of Newhaven (a town at
which I am to read next week), has gone bodily this morning with defiant
written instructions from me to inform the said mayor that, if he fail
to make out his case, he (Dolby) is to return all the money taken, and
to tell him that I will not set foot in his jurisdiction; whereupon the
Newhaven people will probably fall upon the mayor in his turn, and lead
him a pleasant life.

                        Ever, my dear Harry, your affectionate Father.


[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]

                            PHILADELPHIA, _Thursday, Feb. 13th, 1868._

We have got into an immense difficulty with the people of Newhaven. I
have a strong suspicion that one of our men (who sold there) has been
speculating all this while, and that he must have put front seats in his
pockets, and sold back ones. He denies what the mayor charges, but the
mayor holds on grimly. Dolby set off from Baltimore as soon as we found
out what was amiss, to examine and report; but some new feature of
difficulty must have come out, for this morning he telegraphs from New
York (where he had to sleep last night on his way to Newhaven), that he
is coming back for further consultation with the Chief. It will
certainly hurt us, and will of course be distorted by the papers into
all manner of shapes. My suspicion _may not_ be correct, but I have an
instinctive belief that it is. We shall probably have the old New York
row (and loss) over again, unless I can catch this mayor tripping in an
assertion.

In this very place, we are half-distracted by the speculators. They have
been holding out for such high prices, that the public have held out
too; and now (frightened at what they have done) the speculators are
trying to sell their worst seats at half the cost price, so that we are
in the ridiculous situation of having sold the room out, and yet not
knowing what empty seats there may be. _We_ could sell at our box-office
to any extent; but _we_ can't buy back of the speculators, because we
informed the public that all the tickets were gone. And if we bought
_under_ our own price and _sold_ at our own price, we should at once be
in treaty with the speculators, and should be making money by it! Dolby,
the much bullied, will come back here presently, half bereft of his
senses; and I should be half bereft of mine, if the situation were not
comically disagreeable.

Nothing will induce the people to believe in the farewells. At Baltimore
on Tuesday night (a very brilliant night indeed), they asked as they
came out: "When will Mr. Dickens read here again?" "Never." "Nonsense!
Not come back, after such houses as these? Come. Say when he'll read
again." Just the same here. We could as soon persuade them that I am the
President, as that I am going to read here, for the last time, to-morrow
night.

There is a child of the Barney Williams's in this house--a little
girl--to whom I presented a black doll when I was here last. I have seen
her eye at the keyhole since I began writing this, and I think she and
the doll are outside still. "When you sent it up to me by the <DW52>
boy," she said after receiving it (<DW52> boy is the term for black
waiter), "I gave such a cream that ma came running in and creamed too,
'cos she fort I'd hurt myself. But I creamed a cream of joy." _She_ had
a friend to play with her that day, and brought the friend with her, to
my infinite confusion. A friend all stockings, and much too tall, who
sat on the sofa very far back, with her stockings sticking stiffly out
in front of her, and glared at me and never spake word. Dolby found us
confronted in a sort of fascination, like serpent and bird.


[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]

                                  NEW YORK, _Monday, Feb. 17th, 1868._

I got your letter of the 3rd of February here this morning. As I am off
at seven to-morrow morning, I answer it at once, though indeed I have
nothing to say.

"True American" still sticking to me. But I am always ready for my work,
and therefore don't much mind. Dolby and the Mayor of Newhaven
alternately embrace and exchange mortal defiances. In writing out some
advertisements towards midnight last night, he made a very good mistake.
"The reading will be comprised within two _minutes_, and the audience
are earnestly entreated to be seated ten _hours_ before its
commencement."

The weather has been finer lately, but the streets are in a horrible
condition, through half-melted snow, and it is now snowing again. The
walking-match (next Saturday week) is already in the Boston papers! I
suppose half Boston will turn out on the occasion. As a sure way of not
being conspicuous, "the men" are going to walk in flannel! They are in a
mingled state of comicality and gravity about it that is highly
ridiculous. Yesterday being a bright cool day, I took Dolby for a
"buster" of eight miles. As everybody here knows me, the spectacle of
our splitting up the fashionable avenue (the only way out of town)
excited the greatest amazement. No doubt _that_ will be in the papers
to-morrow. I give a gorgeous banquet to eighteen (ladies and gentlemen)
after the match. Mr. and Mrs. Fields, Do. Ticknor, Longfellow and his
daughter, Lowell, Holmes and his wife, etc. etc. Sporting speeches to be
made, and the stakes (four hats) to be handed over to the winner.

My ship will not be the _Cuba_ after all. She is to go into dock, and
the _Russia_ (a larger ship, and the latest built for the Cunard line)
is to take her place.

Very glad to hear of Plorn's success. Best love to Mamie.


[Sidenote: M. Charles Fechter.]

                                    WASHINGTON, _February 24th, 1868._

MY DEAR FECHTER,

Your letter reached me here yesterday. I have sent you a telegram
(addressed to the theatre) this morning, and I write this by the
earliest return mail.

My dear fellow, consider yourself my representative. Whatever you do, or
desire to do, about the play, I fully authorise beforehand. Tell
Webster, with my regard, that I think his proposal honest and fair; that
I think it, in a word, like himself; and that I have perfect confidence
in his good faith and liberality.

As to making money of the play in the United States here, Boucicault has
filled Wilkie's head with golden dreams that have _nothing_ in them. He
makes no account of the fact that, wherever I go, the theatres (with my
name in big letters) instantly begin playing versions of my books, and
that the moment the Christmas number came over here they pirated it and
played "No Thoroughfare." Now, I have enquired into the law, and am
extremely doubtful whether I _could_ have prevented this. Why should
they pay for the piece as you act it, when they have no actors, and when
all they want is my name, and they can get that for nothing?

Wilkie has uniformly written of you enthusiastically. In a letter I had
from him, dated the 10th of January, he described your conception and
execution of the part in the most glowing terms. "Here Fechter is
magnificent." "Here his superb playing brings the house down." "I should
call even his exit in the last act one of the subtlest and finest things
he does in the piece." "You can hardly imagine what he gets out of the
part, or what he makes of his passionate love for Marguerite." These
expressions, and many others like them, crowded his letter.

I never did so want to see a character played on the stage as I want to
see you play Obenreizer. As the play was going when I last heard of it,
I have some hopes that I MAY see it yet. Please God, your Adelphi
dressing-room will be irradiated with the noble presence of "Never
Wrong" (if you are acting), about the evening of Monday, the 4th of May!

I am doing enormous business. It is a wearying life, away from all I
love, but I hope that the time will soon begin to spin away. Among the
many changes that I find here is the comfortable change that the people
are in general extremely considerate, and very observant of my privacy.
Even in this place, I am really almost as much my own master as if I
were in an English country town. Generally, they are very good audiences
indeed. They do not (I think) perceive touches of art to _be_ art; but
they are responsive to the broad results of such touches. "Doctor
Marigold" is a great favourite, and they laugh so unrestrainedly at "The
Trial" from "Pickwick" (which you never heard), that it has grown about
half as long again as it used to be.

If I could send you a "brandy cocktail" by post I would. It is a highly
meritorious dram, which I hope to present to you at Gad's. My New York
landlord made me a "Rocky Mountain sneezer," which appeared to me to be
compounded of all the spirits ever heard of in the world, with bitters,
lemon, sugar, and snow. You can only make a true "sneezer" when the snow
is lying on the ground.

There, my dear boy, my paper is out, and I am going to read
"Copperfield." Count always on my fidelity and true attachment, and look
out, as I have already said, for a distinguished visitor about Monday,
the 4th of May.

                    Ever, my dear Fechter,
                                 Your cordial and affectionate Friend.


[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]

                                   BOSTON, _Tuesday, Feb. 25th, 1868._

It is so very difficult to know, by any exercise of common sense, what
turn or height the political excitement may take next, and it may so
easily, and so soon, swallow up all other things, that I think I shall
suppress my next week's readings here (by good fortune not yet
announced) and watch the course of events. Dolby's sudden desponding
under these circumstances is so acute, that it is actually swelling his
head as I glance at him in the glass while writing.

The catarrh is no better and no worse. The weather is intensely cold.
The walking-match (of which I will send particulars) is to come off on
Sunday. Mrs. Fields is more delightful than ever, and Fields more
hospitable. My room is always radiant with brilliant flowers of their
sending. I don't know whether I told you that the walking-match is to
celebrate the extinction of February, and the coming of the day when I
can say "next month."


[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]

                                  BOSTON, _Thursday, Feb. 27th, 1868._

This morning at breakfast I received yours of the 11th from Palace Gate
House. I have very little news to give you in return for your budget.
The walking-match is to come off on Saturday, and Fields and I went over
the ground yesterday to measure the miles. We went at a tremendous pace.
The condition of the ground is something indescribable, from half-melted
snow, running water, and sheets and blocks of ice. The two performers
have not the faintest notion of the weight of the task they have
undertaken. I give a dinner afterwards, and have just now been settling
the bill of fare and selecting the wines.

In the first excitement of the presidential impeachment, our houses
instantly went down. After carefully considering the subject, I decided
to take advantage of the fact that next week's four readings here have
not yet been announced, and to abolish them altogether. Nothing in this
country lasts long, and I think the public may be heartily tired of the
President's name by the 9th of March, when I read at a considerable
distance from here. So behold me with a whole week's holiday in view!
The Boston audiences have come to regard the readings and the reader as
their peculiar property; and you would be at once amused and pleased if
you could see the curious way in which they seem to plume themselves on
both. They have taken to applauding too whenever they laugh or cry, and
the result is very inspiriting. I shall remain here until Saturday, the
7th, but shall not read here, after to-morrow night, until the 1st of
April, when I begin my Boston farewells, six in number.


                                                       _Friday, 28th._

It has been snowing all night, and the city is in a miserable condition.
We had a fine house last night for "Carol" and "Trial," and such an
enthusiastic one that they persisted in a call after the "Carol," and,
while I was out, covered the little table with flowers. The "True
American" has taken a fresh start, as if it were quite a novelty, and is
on the whole rather worse than ever to-day. The Cunard packet, the
_Australasian_ (a poor ship), is some days overdue, and Dolby is
anxiously looking out for her. There is a lull in the excitement about
the President, but the articles of impeachment are to be produced this
afternoon, and then it may set in again. Osgood came into camp last
night from selling in remote places, and reports that at Rochester and
Buffalo (both places near the frontier), Canada people bought tickets,
who had struggled across the frozen river and clambered over all sorts
of obstructions to get them. Some of those halls turn out to be smaller
than represented, but I have no doubt, to use an American expression,
that we shall "get along."

To-morrow fortnight we purpose being at the Falls of Niagara, and then
we shall turn back and really begin to wind up. I have got to know the
"Carol" so well that I can't remember it, and occasionally go dodging
about in the wildest manner to pick up lost pieces. They took it so
tremendously last night that I was stopped every five minutes. One poor
young girl in mourning burst into a passion of grief about Tiny Tim, and
was taken out. This is all my news.

Each of the pedestrians is endeavouring to persuade the other to take
something unwholesome before starting.


[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]

                                    BOSTON, _Monday, March 2nd, 1868._

A heavy gale of wind and a snowstorm oblige me to write suddenly for the
Cunard steamer a day earlier than usual. The railroad between this and
New York will probably be stopped somewhere. After all the hard weather
we have had, this is the worst day we have seen.

The walking-match came off on Saturday, over tremendously difficult
ground, against a biting wind, and through deep snow-wreaths. It was so
cold, too, that our hair, beards, eyelashes, eyebrows, were frozen hard,
and hung with icicles. The course was thirteen miles. They were close
together at the turning-point, when Osgood went ahead at a splitting
pace and with extraordinary endurance, and won by half a mile. Dolby did
very well indeed, and begs that he may not be despised. In the evening I
gave a very splendid dinner. Eighteen covers, most magnificent flowers,
such table decoration as was never seen in these parts. The whole thing
was a great success, and everybody was delighted.

I am holiday-making until Friday, when we start on the round of travel
that is to bring us back here for the 1st of April. My holiday-making
is simply thorough resting, except on Wednesday, when I dine with
Longfellow. There is still great political excitement, but I hope it may
not hurt us very much. My fear is that it may damage the farewell. Dolby
is not of my mind as to this, and I hope he may be right. We are not
quite determined whether Mrs. Fields did not desert our colours, by
coming on the ground in a carriage, and having _bread soaked in brandy_
put into the winning man's mouth as he steamed along. She pleaded that
she would have done as much for Dolby, if _he_ had been ahead, so we are
inclined to forgive her. As she had done so much for me in the way of
flowers, I thought I would show her a sight in that line at the dinner.
You never saw anything like it. Two immense crowns; the base, of the
choicest exotics; and the loops, oval masses of violets. In the centre
of the table an immense basket, overflowing with enormous bell-mouthed
lilies; all round the table a bright green border of wreathed creeper,
with clustering roses at intervals; a rose for every button-hole, and a
bouquet for every lady. They made an exhibition of the table before
dinner to numbers of people.

P. H. has just come in with a newspaper, containing a reference (in good
taste!) to the walking-match. He posts it to you by this post.

It is telegraphed that the storm prevails over an immense extent of
country, and is just the same at Chicago as here. I hope it may prove a
wind-up. We are getting sick of the sound of sleigh-bells even.

Your account of Anne has greatly interested me.


[Sidenote: M. Charles Fechter.]

                                      SYRACUSE, U.S. OF AMERICA,
                                      _Sunday Night, March 8th, 1868._

MY DEAR FECHTER,

I am here in a most wonderful out-of-the-world place, which looks as if
it had begun to be built yesterday, and were going to be imperfectly
knocked together with a nail or two the day after to-morrow. I am in the
worst inn that ever was seen, and outside is a thaw that places the
whole country under water. I have looked out of window for the people,
and I can't find any people. I have tried all the wines in the house,
and there are only two wines, for which you pay six shillings a bottle,
or fifteen, according as you feel disposed to change the name of the
thing you ask for. (The article never changes.) The bill of fare is "in
French," and the principal article (the carte is printed) is "Paettie de
shay." I asked the Irish waiter what this dish was, and he said: "It was
the name the steward giv' to oyster patties--the Frinch name." These are
the drinks you are to wash it down with: "Mooseux," "Abasinthe,"
"Curacco," "Marschine," "Annise," and "Margeaux"!

I am growing very home-sick, and very anxious for the 22nd of April; on
which day, please God, I embark for home. I am beginning to be tired,
and have been depressed all the time (except when reading), and have
lost my appetite. I cannot tell you--but you know, and therefore why
should I?--how overjoyed I shall be to see you again, my dear boy, and
how sorely I miss a dear friend, and how sorely I miss all art, in these
parts. No disparagement to the country, which has a great future in
reserve, or to its people, who are very kind to me.

I mean to take my leave of readings in the autumn and winter, in a final
series in England with Chappell. This will come into the way of literary
work for a time, for, after I have rested--don't laugh--it is a grim
reality--I shall have to turn my mind to--ha! ha! ha!--to--ha! ha! ha!
(more sepulchrally than before)--the--the CHRISTMAS NUMBER!!! I feel as
if I had murdered a Christmas number years ago (perhaps I did!) and its
ghost perpetually haunted me. Nevertheless in some blessed rest at
Gad's, we will talk over stage matters, and all matters, in an even way,
and see what we can make of them, please God. Be sure that I shall not
be in London one evening, after disembarking, without coming round to
the theatre to embrace you, my dear fellow.

I have had an American cold (the worst in the world) since Christmas
Day. I read four times a week, with the most tremendous energy I can
bring to bear upon it. I travel about pretty heavily. I am very resolute
about calling on people, or receiving people, or dining out, and so save
myself a great deal. I read in all sorts of places--churches, theatres,
concert rooms, lecture halls. Every night I read I am described (mostly
by people who have not the faintest notion of observing) from the sole
of my boot to where the topmost hair of my head ought to be, but is not.
Sometimes I am described as being "evidently nervous;" sometimes it is
rather taken ill that "Mr. Dickens is so extraordinarily composed." My
eyes are blue, red, grey, white, green, brown, black, hazel, violet, and
rainbow-. I am like "a well-to-do American gentleman," and the
Emperor of the French, with an occasional touch of the Emperor of China,
and a deterioration from the attributes of our famous townsman, Rufus W.
B. D. Dodge Grumsher Pickville. I say all sorts of things that I never
said, go to all sorts of places that I never saw or heard of, and have
done all manner of things (in some previous state of existence I
suppose) that have quite escaped my memory. You ask your friend to
describe what he is about. This is what he is about, every day and hour
of his American life.

I hope to be back with you before you write to me!

                  Ever, my dear Fechter,
                             Your most affectionate and hearty Friend.

P.S.--Don't let Madame Fechter, or Marie, or Paul forget me!


[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]

                                  SYRACUSE, _Sunday, March 8th, 1868._

As we shall probably be busy all day to-morrow, I write this to-day,
though it will not leave New York until Wednesday. This is a very grim
place in a heavy thaw, and a most depressing one. The hotel also is
surprisingly bad, quite a triumph in that way. We stood out for an hour
in the melting snow, and came in again, having to change completely.
Then we sat down by the stove (no fireplace), and there we are now. We
were so afraid to go to bed last night, the rooms were so close and
sour, that we played whist, double dummy, till we couldn't bear each
other any longer. We had an old buffalo for supper, and an old pig for
breakfast, and we are going to have I don't know what for dinner at six.
In the public rooms downstairs, a number of men (speechless) are sitting
in rocking-chairs, with their feet against the window-frames, staring
out at window and spitting dolefully at intervals. Scott is in tears,
and George the gasman is suborning people to go and clean the hall,
which is a marvel of dirt. And yet we have taken considerably over three
hundred pounds for to-morrow night!

We were at Albany the night before last and yesterday morning; a very
pretty town, where I am to read on the 18th and 19th. This day week we
hope to wash out this establishment with the Falls of Niagara. And there
is my news, except that your _last letters_ to me in America must be
posted by the Cunard steamer, which will sail from Liverpool on
_Saturday, the 4th of April_. These I shall be safe to get before
embarking.

I send a note to Katie (addressed to Mamie) by this mail. I wrote to
Harry some weeks ago, stating to him on what principles he must act in
remodelling the cricket club, if he would secure success.


[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]

                                                _Monday Morning, 9th._

Nothing new. Weather cloudy, and town more dismal than yesterday. It
froze again last night, and thaws again this morning. Somebody sent me
an Australian newspaper this morning--some citizen of Syracuse I
mean--because of a paragraph in it describing the taking of two
freebooters, at which taking Alfred was present. Though I do not make
out that he had anything in the world to do with it, except having his
name pressed into the service of the newspaper.


                                BUFFALO, _Thursday, March 12th, 1868._

I hope this may be in time for next Saturday's mail; but this is a long
way from New York, and rivers are swollen with melted snow, and
travelling is unusually slow.

Just now (two o'clock in the afternoon) I received your sad news of the
death of poor dear Chauncey.[23] It naturally goes to my heart. It is
not a light thing to lose such a friend, and I truly loved him. In the
first unreasonable train of feeling, I dwelt more than I should have
thought possible on my being unable to attend his funeral. I know how
little this really matters; but I know he would have wished me to be
there with real honest tears for his memory, and I feel it very much. I
never, never, never was better loved by man than I was by him, I am
sure. Poor dear fellow, good affectionate gentle creature.

I have not as yet received any letter from Henri, nor do I think he can
have written to New York by your mail. I believe that I am--I know that
I _was_--one of the executors. In that case Mr. Jackson, his agent, will
either write to me very shortly on Henri's information of my address, or
enquiry will be made at Gad's or at the office about it.

It is difficult for me to write more just now. The news is a real shock
at such a distance, and I must read to-night, and I must compose my
mind. Let Mekitty know that I received her violets with great pleasure,
and that I sent her my best love and my best thanks.

On the 25th of February I read "Copperfield" and "Bob" at Boston. Either
on that very day, or very close upon it, I was describing his
(Townshend's) house to Fields, and telling him about the great Danby
picture that he should see when he came to London.


[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]

                                ROCHESTER, _Sunday, March 16th, 1868._

I found yours of the 28th February, when I came back here last night. We
have had two brilliant sunny days at Niagara, and have seen that
wonderful place under the finest circumstances.

Enclosed I return you Homan's estimate; let all that work be done,
including the curtains.

As to the hall, I have my doubts whether one of the parqueted floors
made by Aaron Smith's, of Bond Street, ought not to be better than
tiles, for the reason that perhaps the nature of the house's
construction might render the "bed" necessary for wooden flooring more
easy to be made than the "bed" necessary for tiles. I don't think you
can do better than call in the trusty Lillie to advise. Decide with your
aunt on which appears to be better, under the circumstances. Have
estimate made for _cash_, select patterns and colours, and let the work
be done out of hand. (Here's a prompt order; now I draw breath.) Let it
be thoroughly well done--no half measures.

There is a great thaw all over the country here, and I think it has done
the catarrh good. I am to read at the famous Newhaven on Tuesday, the
24th. I hope without a row, but cannot say. The readings are running out
fast now, and we are growing very restless.

This is a short letter, but we are pressed for time. It is two o'clock,
and we dine at three, before reading. To-morrow we rise at six, and have
eleven hours' railway or so. We have now come back from our farthest
point, and are steadily working towards home.


[Sidenote: Mr. W. C. Macready.]

                     SPRINGFIELD, MASS., _Saturday, March 21st, 1868._

MY DEAREST MACREADY,

What with perpetual reading and travelling, what with a "true American
catarrh" (on which I am complimented almost boastfully), and what with
one of the severest winters ever known, your coals of fire received by
the last mail did not burn my head so much as they might have done
under less excusatory circumstances. But they scorched it too!

You would find the general aspect of America and Americans decidedly
much improved. You would find immeasurably greater consideration and
respect for your privacy than of old. You would find a steady change for
the better everywhere, except (oddly enough) in the railroads generally,
which seem to have stood still, while everything else has moved. But
there is an exception westward. There the express trains have now a very
delightful carriage called a "drawing-room car," literally a series of
little private drawing-rooms, with sofas and a table in each, opening
out of a little corridor. In each, too, is a large plate-glass window,
with which you can do as you like. As you pay extra for this luxury, it
may be regarded as the first move towards two classes of passengers.
When the railroad straight away to San Francisco (in six days) shall be
opened through, it will not only have these drawing-rooms, but
sleeping-rooms too; a bell in every little apartment communicating with
a steward's pantry, a restaurant, a staff of servants, marble
washing-stands, and a barber's shop! I looked into one of these cars a
day or two ago, and it was very ingeniously arranged and quite complete.

I left Niagara last Sunday, and travelled on to Albany, through three
hundred miles of flood, villages deserted, bridges broken, fences
drifting away, nothing but tearing water, floating ice, and absolute
wreck and ruin. The train gave in altogether at Utica, and the
passengers were let loose there for the night. As I was due at Albany, a
very active superintendent of works did all he could to "get Mr. Dickens
along," and in the morning we resumed our journey through the water,
with a hundred men in seven-league boots pushing the ice from before us
with long poles. How we got to Albany I can't say, but we got there
somehow, just in time for a triumphal "Carol" and "Trial." All the
tickets had been sold, and we found the Albanians in a state of great
excitement. You may imagine what the flood was when I tell you that we
took the passengers out of two trains that had their fires put out by
the water four-and-twenty hours before, and cattle from trucks that had
been in the water I don't know how long, but so long that the sheep had
begun to eat each other! It was a horrible spectacle, and the haggard
human misery of their faces was quite a new study. There was a fine
breath of spring in the air concurrently with the great thaw; but lo and
behold! last night it began to snow again with a strong wind, and to-day
a snowdrift covers this place with all the desolation of winter once
more. I never was so tired of the sight of snow. As to sleighing, I have
been sleighing about to that extent, that I am sick of the sound of a
sleigh-bell.

I have seen all our Boston friends, except Curtis. Ticknor is dead. The
rest are very little changed, except that Longfellow has a perfectly
white flowing beard and long white hair. But he does not otherwise look
old, and is infinitely handsomer than he was. I have been constantly
with them all, and they have always talked much of you. It is the
established joke that Boston is my "native place," and we hold all sorts
of hearty foregatherings. They all come to every reading, and are always
in a most delightful state of enthusiasm. They give me a parting dinner
at the club, on the Thursday before Good Friday. To pass from Boston
personal to New York theatrical, I will mention here that one of the
proprietors of my New York hotel is one of the proprietors of Niblo's,
and the most active. Consequently I have seen the "Black Crook" and the
"White Fawn," in majesty, from an arm-chair in the first entrance, P.S.,
more than once. Of these astonishing dramas, I beg to report (seriously)
that I have found no human creature "behind" who has the slightest idea
what they are about (upon my honour, my dearest Macready!), and that
having some amiable small talk with a neat little Spanish woman, who is
the _premiere danseuse_, I asked her, in joke, to let me measure her
skirt with my dress glove. Holding the glove by the tip of the
forefinger, I found the skirt to be just three gloves long, and yet its
length was much in excess of the skirts of two hundred other ladies,
whom the carpenters were at that moment getting into their places for a
transformation scene, on revolving columns, on wires and "travellers" in
iron cradles, up in the flies, down in the cellars, on every description
of float that Wilmot, gone distracted, could imagine!

I have taken my passage for Liverpool from New York in the Cunarder
_Russia_, on the 22nd of April. I had the second officer's cabin on deck
coming out, and I have the chief steward's cabin on deck going home,
because it will be on the sunny side of the ship. I have experienced
nothing here but good humour and cordiality. In the autumn and winter I
have arranged with Chappells to take my farewell of reading in the
United Kingdom for ever and ever.

I am delighted to hear of Benvenuta's marriage, and I think her husband
a very lucky man. Johnnie has my profound sympathy under his
examinatorial woes. The noble boy will give me Gavazzi revised and
enlarged, I expect, when I next come to Cheltenham. I will give you and
Mrs. Macready all my American experiences when you come to London, or,
better still, to Gad's. Meanwhile I send my hearty love to all, not
forgetting dear Katie.

Niagara is not at all spoiled by a very dizzy-looking suspension bridge.
Is to have another still nearer to the Horse-shoe opened in July. My
last sight of that scene (last Sunday) was thus: We went up to the
rapids above the Horse-shoe--say two miles from it--and through the
great cloud of spray. Everything in the magnificent valley--buildings,
forest, high banks, air, water, everything--was _made of rainbow_.
Turner's most imaginative drawing in his finest day has nothing in it so
ethereal, so gorgeous in fancy, so celestial. We said to one another
(Dolby and I), "Let it for evermore remain so," and shut our eyes and
came away.

God bless you and all dear to you, my dear old Friend!

                               I am ever your affectionate and loving.


[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]

                                 PORTLAND, _Sunday, March 29th, 1868._

I should have written to you by the last mail, but I really was too
unwell to do it. The writing day was last Friday, when I ought to have
left Boston for New Bedford (fifty-five miles) before eleven in the
morning. But I was so exhausted that I could not be got up, and had to
take my chance of an evening's train producing me in time to read, which
it just did. With the return of snow, nine days ago, the "true American"
(which had lulled) came back as bad as ever. I have coughed from two or
three in the morning until five or six, and have been absolutely
sleepless. I have had no appetite besides, and no taste. Last night here
I took some laudanum, and it is the only thing that has done me good.
But the life in this climate is so very hard. When I did manage to get
from Boston to New Bedford, I read with my utmost force and vigour.
Next morning, well or ill, I must turn out at seven to get back to
Boston on my way here.

I dine at Boston at three, and at five must come on here (a hundred and
thirty miles or so), for to-morrow night; there being no Sunday train.
To-morrow night I read here in a very large place, and Tuesday morning
at six I must start again to get back to Boston once more. But after
to-morrow night, I have only the Boston and New York farewells, thank
God! I am most grateful to think that when we came to devise the details
of the tour, I foresaw that it could never be done, as Dolby and Osgood
proposed, by one unassisted man, as if he were a machine. If I had not
cut out the work, and cut out Canada, I could never have gone there, I
am quite sure. Even as it is, I have just now written to Dolby (who is
in New York), to see my doctor there, and ask him to send me some
composing medicine that I can take at night, inasmuch as without sleep I
cannot get through. However sympathetic and devoted the people are about
me, they _can not_ be got to comprehend that one's being able to do the
two hours with spirit when the time comes round, may be co-existent with
the consciousness of great depression and fatigue. I don't mind saying
all this, now that the labour is so nearly over. You shall have a
brighter account of me, please God, when I close this at Boston.


                                                 _Monday, March 30th._

Without any artificial aid, I got a splendid night's rest last night,
and consequently am very much freshened up to-day. Yesterday I had a
fine walk by the sea, and to-day I have had another on the heights
overlooking it.


                                              BOSTON, _Tuesday, 31st._

I have safely arrived here, just in time to add a line to that effect,
and get this off by to-morrow's English mail from New York. Catarrh
rather better. Everything triumphant last night, except no sleep again.
I suppose Dolby to be now on his way back to join me here. I am much
mistaken if the political crisis do not damage the farewells by almost
one half.

I hope that I am certainly better altogether.

My room well decorated with flowers, of course, and Mr. and Mrs. Fields
coming to dinner. They are the most devoted of friends, and never in the
way and never out of it.


[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]

                                 BOSTON, _Wednesday, April 1st, 1868._

I received your letter of from the 14th to the 17th of March, here, last
night. My New York doctor has prescribed for me promptly, and I hope I
am better. I am certainly no worse. We shall do (to the best of my
belief) _very well_ with the farewells here and at New York, but not
greatly. Everything is at a standstill, pending the impeachment and the
next presidential election. I forgot whether I told you that the New
York press are going to give me a public dinner, on Saturday, the 18th.

I hear (but not from himself) that Wills has had a bad fall in hunting,
and is, or has been, laid up. I am supposed, I take it, not to know this
until I hear it from himself.


_Thursday._

My notion of the farewells is pretty certain now to turn out right. It
is not at all probable that we shall do anything enormous. Every pulpit
in Massachusetts will resound to violent politics to-day and to-night.
You remember the Hutchinson family?[24] I have had a grateful letter
from John Hutchinson. He speaks of "my sister Abby" as living in New
York. The immediate object of his note is to invite me to the marriage
of his daughter, twenty-one years of age.

You will see by the evidence of this piece of paper that I am using up
my stationery. Scott has just been making anxious calculations as to our
powers of holding out in the articles of tooth-powder, etc. The
calculations encourage him to believe that we shall just hold out, and
no more. I think I am still better to-day than I was yesterday; but I am
far from strong, and have no appetite. To see me at my little table at
night, you would think me the freshest of the fresh. And this is the
marvel of Fields' life.

I don't forget that this is Forster's birthday.


                                              _Friday Afternoon, 3rd._

Catarrh worse than ever! And we don't know (at four) whether I can read
to-night or must stop. Otherwise all well.


[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]

                                   BOSTON, _Tuesday, April 7th, 1868._

I not only read last Friday, when I was doubtful of being able to do so,
but read as I never did before, and astonished the audience quite as
much as myself. You never saw or heard such a scene of excitement.

Longfellow and all the Cambridge men urged me to give in. I have been
very near doing so, but feel stronger to-day. I cannot tell whether the
catarrh may have done me any lasting injury in the lungs or other
breathing organs, until I shall have rested and got home. I hope and
believe not. Consider the weather. There have been two snowstorms since
I wrote last, and to-day the town is blotted out in a ceaseless whirl of
snow and wind.

I cannot eat (to anything like the ordinary extent), and have
established this system: At seven in the morning, in bed, a tumbler of
new cream and two tablespoonsful of rum. At twelve, a sherry cobbler and
a biscuit. At three (dinner time), a pint of champagne. At five minutes
to eight, an egg beaten up with a glass of sherry. Between the parts,
the strongest beef tea that can be made, drunk hot. At a quarter-past
ten, soup, and anything to drink that I can fancy. I don't eat more than
half a pound of solid food in the whole four-and-twenty hours, if so
much.

If I hold out, as I hope to do, I shall be greatly pressed in leaving
here and getting over to New York before next Saturday's mail from
there. Do not, therefore, _if all be well_, expect to hear from me by
Saturday's mail, but look for my last letter from America by the mail of
the following Wednesday, the 15th. _Be sure_ that you shall hear,
however, by Saturday's mail, if I should knock up as to reading. I am
tremendously "beat," but I feel really and unaffectedly so much stronger
to-day, both in my body and hopes, that I am much encouraged. I have a
fancy that I turned my worst time last night.

Dolby is as tender as a woman and as watchful as a doctor. He never
leaves me during the reading now, but sits at the side of the platform
and keeps his eye upon me all the time. Ditto George, the gasman,
steadiest and most reliable man I ever employed. I am the more hopeful
of my not having to relinquish a reading, because last night was
"Copperfield" and "Bob"--by a quarter of an hour the longest, and, in
consideration of the storm, by very much the most trying. Yet I was far
fresher afterwards than I have been these three weeks.

I have "Dombey" to do to-night, and must go through it carefully; so
here ends my report. The personal affection of the people in this place
is charming to the last.


[Sidenote: The Hon. Mrs. Watson.]

                           GAD'S HILL PLACE, _Monday, May 11th, 1868._

MY DEAR MRS. WATSON,

I am delighted to have your letter. It comes to me like a faithful voice
from dear old Rockingham, and awakens many memories.

The work in America has been so very hard, and the winter there has been
so excessively severe, that I really have been very unwell for some
months. But I had not been at sea three days on the passage home when I
became myself again.

If you will arrange with Mary Boyle any time for coming here, we shall
be charmed to see you, and I will adapt my arrangements accordingly. I
make this suggestion because she generally comes here early in the
summer season. But if you will propose yourself _anyhow_, giving me a
margin of a few days in case of my being pre-engaged for this day or
that, we will (as my American friends say) "fix it."

What with travelling, reading night after night, and speech-making day
after day, I feel the peace of the country beyond all expression. On
board ship coming home, a "deputation" (two in number, of whom only one
could get into my cabin, while the other looked in at my window) came to
ask me to read to the passengers that evening in the saloon. I
respectfully replied that sooner than do it, I would assault the
captain, and be put in irons.

                                            Ever affectionately yours.


[Sidenote: Mrs. George Cattermole.]

                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,
                                           _Saturday, May 16th, 1868._

MY DEAR MRS. CATTERMOLE,

On my return from America just now, I accidentally heard that George had
been ill. My sister-in-law had heard it from Forster, but vaguely. Until
I received your letter of Wednesday's date, I had no idea that he had
been very ill; and should have been greatly shocked by knowing it, were
it not for the hopeful and bright assurance you give me that he is
greatly better.

My old affection for him has never cooled. The last time he dined with
me, I asked him to come again that day ten years, for I was perfectly
certain (this was my small joke) that I should not set eyes upon him
sooner. The time being fully up, I hope you will remind him, with my
love, that he is due. His hand is upon these walls here, so I should
like him to see for himself, and _you_ to see for _yourself_, and in
this hope I shall pursue his complete recovery.

I heartily sympathise with you in your terrible anxiety, and in your
vast relief; and, with many thanks for your letter, am ever, my dear
Mrs. Cattermole,

                                                 Affectionately yours.


[Sidenote: Mr. W. C. Macready.]

                             GAD'S HILL, _Wednesday, June 10th, 1868._

MY DEAREST MACREADY,

Since my return from America, I have been so overwhelmed with business
that I have not had time even to write to you. You may imagine what six
months of arrear are to dispose of; added to this, Wills has received a
concussion of the brain (from an accident in the hunting-field), and is
sent away by the doctors, and strictly prohibited from even writing a
note. Consequently all the business and money details of "All the Year
Round" devolve upon me. And I have had to get them up, for I have never
had experience of them. Then I am suddenly entreated to go to Paris, to
look after the French version of "No Thoroughfare" on the stage. And I
go, and come back, leaving it a great success.

I hope Mrs. Macready and you have not abandoned the idea of coming here?
The expression of this hope is the principal, if not the only, object of
this present note. May the amiable secretary vouchsafe a satisfactory
reply!

Katie, Mary, and Georgina send their very best love to your Katie and
Mrs. Macready. The undersigned is in his usual brilliant condition, and
indeed has greatly disappointed them at home here, by coming back "so
brown and looking so well." They expected a wreck, and were, at first,
much mortified. But they are getting over it now.

To my particular friends, the noble boy and Johnny, I beg to be warmly
remembered.

                                Ever, my dearest Macready,
                                               Your most affectionate.


[Sidenote: Mrs. Henry Austin.]

                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,
                                           _Tuesday, July 21st, 1868._

              ON THE DEATH OF MR. HENRY AUSTIN.[25]

MY DEAR LETITIA,

You will have had a telegram from me to-day. I received your sad news by
this morning's post. They never, without express explanation, mind
"Immediate" on a letter addressed to the office, because half the people
who write there on business that does not press, or on no business at
all, so mark their letters.

On Thursday I have people to see and matters to attend to, both at the
office and at Coutts', which, in Wills's absence, I cannot forego or
depute to another. But, _between ourselves_, I must add something else:
I have the greatest objection to attend a funeral in which my affections
are not strongly and immediately concerned. I have no notion of a
funeral as a matter of form or ceremony. And just as I should expressly
prohibit the summoning to my own burial of anybody who was not very near
or dear to me, so I revolt from myself appearing at that solemn rite
unless the deceased were very near or dear to me. I cannot endure being
dressed up by an undertaker as part of his trade show. I was not in this
poor good fellow's house in his lifetime, and I feel that I have no
business there when he lies dead in it. My mind is penetrated with
sympathy and compassion for the young widow, but that feeling is a real
thing, and my attendance as a mourner would not be--to myself. It would
be to you, I know, but it would not be to myself. I know full well that
you cannot delegate to me your memories of and your associations with
the deceased, and the more true and tender they are the more invincible
is my objection to become a form in the midst of the most awful
realities.

With love and condolence from Georgina, Mary, and Katie,

                           Believe me, ever your affectionate Brother.


[Sidenote: Mrs. George Cattermole.]

                             GAD'S HILL, _Wednesday, July 22nd, 1868._

MY DEAR MRS. CATTERMOLE,

Of course I will sign your memorial to the Academy. If you take either
of the Landseers, certainly take Edwin (1, St. John's Wood Road, N.W.)
But, if you would be content with Frith, I have already spoken to him,
and believe that I can answer for him. I shall be at "All the Year
Round" Office, 26, Wellington Street, London, to-morrow, from eleven to
three. Frith will be here on Saturday, and I shall be here too. I spoke
to him a fortnight ago, and I found him most earnest in the cause. He
said he felt absolutely sure that the whole profession in its best and
highest representation would do anything for George. I sounded him,
having the opportunity of meeting him at dinner at Cartwright's.

                                            Ever yours affectionately.


[Sidenote: Mr. W. H. Wills.]

                                            _Friday, July 31st, 1868._

MY DEAR WILLS,

I had such a hard day at the office yesterday, that I had not time to
write to you before I left. So I write to-day.

I am very unwilling to abandon the Christmas number, though even in the
case of my little Christmas books (which were immensely profitable) I
let the idea go when I thought it was wearing out. Ever since I came
home, I have hammered at it, more or less, and have been uneasy about
it. I have begun something which is very droll, but it manifestly shapes
itself towards a book, and could not in the least admit of even that
shadowy approach to a congruous whole on the part of other contributors
which they have ever achieved at the best. I have begun something else
(aboard the American mail-steamer); but I don't like it, because the
stories must come limping in after the old fashion, though, of course,
what I _have_ done will be good for A. Y. R. In short, I have cast about
with the greatest pains and patience, and I have been wholly unable to
find what I want.

And yet I cannot quite make up my mind to give in without another fight
for it. I offered one hundred pounds reward at Gad's to anybody who
could suggest a notion to satisfy me. Charles Collins suggested one
yesterday morning, in which there is _something_, though not much. I
will turn it over and over, and try a few more starts on my own account.
Finally, I swear I will not give it up until August is out. Vow
registered.

I am clear that a number by "various writers" would not do. If we have
not the usual sort of number, we must call the current number for that
date the Christmas number, and make it as good as possible.

I sit in the Chalet,[26] like Mariana in the Moated Grange, and to as
much purpose.

I am buying the freehold of the meadow at Gad's, and of an adjoining
arable field, so that I shall now have about eight-and-twenty freehold
acres in a ring-fence. No more now.

I made up a very good number yesterday. You will see in it a very short
article that I have called "Now!" which is a highly remarkable piece of
description. It is done by a new man, from whom I have accepted another
article; but he will never do anything so good again.

                                                  Ever affectionately.


[Sidenote: M. de Cerjat.]

                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,
                                         _Wednesday, Aug. 26th, 1868._

MY DEAR CERJAT,

I was happy to receive your esteemed letter a few days ago.

The severity of the winter in America (which was quite exceptional even
in that rigorous climate), combined with the hard work I had to do,
tried me a good deal. Neuralgia and colds beset me, either by turns or
both together, and I had often much to do to get through at night. But
the sea voyage home again did wonders in restoring me, and I have been
very well indeed, though a little fatigued, ever since. I am now
preparing for a final reading campaign in England, Scotland, and
Ireland. It will begin on the 6th of October, and will probably last,
with short occasional intermissions, until June.

The great subject in England for the moment is the horrible accident to
the Irish mail-train. It is now supposed that the petroleum (known to be
a powerful anaesthetic) rendered the unfortunate people who were burnt
almost instantly insensible to any sensation. My escape in the
Staplehurst accident of three years ago is not to be obliterated from my
nervous system. To this hour I have sudden vague rushes of terror, even
when riding in a hansom cab, which are perfectly unreasonable but quite
insurmountable. I used to make nothing of driving a pair of horses
habitually through the most crowded parts of London. I cannot now drive,
with comfort to myself, on the country roads here; and I doubt if I
could ride at all in the saddle. My reading secretary and companion
knows so well when one of these odd momentary seizures comes upon me in
a railway carriage, that he instantly produces a dram of brandy, which
rallies the blood to the heart and generally prevails. I forget whether
I ever told you that my watch (a chronometer) has never gone exactly
since the accident? So the Irish catastrophe naturally revives the
dreadful things I saw that day.

The only other news here you know as well as I; to wit, that the country
is going to be ruined, and that the Church is going to be ruined, and
that both have become so used to being ruined, that they will go on
perfectly well.

       *       *       *       *       *


[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]

     OFFICE OF "ALL THE YEAR ROUND," NO. 26, WELLINGTON STREET,
                                  STRAND, LONDON, W.C.,
                                         _Saturday, Sept. 26th, 1868._

MY DEAREST MAMIE,

I will add a line to this at the Athenaeum, after seeing Plorn off, to
tell you how he went away.


                                           ATHENAEUM, _Quarter to Six._

I can honestly report that he went away, poor dear fellow, as well as
could possibly be expected. He was pale, and had been crying, and (Harry
said) had broken down in the railway carriage after leaving Higham
station; but only for a short time.

Just before the train started he cried a good deal, but not painfully.
(Tell dear Georgy that I bought him his cigars.) These are hard, hard
things, but they might have to be done without means or influence, and
then they would be far harder. God bless him!


        PARLIAMENT. REPLY TO A PROPOSAL MADE THROUGH
        ALEXANDER RUSSEL, OF "THE SCOTSMAN," THAT HE
        SHOULD ALLOW HIMSELF TO BE PUT FORWARD AS A
        CANDIDATE FOR THE REPRESENTATION OF EDINBURGH.

[Sidenote: Mr. F. D. Finlay.]

                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,
                                             _Sunday, Oct. 4th, 1868._

MY DEAR FINLAY,

I am much obliged to you in all friendship and sincerity for your
letter. I have a great respect for your father-in-law and his paper, and
I am much attached to the Edinburgh people. You may suppose, therefore,
that if my mind were not fully made up on the parliamentary question, I
should waver now.

But my conviction that I am more useful and more happy as I am than I
could ever be in Parliament is not to be shaken. I considered it some
weeks ago, when I had a stirring proposal from the Birmingham people,
and I then set it up on a rock for ever and a day.

Do tell Mr. Russel that I truly feel this mark of confidence, and that I
hope to acknowledge it in person in Edinburgh before Christmas. There is
no man in Scotland from whom I should consider his suggestion a greater
honour.

                                                           Ever yours.


[Sidenote: M. Charles Fechter.]

       *       *       *       *       *

Poor Plorn is gone to Australia. It was a hard parting at the last. He
seemed to me to become once more my youngest and favourite little child
as the day drew near, and I did not think I could have been so shaken.
You were his idol to the hour of his departure, and he asked me to tell
you how much he wanted to bid you good-bye.

Kindest love from all.

                                                        Ever heartily.


[Sidenote: The same.]

                                  OFFICE OF "ALL THE YEAR ROUND,"
                                          _Wednesday, Oct. 7th, 1868._

MY DEAR FECHTER,

I got your letter sent to Gad's Hill this morning. Until I received it,
I supposed the piece to have been put into English from your French by
young Ben. If I understand that the English is yours, then I say that it
is extraordinarily good, written by one in another country.

I do not read again in London until the 20th; and then "Copperfield."
But by that time you will be at work yourself.

Let us dine at six to-day, in order that we may not have to hurry for
the comic dog.

                                                      Ever faithfully.


[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]

                 QUEEN'S HOTEL, MANCHESTER, _Sunday, Oct. 11th, 1868._

MY DEAREST GEORGY,

We had a fine audience last night in the Free Trade Hall, though not
what we consider a large money-house. The let in Liverpool is extremely
good, and we are going over there at half-past one. We got down here
pleasantly enough and in good time; so all has gone well you see.

Titiens, Santley, and an opera company of that class are at the theatre
here. They have been doing very poorly in Manchester.

There is the whole of my scanty news. I was in wonderful voice last
night, but croak a little this morning, after so much speaking in so
very large a place. Otherwise I am all right. I find myself constantly
thinking of Plorn.


[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]

                  ADELPHI HOTEL, LIVERPOOL, _Monday, Oct. 12th, 1868._

MY DEAREST MAMIE,

Our lets here are excellent, and we shall have a great house to-night.
We had a very fine and enthusiastic audience in the Free Trade Hall, at
Manchester, on Saturday; but our first nights there never count up in
money, as the rest do. Yesterday, "Charlotte," Sainton, and Piatti
stayed with us here; and they went on to Hull this morning. It was
pleasant to be alone again, though they were all very agreeable.

The exertion of going on for two hours in that immense place at
Manchester being very great, I was hoarse all day yesterday, though I
was not much distressed on Saturday night. I am becoming melodious again
(at three in the afternoon) rapidly, and count on being quite restored
by a basin of turtle at dinner.

I am glad to hear about Armatage, and hope that a service begun in a
personal attachment to Plorn may go on well. I shall never be
over-confident in such matters, I think, any more.

The day is delicious here. We have had a blow on the Mersey this
morning, and exulted over the American steamers. With kind regard to Sir
William and Lady Humphery.


[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]

                 ADELPHI HOTEL, LIVERPOOL, _Tuesday, Oct. 13th, 1868._

As I sent a line to Mary yesterday, I enclose you Alfred's letter.
Please send it on to her when you next write to Penton.

I have just now written to Mrs. Forster, asking her to explain to Miss
Forster how she could have an easy-chair or a sofa behind my side screen
on Tuesday, without occasioning the smallest inconvenience to anybody.
Also, how she would have a door close at hand, leading at once to cool
passages and a quiet room, etc. etc. etc. It is a sad story.

We had a fine house here last night, and a large turn-away. "Marigold"
and "Trial" went immensely. I doubt if "Marigold" were ever more
enthusiastically received. "Copperfield" and "Bob" to-night, and a large
let. This notwithstanding election meetings and all sorts of things.

My favourite room brought my voice round last night, and I am in
considerable force.

Dolby sends kindest regard, and the message: "Everton toffee shall not
be forgotten."


[Sidenote: Mr. Henry Fielding Dickens.]

                ADELPHI HOTEL, LIVERPOOL, _Thursday, Oct. 15th, 1868._

MY DEAR HARRY,

I have your letter here this morning. I enclose you another cheque for
twenty-five pounds, and I write to London by this post, ordering three
dozen sherry, two dozen port, and three dozen light claret, to be sent
down to you.

Now, observe attentively. We must have no shadow of debt. Square up
everything whatsoever that it has been necessary to buy. Let not a
farthing be outstanding on any account, when we begin together with your
allowance. Be particular in the minutest detail.

I wish to have no secret from you in the relations we are to establish
together, and I therefore send you Joe Chitty's letter bodily. Reading
it, you will know exactly what I know, and will understand that I treat
you with perfect confidence. It appears to me that an allowance of two
hundred and fifty pounds a year will be handsome for all your wants, if
I send you your wines. I mean this to include your tailor's bills as
well as every other expense; and I strongly recommend you to buy nothing
in Cambridge, and to take credit for nothing but the clothes with which
your tailor provides you. As soon as you have got your furniture
accounts in, let us wipe all those preliminary expenses clean out, and I
will then send you your first quarter. We will count in it October,
November, and December; and your second quarter will begin with the New
Year. If you dislike, at first, taking charge of so large a sum as
sixty-two pounds ten shillings, you can have your money from me
half-quarterly.

You know how hard I work for what I get, and I think you know that I
never had money help from any human creature after I was a child. You
know that you are one of many heavy charges on me, and that I trust to
your so exercising your abilities and improving the advantages of your
past expensive education, as soon to diminish _this_ charge. I say no
more on that head.

Whatever you do, above all other things keep out of debt and confide in
me. If you ever find yourself on the verge of any perplexity or
difficulty, come to me. You will never find me hard with you while you
are manly and truthful.

As your brothers have gone away one by one, I have written to each of
them what I am now going to write to you. You know that you have never
been hampered with religious forms of restraint, and that with mere
unmeaning forms I have no sympathy. But I most strongly and
affectionately impress upon you the priceless value of the New
Testament, and the study of that book as the one unfailing guide in
life. Deeply respecting it, and bowing down before the character of our
Saviour, as separated from the vain constructions and inventions of men,
you cannot go very wrong, and will always preserve at heart a true
spirit of veneration and humility. Similarly I impress upon you the
habit of saying a Christian prayer every night and morning. These things
have stood by me all through my life, and remember that I tried to
render the New Testament intelligible to you and lovable by you when you
were a mere baby.

And so God bless you.

                                        Ever your affectionate Father.


[Sidenote: Mr. William Charles Kent.]

                                  OFFICE OF "ALL THE YEAR ROUND,"
                                            _Monday, Nov. 16th, 1868._

MY DEAR KENT,

I was on the eve of writing to you.

We thought of keeping the trial private; but Oxenford has suggested to
Chappell that he would like to take the opportunity of to-morrow night's
reading, of saying something about "Oliver" in _Wednesday's paper_.
Chappell has told Levy of this, and also Mr. Tompkin, of _The Post_,
who was there. Consequently, on Wednesday evening your charming article
can come out to the best advantage.

You have no idea of the difficulty of getting in the end of Sikes. As to
the man with the invaluable composition! my dear fellow, believe me, no
audience on earth could be held for ten minutes after the girl's death.
Give them time, and they would be revengeful for having had such a
strain put upon them. Trust me to be right. I stand there, and I know.

Concerning Harry, I like to guide the boys to a distinct choice, rather
than to press it on them. That will be my course as to the Middle
Temple, of which I think as you do.

With cordial thanks for every word in your letter,

                                          Affectionately yours always.


[Sidenote: Mrs. F. Lehmann.]

                 KENNEDY'S HOTEL, EDINBURGH, _Sunday, Dec. 6th, 1868._

MY DEAR MRS. LEHMANN,

I hope you will see Nancy with the light of a great audience upon her
some time between this and May; always supposing that she should not
prove too weird and woeful for the general public.

You know the aspect of this city on a Sunday, and how gay and bright it
is. The merry music of the blithe bells, the waving flags, the
prettily-decorated houses with their draperies of various colours, and
the radiant countenances at the windows and in the streets, how charming
they are! The usual preparations are making for the band in the open
air, in the afternoon; and the usual pretty children (selected for that
purpose) are at this moment hanging garlands round the Scott monument,
preparatory to the innocent Sunday dance round that edifice, with which
the diversions invariably close. It is pleasant to think that these
customs were themselves of the early Christians, those early birds who
_didn't_ catch the worm--and nothing else--and choke their young with
it.

                                              Faithfully yours always.


[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]

                 KENNEDY'S HOTEL, EDINBURGH, _Sunday, Dec. 6th, 1868._

We got down here to our time to the moment; and, considering the length
of the journey, very easily. I made a calculation on the road, that the
railway travelling over such a distance involves something more than
thirty thousand shocks to the nerves. Dolby didn't like it at all.

The signals for a gale were up at Berwick, and along the road between
there and here. It came on just as we arrived, and blew tremendously
hard all night. The wind is still very high, though the sky is bright
and the sun shining. We couldn't sleep for the noise.

We are very comfortably quartered. I fancy that the "business" will be
on the whole better here than in Glasgow, where trade is said to be very
bad. But I think I shall be pretty correct in both places as to the run
being on the final readings.

We are going up Arthur's Seat presently, which will be a pull for our
fat friend.

Scott, in a new Mephistopheles hat, baffles imagination and description.


[Sidenote: Mr. W. Wilkie Collins.]

                KENNEDY'S HOTEL, EDINBURGH, _Tuesday, Dec. 8th, 1868._

MY DEAR WILKIE,

I am hard at it here as usual, though with an audience so finely
perceptive that the labour is much diminished. I have got together in a
very short space the conclusion of "Oliver Twist" that you suggested,
and am trying it daily with the object of rising from that blank state
of horror into a fierce and passionate rush for the end. As yet I cannot
make a certain effect of it; but when I shall have gone over it as many
score of times as over the rest of that reading, perhaps I may strike
one out.

I shall be very glad to hear when you have done your play, and I _am_
glad to hear that you like the steamer. I agree with you about the
reading perfectly. In No. 3 you will see an exact account of some places
I visited at Ratcliffe. There are two little instances in it of
something comic rising up in the midst of the direst misery, that struck
me very humorously at the time.

As I have determined not to do the "Oliver Murder" until after the 5th
of January, when I shall ascertain its effect on a great audience, it is
curious to notice how the shadow of its coming affects the Scotch mind.
There was such a disposition to hold back for it here (until I return to
finish in February) that we had next to no "let" when we arrived. It all
came with a rush yesterday. They gave me a most magnificent welcome back
from America last night.

I am perpetually counting the weeks before me to be "read" through, and
am perpetually longing for the end of them; and yet I sometimes wonder
whether I shall miss something when they are over.

It is a very, very bad day here, very dark and very wet. Dolby is over
at Glasgow, and I am sitting at a side window looking up the length of
Prince's Street, watching the mist change over the Castle and murdering
Nancy by turns.

                                                  Ever affectionately.

P.S.--I have read the whole of Fitzgerald's "Zero," and the idea is
exceedingly well wrought out.


[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]

              KENNEDY'S HOTEL, EDINBURGH, _Saturday, Dec. 12th, 1868._

I send another _Scotsman_ by this post, because it is really a good
newspaper, well written, and well managed. We had an immense house here
last night, and a very large turn-away.

We have four guests to dinner to-day: Peter Fraser, Ballantyne, John
Blackwood, and Mr. Russel. Immense preparations are making in the
establishment, "on account," Mr. Kennedy says, "of a' four yon chiels
being chiels wha' ken a guid dinner." I enquired after poor Doctor Burt,
not having the least idea that he was dead.

My voice holds out splendidly so far, and I have had no return of the
American. But I sleep very indifferently indeed.

It blew appallingly here the night before last, but the wind has since
shifted northward, and it is now bright and cold. The _Star of Hope_,
that picked up those shipwrecked people in the boat, came into Leith
yesterday, and was received with tremendous cheers. Her captain must be
a good man and a noble fellow.


[Sidenote: The same.]

                KENNEDY'S HOTEL, EDINBURGH, _Monday, Dec. 14th, 1868._

The dinner-party of Saturday last was an immense success. Russel swore
on the occasion that he would go over to Belfast expressly to dine with
me at the Finlays'. Ballantyne informed me that he was going to send you
some Scotch remembrance (I don't know what) at Christmas!

The Edinburgh houses are very fine. The Glasgow room is a big wandering
place, with five prices in it, which makes it the more aggravating, as
the people get into knots which they can't break, as if they were afraid
of one another.

Forgery of my name is becoming popular. You sent me, this morning, a
letter from Russell Sturgis, answering a supposed letter of mine
(presented by "Miss Jefferies"), and assuring me of his readiness to
give not only the ten pounds I asked for, but any contribution I wanted,
towards sending that lady and her family back to Boston.

I wish you would take an opportunity of forewarning Lady Tennent that
the first night's reading she will attend is an experiment quite out of
the way, and that she may find it rather horrible.

The keeper of the Edinburgh Hall, a fine old soldier, presented me, on
Friday night, with the finest red camellia for my button-hole that ever
was seen. Nobody can imagine how he came by it, as the florists had had
a considerable demand for that colour from ladies in the stalls, and
could get no such thing.

The day is dark, wet, and windy. The weather is likely to be vile indeed
at Glasgow, where it always rains, and where the sun is never seen
through the smoke. We go over there to-morrow at ten.


[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]

                                 CARRICK'S ROYAL HOTEL, GLASGOW,
                                           _Tuesday, Dec. 15th, 1868._

It occurs to me that my table at St. James's Hall might be appropriately
ornamented with a little holly next Tuesday. If the two front legs were
entwined with it, for instance, and a border of it ran round the top of
the fringe in front, with a little sprig by way of bouquet at each
corner, it would present a seasonable appearance.

If you will think of this, and will have the materials ready in a little
basket, I will call for you at the office at half-past twelve on
Tuesday, and take you up to the hall, where the table will be ready for
you.

No news, except that we had a great crush and a wonderful audience in
Edinburgh last night.


[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]

                                 CARRICK'S ROYAL HOTEL, GLASGOW,
                                         _Wednesday, Dec. 16th, 1868._

This is to report all well, except that I have wretched nights. The
weather is diabolical here, and times are very bad. I cut "Copperfield"
with a bold dexterity that amazed myself and utterly confounded George
at the wing; knocking off that and "Bob" by ten minutes to ten.

I don't know anything about the Liverpool banquet, except from _The
Times_. As I don't finish there in February (as they seem to have
supposed), but in April, it may, perhaps, stand over or blow over
altogether. Such a thing would be a serious addition to the work, and
yet refusal on my part would be too ungracious.

The density and darkness of this atmosphere are fearful. I shall be
heartily glad to start for Edinburgh again on Friday morning.


[Sidenote: The same.]

                KENNEDY'S HOTEL, EDINBURGH, _Friday, Dec. 18th, 1868._

I am heartily glad to get back here this afternoon. The day is bright
and cheerful, and the relief from Glasgow inexpressible. The
affectionate regard of the people exceeds all bounds, and is shown in
every way. The manager of the railway being at the reading the other
night, wrote to me next morning, saying that a large saloon should be
prepared for my journey up, if I would let him know when I purposed
making the journey. On my accepting the offer he wrote again, saying
that he had inspected "our Northern saloons," and not finding them so
convenient for sleeping in as the best English, had sent up to King's
Cross for the best of the latter; which I would please consider my own
carriage as long as I wanted it. The audiences do everything but
embrace me, and take as much pains with the readings as I do.

I find your Christmas present (just arrived) to be a haggis and
shortbread!


[Sidenote: Mr. J. C. Parkinson.]

                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,
                                                _Christmas Day, 1868._

MY DEAR PARKINSON,

When your letter was delivered at "All the Year Round" Office yesterday,
I was attending a funeral. It comes to hand here consequently to-day.

I am diffident of addressing Mr. Gladstone on the subject of your desire
to be appointed to the vacant Commissionership of Inland Revenue,
because, although my respect for him and confidence in him are second to
those of no man in England (a bold word at this time, but a truthful
one), my personal acquaintance with him is very slight. But you may
make, through any of your friends, any use you please of this letter,
towards the end of bringing its contents under Mr. Gladstone's notice.

In expressing my conviction that you deserve the place, and are in every
way qualified for it, I found my testimony upon as accurate a knowledge
of your character and abilities as anyone can possibly have acquired. In
my editorship both of "Household Words" and "All the Year Round," you
know very well that I have invariably offered you those subjects of
political and social interest to write upon, in which integrity,
exactness, a remarkable power of generalising evidence and balancing
facts, and a special clearness in stating the case, were indispensable
on the part of the writer. My confidence in your powers has never been
misplaced, and through all our literary intercourse you have never been
hasty or wrong. Whatever trust you have undertaken has been so
completely discharged, that it has become my habit to read your proofs
rather for my own edification than (as in other cases) for the detection
of some slip here or there, or the more pithy presentation of the
subject.

That your literary work has never interfered with the discharge of your
official duties, I may assume to be at least as well known to your
colleagues as it is to me. It is idle to say that if the post were in my
gift you should have it, because you have had, for some years, most of
the posts of high trust that have been at my disposal. An excellent
public servant in your literary sphere of action, I should be heartily
glad if you could have this new opportunity of distinguishing yourself
in the same character. And this is at least unselfish in me, for I
suppose I should then lose you?

                                              Always faithfully yours.


[Sidenote: Mr. Edward Bulwer Lytton Dickens.]

          LETTER TO HIS YOUNGEST SON ON HIS DEPARTURE FOR
                       AUSTRALIA IN 1868.[27]

MY DEAREST PLORN,

I write this note to-day because your going away is much upon my mind,
and because I want you to have a few parting words from me to think of
now and then at quiet times. I need not tell you that I love you dearly,
and am very, very sorry in my heart to part with you. But this life is
half made up of partings, and these pains must be borne. It is my
comfort and my sincere conviction that you are going to try the life for
which you are beat fitted. I think its freedom and wildness more suited
to you than any experiment in a study or office would ever have been;
and without that training, you could have followed no other suitable
occupation.

What you have already wanted until now has been a set, steady, constant
purpose. I therefore exhort you to persevere in a thorough determination
to do whatever you have to do as well as you can do it. I was not so old
as you are now when I first had to win my food, and do this out of this
determination, and I have never slackened in it since.

Never take a mean advantage of anyone in any transaction, and never be
hard upon people who are in your power. Try to do to others, as you
would have them do to you, and do not be discouraged if they fail
sometimes. It is much better for you that they should fail in obeying
the greatest rule laid down by our Saviour, than that you should.

I put a New Testament among your books, for the very same reasons, and
with the very same hopes that made me write an easy account of it for
you, when you were a little child; because it is the best book that ever
was or will be known in the world, and because it teaches you the best
lessons by which any human creature who tries to be truthful and
faithful to duty can possibly be guided. As your brothers have gone
away, one by one, I have written to each such words as I am now writing
to you, and have entreated them all to guide themselves by this book,
putting aside the interpretations and inventions of men.

You will remember that you have never at home been wearied about
religious observances or mere formalities. I have always been anxious
not to weary my children with such things before they are old enough to
form opinions respecting them. You will therefore understand the better
that I now most solemnly impress upon you the truth and beauty of the
Christian religion, as it came from Christ Himself, and the
impossibility of your going far wrong if you humbly but heartily respect
it.

Only one thing more on this head. The more we are in earnest as to
feeling it, the less we are disposed to hold forth about it. Never
abandon the wholesome practice of saying your own private prayers, night
and morning. I have never abandoned it myself, and I know the comfort of
it.

I hope you will always be able to say in after life, that you had a kind
father. You cannot show your affection for him so well, or make him so
happy, as by doing your duty.

                                             Your affectionate Father.

FOOTNOTES:

[20] The Agricultural College, Cirencester.

[21] "No Thoroughfare."

[22] The Mr. H. F. Chorley so often mentioned was the well-known musical
critic, and a dear and intimate friend of Charles Dickens and his
family. We have no letters to him, Mr. Chorley having destroyed all his
correspondence before his death.

[23] Mr. Chauncey Hare Townshend. He was one of the dearest friends of
Charles Dickens and a very constant correspondent; but no letters
addressed to him are in existence.

[24] An American family of brothers and a sister who came to London to
give a musical entertainment shortly after Charles Dickens's return from
his first visit to America. He had a great interest in, and liking for,
these young people.

[25] Cousin and adopted child of Mr. and Mrs. Austin.

[26] A model of a Swiss chalet, and a present from M. Charles Fechter,
used by Charles Dickens as a summer writing-room.

[27] This letter has been already published by Mr. Forster in his
"Life."




1869.

NARRATIVE.


The "Farewell Readings" in town and country were resumed immediately
after the beginning of this year, and were to have been continued until
the end of May. The work was even harder than it had ever been. Charles
Dickens began his country tour in Ireland early in January, and read
continuously in all parts of England and Scotland until the end of
April. A public dinner (in commemoration of his last readings in the
town) was given to him at Liverpool on the 10th April. Besides all this
severe country work, he was giving a series of readings at St. James's
Hall, and reading the "Murder" from "Oliver Twist," in London and in the
country, frequently four times a week. In the second week of February, a
sudden and unusually violent attack of the old trouble in his foot made
it imperatively necessary to postpone a reading at St. James's Hall, and
to delay for a day or two his departure for Scotland. The foot continued
to cause him pain and inconvenience, but, as will be seen from his
letters, he generally spoke of himself as otherwise well, until he
arrived at Preston, where he was to read on the 22nd of April. The day
before this appointed reading, he writes home of some grave symptoms
which he had observed in himself, and had reported to his doctor, Mr. F.
Carr Beard. That gentleman, taking alarm at what he considered
"indisputable evidences of overwork," wisely resolved not to content
himself with written consultations, but went down to Preston on the day
appointed for the reading there, and, after seeing his patient,
peremptorily stopped it, carried him off to Liverpool, and the next day
to London. There he consulted Sir Thomas Watson, who entirely
corroborated Mr. Beard's opinion. And the two doctors agreed that the
course of readings must be stopped for this year, and that reading,
_combined with travelling_, must be stopped _for ever_. Charles Dickens
had no alternative but to acquiesce in this verdict; but he felt it
keenly, not only for himself, but for the sake of the Messrs. Chappell,
who showed the most disinterested kindness and solicitude on the
occasion. He at once returned home to Gad's Hill, and the rest and quiet
of the country restored him, for the time, to almost his usual condition
of health and spirits. But it was observed, by all who loved him, that
from this time forth he never regained his old vigour and elasticity.
The attack at Preston was the "beginning of the end!"

During the spring and summer of this year, he received visits from many
dearly valued American friends. In May, he stayed with his daughter and
sister-in-law for two or three weeks at the St. James's Hotel,
Piccadilly, having promised to be in London at the time of the arrival
of Mr. and Mrs. Fields, of Boston, who visited Europe, accompanied by
Miss Mabel Lowell (the daughter of the famous American poet) this year.
Besides these friends, Mr. and Mrs. Childs, of Philadelphia--from whom
he had received the greatest kindness and hospitality, and for whom he
had a hearty regard--Dr. Fordyce Barker and his son, Mr. Eytinge (an
illustrator of an American edition of Charles Dickens's works), and Mr.
Bayard Taylor paid visits to Gad's Hill, which were thoroughly enjoyed
by Charles Dickens and his family. This last summer was a very happy
one. He had the annual summer visitors and parties of his friends in the
neighbourhood. He was, as usual, projecting improvements in his beloved
country home; one, which he called the "crowning improvement of all,"
was a large conservatory, which was to be added during the absence of
the family in London in the following spring.

The state of Mr. Wills's health made it necessary for him now to retire
altogether from the editorship of "All the Year Round." Charles
Dickens's own letters express the regret which he felt at the
dissolution of this long and always pleasant association. Mr. Wills's
place at the office was filled by Charles Dickens's eldest son, now sole
editor and proprietor of the journal.

In September Charles Dickens went to Birmingham, accompanied by his son
Harry, and presided at the opening of the session of (what he calls in
his letter to Mr. Arthur Ryland, "_our_ Institution") the Midland
Institute. He made a speech on education to the young students, and
promised to go back early in the following year and distribute the
prizes. In one of the letters which we give to Mr. Ryland, he speaks of
himself as "being in full force again," and "going to finish his
farewell readings soon after Christmas." He had obtained the sanction of
Sir Thomas Watson to giving twelve readings, _in London only_, which he
had fixed for the beginning of the following year.

The letter to his friend Mr. Finlay, which opens the year, was in reply
to a proposal for a public banquet at Belfast, projected by the Mayor of
that town, and conveyed through Mr. Finlay. This gentleman was at that
time proprietor of _The Northern Whig_ newspaper at Belfast, and he was
son-in-law to Mr. Alexander Russel, editor of _The Scotsman_.

Charles Dickens's letter this New Year to M. de Cerjat was his last.
That faithful and affectionate friend died very shortly afterwards.

To Miss Mary Boyle he writes to acknowledge a New Year's gift, which he
had been much touched by receiving from her, at a time when he knew she
was deeply afflicted by the sudden death of her brother, Captain
Cavendish Boyle, for whom Charles Dickens had a true regard and
friendship.

While he was giving his series of London readings in the spring, he
received a numerously signed circular letter from actors and actresses
of the various London theatres. They were very curious about his new
reading of the "Oliver Twist" murder, and representing to him the
impossibility of their attending an evening, requested him to give a
morning reading, for their especial benefit. We give his answer,
complying with the request. And the occasion was, to him, a most
gratifying and deeply interesting one.

The letter to Mr. Edmund Ollier was in answer to an invitation to be
present at the inauguration of a bust of Mr. Leigh Hunt, which was to be
placed over his grave at Kensal Green.

The letter to Mr. Shirley Brooks, the well-known writer, who succeeded
Mr. Mark Lemon as editor of "Punch," and for whom Charles Dickens had a
cordial regard, was on the subject of a memorial on behalf of Mrs. Peter
Cunningham, whose husband had recently died.

The "remarkable story," of which he writes to his daughter in August,
was called "An Experience." It was written by a lady (who prefers to be
anonymous) who had been a contributor to "Household Words" from its
first starting, and was always highly valued in this capacity by Charles
Dickens.

Our latest letters for this year are in October. One to Mr. Charles
Kent, sympathising with him on a disappointment which he had experienced
in a business undertaking, and one to Mr. Macready, in which he tells
him of his being in the "preliminary agonies" of a new book. The first
number of "Edwin Drood" was to appear before the end of his course of
readings in March; and he was at work so long beforehand with a view to
sparing himself, and having some numbers ready before the publication of
the first one.


[Sidenote: Mr. F. D. Finlay.]

                          THE ATHENAEUM (CLUB), _New Year's Day, 1869._

MY DEAR FINLAY,

First my heartfelt wishes for many prosperous and happy years. Next, as
to the mayor's kind intentions. I feel really grateful to him and
gratified by the whole idea, but acceptance of the distinction on my
part would be impracticable. My time in Ireland is all anticipated, and
I could not possibly prolong my stay, because I _must_ be back in London
to read on Tuesday fortnight, and then must immediately set forth for
the West of England. It is not likely, besides, that I shall get through
these farewells before the end of May. And the work is so hard, and my
voice is so precious, that I fear to add an ounce to the fatigue, or I
might be overweighted. The avoidance of gas and crowds when I am not in
the act of being cooked before those lights of mine, is an essential
part of the training to which (as I think you know) I strictly adhere,
and although I have accepted the Liverpool invitation, I have done so as
an exception; the Liverpool people having always treated me in our
public relations with a kind of personal affection.

I am sincerely anxious that the Mayor of Belfast should know how the
case stands with me. If you will kindly set me straight and right, I
shall be truly obliged to you.

My sister-in-law has been very unwell (though she is now much better),
and is recommended a brisk change. As she is a good sailor, I mean to
bring her to Ireland with me; at which she is highly delighted.

                                                Faithfully yours ever.


[Sidenote: M. de Cerjat.]

                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,
                                             _Monday, Jan. 4th, 1869._

MY DEAR CERJAT,

I will answer your question first. Have I done with my farewell
readings? Lord bless you, no; and I shall think myself well out of it if
I get done by the end of May. I have undertaken one hundred and six, and
have as yet only vanquished twenty-eight. To-morrow night I read in
London for the first time the "Murder" from "Oliver Twist," which I have
re-arranged for the purpose. Next day I start for Dublin and Belfast. I
am just back from Scotland for a few Christmas holidays. I go back there
next month; and in the meantime and afterwards go everywhere else.

Take my guarantee for it, you may be quite comfortable on the subject of
papal aspirations and encroachments. The English people are in
unconquerable opposition to that church. They have the animosity in the
blood, derived from the history of the past, though perhaps
unconsciously. But they do sincerely want to win Ireland over if they
can. They know that since the Union she has been hardly used. They know
that Scotland has _her_ religion, and a very uncomfortable one. They
know that Scotland, though intensely anti-papal, perceives it to be
unjust that Ireland has not _her_ religion too, and has very
emphatically declared her opinion in the late elections. They know that
a richly-endowed church, forced upon a people who don't belong to it, is
a grievance with these people. They know that many things, but
especially an artfully and schemingly managed institution like the
Romish Church, thrive upon a grievance, and that Rome has thriven
exceedingly upon this, and made the most of it. Lastly, the best among
them know that there is a gathering cloud in the West, considerably
bigger than a man's hand, under which a powerful Irish-American body,
rich and active, is always drawing Ireland in that direction; and that
these are not times in which other powers would back our holding Ireland
by force, unless we could make our claim good in proving fair and equal
government.

Poor Townshend charged me in his will "to publish without alteration his
religious opinions, which he sincerely believed would tend to the
happiness of mankind." To publish them without alteration is absolutely
impossible; for they are distributed in the strangest fragments through
the strangest note-books, pocket-books, slips of paper and what not, and
produce a most incoherent and tautological result. I infer that he must
have held some always-postponed idea of fitting them together. For these
reasons I would certainly publish nothing about them, if I had any
discretion in the matter. Having none, I suppose a book must be made.
His pictures and rings are gone to the South Kensington Museum, and are
now exhibiting there.

Charley Collins is no better and no worse. Katie looks very young and
very pretty. Her sister and Miss Hogarth (my joint housekeepers) have
been on duty this Christmas, and have had enough to do. My boys are now
all dispersed in South America, India, and Australia, except Charley,
whom I have taken on at "All the Year Round" Office, and Henry, who is
an undergraduate at Trinity Hall, and I hope will make his mark there.
All well.

The Thames Embankment is (faults of ugliness in detail apart) the finest
public work yet done. From Westminster Bridge to near Waterloo it is now
lighted up at night, and has a fine effect. They have begun to plant it
with trees, and the footway (not the road) is already open to the
Temple. Besides its beauty, and its usefulness in relieving the crowded
streets, it will greatly quicken and deepen what is learnedly called
the "scour" of the river. But the Corporation of London and some other
nuisances have brought the weirs above Twickenham into a very bare and
unsound condition, and they already begin to give and vanish, as the
stream runs faster and stronger.

Your undersigned friend has had a few occasional reminders of his "true
American catarrh." Although I have exerted my voice very much, it has
not yet been once touched. In America I was obliged to patch it up
constantly.

I like to read your patriarchal account of yourself among your Swiss
vines and fig-trees. You wouldn't recognise Gad's Hill now; I have so
changed it, and bought land about it. And yet I often think that if Mary
were to marry (which she won't) I should sell it and go genteelly
vagabondising over the face of the earth. Then indeed I might see
Lausanne again. But I don't seem in the way of it at present, for the
older I get, the more I do and the harder I work.

                                            Yours ever affectionately.


[Sidenote: Miss Mary Boyle.]

                                  OFFICE OF "ALL THE YEAR ROUND,"
                                          _Wednesday, Jan. 6th, 1869._

MY DEAR MARY,

I was more affected than you can easily believe, by the sight of your
gift lying on my dressing-table on the morning of the new year. To be
remembered in a friend's heart when it is sore is a touching thing; and
that and the remembrance of the dead quite overpowered me, the one being
inseparable from the other.

You may be sure that I shall attach a special interest and value to the
beautiful present, and shall wear it as a kind of charm. God bless you,
and may we carry the friendship through many coming years!

My preparations for a certain murder that I had to do last night have
rendered me unfit for letter-writing these last few days, or you would
have heard from me sooner. The crime being completely off my mind and
the blood spilled, I am (like many of my fellow-criminals) in a highly
edifying state to-day.

                            Ever believe me, your affectionate Friend.


[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]

                                TORQUAY, _Wednesday, Jan. 27th, 1869._

MY DEAREST MAMIE,

We have been doing immensely.

This place is most beautiful, though colder now than one would expect.
This hotel, an immense place, built among picturesque broken rocks out
in the blue sea, is quite delicious. There are bright green trees in the
garden, and new peas a foot high. Our rooms are _en suite_, all
commanding the sea, and each with two very large plate-glass windows.
Everything good and well served.

A _pantomime_ was being done last night, in the place where I am to read
to-night. It is something between a theatre, a circus, a riding-school,
a Methodist chapel, and a cow-house. I was so disgusted with its
acoustic properties on going in to look at it, that the whole
unfortunate staff have been all day, and now are, sticking up baize and
carpets in it to prevent echoes.

I have rarely seen a more uncomfortable edifice than I thought it last
night.

At Clifton, on Monday night, we had a contagion of fainting. And yet the
place was not hot. I should think we had from a dozen to twenty ladies
borne out, stiff and rigid, at various times. It became quite
ridiculous.


[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]

                                      BATH, _Friday, Jan. 29th, 1869._

MY DEAREST GEORGY,

You must not trust blank places in my list, because many have been, and
will be, gradually filled up. After the Tuesday's reading in London, I
have TWO for that same week in the country--Nottingham and Leicester. In
the following week I have none; but my arrangements are all at sea as
yet, for I must somehow and somewhere do an "Uncommercial" in that week,
and I also want to get poor Chauncey's "opinions" to the printer.

This mouldy old roosting-place comes out mouldily as to let of course. I
hate the sight of the bygone assembly-rooms, and the Bath chairs
trundling the dowagers about the streets. As to to-morrow morning in the
daylight!----

I have no cold to speak of. Dolby sends kindest regard.


[Sidenote: Mrs. Lehmann.]

                                  OFFICE, _Wednesday, Feb. 3rd, 1869._

DEAR MRS. LEHMANN,

Before getting your kind note, I had written to Lehmann, explaining why
I cannot allow myself any social pleasure while my farewell task is yet
unfinished. The work is so very hard, that every little scrap of rest
_and silence_ I can pick up is precious. And even those morsels are so
flavoured with "All the Year Round," that they are not quite the genuine
article.

Joachim[28] came round to see me at the hall last night, and I told him
how sorry I was to forego the pleasure of meeting him (he is a noble
fellow!) at your pleasant table.

I am glad you are coming to the "Murder" on the 2nd of March. (The house
will be prodigious.) Such little changes as I have made shall be
carefully presented to your critical notice, and I hope will be crowned
with your approval. But you are always such a fine audience that I have
no fear on that head. I saw Chorley yesterday in his own room. A sad and
solitary sight. The widowed Drake, with a certain _gin_coherence of
manner, presented a blooming countenance and buxom form in the passage;
so buxom indeed that she was obliged to retire before me like a modest
stopper, before I could get into the dining decanter where poor Chorley
reposed.

                                              Faithfully yours always.

P.S.--My love to Rudie.


[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]

                                 GLASGOW, _Thursday, Feb. 25th, 1869._

I received your letter at Edinburgh this morning. I did not write to you
yesterday, as there had been no reading on the previous night.

The foot bears the fatigue wonderfully well, and really occasions me no
inconvenience beyond the necessity of wearing the big work of art. Syme
saw me again this morning, and utterly scouted the gout notion
altogether. I think the Edinburgh audience understood the "Murder"
better last night than any audience that has heard it yet. "Business" is
enormous, and Dolby jubilant.

It is a most deplorable afternoon here, deplorable even for Glasgow. A
great wind blowing, and sleet driving before it in a storm of heavy
blobs. We had to drive our train dead in the teeth of the wind, and got
in here late, and are pressed for time.

Strange that in the North we have had absolutely no snow. There was a
very thin scattering on the Pentlands for an hour or two, but no more.


[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]

                                 EDINBURGH, _Friday, Feb. 26th, 1869._

Writing to-morrow morning would be all but impracticable for me; would
be quite so for Dolby, who has to go to the agents and "settle up" in
the midst of his breakfast. So I write to-day, in reply to your note
received at Glasgow this morning.

The foot conducts itself splendidly. We had a most enormous cram at
Glasgow. Syme saw me again yesterday (before I left here for Glasgow),
and repeated "Gout!" with the greatest indignation and contempt, several
times. The aching is going off as the day goes on, if it be worth
mentioning again. The ride from Glasgow was charming this morning; the
sun shining brilliantly, and the country looking beautiful.

I told you what the Nortons were. Mabel Lowell is a charming little
thing, and very retiring in manner and expression.

We shall have a scene here to-night, no doubt. The night before last,
Ballantyne, unable to get in, had a seat behind the screen, and was
nearly frightened off it by the "Murder." Every vestige of colour had
left his face when I came off, and he sat staring over a glass of
champagne in the wildest way. I have utterly left off _my_ champagne,
and, I think, with good results. Nothing during the readings but a very
little weak iced brandy-and-water.

I hope you will find me greatly improved on Tuesday.


[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]

                                BIRMINGHAM, _Friday, March 5th, 1869._

This is to send you my best love, and to wish you many and many happy
returns of to-morrow, which I miraculously remember to be your
birthday.

I saw this morning a very pretty fan here. I was going to buy it as a
remembrance of the occasion, when I was checked by a dim misgiving that
you had a fan not long ago from Chorley. Tell me what you would like
better, and consider me your debtor in that article, whatever it may be.

I have had my usual left boot on this morning, and have had an hour's
walk. It was in a gale of wind and a simoom of dust, but I greatly
enjoyed it. Immense enthusiasm at Wolverhampton last night over
"Marigold." Scott made a most amazing ass of himself yesterday. He
reported that he had left behind somewhere three books--"Boots,"
"Murder," and "Gamp." We immediately telegraphed to the office. Answer,
no books there. As my impression was that he must have left them at St.
James's Hall, we then arranged to send him up to London at seven this
morning. Meanwhile (though not reproached), he wept copiously and
audibly. I had asked him over and over again, was he sure he had not put
them in my large black trunk? Too sure, too sure. Hadn't opened that
trunk after Tuesday night's reading. He opened it to get some clothes
out when I went to bed, and there the books were! He produced them with
an air of injured surprise, as if we had put them there.


[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]

                 QUEEN'S HOTEL, MANCHESTER, _Sunday, March 7th, 1869._

We have had our sitting-room chimney afire this morning, and have had to
turn out elsewhere to breakfast; but the chamber has since been cleaned
up, and we are reinstated. Manchester is (_for_ Manchester) bright and
fresh.

Tell Russell that a crop of hay is to be got off the meadow this year,
before the club use it. They did not make such use of it last year as
reconciles me to losing another hay-crop. So they must wait until the
hay is in, before they commence active operations.

Poor Olliffe! I am truly sorry to read those sad words about his
suffering, and fear that the end is not far off.

We are very comfortably housed here, and certainly that immense hall is
a wonderful place for its size. Without much greater expenditure of
voice than usual, I a little enlarged the action last night, and Dolby
(who went to all the distant points of view) reported that he could
detect no difference between it and any other place. As always happens
now--and did not at first--they were unanimously taken by Noah
Claypole's laugh. But the go, throughout, was enormous. Sims Reeves was
doing Henry Bertram at the theatre, and of course took some of our
shillings. It was a night of excitement for Cottonopolis.

I received from Mrs. Keeley this morning a very good photograph of poor
old Bob. Yesterday I had a letter from Harry, reminding me that our
intended Cambridge day is the day next after that of the boat-race.
Clearly it must be changed.


[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]

              QUEEN'S HOTEL, MANCHESTER, _Saturday, March 20th, 1869._

Getting yours and its enclosure, Mary's note, at two this afternoon, I
write a line at once in order that you may have it on Monday morning.

The Theatre Royal, Liverpool, will be a charming place to read in.
Ladies are to dine at the dinner, and we hear it is to be a very grand
affair. Dolby is doubtful whether it may not "hurt the business," by
drawing a great deal of money in another direction, which I think
possible enough. Trade is very bad _here_, and the gloom of the Preston
strike seems to brood over the place. The Titiens Company have been
doing wretchedly. I should have a greater sympathy with them if they
were not practising in the next room now.

My love to Letitia and Harriette,[29] wherein Dolby (highly gratified by
being held in remembrance) joins with the same to you.


[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]

                               MANCHESTER, _Sunday, March 21st, 1869._

Will you tell Mary that I have had a letter from Frith, in which he says
that he will be happy to show her his pictures "any day in the first
week of April"? I have replied that she will be proud to receive his
invitation. His object in writing was to relieve his mind about the
"Murder," of which he cannot say enough.

Tremendous enthusiasm here last night, calling in the most thunderous
manner after "Marigold," and again after the "Trial," shaking the great
hall, and cheering furiously.

Love to all.


[Sidenote: Mr. John Clarke.]

                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,
                                        _Wednesday, March 24th, 1869._

LADIES AND GENTLEMEN,

I beg to assure you that I am much gratified by the desire you do me the
honour to express in your letter handed to me by Mr. John Clarke.

Before that letter reached me, I had heard of your wish, and had
mentioned to Messrs. Chappell that it would be highly agreeable to me to
anticipate it, if possible. They readily responded, and we agreed upon
having three morning readings in London. As they are not yet publicly
announced, I add a note of the days and subjects:

Saturday, May 1st. "Boots at the Holly-Tree Inn," and "Sikes and Nancy"
from "Oliver Twist."

Saturday, May 8th. "The Christmas Carol."

Saturday, May 22nd. "Sikes and Nancy" from "Oliver Twist," and "The
Trial" from "Pickwick."

With the warmest interest in your art, and in its claims upon the
general gratitude and respect,

                            Believe me, always faithfully your Friend.


[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]

                  ADELPHI HOTEL, LIVERPOOL, _Sunday, April 4th, 1869._

By this post I send to Mary the truly affecting account of poor dear
Katie Macready's death. It is as sorrowful as anything so peaceful and
trustful can be!

Both my feet are very tender, and often feel as though they were in hot
water. But I was wonderfully well and strong, thank God! and had no end
of voice for the two nights running in that great Birmingham hall. We
had enormous houses.

So far as I understand the dinner arrangements here, they are much too
long. As to the acoustics of that hall, and the position of the tables
(both as bad as bad can be), my only consolation is that, if anybody can
be heard, _I_ probably can be. The honorary secretary tells me that six
hundred people are to dine. The mayor, being no speaker and out of
health besides, hands over the toast of the evening to Lord Dufferin.
The town is full of the festival. The Theatre Royal, touched up for the
occasion, will look remarkably bright and well for the readings, and our
lets are large. It is remarkable that our largest let as yet is for
Thursday, not Friday. I infer that the dinner damages Friday, but Dolby
does not think so. There appears to be great curiosity to hear the
"Murder." (On Friday night last I read to two thousand people, and odd
hundreds.)

I hear that Anthony Trollope, Dixon, Lord Houghton, Lemon, Esquiros (of
the _Revue des Deux Mondes_), and Sala are to be called upon to speak;
the last, for the newspaper press. All the Liverpool notabilities are to
muster. And Manchester is to be represented by its mayor with due
formality.

I had been this morning to look at St. George's Hall, and suggest what
can be done to improve its acoustics. As usually happens in such cases,
their most important arrangements are already made and unchangeable. I
should not have placed the tables in the committee's way at all, and
could certainly have placed the dais to much greater advantage. So all
the good I could do was to show where banners could be hung with some
hope of stopping echoes. Such is my small news, soon exhausted. We
arrived here at three yesterday afternoon; it is now mid-day; Chorley
has not yet appeared, but he had called at the local agent's while I was
at Birmingham.

It is a curious little instance of the way in which things fit together
that there is a ship-of-war in the Mersey, whose flags and so forth are
to be brought up to St. George's Hall for the dinner. She is the
_Donegal_, of which Paynter told me he had just been captain, when he
told me all about Sydney at Bath.

One of the pleasantest things I have experienced here this time, is the
manner in which I am stopped in the streets by working men, who want to
shake hands with me, and tell me they know my books. I never go out but
this happens. Down at the docks just now, a cooper with a fearful
stutter presented himself in this way. His modesty, combined with a
conviction that if he were in earnest I would see it and wouldn't repel
him, made up as true a piece of natural politeness as I ever saw.


[Sidenote: Miss Hogarth.]

             IMPERIAL HOTEL, BLACKPOOL, _Wednesday, April 21st, 1869._

I send you this hasty line to let you know that I have come to this
sea-beach hotel (charming) for a day's rest. I am much better than I was
on Sunday, but shall want careful looking to, to get through the
readings. My weakness and deadness are all _on the left side_, and if I
don't look at anything I try to touch with my left hand, I don't know
where it is. I am in (secret) consultation with Frank Beard; he
recognises, in the exact description I have given him, indisputable
evidences of overwork, which he would wish to treat immediately. So I
have said: "Go in and win."

I have had a delicious walk by the sea to-day, and I sleep soundly, and
have picked up amazingly in appetite. My foot is greatly better too, and
I wear my own boot.


[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]

                        PRESTON, _Thursday Evening, April 22nd, 1869._

_Don't be in the least alarmed._ Beard has come down, and instantly
echoes my impression (perfectly unknown to him), that the readings must
be _stopped_. I have had symptoms that must not be disregarded. I go to
Liverpool to-night with him (to get away from here), and proceed to the
office to-morrow.


[Sidenote: The Lord John Russell.]

                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,
                                          _Wednesday, May 26th, 1869._

MY DEAR LORD RUSSELL,

I have delayed answering your kind letter, in order that you might get
home before I wrote. I am happy to report myself quite well again, and I
shall be charmed to come to Pembroke Lodge on any day that may be most
convenient to Lady Russell and yourself after the middle of June.

You gratify me beyond expression by your reference to the Liverpool
dinner. I made the allusion to you with all my heart at least, and it
was most magnificently received.

I beg to send my kind regard to Lady Russell, with many thanks for her
remembrance, and am ever,

                               My dear Lord Russell, faithfully yours.


[Sidenote: Mr. W. H. Wills.]

                                  OFFICE OF "ALL THE YEAR ROUND,"
                                          _Thursday, June 24th, 1869._

MY DEAR WILLS,

At a great meeting[30] compounded of your late "Chief," Charley, Morley,
Grieve, and Telbin, your letter was read to-day, and a very sincere
record of regret and thanks was placed on the books of the great
institution.

Many thanks for the suggestion about the condition of churches. I am so
aweary of church questions of all sorts that I am not quite clear as to
tackling this. But I am turning it in my mind. I am afraid of two
things: firstly, that the thing would not be picturesquely done;
secondly, that a general cucumber-coolness would pervade the mind of our
circulation.

Nothing new here but a speaking-pipe, a post-box, and a mouldy smell
from some forgotten crypt--an extra mouldy smell, mouldier than of yore.
Lillie sniffs, projects one eye into nineteen hundred and ninety-nine,
and does no more.

I have been to Chadwick's, to look at a new kind of cottage he has built
(very ingenious and cheap).

We were all much disappointed last Saturday afternoon by a neighbouring
fire being only at a carpenter's, and not at Drury Lane Theatre.
Ellen's[31] child having an eye nearly poked out by a young friend, and
being asked whether the young friend was not very sorry afterwards,
replied: "No. _She_ wasn't. _I_ was."

London execrable.

                                            Ever affectionately yours.

P.S.--Love to Mrs. Wills.


[Sidenote: Mr. Shirley Brooks.]

                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,
                                           _Tuesday, July 12th, 1869._

MY DEAR BROOKS,

I have appended my sign manual to the memorial, which I think is very
discreetly drawn up. I have a strong feeling of sympathy with poor Mrs.
Cunningham, for I remember the pretty house she managed charmingly. She
has always done her duty well, and has had hard trials. But I greatly
doubt the success of the memorial, I am sorry to add.

It was hotter here yesterday on this Kentish chalk than I have felt it
anywhere for many a day. Now it is overcast and raining hard, much to
the satisfaction of great farmers like myself.

I am glad to infer from your companionship with the Cocked Hats, that
there is no such thing as gout within several miles of you. May it keep
its distance.

                               Ever, my dear Brooks, faithfully yours.


[Sidenote: Mr. W. C. Macready.]

                               GAD'S HILL, _Tuesday, July 20th, 1869._

MY DEAREST MACREADY,

I have received your letter here to-day, and deeply feel with you and
for you the affliction of poor dear Katie's loss. I was not unprepared
for the sad news, but it comes in such a rush of old remembrances and
withered joys that strikes to the heart.

God bless you! Love and youth are still beside you, and in that thought
I take comfort for my dear old friend.

I am happy to report myself perfectly well and flourishing. We are just
now announcing the resumption and conclusion of the broken series of
farewell readings in a London course of twelve, beginning early in the
new year.

Scarcely a day has gone by this summer in which we have not talked of
you and yours. Georgina, Mary, and I continually speak of you. In the
spirit we certainly are even more together than we used to be in the
body in the old times. I don't know whether you have heard that Harry
has taken the second scholarship (fifty pounds a year) at Trinity Hall,
Cambridge. The bigwigs expect him to do a good deal there.

Wills having given up in consequence of broken health (he has been my
sub-editor for twenty years), I have taken Charley into "All the Year
Round." He is a very good man of business, and evinces considerable
aptitude in sub-editing work.

This place is immensely improved since you were here, and really is now
very pretty indeed. We are sorry that there is no present prospect of
your coming to see it; but I like to know of your being at the sea, and
having to do--_from the beach_, as Mrs. Keeley used to say in "The
Prisoner of War"--with the winds and the waves and all their freshening
influences.

I dined at Greenwich a few days ago with Delane. He asked me about you
with much interest. He looks as if he had never seen a printing-office,
and had never been out of bed after midnight.

Great excitement caused here by your capital news of Butty. I suppose
Willy has at least a dozen children by this time.

Our loves to the noble boy and to dear Mrs. Macready.

                            Ever, my dearest Macready,
                                       Your attached and affectionate.


[Sidenote: Mr. Edmund Ollier.]

                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,
                                            _Tuesday, Aug. 3rd, 1869._

MY DEAR MR. OLLIER,

I am very sensible of the feeling of the Committee towards me; and I
receive their invitation (conveyed through you) as a most acceptable
mark of their consideration.

But I have a very strong objection to speech-making beside graves. I do
not expect or wish my feeling in this wise to guide other men; still, it
is so serious with me, and the idea of ever being the subject of such a
ceremony myself is so repugnant to my soul, that I must decline to
officiate.

                                              Faithfully yours always.


[Sidenote: Miss Dickens.]

      OFFICE OF "ALL THE YEAR ROUND," NO. 26, WELLINGTON STREET,
                             STRAND, LONDON, W.C.,
                                            _Tuesday, Aug. 3rd, 1869._

MY DEAREST MAMIE,

I send you the second chapter of the remarkable story. The printer is
late with it, and I have not had time to read it, and as I altered it
considerably here and there, I have no doubt there are some verbal
mistakes in it. However, they will probably express themselves.

But I offer a prize of six pairs of gloves--between you, and your aunt,
and Ellen Stone, as competitors--to whomsoever will tell me what idea in
this second part is mine. I don't mean an idea in language, in the
turning of a sentence, in any little description of an action, or a
gesture, or what not in a small way, but an idea, distinctly affecting
the whole story _as I found it_. You are all to assume that I found it
in the main as you read it, with one exception. If I had written it, I
should have made the woman love the man at last. And I should have
shadowed that possibility out, by the child's bringing them a little
more together on that holiday Sunday.

But I didn't write it. So, finding that it wanted something, I put that
something in. What was it?

Love to Ellen Stone.


[Sidenote: Mr. Arthur Ryland.]

                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,
                                            _Friday, Aug. 13th, 1869._

MY DEAR MR. RYLAND,

Many thanks for your letter.

I have very strong opinions on the subject of speechification, and hold
that there is, everywhere, a vast amount too much of it. A sense of
absurdity would be so strong upon me, if I got up at Birmingham to make
a flourish on the advantages of education in the abstract for all sorts
and conditions of men, that I should inevitably check myself and present
a surprising incarnation of the soul of wit. But if I could interest
myself in the practical usefulness of the particular institution; in the
ways of life of the students; in their examples of perseverance and
determination to get on; in their numbers, their favourite studies, the
number of hours they must daily give to the work that must be done for a
livelihood, before they can devote themselves to the acquisition of new
knowledge, and so forth, then I could interest others. This is the kind
of information I want. Mere holding forth "I utterly detest, abominate,
and abjure."

I fear I shall not be in London next week. But if you will kindly send
me here, at your leisure, the roughest notes of such points as I have
indicated, I shall be heartily obliged to you, and will take care of
their falling into shape and order in my mind. Meantime I "make a note
of" Monday, 27th September, and of writing to you touching your kind
offer of hospitality, three weeks before that date.

I beg to send my kind regard to Mrs. and Miss Ryland, and am always,

                                                Very faithfully yours.


[Sidenote: Mr. Frederic Ouvry.]

                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,
                                            _Sunday, Aug. 22nd, 1869._

MY DEAR OUVRY,

I will expect a call from you at the office, on Thursday, at your own
most convenient hour. I admit the soft impeachment concerning Mrs. Gamp:
I likes my payments to be made reg'lar, and I likewise likes my
publisher to draw it mild.

                                                           Ever yours.


[Sidenote: Mr. Arthur Ryland.]

                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,
                                            _Monday, Sept. 6th, 1869._

MY DEAR MR. RYLAND,

I am sorry to find--I had a foreshadowing of it some weeks ago--that I
shall not be able to profit by your kind offer of hospitality when I
come to Birmingham for _our_ Institution. I must come down in time for a
quiet dinner at the hotel with my "Readings" secretary, Mr. Dolby, and
must away next morning. Besides having a great deal in hand just now
(the title of a new book among other things), I shall have visitors from
abroad here at the time, and am severely claimed by my daughter, who
indeed is disloyal to Birmingham in the matter of my going away at all.
Pray represent me to Mrs. Ryland as the innocent victim of
circumstances, and as sacrificing pleasure to the work I have to do, and
to the training under which alone I can do it without feeling it.

You will see from the enclosed that I am in full force, and going to
finish my readings, please God, after Christmas. I am in the hope of
receiving your promised notes in due course, and continue in the
irreverent condition in which I last reported myself on the subject of
speech-making. Now that men not only make the nights of the session
hideous by what the Americans call "orating" in Parliament, but trouble
the peace of the vacation by saying over again what they said there
(with the addition of what they _didn't_ say there, and never will have
the courage to say there), I feel indeed that silence, like gold across
the Atlantic, is a rarity at a premium.

                                              Faithfully yours always.


[Sidenote: Mr. William Charles Kent.]

                                  OFFICE OF "ALL THE YEAR ROUND,"
                                          _Thursday, Oct. 7th, 1869._

MY DEAR KENT,

I felt that you would be deeply disappointed. I thought it better not to
make the first sign while you were depressed, but my mind has been
constantly with you. And not mine alone. You cannot think with what
affection and sympathy you have been made the subject of our family
dinner talk at Gad's Hill these last three days. Nothing could exceed
the interest of my daughters and my sister-in-law, or the earnestness of
their feeling about it. I have been really touched by its warm and
genuine expression.

Cheer up, my dear fellow; cheer up, for God's sake. That is, for the
sake of all that is good in you and around you.

                                        Ever your affectionate Friend.


[Sidenote: Mr. W. C. Macready.]

                                GAD'S HILL, _Monday, Oct. 18th, 1869._

MY DEAREST MACREADY,

I duly received your letter nearly a fortnight ago, with the greatest
interest and pleasure. Above all things I am delighted with the prospect
of seeing you here next summer; a prospect which has been received with
nine times nine and one more by the whole house. You will hardly know
the place again, it is so changed. You are not expected to admire, but
there _is_ a conservatory building at this moment--be still, my soul!

This leaves me in the preliminary agonies of a new book, which I hope to
begin publishing (in twelve numbers, not twenty) next March. The coming
readings being all in London, and being, after the first fortnight, only
once a week, will divert my attention very little, I hope.

Harry has just gone up to Cambridge again, and I hope will get a
fellowship in good time.

Wills is much gratified by your remembrance, and sends you his warm
regard. He wishes me to represent that he is very little to be pitied.
That he suffers no pain, scarcely inconvenience, even, so long as he is
idle. That he likes idleness exceedingly. He has bought a country place
by Welwyn in Hertfordshire, near Lytton's, and takes possession
presently.

My boy Sydney is now a second lieutenant, the youngest in the Service, I
believe. He has the highest testimonials as an officer.

You may be quite sure there will be no international racing in American
waters. Oxford knows better, or I am mistaken. The Harvard crew were a
very good set of fellows, and very modest.

Ryland of Birmingham doesn't look a day older, and was full of interest
in you, and asked me to remind you of him. By-the-bye, at Elkington's I
saw a pair of immense tea-urns from a railway station (Stafford), sent
there to be repaired. They were honeycombed within in all directions,
and had been supplying the passengers, under the active agency of hot
water, with decomposed lead, copper, and a few other deadly poisons, for
heaven knows how many years!

I must leave off in a hurry to catch the post, after a hard day's work.

                  Ever, my dearest Macready,
                                  Your most affectionate and attached.

FOOTNOTES:

[28] Herr Joseph Joachim, the renowned violinist.

[29] His sister-in-law, Mrs. Augustus Dickens, always a welcome visitor
at Gad's Hill.

[30] Of the Guild of Literature and Art.

[31] The housekeeper at the office.




1870.

NARRATIVE.


Charles Dickens passed his last Christmas and New Year's Day at Gad's
Hill, with a party of family and friends, in the usual way, except that
he was suffering again from an attack of the foot trouble, particularly
on Christmas Day, when he was quite disabled by it and unable to walk at
all--able only to join the party in the evening by keeping his room all
day. However, he was better in a day or two, and early in January he
went to London, where he had taken the house of his friends, Mr. and
Mrs. Milner Gibson, for the season.

His series of "Farewell Readings" at St. James's Hall began in January,
and ended on the 16th March. He was writing "Edwin Drood" also, and was,
of course, constantly occupied with "All the Year Round" work. In the
beginning of January, he fulfilled his promise of paying a second visit
to Birmingham and making a speech, of which he writes in his last letter
to Mr. Macready.

For his last reading he gave the "Christmas Carol" and "The Trial" from
"Pickwick," and at the end of the evening he addressed a few farewell
words to his audience. It was a memorable and splendid occasion. He was
very deeply affected by the loving enthusiasm of his greeting, and it
was a real sorrow to him to give up for ever the personal associations
with thousands of the readers of his books. But when the pain, mingled
with pleasure, of this last reading was over, he felt greatly the relief
of having undisturbed time for his own quieter pursuits, and looked
forward to writing the last numbers of "Edwin Drood" at Gad's Hill,
where he was to return in June.

The last public appearance of any kind that he made was at the Royal
Academy dinner in May. He was at the time far from well, but he made a
great effort to be present and to speak, from his strong desire to pay a
tribute to the memory of his dear old friend Mr. Maclise, who died in
April.

Her Majesty having expressed a wish, conveyed through Mr. Helps
(afterwards Sir Arthur Helps), to have a personal interview with Charles
Dickens, he accompanied Mr. Helps to Buckingham Palace one afternoon in
March. He was most graciously and kindly received by her Majesty, and
came away with a hope that the visit had been mutually agreeable. The
Queen presented him with a copy of her "Journal in the Highlands," with
an autograph inscription. And he had afterwards the pleasure of
requesting her acceptance of a set of his books. He attended a levee
held by the Prince of Wales in April, and the last time he dined out in
London was at a party given by Lord Houghton for the King of the
Belgians and the Prince of Wales, who had both expressed a desire to
meet Charles Dickens. All through the season he had been suffering, at
intervals, from the swollen foot, and on this occasion it was so bad,
that up to the last moment it was very doubtful whether he could fulfil
his engagement.

We have very few letters for this year, and none of any very particular
interest, but we give them all, as they are _the last_.

Mr. S. L. Fildes was his "new illustrator," to whom he alludes in a note
to Mr. Frith; we also give a short note to Mr. Fildes himself.

The correspondence of Charles Dickens with Mrs. Dallas Glyn, the
celebrated actress, for whom he had a great friendship, is so much on
the subject of her own business, that we have only been able to select
two notes of any public interest.

In explanation of _the last letter_, we give an extract from a letter
addressed to _The Daily News_ by Mr. J. M. Makeham, soon after the death
of Charles Dickens, as follows: "That the public may exactly understand
the circumstances under which Charles Dickens's letter to me was
written, I am bound to explain that it is in reply to a letter which I
addressed to him in reference to a passage in the tenth chapter of
"Edwin Drood," respecting which I ventured to suggest that he had,
perhaps, forgotten that the figure of speech alluded to by him, in a way
which, to my certain knowledge, was distasteful to some of his admirers,
was drawn from a passage of Holy Writ which is greatly reverenced by a
large number of his countrymen as a prophetic description of the
sufferings of our Saviour."

The MS. of the little "History of the New Testament" is now in the
possession of his eldest daughter. She has (together with her aunt)
received many earnest entreaties, both from friends and strangers, that
this history might be allowed to be published, for the benefit of other
children.

These many petitions have his daughter's fullest sympathy. But she knows
that her father wrote this history ONLY for his own children, that it
was his particular wish that it never should be published, and she
therefore holds this wish as sacred and irrevocable.


[Sidenote: Mr. W. H. Wills.]

            5, HYDE PARK PLACE, LONDON, W., _Sunday, Jan. 23rd, 1870._

MY DEAR WILLS,

In the note I had from you about Nancy and Sikes, you seem to refer to
some other note you had written me. Therefore I think it well merely to
mention that I have received no other note.

I do not wonder at your not being up to the undertaking (even if you had
had no cough) under the wearing circumstances. It was a very curious
scene. The actors and actresses (most of the latter looking very pretty)
mustered in extraordinary force, and were a fine audience. I set myself
to carrying out of themselves and their observation, those who were bent
on watching how the effects were got; and I believe I succeeded. Coming
back to it again, however, I feel it was madness ever to do it so
continuously. My ordinary pulse is seventy-two, and it runs up under
this effort to one hundred and twelve. Besides which, it takes me ten or
twelve minutes to get my wind back at all; I being, in the meantime,
like the man who lost the fight--in fact, his express image. Frank Beard
was in attendance to make divers experiments to report to Watson; and
although, as you know, he stopped it instantly when he found me at
Preston, he was very much astonished by the effects of the reading on
the reader.

So I hope you may be able to come and hear it before it is silent for
ever. It is done again on the evenings of the 1st February, 15th
February, and 8th March. I hope, now I have got over the mornings, that
I may be able to work on my book. But up to this time the great
preparation required in getting the subjects up again, and the twice a
week besides, have almost exclusively occupied me.

I have something the matter with my right thumb, and can't (as you see)
write plainly. I sent a word to poor Robert Chambers,[32] and I send my
love to Mrs. Wills.

                            Ever, my dear Wills, affectionately yours.


[Sidenote: Mrs. Dallas.]

                                  OFFICE OF "ALL THE YEAR ROUND,"
                                         _Wednesday, Jan. 16th, 1870._

MY DEAR MRS. DALLAS,

It is perfectly delightful to me to get your fervent and sympathetic
note this morning. A thousand thanks for it. I will take care that two
places on the front row, by my daughter, are reserved for your occasion
next time. I cannot see you in too good a seat, or too often.

                               Believe me, ever very faithfully yours.


[Sidenote: Mr. S. L. Fildes.]

                                  OFFICE OF "ALL THE YEAR ROUND,"
                                         _Wednesday, Jan. 16th, 1870._

DEAR SIR,

I beg to thank you for the highly meritorious and interesting specimens
of your art that you have had the kindness to send me. I return them
herewith, after having examined them with the greatest pleasure.

I am naturally curious to see your drawing from "David Copperfield," in
order that I may compare it with my own idea. In the meanwhile, I can
honestly assure you that I entertain the greatest admiration for your
remarkable powers.

                                                     Faithfully yours.


[Sidenote: Mr. Henry Fielding Dickens.]

                  5, HYDE PARK PLACE, W., _Thursday, Feb. 17th, 1870._

MY DEAR HARRY,

I am extremely glad to hear that you have made a good start at the
Union. Take any amount of pains about it; open your mouth well and
roundly, speak to the last person visible, and give yourself time.

Loves from all.

                                                  Ever affectionately.


[Sidenote: Mr. W. C. Macready.]

                                         _Wednesday, March 2nd, 1870._

MY DEAREST MACREADY,

This is to wish you and yours all happiness and prosperity at the
well-remembered anniversary to-morrow. You may be sure that loves and
happy returns will not be forgotten at _our_ table.

I have been getting on very well with my book, and we are having immense
audiences at St. James's Hall. Mary has been celebrating the first
glimpses of spring by having the measles. She got over the disorder very
easily, but a weakness remains behind. Katie is blooming. Georgina is in
perfect order, and all send you their very best loves. It gave me true
pleasure to have your sympathy with me in the second little speech at
Birmingham. I was determined that my Radicalism should not be called in
question. The electric wires are not very exact in their reporting, but
at all events the sense was there. Ryland, as usual, made all sorts of
enquiries about you.

With love to dear Mrs. Macready and the noble boy my particular friend,
and a hearty embrace to you,

                          I am ever, my dearest Macready,
                                               Your most affectionate.


[Sidenote: Mr. ----.]

                                  OFFICE OF "ALL THE YEAR ROUND,"
                                         _Wednesday, March 9th, 1870._

MY DEAR ----,

You make me very uneasy on the subject of your new long story here, by
sowing your name broadcast in so many fields at once, and undertaking
such an impossible amount of fiction at one time. Just as you are coming
on with us, you have another story in progress in "The Gentleman's
Magazine," and another announced in "Once a Week." And so far as I know
the art we both profess, it cannot be reasonably pursued in this way. I
think the short story you are now finishing in these pages obviously
marked by traces of great haste and small consideration; and a long
story similarly blemished would really do the publication irreparable
harm.

These considerations are so much upon my mind that I cannot forbear
representing them to you, in the hope that they may induce you to take a
little more into account the necessity of care and preparation, and some
self-denial in the quantity done. I am quite sure that I write fully as
much in your interest as in that of "All the Year Round."

                                  Believe me, always faithfully yours.


[Sidenote: The same.]

                   5, HYDE PARK PLACE, W., _Friday, March 11th, 1870._

MY DEAR ----,

Of course the engagement between us is to continue, and I am sure you
know me too well to suppose that I have ever had a thought to the
contrary. Your explanation is (as it naturally would be, being yours)
manly and honest, and I am both satisfied and hopeful.

                                                           Ever yours.


[Sidenote: Mr. William Charles Kent.]

                 5, HYDE PARK PLACE, W., _Saturday, March 26th, 1870._

MY DEAR KENT,

I received both copies of _The Sun_, with the tenderest pleasure and
gratification.

Everything that I can let you have in aid of the proposed record[33]
(which, _of course_, would be far more agreeable to me if done by you
than by any other hand), shall be at your service. Dolby has all the
figures relating to America, and you shall have for reference the books
from which I read. They are afterwards going into Forster's
collection.[34]

                                                  Ever affectionately.


[Sidenote: Mr. Henry Fielding Dickens.]

                  5, HYDE PARK PLACE, W., _Tuesday, March 29th, 1870._

MY DEAR HARRY,

Your next Tuesday's subject is a very good one. I would not lose the
point that narrow-minded fanatics, who decry the theatre and defame its
artists, are absolutely the advocates of depraved and barbarous
amusements. For wherever a good drama and a well-regulated theatre
decline, some distorted form of theatrical entertainment will infallibly
arise in their place. In one of the last chapters of "Hard Times," Mr.
Sleary says something to the effect: "People will be entertained
thomehow, thquire. Make the betht of uth, and not the wortht."

                                                  Ever affectionately.


[Sidenote: Mr. Shirley Brooks.]

                    5, HYDE PARK PLACE, W., _Friday, April 1st, 1870._

MY DEAR SHIRLEY BROOKS,

I have written to Mr. Low, expressing my regret that I cannot comply
with his request, backed as it is by my friend S. B. But I have told him
what is perfectly true--that I leave town for the peaceful following of
my own pursuits, at the end of next month; that I have excused myself
from filling all manner of claims, on the ground that the public
engagements I could make for the season were very few and were all made;
and that I cannot bear hot rooms when I am at work. I have smoothed this
as you would have me smooth it.

With your longing for fresh air I can thoroughly sympathise. May you get
it soon, and may you enjoy it, and profit by it half as much as I wish!

                                                Ever faithfully yours.


[Sidenote: Mr. W. P. Frith, R.A.]

                 5, HYDE PARK PLACE, W., _Saturday, April 16th, 1870._

MY DEAR FRITH,

I shall be happy to go on Wednesday evening, if convenient.

You please me with what you say of my new illustrator, of whom I have
great hopes.

                                                Faithfully yours ever.


[Sidenote: Mr. William Charles Kent.]

                                   _Monday Morning, April 25th, 1870._

MY DEAR KENT,

I received your book[35] with the greatest pleasure, and heartily thank
you for it. It is a volume of a highly prepossessing appearance, and a
most friendly look. I felt as if I should have taken to it at sight;
even (a very large even) though I had known nothing of its contents, or
of its author!

For the last week I have been most perseveringly and ding-dong-doggedly
at work, making headway but slowly. The spring always has a restless
influence over me; and I weary, at any season, of this London dining-out
beyond expression; and I yearn for the country again. This is my excuse
for not having written to you sooner. Besides which, I had a baseless
conviction that I should see you at the office last Thursday. Not having
done so, I fear you must be worse, or no better? If you _can_ let me
have a report of yourself, pray do.


[Sidenote: Mrs. Frederick Pollock.]

                      5, HYDE PARK PLACE, W., _Monday, May 2nd, 1870._

MY DEAR MRS. POLLOCK,

Pray tell the illustrious Philip van Artevelde, that I will deal with
the nefarious case in question if I can. I am a little doubtful of the
practicability of doing so, and frisking outside the bounds of the law
of libel. I have that high opinion of the law of England generally,
which one is likely to derive from the impression that it puts all the
honest men under the diabolical hoofs of all the scoundrels. It makes me
cautious of doing right; an admirable instance of its wisdom!

I was very sorry to have gone astray from you that Sunday; but as the
earlier disciples entertained angels unawares, so the later often miss
them haphazard.

Your description of La Font's acting is the complete truth in one short
sentence: Nature's triumph over art; reversing the copy-book axiom! But
the Lord deliver us from Plessy's mechanical ingenuousness!!

And your petitioner will ever pray.

And ever be,

                                                     Faithfully yours.


[Sidenote: Mrs. E. M. Ward.]

                  5, HYDE PARK PLACE, W., _Wednesday, May 11th, 1870._

MY DEAR MRS. WARD,

I grieve to say that I am literally laid by the heels, and incapable of
dining with you to-morrow. A neuralgic affection of the foot, which
usually seizes me about twice a year, and which will yield to nothing
but days of fomentation and horizontal rest, set in last night, and has
caused me very great pain ever since, and will too clearly be no better
until it has had its usual time in which to wear itself out. I send my
kindest regard to Ward, and beg to be pitied.

                                  Believe me, faithfully yours always.


[Sidenote: Mr. William Charles Kent.]

                    5, HYDE PARK PLACE, W., _Tuesday, May 17th, 1870._

MY DEAR KENT,

Many, many thanks! It is only my neuralgic foot. It has given me such a
sharp twist this time that I have not been able, in its extreme
sensitiveness, to put any covering upon it except scalding fomentations.
Having viciously bubbled and blistered it in all directions, I hope it
now begins to see the folly of its ways.

                                                  Affectionately ever.

P.S.--I hope the Sun shines.


[Sidenote: Mrs. Bancroft.]

                    GAD'S HILL PLACE, HIGHAM BY ROCHESTER, KENT,
                                           _Thursday, May 31st, 1870._

MY DEAR MRS. BANCROFT,[36]

I am most heartily obliged to you for your kind note, which I received
here only last night, having come here from town circuitously to get a
little change of air on the road. My sense of your interest cannot be
better proved than by my trying the remedy you recommend, and that I
will do immediately. As I shall be in town on Thursday, my troubling you
to order it would be quite unjustifiable. I will use your name in
applying for it, and will report the result after a fair trial. Whether
this remedy succeeds or fails as to the neuralgia, I shall always
consider myself under an obligation to it for having indirectly procured
me the great pleasure of receiving a communication from you; for I hope
I may lay claim to being one of the most earnest and delighted of your
many artistic admirers.

                                         Believe me, faithfully yours.

FOOTNOTES:

[32] On the death of his second wife.

[33] Of the Readings. The intention was carried out. Mr. Kent's book,
"Charles Dickens as a Reader," was published in 1872.

[34] No doubt Charles Dickens intended to add the Reading Books to the
legacy of his MSS. to Mr. Forster. But he did not do so, therefore the
"Readings" are not a part of the "Forster Collection" at the South
Kensington Museum.

[35] A new collective edition of "Kent's Poems," dedicated to his
cousin, Colonel Kent, of the 77th Regiment.

[36] Miss Marie Wilton.




TWO LAST LETTERS.


[Sidenote: Mr. William Charles Kent.]


[Illustration: Gad's Hill Place,
                          Higham by Rochester, Kent.[37]

        HW: Wednesday Eighth June 1870


HW: Dear Kent

Tomorrow is a very bad day for me to make a call, as, in addition to my
usual office business, I have a mass of accounts to settle with Wills.
But I hope I may be ready for you at 3 o'clock. If I can't be--why, then
I shan't be.

You must really get rid of those Opal enjoyments. They are too
overpowering:

"These violent delights have violent ends."

I think it was a father of your churches who made the wise remark to a
young gentleman who got up early (or stayed out late) at Verona?

                                 Ever affectionately
                                             Signature: ChD]



[Sidenote: Mr. John M. Makeham.]

                               =Gad's Hill Place,=
                                          =Higham by Rochester, Kent.=

[Illustration: HW: Wednesday Eighth June 1870

Dear Sir

It would be quite inconceivable I think--but for your
letter--that any reasonable reader could possibly attach a scriptural
reference to a passage in a book of mine, reproducing a much abused
social figure of speech, impressed into all sorts of service on all
sorts of inappropriate occasions, without the faintest connexion of it
with its original source. I am truly shocked to find that any reader can
make the mistake

I have always striven in my writings to express veneration for the life
and lessons of our Saviour; because I feel it; and because I re-wrote
that history for my children--every one of whom knew it from having it
repeated to them--long before they could read, and almost as soon as
they could speak.

But I have never made proclamation of this from the house tops

                                          Faithfully Yours,
                                                       Charles Dickens

John M. Markham Esq.]

All through this spring in London, Charles Dickens had been ailing in
health, and it was remarked by many friends that he had a weary look,
and was "aged" and altered. But he was generally in good spirits, and
his family had no uneasiness about him, relying upon the country quiet
and comparative rest at Gad's Hill to have their usual influence in
restoring his health and strength. On the 2nd June he attended a private
play at the house of Mr. and Mrs. Freake, where his two daughters were
among the actresses. The next day he went back to Gad's Hill. His
daughter Kate (whose home was there at all times when she chose, and
almost always through the summer months) went down on Sunday, the 5th
June, for a day's visit, to see the "great improvement of the
conservatory." Her father laughingly assured her she had now seen "the
last" improvement at Gad's Hill. At this time he was tolerably well, but
she remarked to her sister and aunt how strangely he was tired, and what
a curious grey colour he had in his face after a very short walk on that
Sunday afternoon. However, he seemed quite himself again in the evening.
The next day his daughter Kate went back, accompanied by her sister, who
was to pay her a short visit, to London.

Charles Dickens was very hard at work on the sixth number of "Edwin
Drood." On the Monday and Tuesday he was well, but he was unequal to
much exercise. His last walk was one of his greatest favourites--through
Cobham Park and Wood--on the afternoon of Tuesday.

On the morning of Wednesday, the 8th (one of the loveliest days of a
lovely summer), he was very well; in excellent spirits about his book,
of which he said he _must_ finish his number that day--the next
(Thursday) being the day of his weekly visit to "All the Year Round"
office. Therefore, he would write all day in the Chalet, and take no
walk or drive until the evening. In the middle of the day he came to the
house for an hour's rest, and smoked a cigar in the conservatory--out of
which new addition to the house he was taking the greatest personal
enjoyment--and seemed perfectly well, and exceedingly cheerful and
hopeful. When he came again to the house, about an hour before the time
fixed for the early dinner, he seemed very tired, silent, and absorbed.
But this was so usual with him after a day of engrossing work, that it
caused no alarm or surprise to his sister-in-law--the only member of his
household who happened to be at home. He wrote some letters--among them,
these last letters which we give--in the library of the house, and also
arranged many trifling business matters, with a view to his departure
for London the next morning. He was to be accompanied, on his return at
the end of the week, by Mr. Fildes, to introduce the "new illustrator"
to the neighbourhood in which many of the scenes of this last book of
Charles Dickens, as of his first, were laid.

It was not until they were seated at the dinner-table that a striking
change in the colour and expression of his face startled his
sister-in-law, and on her asking him if he was ill, he said, "Yes, very
ill; I have been very ill for the last hour." But on her expressing an
intention of sending instantly for a doctor, he stopped her, and said:
"No, he would go on with dinner, and go afterwards to London." And then
he made an effort to struggle against the fit that was fast coming on
him, and talked, but incoherently, and soon very indistinctly. It being
now evident that he _was_ ill, and very seriously ill, his sister-in-law
begged him to come to his own room before she sent off for medical help.
"Come and lie down," she entreated. "Yes, on the ground," he said, very
distinctly--these were the last words he spoke--and he slid from her
arm, and fell upon the floor.

The servants brought a couch into the dining-room, where he was laid. A
messenger was despatched for Mr. Steele, the Rochester doctor, and with
a telegram to his doctor in London, and to his daughters. This was a few
minutes after six o'clock.

His daughters arrived, with Mr. Frank Beard, this same evening. His
eldest son the next morning, and his son Henry and his sister Letitia in
the evening of the 9th--too late, alas!

All through the night, Charles Dickens never opened his eyes, or showed
a sign of consciousness. In the afternoon of the 9th, Dr. Russell
Reynolds arrived at Gad's Hill, having been summoned by Mr. Frank Beard
to meet himself and Mr. Steele. But he could only confirm their hopeless
verdict, and made his opinion known with much kind sympathy, to the
family, before returning to London.

Charles Dickens remained in the same unconscious state until the evening
of this day, when, at ten minutes past six, the watchers saw a shudder
pass over him, heard him give a deep sigh, saw one tear roll down his
cheek, and he was gone from them. And as they saw the dark shadow steal
across his calm, beautiful face, not one among them--could they have
been given such a power--would have recalled his sweet spirit back to
earth.

As his family were aware that Charles Dickens had a wish to be buried
near Gad's Hill, arrangements were made for his burial in the pretty
churchyard of Shorne, a neighbouring village, of which he was very fond.
But this intention was abandoned in consequence of a pressing request
from the Dean and Chapter of Rochester Cathedral that his remains might
be placed there. A grave was prepared and everything arranged, when it
was made known to the family, through Dean Stanley, that there was a
general and very earnest desire that Charles Dickens should find his
resting-place in Westminster Abbey. To such a fitting tribute to his
memory they could make no possible objection, although it was with great
regret that they relinquished the idea of laying him in a place so
closely identified with his life and his works. His name,
notwithstanding, is associated with Rochester, a tablet to his memory
having been placed by his executors on the wall of Rochester Cathedral.

With regard to Westminster Abbey, his family only stipulated that the
funeral might be made as private as possible, and that the words of his
will, "I emphatically direct that I be buried in an inexpensive,
unostentatious, and strictly private manner," should be religiously
adhered to. And so they were. The solemn service in the vast cathedral
being as private as the most thoughtful consideration could make it.

The family of Charles Dickens were deeply grateful to all in authority
who so carried out his wishes. And more especially to Dean Stanley and
to the (late) Lady Augusta Stanley, for the tender sympathy shown by
them to the mourners on this day, and also on Sunday, the 19th, when the
Dean preached his beautiful funeral sermon.

As during his life Charles Dickens's fondness for air, light, and gay
colours amounted almost to a passion, so when he lay dead in the home he
had so dearly loved, these things were not forgotten.

The pretty room opening into the conservatory (from which he had never
been removed since his seizure) was kept bright with the most beautiful
of all kinds of flowers, and flooded with the summer sun:

        "And nothing stirred in the room. The old, old
        fashion. The fashion that came in with our
        first garments, and will last unchanged until
        our race has run its course, and the wide
        firmament is rolled up like a scroll. The old,
        old fashion--death!

        "Oh, thank God, all who see it, for that older
        fashion yet, of immortality!"

FOOTNOTES:

[37] This letter has lately been presented by Mr. Charles Kent to the
British Museum.




INDEX.


  A'Beckett, Gilbert, i. 134

  Actors, Dickens a friend to poor, ii. 134

  Affidavit, a facetious, i. 101

  Agassiz, Professor, ii. 226, 309

  Agate, John, ii. 136;
    letter to, ii. 154

  Ainsworth, W. H., letters to, i. 43, 75, 92

  Alison, Sir Archibald, i. 170

  "All the Year Round," commencement of, ii. 83;
    "The Uncommercial Traveller" in, ii. 107;
    Christmas Numbers of: "The Haunted House," ii. 84;
    "A Message from the Sea," ii. 108, 137;
    "Tom Tiddler's Ground," ii. 136;
    "Somebody's Luggage," ii. 171;
    "Mrs. Lirriper's Lodgings," ii. 187;
    "Mrs. Lirriper's Legacy," ii. 209, 210;
    "Dr. Marigold's Prescriptions," ii. 224, 239, 246;
    "Mugby Junction," ii. 244, 265;
    "No Thoroughfare," ii. 268, 300, 327, 332, 334, 338, 350, 356,
        361, 362, 384;
    and see ii. 386,
    and see Charles Dickens as an Editor

  America, feeling for Dickens in the backwoods of, i. 40, 41;
    Dickens's first visit to, i. 53;
    his welcome in, i. 59;
    his opinion of, i. 60-64;
    freedom of opinion in, i. 61;
    Dickens's levees in, i. 66;
    change of temperature in, i. 66;
    hotel charges in, i. 67;
    midnight rambles in New York, i. 67;
    descriptions of Niagara, i. 69, 70; ii. 372, 377;
    a maid's views on Niagara, i. 72;
    copyright in, i. 71, 73, 74;
    Dickens's tribute to Mrs. Trollope's book on, i. 81;
    press-ridden, i. 97;
    absence of quiet in, i. 98;
    criticisms of Dickens in, i. 151;
    the great war in, ii. 142, 143;
    feeling between England and, ii. 240;
    Dickens's second visit to--the journey, ii. 302-306;
    Dickens's letters on, ii. 306-382;
    fires in, ii. 317, 320;
    treatment of luggage in, ii. 321;
    drinks in, ii. 329, 363;
    literary piracy in, ii. 332;
    walking-match between Dolby and Osgood in, ii. 346, 352, 353,
        360, 361, 364, 366, 377;
    changes and improvements in since Dickens's first visit,
        ii. 348, 374;
    the <DW64>s in, ii. 349;
    personal descriptions of Dickens in, ii. 369;
    travelling in, ii. 375;
    and see Readings

  "American Notes," publication of, i. 54

  Andersen, Hans Christian, ii. 3

  "Animal Magnetism," tag to, written by Dickens, i. 238

  Anne, Mrs. Dickens's maid, i. 72, 414; ii. 18, 25, 28, 343

  "Apprentices, The Tour of the Two Idle," ii. 5, 32, 33

  "Arabian Nights," a mistake in the, i. 88, 89

  Armatage, Isaac, ii. 391

  Armstrong, the Misses, letter to, ii. 175;
    and see ii. 176

  Astley's Theatre, description of a clown at, i. 116

  Austin, Henry, i. 240; ii. 135, 157;
    and see Letters

  Austin, Mrs. Henry, ii. 447;
    letters to, ii. 154, 180, 384

  Author, the highest reward of an, i. 41

  Autobiography, a concise, of Dickens, i. 437

  Autograph of Dickens in 1833, i. 2;
    Dickens leaves his in Shakespeare's room, i. 13;
    of Boz, i. 43;
    of Dickens as Bobadil, i. 195;
    facsimile of Dickens's handwriting in 1856, i. 421;
    facsimile letters of Dickens written the day before his death,
        ii. 443-445


  Babbage, Charles, letters to, i. 86, 87, 186

  Ballantyne, ii. 415

  Bancroft, Mrs., letter to, ii. 441

  Banks, G., i. 273; letter to, i. 296

  Barber, Dickens's gardener, ii. 102

  Barker, Dr. Fordyce, ii. 378, 405

  "Barnaby Rudge" written and published, i. 36;
    Dickens's descriptions of the illustrations of:
      the raven, i. 38;
      the locksmith's house, i. 39;
      rioters in The Maypole, i. 45;
      scene in the ruins of the Warren, i. 46;
      abduction of Dolly Varden, i. 48;
      Lord George Gordon in the Tower, the duel, frontispiece, i. 50;
      Hugh taken to gaol, i. 51

  "Battle of Life, The," dedication of, i. 147, 157;
    Dickens superintends rehearsals of the play of, i. 163, 165, 167;
    sale of, i. 166, 176;
    reception of the play of, i. 167

  Baylis, Mr., ii. 170;
    letter to, ii. 179

  Beadle, a, in office, ii. 134

  Beard, Frank, ii. 182, 405, 421, 434, 447

  Beaucourt, M., i. 297, 357, 439

  Bedstead, a German, i. 128

  Beecher, Ward, ii. 341

  Begging letters, Dickens's answers to, i. 148-150

  Belgians, the King of the, ii. 432

  Benzon, Miss Lily, letter to, ii. 258

  Berry, one of Dickens's readings men, ii. 54, 159, 160

  Bicknell, Henry, i. 215;
    letter to, i. 229

  Biographers, Dickens on, i. 190;
    his opinion of John Forster as a biographer, i. 188-191

  Birthday wishes, i. 51

  "Black-eyed Susan," Dickens as T. P. Cooke in, i. 113;
    a new version of, i. 114

  Blackwood, Mr., ii. 165

  Blair, General, ii. 355

  Blanchard, Laman, letter to, i. 99

  "Bleak House," commenced, i. 241;
    publication of, i. 272;
    Dickens's opinion of, i. 279;
    circulation of, i. 289, 309, 317

  Blessington, Lady, i. 171

  Bobadil, Captain, Dickens plays, i. 134;
    Dickens's remarks on, i. 144;
    a letter after, i. 195

  Book-backs, Dickens's imitation, i. 265, 266

  Book Clubs, established, i. 94;
    Dickens on, i. 104

  Boucicault, Dion, ii. 260, 261

  Boulogne, Dickens at, i. 271, 297, 304-312, 341, 414, 439-448;
    a Shakespearian performance at, i. 308;
    _en fete_, i. 315;
    illuminations at, on the occasion of the Prince Consort's visit,
        i. 362;
    fire at, i. 364;
    condition of, during the Crimean war, i. 365;
    letters descriptive of, i. 305, 306, 309, 312, 357, 358, 360, 372

  Bouncer, Mrs., Miss Dickens's dog, ii. 109, 126, 189, 356

  Bow Street Runners, ii. 178

  Boxall, Sir William, i. 233, 237

  Boyle, Captain Cavendish, ii. 407

  Boyle, Miss Mary, i. 211, 214, 227, 414; ii. 123, 145, 315, 406;
    and see Letters

  Breach of Promise, a new sort of, i. 179

  Breakfast, a Yorkshire, i. 9

  Broadstairs, Dickens at, i. 4, 6, 17, 28, 36, 53, 134, 170, 185,
        213, 240; ii. 84, 99;
    description of lodgings at, i. 33;
    amusements of, i. 180, 182;
    size of Fort House at, i. 254

  Bromley, Sir Richard, ii. 126

  Brookfield, Mrs., letter to, ii. 249

  Brookfield, The Rev. W., letters to, ii. 199, 200

  Brooks, Shirley, ii. 407;
    letters to, ii. 423, 438

  Brougham, Lord, i. 182; ii. 144

  Browne, H. K., i. 6, 13

  Buckstone, J. B., i. 360

  Burnett, Mrs., i. 185


  Cabin, a, on board ship, i. 56

  Campbell, Lord, ii, 144

  Capital punishment, Dickens's views on, i. 209

  Carlisle, the Earl of, letters to, i. 253, 281; ii. 12, 118, 157

  Carlyle, Thomas, ii. 112

  Cartwright, Samuel, ii. 326;
    letter to, ii. 348

  Castlereagh, Lord, i. 245

  Cat-hunting, i. 449

  Cattermole, George, i. 42, 143; ii. 327, 383;
    and see Letters

  Cattermole, Mrs., letters to, ii. 383, 385

  Celeste, Madame, ii. 106

  Cerjat, M. de, i. 147; ii. 406;
    and see Letters

  Chambers, Robert, ii. 167, 434

  Chancery, Dickens on the Court of, i. 450

  Chapman and Hall, Messrs., i. 3;
    letter to, i. 55

  Chappell, Messrs., ii. 244, 245, 267, 309, 326, 405

  Charities, Dickens's sufferings from public, ii. 47

  Children, stories of, i. 223, 365, 420; ii. 196, 359, 423

  Childs, Mr., ii. 337, 405

  "Chimes, The," written, i. 95;
    an attack on cant, i. 118, 129;
    Dickens's opinion of, i. 129, 133;
    Dickens gives a private reading of, i. 133

  Chorley, H. F., ii. 338, 350

  "Christmas Carol, The," publication of, i. 85;
    criticisms on, i. 99

  Christmas greetings, i. 167

  Church, Dickens on the, ii. 221;
    service on board ship, ii. 348;
    Dickens on the Romish, ii. 409, 410

  Circumlocution, Dickens on, ii. 241, 270

  Clarke, John, letter to, ii. 418

  Cockspur Street Society, the, i. 85-87

  Cold, effects of a, i. 92, 93;
    remedy for a, i. 168

  Colden, David, i. 64

  Collins, C. A., ii. 84, 100, 113, 221, 242, 387, 410

  Collins, Wilkie, i. 241, 272, 297, 332, 359, 376, 385, 388, 413,
        414, 447; ii. 33, 84, 108, 170, 268, 292;
    and see Letters

  Comedy, Mr. Webster's offer for a prize, Dickens an imaginary
        competitor, i. 86, 90

  Compton, Mrs., letter to, ii. 22

  Conjuring feats, i. 96;
    and see ii. 243

  Cooke, T. P., i. 113; ii. 4;
    letter to, ii. 21

  Copyright, i. 13;
    Dickens's struggles to secure English, in America, i. 71, 73, 74

  Costello, Dudley, i. 241;
    letters to, i. 104, 205

  Cottage, a cheap, i. 18

  Coutts, Miss, i. 410

  Covent Garden Theatre, Macready retires from management of, i. 18;
    ruins of, i. 430;
    a scene at, ii. 133

  "Cricket on the Hearth, The," i. 135, 145

  Croker, J. Crofton, i. 272;
    letter to, i. 275

  Cruikshank, George, i. 170

  Cunningham, Mrs., ii. 423

  Cunningham, Peter, i. 186, 407;
    letters to, i. 195, 270, 312, 356


  Dacres, Sir Sydney, ii. 329

  _Daily News, The_, started, i. 135

  Dallas, Mrs., letters to, ii. 195, 434

  Dallas, Mr., ii. 235

  "David Copperfield," dedication of, i. 147;
    purpose of Little Emily in, i. 211;
    success of, i. 211;
    reading of, i. 377, 382;
    Dickens's favourite work, i. 382;
    and see i. 204, 221, 227, 279

  Deane, F. H., letter to, i. 68

  Delane, John, i. 298; ii. 425;
    letter to, i. 314

  De la Rue, Mr., ii. 210

  Devonshire, the Duke of, letters to, i. 437, 443, 457

  Devrient, Emil, i. 277

  Dickens, Charles, at Furnival's Inn, i. 1;
    his marriage, i. 1;
    employed as a parliamentary reporter, i. 1;
    spends his honeymoon at Chalk, Kent, i. 1;
    employed on _The Morning Chronicle_, i. 2;
    removes to Doughty Street, i. 4;
    writes for the stage, i. 4, 5, 7, 16, 17;
    his visit to the Yorkshire schools, i. 6;
    at Twickenham Park, i. 6;
    his visits to Broadstairs, see Broadstairs;
    his visit to Stratford-on-Avon and Kenilworth, i. 6, 12;
    in Shakespeare's room, i. 13;
    elected at the Athenaeum Club, i. 12;
    removes to Devonshire Terrace, i. 17;
    portraits of, see Portraits;
    visits to Scotland, i. 36, ii. 39, and see ii. 395;
    personal feeling of for his characters, i. 36, 37, 42;
    declines to enter Parliament, i. 37, 44; ii. 389;
    public dinners to, i. 36, 53, 273; ii. 268, 301, 404, 406, 417,
        419, 420;
    an enemy of cant, i. 88, 118, 129;
    visits of to America, see America;
    expedition of to Cornwall, i. 54;
    his travels in Italy, see Italy;
    political opinions of, i. 62, 63, 88, 104;
    fancy signatures to letters of, i. 91, 146, 152, 181, 206,
        237, 425; ii. 195;
    takes the chair at the opening of the Liverpool Mechanics'
        Institute, i. 94, and see i. 100-102;
    his theatrical performances, see Theatrical Performances;
    effects of work on, i. 121,; ii. 248, 266, 325;
    _The Daily News_, started by, i. 135;
    his visits to Lausanne and Switzerland, i. 147, 297, and
        see Switzerland;
    his visits to Paris, see Paris;
    as a stage, manager, i. 163, 167, 231, 232, 237; ii. 26;
    at Chester Place, Regent's Park, i. 169;
    takes the chair at the opening of the Leeds Mechanics' Institute,
        and of the Glasgow Athenaeum, i. 170;
    at Brighton, i. 185, 213;
    at Bonchurch, i, 204;
    purchases Tavistock House, i. 240, and see Tavistock House;
    as an editor, i. 246, 259, 269, 270, 285; ii. 127, 217, 262, 286,
        292;
    his readings, see Readings;
    illnesses of, i. 14, 297; ii. 404, 405, 421, 446;
    in America, ii. 338, 341, 347, 353, 355, 360, 365, 373, 377, 380,
        381;
    his visits to Boulogne, see Boulogne;
    presentation of plate to, at Birmingham, i. 348;
    purchases Gad's Hill, i. 377, 414, and see Gad's Hill;
    delivers a speech on Administrative Reform, i. 377;
    at Folkestone, i. 377, 378;
    restlessness of, when at work, i. 402, 425;
    tour of, in the North, ii. 5, 29-32;
    his kindly criticisms of young writers, ii. 16, 34, 267, 277,
        for other criticisms see i. 152, 188; ii. 14, 43, 215, 249;
    elected a member of the Birmingham Institute, ii. 34;
    religious views of, ii. 82, 202, 221, 394, 403, 444;
    visit of, to Cornwall, ii. 108;
    at Hanover Terrace, Regent's Park, ii. 135;
    visits Lord Lytton at Knebworth, ii. 136;
    at Hyde Park Gate South, ii. 170;
    at 57, Gloucester Place, Hyde Park, ii. 208;
    at Somer's Place, Hyde Park, ii. 224;
    in the Staplehurst accident, ii. 224;
    at Southwick Place, Hyde Park, ii. 224;
    his energy, ii. 291;
    one of the secrets of the success of, ii. 357, 392;
    the Midland Institute at Birmingham opened by, ii. 406, and
        see ii. 427;
    his last speech, at the Royal Academy dinner, ii. 432;
    his interview with the Queen, ii. 432;
    attends a levee of the Prince of Wales, ii. 432;
    his last illness, ii. 446;
    his death, ii. 448;
    funeral of, ii. 448, 449;
    and see Letters of

  Dickens, Mrs. Charles, marriage of, i. 1;
    visit of, to America, i. 53;
    at Rome, i. 135;
    accident to, i. 215;
    at Malvern, i. 239;
    present to, at Birmingham, i. 298;
    and see Letters

  Dickens, Charles, jun., birth of, i. 4;
    nickname of, i. 76;
    at Eton, i. 212, 240, 243, 255, 258;
    at Leipsic, i. 297, 310, 319;
    at Barings', i. 455;
    marriage of, ii. 208;
    on "All the Year Round," ii. 406, 410, 424;
    and see i. 169, 233, 237, 243, 255, 258, 290, 347, 378, 405, 426;
        ii. 88, 114, 123, 140, 145, 176, 447;
    letters to, ii. 310, 338

  Dickens, Kate, nickname of, i. 76;
    marriage of, ii. 107, 113;
    illness of, ii. 266, 271; and see ii. 39, 75, 77, 84, 221, 410,
        436, 446;
    letters to, i. 178; ii. 99

  Dickens, Mamie, nickname of, i. 76;
    illnesses of, i. 363, 436;
    accident to, ii. 129;
    and see ii. 39, 49, 55, 75, 77, 84, 87, 114, 116, 120, 145, 179,
        234, 411, 447, and Letters

  Dickens, Walter, nickname of, i. 76;
    goes to India, ii. 19, 21;
    attached to the 42nd Highlanders, ii. 114, 176;
    death of, ii. 208, 212; and see i. 268, 314, 378, 443; ii. 4

  Dickens, Frank, nickname of, i. 126;
    letter of, to Dickens, ii. 93;
    in India, ii. 208, 212; and see ii. 114, 131, 140, 177

  Dickens, Alfred, at Wimbledon School, ii. 122;
    settles in Australia, ii. 327; and see ii. 177, 371

  Dickens, Sydney, birth of, i. 169;
    nickname of, i. 170;
    death of, i. 171;
    story of, i. 223;
    a naval cadet, ii. 125, 126, 145, 167;
    on board H.M.S. _Orlando_, ii. 169; and see i. 363; ii. 114,
        118, 122, 177, 202, 236, 260, 296, 430

  Dickens, Henry, entered at Trinity Hall, Cambridge, ii. 327;
    wins a scholarship, ii. 424, 430;
      and see i. 363; ii. 177, 190, 254, 255, 329, 371, 389, 395,
        406, 410, 447;
    letters to, ii. 356, 392, 435, 438

  Dickens, Edward, nicknames of, i. 322, 338;
    goes to Australia, ii. 327, 329;
    Dickens's love for, ii. 389-391;
      and see i. 353, 359, 365, 403, 420, 426, 439; ii. 53, 76, 79,
        92, 95, 153, 190, 199;
    letter to, ii. 402

  Dickens, Dora, birth of, i. 213;
    death of, i. 240

  Dickens, Alfred, sen., i. 184, 410; ii. 199

  Dickens, Mrs. Augustus, ii. 418

  Dickens, Fanny, see Mrs. Burnett

  Dickens, Frederick, i. 9

  Dickens, John, i. 240, 437; ii. 240

  Dickens, Mrs. John, ii. 333

  Dickens, Letitia, see Mrs. Henry Austin

  Dickenson, Captain, ii. 224, 232

  Dickson, David, letter to, i. 89

  Diezman, S. A., letter to, i. 32

  Dilke, C. W., ii. 5;
    letter to, ii. 12

  Dillon, C., ii. 42

  Dinner, a search for a, i. 326;
    ladies at public dinners, i. 103

  Dogs, Dickens's, i. 67, 109, 110; ii. 50, 96, 101; ii. 203, 237,
        242, 245, 264, 269;
    a plague of, i. 292;
    stories of, i. 109, 352, 354, 455

  Dolby, George, ii. 245, 252-255, 267, 273, 280, 295, 296, 308, 310,
        311, 317-323, 328, 330, 335, 336, 340, 345-347, 352-360, 363,
        367, 381

  "Dombey and Son," i. 147;
    success of, i. 156, 176;
    sale of, i. 162

  D'Orsay, Comte, i. 171, 244

  Driver, Dickens's estimate of himself as a, i. 2

  Drury Lane Theatre, the saloon at, i. 37;
    suggestions for the saloon at, i. 52, 53

  Dufferin, Lord, ii. 419

  Dwarf, the Tartar, ii. 255


  Earthquake, an, in England, ii. 206

  Edinburgh on a Sunday, ii. 395

  Education, Dickens an advocate of, for the people, i. 104

  "Edwin Drood," ii. 407, 431, 432, 446

  Eeles, Mr., letters to, i. 265, 269

  Egg, Augustus, i. 170, 172, 226, 297, 320, 332; ii. 198

  Eliot, Sir John, Dickens on Forster's life of, ii. 215

  Elliotson, Dr., i. 37, 149, ii. 99

  Elton, Mr., i. 85, 92

  Elwin, Rev. W., ii. 136, 151

  Ely, Miss, letter to, i. 153

  Emerson, Mr., ii. 306

  Emery, Mr., i. 429

  England, state of, in 1855, i. 391;
    politically, i. 406

  Epitaph, Dickens's, on a little child, i. 68

  Executions, Dickens on public, i. 209, 212

  Exhibition, an infant school at the, i. 257

  Eytinge, Mr., ii. 405


  Fairy Tales, Dickens on, i. 307

  "Faust," Gounod's, ii. 191, 193

  Fechter, Charles, ii. 171, 177, 187, 193, 201, 219, 270, 386; and
        see Letters

  Felton, Mr., ii. 85

  Ferguson, Sir William, ii. 246, 247

  Feval, Paul, ii. 183, 192

  Fielding, Henry, i. 394

  Fields, Cyrus W., ii. 85, 308, 344, 361, 364, 379, 405

  Fields, Mrs., ii. 306, 308, 319, 344, 361, 364, 367, 379, 405

  Fildes, S. L., ii. 432, 447;
    letter to, ii. 435

  Finlay, F. D., ii. 406;
    letters to, ii. 297, 389, 408

  Fitzgerald, Mrs., ii. 285

  Fitzgerald, Percy, ii. 187, 397;
    and see Letters

  Flunkeydom, scholastic, ii. 68

  Forgues, M., i. 415, 421

  Forster, Miss, ii. 327

  Forster, John, i. 7, 10, 134, 143, 225, 240, 268, 428; ii. 108, 130,
        265;
    and see Letters

  Franklin, Sir John, i. 373

  Freake, Mr. and Mrs., ii. 446

  French portraits of the English, i. 175

  Friday, Dickens's lucky day, i. 414, 429

  Frith, W. P., ii. 84, 93, 385, 418;
    letters to, i. 79; ii. 439

  Frost, the great, of 1861, ii. 139

  Funerals, Dickens on state, i. 290; ii. 385


  Gad's Hill, purchase of, i. 377, 378, 414;
    Dickens takes possession of, ii. 3;
    his childish impressions of, ii. 8;
    improvements in, ii. 107, 373, 406, 446;
    sports at, ii. 205;
    cricket club at, ii. 356;
    letters concerning, i. 384, 410, 429; ii. 15, 18, 25, 28, 49, 106,
        119, 227

  Gaskell, Mrs., i. 214;
    and see Letters

  Germany, esteem felt for Dickens in, i. 32

  Ghost, stalking a, ii. 131

  Gibson, M., i. 315; ii. 121

  Gibson, Mr. and Mrs. Milner, ii. 431

  Gladstone, Right Hon. W. E., ii. 401

  Goldsmith, Oliver, Dickens on Forster's Life of, i. 188;
    on the works of, i. 380

  Gordon, Andrew, ii. 131

  Gordon, Mr. Sheriff, ii. 164

  "Great Expectations," commenced, ii. 108, 136;
    letters concerning, ii. 128, 133, 140, 142, 143, 151

  Grief, the perversity of, exemplified, i. 18

  Grimaldi, Life of, edited by Dickens, i. 4

  Guild of Literature and Art, i. 239;
    theatrical performances in aid of the, i. 239, 241, 248, 252, 268,
        271;
    and see ii. 41


  Haldimand, Mr., i. 147, 169, 212, 380;
    letters to, i. 157, 254

  Halleck, Fitz-Greene, i. 59

  "Hard Times," i. 341;
    satire of, explained, i. 349;
    letters concerning, i. 355, 371

  Harley, J. P., letters to, i. 5, 23

  Harness, Rev. W., ii. 253;
    letters to, i. 37, 76, 361

  "Haunted Man, The," i. 170, 185, 241;
    subjects for illustrations in, described, i. 200, 201;
    dramatisation of, i. 203

  Headland, Mr., ii. 135, 149, 158, 160

  Helps, Sir Arthur, ii. 432

  Henderson, Mrs., letter to, ii. 293

  Hewett, Captain, i. 57

  "History of England, The Child's," i. 297

  Hogarth, Mary, i. 4, 9

  Hogarth, Georgina, i. 425; ii. 50, 114, 145, 179, 202, 408, 436;
    and see Letters

  Hogge, Mrs., letter to, ii. 46

  Holland, Lady, i. 11

  Holmes, Mr., ii. 306

  Home, longings for, i. 64, 70

  Hood, Tom, i. 287;
    letter to, i. 80

  Horne, Mrs., letter to, i. 456

  Horne, R. H., letter to, i. 93

  Hospital, a dinner at a, i. 88;
    Great Ormond Street, ii. 40, 46

  Houghton, Lord, ii. 432;
    letter to, i. 41

  "Household Words," i. 148;
    scheme of, i. 216;
    suggested titles for, i. 219;
    success of, i. 221;
    Christmas numbers of, i. 241, 288;
    "The Golden Mary," i. 414; ii. 11,
    "A House to Let," ii. 40;
    incorporated with "All the Year Round," ii. 83;
    letters concerning, i. 219, 221, 250, 285, 286, 291-293, 295, 299,
        301, 334, 335, 353, 423, 452; ii. 68

  Hughes, Master Hastings, letter to, i. 14

  Hulkes, Mrs., ii. 224, 315, 329;
    letter to, ii. 232

  Hullah, John, i. 5; ii. 131

  Humphery, Mr. and Mrs., afterwards Sir W. and Lady, ii. 187

  Hunt, Leigh, ii. 407

  Hutchinson, John, ii. 380


  _Illustrated London News_, offers to Dickens from, i. 150

  Illustrations of Dickens's works, his descriptions for, i. 38-40,
        45, 46, 50, 51, 200-203; ii. 237

  Impeachment of the Five Members, Dickens on Forster's, ii. 14

  Ireland, a dialogue in, ii. 61;
    feeling for Dickens in, ii. 65;
    Fenianism in, ii. 282-286;
    proposed banquet to Dickens in, ii. 406;
    Dickens on the Established Church in, ii. 409;
    and see ii. 57, 60, 64

  Italy, Dickens's first visit to, i. 94;
    the sky of, i. 106;
    the colouring of, i. 106;
    a sunset in, i. 106;
    twilight in, i. 107;
    frescoes in, i. 107;
    churches in, i. 108;
    fruit in, i. 109;
    climate of, i. 111;
    a coastguard in, i. 116;
    Dickens at Albaro, i. 105-117;
    at Genoa, i. 120-122, 134, 321;
    at Venice and Verona, i. 119-121, 337;
    at Naples, i. 134-141, 322;
    an ascent of Vesuvius, i. 137-141;
    at Rome, i. 134, 135, 325-333;
    Dickens on the unity of, ii. 84, 89, 90, 140, 211;
    and see i. 297, 346


  Jamaica, the insurrection in, ii. 241

  Jeffrey, Lord, i. 184, 218

  Jerrold, Douglas, i. 134, 225, 268, 390; ii. 3, 4, 19;
    and see Letters

  Jews, Dickens's friendly feeling for, ii. 204, 223, 280

  Joachim, Joseph, ii. 413

  John, Dickens's manservant, ii. 54, 56, 57, 72, 153, 187, 188, 255

  Joll, Miss, letter to, i. 209

  Jones, Walter, letter to, ii. 232


  Keeley, Mrs., ii. 417

  Keeley, Robert, i. 165;
    letter to, i. 105

  Kelly, Miss, i. 302, 303

  Kelly, one of Dickens's readings men, ii. 305, 306, 342

  Kemble, Fanny, ii. 344, 346

  Kent, W. Charles, i. 186; ii. 225, 268, 407;
    and see Letters

  Kinkel, Dr., i. 230

  Knight, Charles, i. 94; ii. 208;
    and see Letters

  Knowles, Sheridan, i. 214;
    letter to, i. 215


  "Lady of Lyons, The," ii. 298

  La Font, ii. 440

  Lamartine, i. 187

  Landor, Walter Savage, i. 268, 337; ii. 66;
    and see Letters

  Landseer, Edwin, letter to, i. 103

  Landseer, Tom, i. 27

  Lansdowne, Lord, i. 275

  Law, Dickens's opinion of English, ii. 440

  Layard, A. H., i. 377; ii. 108;
    letters to, i. 390, 391

  Leclercq, Miss, ii. 246

  Lectures, Dickens on public, i. 97

  Leech, John, i. 134, 186, 225, 226, 239

  Le Gros, Mr., i. 140, 332

  Lehmann, Mrs., ii. 39, 75;
    and see Letters

  Lehmann, F., ii. 39, 75

  Lemaitre, M., i. 386

  Lemon, Mark, i. 134, 186, 225, 226, 376, 390;
    and see Letters

  Lemon, Mrs., i. 419

  Leotard, ii. 142

  LETTERS OF CHARLES DICKENS TO:
    Agate, John, ii. 154
    Ainsworth, W. H., i. 43, 75, 92
    Anonymous, i. 277; ii. 276
    Armstrong, the Misses, ii. 175
    Austin, Henry, i. 2, 69-73, 76, 262-264, 266, 361; ii. 18, 25, 28
    Austin, Mrs., ii. 154, 180, 384
    Babbage, Charles, i. 86, 87, 186
    Bancroft, Mrs., ii. 441
    Banks, G., i. 296
    Baylis, Mr., ii. 179
    Benzon, Miss, ii. 258
    Bicknell, H., i. 229
    Blanchard, Laman, i. 99
    Boyle, Miss, i. 224, 225, 227, 245, 265, 279, 345, 381, 423;
        ii. 10, 132, 157, 169, 186, 245, 315, 411
    Brookfield, Mrs., ii. 249
    Brookfield, Rev. W., ii. 199, 200
    Brooks, Shirley, ii. 423, 438
    Carlisle, the Earl of, i. 253, 281; ii. 12, 118, 157
    Cartwright, Samuel, ii. 348
    Cattermole, Mrs., ii. 383, 385
    Cattermole, George, i. 22, 28-30, 31, 33-36, 38, 39, 42, 43,
        45-48, 50, 51, 81, 143
    Cerjat, M. de, i. 161, 210, 346, 378; ii. 7, 48, 86, 113, 138,
        176, 200, 220, 240, 268, 387, 409
    Chapman and Hall, i. 55
    Clarke, John, ii. 418
    Collins, Wilkie, i. 294, 358, 362, 397, 400, 403, 419, 437, 448;
        ii. 40, 67, 101, 110, 129, 146, 182, 198, 209, 332, 397
    Compton, Mrs., ii. 22
    Cooke, T. P., ii. 21
    Costello, Dudley, i. 104, 205
    Croker, J. Crofton, i. 275
    Cunningham, Peter, i. 195, 270, 312, 356
    Dallas, Mrs., ii. 195, 434
    Deane, F. H., i. 68
    Delane, John, i. 314
    Devonshire, the Duke of, i. 437, 443, 457
    Dickens, Mrs. Charles, i. 12, 100, 123, 127, 130, 132, 165, 166,
        206, 223, 244, 249, 267, 330, 406, 433
    Dickens, Charles, ii. 310, 338
    Dickens, Edward, ii. 402
    Dickens, Henry, ii. 356, 392, 435, 438
    Dickens, Miss Kate, i. 178; ii. 99
    Dickens, Miss, i. 176, 178, 182, 199, 205, 453; ii. 52, 53, 56,
        63, 72, 78, 95, 99, 124, 150, 161, 163, 165, 188, 190, 243,
        252, 254, 256, 273, 275, 276, 278, 279, 283, 285, 299, 302,
        306, 313, 316, 321, 324, 337, 341, 343, 350, 351, 354, 363,
        366, 372, 377, 380, 389, 391, 399, 412, 415, 421, 426
    Dickson, David, i. 89
    Diezman, S. A., i. 32
    Dilke, C. W., ii. 12
    Eeles, Mr., i. 265, 269
    Ely, Miss, i. 153
    Fechter, Charles, ii. 183, 185, 191, 260, 297, 361, 368, 390
    Fildes, S. L., ii. 435
    Finlay, F. D., ii. 297, 389, 408
    Fitzgerald, Percy, ii. 203, 217, 234, 237, 247, 263, 293, 294
    Forster, John, i. 167, 188, 393; ii. 14, 42, 76, 97, 111, 128,
        142, 215
    Frith, W. P., i. 79; ii. 439
    Gaskell, Mrs., i. 216, 269, 270, 292, 293, 301, 355, 360, 381
    Haldimand, Mr., i. 157
    Halleck, Fitz-Greene, i. 59
    Harley, J. P., i. 5, 23
    Harness, Rev. W., i. 37, 76, 361
    Henderson, Mrs., ii. 293
    Hogarth, Catherine, i. 3
    Hogarth, Miss, i. 135, 177, 183, 319, 320, 322, 325, 337, 359, 385,
        426, 428, 429, 435; ii. 28, 31, 33, 51, 55, 58, 61, 65, 70, 74,
        75, 79, 126, 132, 137, 151, 152, 156, 158, 162, 165, 172-174,
        190, 206, 248, 251, 253, 255, 257, 272, 274, 277, 279, 281,
        282, 284-286, 295, 298, 303, 304, 307, 315, 317, 319, 327, 330,
        334, 341, 345, 353, 358, 360, 364, 370, 371, 379, 391, 392, 396,
        398, 400, 413-419, 421
    Hogge, Mrs., ii. 46
    Hood, Tom, i. 80
    Horne, Mrs., i. 456
    Horne, R. H., i. 93
    Hughes, Master, i. 14
    Hulkes, Mrs., ii. 232
    Jerrold, Douglas, i. 87, 90, 118, 154, 427
    Jewish Lady, a, ii. 204, 223, 280
    Joll, Miss, i. 209
    Jones, Walter, ii. 232
    Keeley, Robert, i. 105
    Kent, W. Charles, i. 188, 461; ii. 225, 239, 246, 299, 394, 429,
        437, 439, 441, 443
    Knight, Charles, i. 104, 152, 218, 259, 277, 280, 349, 351; ii.
        195, 212
    Knowles, Sheridan, i. 215
    Landor, Walter Savage, i. 157, 230, 313, 343, 441
    Landseer, Edwin, i. 103
    Layard, A. H., i. 390, 391
    Lehmann, Mrs. F., ii. 196, 234, 395, 413
    Lemon, Mark, i. 192, 203, 207, 243, 281, 394, 396, 416, 439, 440
    Longman, Thomas, i. 73; ii. 106
    Longman, William, i. 24
    Lovejoy, G., i. 44
    Lytton, Sir E. B., ii. 116
    Maclise, Daniel, i. 33, 105
    Macready, W. C., i. 5, 16, 17, 18, 24, 26, 27, 49, 52, 60, 77, 79,
        95, 117, 129, 141, 144, 146, 154, 183, 187, 194, 195, 198, 247,
        252, 273, 283, 300, 307, 368, 399, 404, 430, 431, 446, 451, 459;
        ii. 10, 19, 22, 46, 109, 141, 150, 192, 197, 226, 227, 229, 265,
        373, 383, 424, 429, 436
    Major, Mrs., ii. 196
    Makeham, John, ii. 444
    Marston, Dr. Westland, ii. 43
    Milnes, R. Monckton, i. 41
    Mitton, Thomas, i. 10, 19, 56, 58, 65, 121, 136, 458; ii. 229
    Morpeth, Viscount, i. 92, 146,
      and see Carlisle, The Earl of Ollier, Edmund, ii. 213, 425
    Ouvry, F., ii. 205, 427
    Owen, Professor, ii. 235
    Panizzi, Antonio, ii. 89, 90, 92
    Pardoe, Miss, i. 73
    Parkinson, J. C., ii. 401
    Pollock, Mrs. F., ii. 440
    Pollock, Sir F., ii. 214
    Poole, John, i. 236
    Power, Miss, i. 179, 181, 460; ii. 127, 194
    Power, Mrs., ii. 300
    Procter, Adelaide, i. 374
    Procter, B. W., i. 354; ii. 5, 82, 90, 223, 259
    Procter, Mrs., ii. 226, 238
    Reade, Charles, ii. 206
    Regnier, Monsieur, i. 302, 303, 383, 411; ii. 44, 45, 102, 105, 189
    Roberts, David, i. 215, 246, 248, 389
    Russell, Lord John, i. 277, 316; ii. 118, 235, 422
    Ryland, Arthur, i. 349, 382, 388; ii. 34, 233, 426, 428
    Sandys, William, i. 178
    Saunders, John, i. 366
    Sculthorpe, W. R., ii. 104
    Smith, Arthur, ii. 85, 147
    Smith, H. P., i. 74, 179, 181
    Stanfield, Clarkson, i. 92, 102, 113, 144, 151, 205, 299, 373, 394,
        395, 398; ii. 184, 219, 287
    Stanfield, George, ii. 289
    Stone, Marcus, i. 340; ii. 211, 236
    Stone, Frank, i. 199-201, 206, 259, 261, 295, 305, 355, 365, 396,
        397; ii. 16, 24, 25, 27, 35, 82, 103
    Storrar, Mrs., ii. 216
    "_Sun, The_," the editor of, i. 187
    Tagart, Edward, i. 111, 173
    Talfourd, Miss Mary, i. 51
    Talfourd, Serjeant, i. 10
    Tennent, Sir James Emerson, i. 329; ii. 6, 218, 259
    Thackeray, W. M., ii. 41
    Thornbury, Walter, ii. 178, 262, 286
    Tomlin, John, i. 40
    Toole, J. L., ii. 300
    Trollope, Mrs., i. 81, 397
    Viardot, Madame, i. 412
    Ward, E. M., ii. 141
    Ward, Mrs., ii. 441
    Watkins, John, i. 287; ii. 148
    Watson, Hon. Mrs., i. 171, 196, 209, 226, 228, 231, 234, 237, 242,
        254, 276, 282, 289, 309, 317, 343, 370, 402, 412, 453; ii. 93,
        121, 144, 301, 382
    Watson, Hon. R., i. 159
    White, Mrs., ii. 94
    White, Miss, ii. 92
    White, Rev. James, i. 149, 193, 208, 217, 220, 288, 291, 292, 350;
        ii. 11, 15, 81, 97
    Wills, W. H., i. 148-150, 219, 221, 222, 244, 250, 285, 286, 292,
        295, 299, 303, 304, 307, 315, 333, 334, 352, 357, 384, 387,
        401, 407, 408, 410, 415, 433, 450, 452; ii. 119, 167, 168, 171,
        207, 290, 292, 295, 301, 386, 422, 433
    Wilson, Effingham, i. 199
    Yates, Edmund, ii. 20, 34, 41, 47, 91, 123, 149, 238
    Yates, Mrs., ii. 48

  Lewes, G. H., i. 170

  "Lighthouse, The," the play of, i. 337;
    Dickens's prologue to, i. 461;
    Dickens's "Song of the Wreck" in, i. 461;
    and see ii. 198

  Linton, Mrs., ii. 207

  Lion, a chained, i. 144

  Literary Fund, the, ii. 5, 12

  "Little Dorrit," i. 378, 413, 415;
    proposed name of, i. 402;
    sale of, i. 426;
    letters concerning, i. 402, 403, 406, 426

  Lockhart, Mr., ii. 207

  London, the Mayor of, from a French point of view, i. 175;
    in September, i. 318;
    Dickens's opinion of the Corporation of, i. 389; ii. 411;
    facetious advice to country visitors to, i. 252

  Longfellow, W. H., ii. 306, 308, 312, 326, 333, 361, 375

  Longman, Thomas, letters to, i. 73; ii. 106

  Longman, William, letter to, i. 24

  Lovejoy, G., i. 44

  Lowell, Miss Mabel, ii. 405, 415

  Lyceum Theatre under Fechter, ii. 187, 191, 245;
    and see Fechter

  Lyndhurst, Lord, i. 147; ii. 144

  Lynn, Miss, i. 378

  Lyttelton, Hon. Spencer, i. 239, 245

  Lytton, the first Lord, i. 214, 239; ii. 108, 135, 143, 247, 268;
    letter to, ii. 116

  Lytton, Lord, ii. 108


  Maclise, Daniel, i. 18, 23, 80, 177, 370; ii. 432;
    letters to, i. 33, 105

  Macready, W. C., i. 94, 133, 239, 413; ii. 169, 172, 173;
    and see Letters

  Macready, Benvenuta, i. 431; ii. 194

  Macready, Kate, i. 415; ii. 193

  Macready, Mrs., ii. 172, 288

  Macready, Jonathan, ii. 376

  Macready, Nina, i. 195

  Macready, W., ii. 425

  Major, Mrs., letter to, ii. 196

  Makeham, J. M., ii. 432;
    Dickens's last letter written to, ii. 444

  Malleson, Mr. and Mrs., ii. 315

  Marsh, Dickens's coachman, a story of, ii. 181

  Marston, Dr. Westland, ii. 42, 44, 45;
    letter to, ii. 43

  Martineau, i. 61, 229

  "Martin Chuzzlewit," i. 53;
    dramatised, i. 95, 105;
    a story of Mrs. Harris, ii. 41

  "Master Humphrey's Clock," i. 28;
    the plan of, described, i. 29;
    letters concerning illustrations for, i. 29-31, 33-36, 38-40,
        45-47, 50-51

  "Memoires du Diable, Les," i. 444

  Mesmerism, a seance of, ii. 100

  Missionaries, Dickens on, i. 227; ii. 241

  Mitton, Thomas, see Letters

  Molesworth, Lady, ii. 187, 189

  Monuments, Dickens on, i. 287, 356

  Moore, Tom, i. 163

  Morgan, Captain, ii. 136, 143

  Morgan, W., ii. 308, 336

  Morley, Mr., i. 399

  Morpeth, Viscount, letters to, i. 92, 146;
    and see Carlisle, The Earl of

  Motley, Mr., ii. 142

  Mountain, a hazardous ascent of a, ii. 29

  Mulgrave, Earl of, i. 57


  Narrative, i. 1, 4, 6, 17, 28, 36, 53, 57, 85, 94, 134, 147, 169,
      185, 204, 213, 239, 271, 296, 341, 376, 413; ii. 3, 39, 83,
      107, 135, 169, 187, 208, 224, 244, 266, 325, 404, 431, 446

  Nathan, Messrs. H. and L., i. 232, 233, 235

  Neville, Mr., ii. 186

  Newsvendors' Benevolent Institution, ii. 232

  New Testament, Dickens's love for the, ii. 394, 403;
    Dickens writes a history of the, for his children, ii. 433

  "Nicholas Nickleby," publication of, i. 6;
    rewards and punishments of characters in, i. 14;
    Dickens at work on, i. 16;
    dedication of, i, 26;
    the Kenwigs in, i, 25;
    and see ii. 200

  Nicknames, Dickens's, of George Cattermole, i. 42, 143;
    of his children, i. 76, 126, 170, 322, 338, 453;
    nautical, i. 152;
    of himself, i. 198, 206, 307, 362;
    of Frank Stone, i. 214, 305

  Norton, C. E., ii. 326

  Noviomagians, the, i. 272


  "Old Curiosity Shop, The," Dickens engaged on, i. 28;
    scenes in, described by Dickens for illustration, i. 21, 33-37, 42;
    Dickens heartbroken over the story, i. 36, 37, 42

  "Oliver Twist," publication of, i. 4;
    Dickens at work on, i. 11;
    the reading of "The Murder" from, ii. 326, 395, 397, 399

  Ollier, Edmund, ii. 209, 407;
    letters to, ii. 213, 425

  Olliffe, Lady, ii. 187, 190

  Olliffe, Sir J., ii. 417

  Olliffe, the Misses, ii. 190

  Organs, street, i. 104

  Osgood, Mr., ii. 310, 336, 337, 340, 346, 352, 356, 366

  "Our Mutual Friend," ii. 208, 210, 224;
    and as to illustrations for, see ii. 211, 237

  Ouvry, Frederic, ii. 188, 300;
    letters to, ii. 205, 427

  Overs, i. 37, 49

  Owen, Professor, ii. 235


  Panizzi, Antonio, ii. 84;
    letters to, ii. 89, 90, 92

  Pardoe, Miss, letter to, i. 73

  Paris, Dickens at, i. 130, 131, 147, 157-161, 169, 174, 239, 376,
        378, 385-387, 413, 406-425, 430, 431; ii. 171, 187;
    house-hunting in, i. 158;
    description of Dickens's house in, i. 159;
    state of, in 1846, i. 160, 161;
    feeling of people of, for Dickens, i. 411;
    Dickens's reading at, ii. 187-190, 192

  Parkinson, J. C., ii. 327;
    letter to, ii. 401

  Parrots, human, i. 87, 121

  "Patrician's Daughter, The," prologue to, written by Dickens,
      i. 55, 77

  Patronage, the curse of England, ii. 213, 356

  Paxton, Sir Joseph, i. 446

  Phelps, J., i. 366

  "Pickwick," origin and publication of, i. 1, 3;
    first mention of Jingle, i. 3;
    conclusion of, celebrated, i. 5;
    the design of the Shepherd in, explained, i. 85, 89

  Picnic, a, of the elements, i, 116;
    with Eton boys, i. 255, 258

  "Picnic Papers," Dickens's share of the, ii. 91

  Plessy, Madame, i. 412; ii. 440

  Pollock, Sir F., ii. 97, 144, 209;
    letter to, ii. 10, 214

  Pollock, Mrs. F., letter to, ii. 440

  Poole, John, i. 298, 317; ii. 228;
    letter to, i. 236

  "Poor Travellers, The," i. 378;
    sale of, i. 379

  Portraits of Dickens, by Maclise, i. 18, 23;
    by Frith, ii. 84, 93;
    by Ary Scheffer, i. 414, 434;
    by John Watkins, ii. 148;
    a caricature, ii. 146

  Postman, an Albaro, i. 112, 117

  Power, Miss, i. 442; ii. 82, 293, 300;
    and see Letters

  Power, Nelly, i. 443

  Power, Mrs., letter to, ii. 300

  Presence of mind of Dickens, ii. 161, 224, 230

  Press, the, freedom of, i. 49;
    in America, i. 97;
    taxation of the, i. 274

  Procter, Adelaide, i. 341; ii. 238;
    letter to, i. 374

  Procter, B. W., i. 341; ii. 83, 91;
    and see Letters

  Procter, Mrs., letter to, ii. 226, 238

  Publishing system, how to improve the, i. 86

  Purse, the power of the, i. 88

  Putnam, Mr., ii. 312


  Queen, the, Dickens's theatrical performance before, i. 239;
    his feeling for, ii. 168;
    his interview with, ii. 432


  Rae, Dr., i. 373

  Railways, ii. 242

  Reade, Charles, ii. 188;
    letter to, ii. 206

  Reader, Charles Dickens as a, ii. 437

  Readings, Dickens's public, for charities, i. 297, 341, 377; ii. 4,
        169, 170;
    first reading for his own benefit, ii. 39;
    at Paris, ii. 187, 189, 192;
    in America, ii. 267;
    farewell series of readings in England, ii. 326, 404, 405;
    trial reading of "The Murder" from "Oliver Twist," ii. 326;
    reading to the actors, ii. 407, 418;
    farewell reading, ii. 431;
    effects of "The Murder" reading on Dickens, ii. 434;
    books of the, ii. 438;
    letters concerning the readings in England, Scotland, and Ireland,
        i. 344, 348, 369, 371, 379, 382, 388, 413, 424; ii. 20, 49,
        51-67, 70-80, 87, 103, 145, 147, 151-168, 174, 178, 197, 200,
        251-258, 272-286;
    letters concerning American, ii. 83, 85, 290, 294, 298, 299,
        306-382;
    letters concerning the farewell series of, ii. 391, 392, 395-400,
        412-421

  Reform, Dickens speaks on Administrative, i. 377, 399;
    association for, i. 399;
    Dickens on Parliamentary, ii. 87, 269

  Refreshment rooms, i. 424

  Regnier, M., i. 298;
    and see Letters

  Reynolds, Dr. Russell, ii. 448

  Richardson, Samuel, Dickens's opinion of, i. 175

  "Rivals, The," a scene from, rewritten, i. 345

  Roberts, David, i. 214; ii. 75;
    letters to, i. 215, 246, 248, 389

  "Robinson Crusoe," Dickens on, i. 443

  Robson, F., i. 451

  Roche, Dickens's courier, i. 95, 122-126, 139

  Rochester Cathedral, proposed burial of Dickens in, ii. 448

  Royal Academy, female students at the, ii. 121;
    Dickens's last public appearance, at the dinner of the, ii. 431

  Russel, Alexander, ii. 389, 390, 398, 406

  Russell, Lord John, i. 272; ii. 85;
    and see Letters

  Russell, W. H., ii. 4

  Ryland, Arthur, ii. 4, 430;
    and see Letters


  Sainton-Dolby, Madame, ii. 295, 391

  Sanatorium for art-students, i. 102

  Sand, Georges, i. 420

  Sandys, William, letter to, i. 178

  Saunders, John, i. 341;
    letter to, i. 366

  Savage, i. 271

  Saville, Miss, ii. 186

  Scheffer, Ary, i. 414, 434; ii. 149

  Schoolmistress, a Yorkshire, i. 8

  Scott, Sir Walter, i. 22, 254

  Scott, Dickens's dresser, ii. 272, 305, 306, 317, 321, 342, 370, 416

  Scribe, Eugene, i. 430, 432

  Sculthorpe, W. R., letter to, ii. 104

  Seaside, the, in wet weather, i. 90

  Sea voyage, a, i. 322

  Shaftesbury, Lord, ii. 242

  Shakespeare, Dickens in room of, i. 13;
    Dickens's criticisms of Charles Knight's biography of, i. 152;
    and see i. 178

  Shea, Mr. Justice, ii. 247

  Shower-bath, a perpetual, i. 207

  "Sketches," publication of the, i. 1

  Smith, Arthur, ii. 4, 39, 52, 53, 56-60, 64-67, 71, 72, 78, 80,
      104, 109, 135, 145, 149-153;
    letters to, ii. 85, 147

  Smith, H. P., letters to, i. 74, 179, 181

  Smith, Sydney, i. 24

  Smollett, Dickens on the works of, i. 356

  Snevellicci, Miss, in real life, i. 13

  Snore, a mighty, i. 158

  Songs by Dickens: on Mark Lemon, i. 207;
    of "The Wreck" in "The Lighthouse," i. 461

  Speaking, Dickens on public, ii. 426, 428;
    advice to his son Henry on public, ii. 435

  Spencer, Lord, i. 242

  Spider, a fearful, i. 180

  Spiritualism, Dickens on, i. 350, 397

  Stage-coach, American story of a, ii. 292

  Stage suggestions, i. 79;
    a stage mob, i. 174;
    a piece of stage business, i. 156

  Stanfield, Clarkson, i. 370, 377, 429, 435, 454; ii. 75, 194, 267;
    and see Letters

  Stanfield, George, letter to, ii. 289

  Stanley, Dean, ii. 448, 449

  Stanley, Lady Augusta, ii. 449

  Staplehurst, Dickens in the railway accident at, ii. 224;
    description of the accident, ii. 229-233;
    effects of the accident on Dickens, ii. 388

  Staunton, Mr. Secretary, ii. 351

  Steele, Sir Richard, Dickens on Forster's essay on, i. 393

  Steele, Mr., ii. 447, 448

  Stone, Arthur, i. 436

  Stone, Ellen, ii. 81

  Stone, Frank, i. 134, 143, 225, 240; ii. 84;
    and see Letters

  Stone, Marcus, i. 299; ii. 84, 106, 208;
    letters to, i. 340; ii. 211, 236

  Storrar, Mrs., ii. 209;
    letter to, ii. 216

  "Strange Gentleman, The," farce written by Dickens and produced, i. 4;
    price of, i. 5;
    sent to Macready, i. 16

  Strikes, Dickens on, i. 416

  Sumner, Charles, ii. 351, 355

  _Sun, The_, newspaper, ii. 225;
    letter to editor of, i. 187

  Switzerland, the Simplon Pass in, i. 127;
    pleasant recollections of, i. 197, 218;
    Dickens at Lausanne in, i. 147;
    a revolution in, i. 155, 175;
    friends in, i. 157;
    Dickens's love for, i. 158;
    letters concerning Lausanne in, i. 147, 154, 160, 172, 179

  Sympathy, letters of, i. 193, 265, 282, 283, 394; ii. 94, 97,
      123, 154, 180, 289, 293


  Tagart, Edward, letters to, i. 111, 173

  "Tale of Two Cities, A," ii. 83, 84, 158;
    letters concerning, ii. 98, 102, 105, 106, 116

  Talfourd, Miss Mary, letter to, i. 51

  Talfourd, Mr. Justice, i. 7;
    letter to, i. 10

  Tauechnitz, Baron, i. 188, 195

  Tavistock House, purchase of, i. 240;
    sale of, ii. 107;
    letters concerning, i. 259, 261-266

  Taxation, Dickens on, i. 218;
    of newspapers, i. 273

  Taylor, Bayard, ii. 405

  Telegraph, the dramatic side of the, i. 417

  Tennent, Sir James Emerson, i. 298; ii. 209, 224;
    letters to, i. 329; ii. 218, 259

  Tenniel, John, i. 241

  Tennyson, Alfred, Dickens's admiration for, ii. 98

  Terry, Miss Kate, ii. 193

  Thackeray, W. M., ii. 4, 39, 137, 208, 210, 214;
    letter to, ii. 41

  Thames, drainage of the, ii. 50;
    embankment of the, ii. 410

  Theatre, Dickens at the, i. 13;
    Phiz's laughter at the, i. 13;
    the saloon at Drury Lane, i. 37, 52;
    scents of a, i. 96;
    story of a, i. 144;
    proposal for a national, i. 199;
    Dickens on the, ii. 271, 438

  Theatrical Fund, the, ii. 35

  Theatrical performances of Charles Dickens:
    at Montreal, i. 72;
    at Miss Kelly's Theatre, i. 134;
    "Fortunio" at Tavistock House, i. 376, 381;
    "The Lighthouse," i. 377, 394-397;
    "The Frozen Deep," i. 414;
    for the Jerrold Memorial Fund, ii. 19, 23;
    before the Queen, i. 239;
    and see i. 170, 185, 239, 241, 271, 376, 377, 414; ii. 3;
    letters concerning the, i. 141, 143, 144, 146, 181, 192, 196,
        224-228, 231, 232, 234, 244, 268, 398, 433, 453, 454, 457,
        459, 460; ii. 6, 11, 198

  Thornbury, Walter, ii. 170, 292;
    letters to, ii. 178, 262, 286

  Tomlin, John, letter to, i. 40

  Toole, J. L., ii. 54, 268;
    letter to, ii. 300

  Topham, F. W., i. 241, 269

  Townshend, Chauncey Hare, ii. 7, 86, 96, 115, 136, 140, 371, 410

  Trollope, Mrs., letters to, i. 80, 397


  "Uncle Tom's Cabin," Dickens on, i. 289

  "Uncommercial Traveller, The," ii. 107


  Viardot, Madame, ii. 193;
    letter to, i. 412

  "Village Coquettes, The," operetta written by Dickens, i. 5;
    and see i. 93

  Volunteers, Dickens on the, ii. 115


  Waistcoat, a wonderful, i. 102;
    the loan by Dickens of Macready's, i. 146

  Wales, the Prince of, popularity of, ii. 203;
    Dickens attends levee of, ii. 432

  Wales, the Princess of, her arrival in England, ii. 195;
    the illuminations in honour of, ii. 198;
    popularity of, ii. 203

  War, Dickens on the Russian, i. 379

  Ward, E. M., i. 341;
    letter to, ii. 141

  Ward, Mrs., letter to, ii. 441

  Watkins, John, i. 415;
    letters to, i. 287; ii. 148

  Watson, Hon. R., i. 147, 280;
    letter to, i. 159

  Watson, Hon. Mrs., i. 147; ii. 9, 70;
    and see Letters

  Watson, Sir Thomas, ii. 405, 407

  Watson, Wentworth, ii. 79

  Watts's refuge for poor travellers, ii. 259

  Webster, Benjamin, i. 85, 90, 434; ii. 361

  Webster, a story of the murderer, ii. 333

  Welcome home, a, i. 117

  Westminster Abbey, burial of Dickens in, ii. 448

  Whewell, Dr., i. 372

  White, Clara, ii. 142, 181, 208

  White, Rev. James, i. 149, 413; ii. 209;
    and see Letters

  White, Mrs., ii. 212;
    letter to, ii. 94

  White, Miss, ii. 81, 84, 96;
    letter to, ii. 92

  White, Richard Grant, ii. 85

  Wigan, Alfred, i. 429

  Williams, Mr. and Mrs. Barney, ii. 337, 359

  Wills, W. H., i. 148, 241, 375; ii. 83, 379, 383, 406, 430;
    and see Letters

  Wills, Mrs., ii. 75, 96, 120

  Wilson, Effingham, letter to, i. 199

  Working men, clubs for, ii. 209, 213;
    Dickens on the management of such clubs, ii. 356;
    feeling of, for Dickens, ii. 420


  Yates, Edmund, i. 414, 426; ii. 5, 129;
    and see Letters

  Yates, Mrs., ii. 129;
    letter to, ii. 48


THE END.

CHARLES DICKENS AND EVANS, CRYSTAL PALACE
PRESS.

       *       *       *       *       *

Transcriber's Notes:

Page 142, "Leotard" changed to "Leotard" twice (Palace and Leotard) and
(into seeing Leotard)

Page 181, "shefound" changed to "she found" (she found Marsh)

Page 432, "levee" changed to "levee" (a levee held)

Page 453, "Celeste" changed to "Celeste" (Celeste, Madame)

Page 454-455, entries for "Dickens, Mamie" and "Dickens, Kate" were
originally not in alphabetically order. This was corrected.

Page 456, "Fitzgreene" changed to "Fitz-Greene" (Halleck, Fitz-Greene)

Page 458, "Fitzgreene" changed to "Fitz-Greene" (Halleck, Fitz-Greene)

Page 460, "Lyttleton" changed to "Lyttelton" (Lyttleton, Hon. Spencer)

Page 462, "Shee" changed to "Shea" (Shea, Mr. Justice)





End of Project Gutenberg's The Letters of Charles Dickens, by Charles Dickens

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