summaryrefslogtreecommitdiff
path: root/25852-h/25852-h.htm
blob: 0e2b4fcaf7d712b27e42cc25d62a54aab13a006a (plain) 
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397
398
399
400
401
402
403
404
405
406
407
408
409
410
411
412
413
414
415
416
417
418
419
420
421
422
423
424
425
426
427
428
429
430
431
432
433
434
435
436
437
438
439
440
441
442
443
444
445
446
447
448
449
450
451
452
453
454
455
456
457
458
459
460
461
462
463
464
465
466
467
468
469
470
471
472
473
474
475
476
477
478
479
480
481
482
483
484
485
486
487
488
489
490
491
492
493
494
495
496
497
498
499
500
501
502
503
504
505
506
507
508
509
510
511
512
513
514
515
516
517
518
519
520
521
522
523
524
525
526
527
528
529
530
531
532
533
534
535
536
537
538
539
540
541
542
543
544
545
546
547
548
549
550
551
552
553
554
555
556
557
558
559
560
561
562
563
564
565
566
567
568
569
570
571
572
573
574
575
576
577
578
579
580
581
582
583
584
585
586
587
588
589
590
591
592
593
594
595
596
597
598
599
600
601
602
603
604
605
606
607
608
609
610
611
612
613
614
615
616
617
618
619
620
621
622
623
624
625
626
627
628
629
630
631
632
633
634
635
636
637
638
639
640
641
642
643
644
645
646
647
648
649
650
651
652
653
654
655
656
657
658
659
660
661
662
663
664
665
666
667
668
669
670
671
672
673
674
675
676
677
678
679
680
681
682
683
684
685
686
687
688
689
690
691
692
693
694
695
696
697
698
699
700
701
702
703
704
705
706
707
708
709
710
711
712
713
714
715
716
717
718
719
720
721
722
723
724
725
726
727
728
729
730
731
732
733
734
735
736
737
738
739
740
741
742
743
744
745
746
747
748
749
750
751
752
753
754
755
756
757
758
759
760
761
762
763
764
765
766
767
768
769
770
771
772
773
774
775
776
777
778
779
780
781
782
783
784
785
786
787
788
789
790
791
792
793
794
795
796
797
798
799
800
801
802
803
804
805
806
807
808
809
810
811
812
813
814
815
816
817
818
819
820
821
822
823
824
825
826
827
828
829
830
831
832
833
834
835
836
837
838
839
840
841
842
843
844
845
846
847
848
849
850
851
852
853
854
855
856
857
858
859
860
861
862
863
864
865
866
867
868
869
870
871
872
873
874
875
876
877
878
879
880
881
882
883
884
885
886
887
888
889
890
891
892
893
894
895
896
897
898
899
900
901
902
903
904
905
906
907
908
909
910
911
912
913
914
915
916
917
918
919
920
921
922
923
924
925
926
927
928
929
930
931
932
933
934
935
936
937
938
939
940
941
942
943
944
945
946
947
948
949
950
951
952
953
954
955
956
957
958
959
960
961
962
963
964
965
966
967
968
969
970
971
972
973
974
975
976
977
978
979
980
981
982
983
984
985
986
987
988
989
990
991
992
993
994
995
996
997
998
999
1000
1001
1002
1003
1004
1005
1006
1007
1008
1009
1010
1011
1012
1013
1014
1015
1016
1017
1018
1019
1020
1021
1022
1023
1024
1025
1026
1027
1028
1029
1030
1031
1032
1033
1034
1035
1036
1037
1038
1039
1040
1041
1042
1043
1044
1045
1046
1047
1048
1049
1050
1051
1052
1053
1054
1055
1056
1057
1058
1059
1060
1061
1062
1063
1064
1065
1066
1067
1068
1069
1070
1071
1072
1073
1074
1075
1076
1077
1078
1079
1080
1081
1082
1083
1084
1085
1086
1087
1088
1089
1090
1091
1092
1093
1094
1095
1096
1097
1098
1099
1100
1101
1102
1103
1104
1105
1106
1107
1108
1109
1110
1111
1112
1113
1114
1115
1116
1117
1118
1119
1120
1121
1122
1123
1124
1125
1126
1127
1128
1129
1130
1131
1132
1133
1134
1135
1136
1137
1138
1139
1140
1141
1142
1143
1144
1145
1146
1147
1148
1149
1150
1151
1152
1153
1154
1155
1156
1157
1158
1159
1160
1161
1162
1163
1164
1165
1166
1167
1168
1169
1170
1171
1172
1173
1174
1175
1176
1177
1178
1179
1180
1181
1182
1183
1184
1185
1186
1187
1188
1189
1190
1191
1192
1193
1194
1195
1196
1197
1198
1199
1200
1201
1202
1203
1204
1205
1206
1207
1208
1209
1210
1211
1212
1213
1214
1215
1216
1217
1218
1219
1220
1221
1222
1223
1224
1225
1226
1227
1228
1229
1230
1231
1232
1233
1234
1235
1236
1237
1238
1239
1240
1241
1242
1243
1244
1245
1246
1247
1248
1249
1250
1251
1252
1253
1254
1255
1256
1257
1258
1259
1260
1261
1262
1263
1264
1265
1266
1267
1268
1269
1270
1271
1272
1273
1274
1275
1276
1277
1278
1279
1280
1281
1282
1283
1284
1285
1286
1287
1288
1289
1290
1291
1292
1293
1294
1295
1296
1297
1298
1299
1300
1301
1302
1303
1304
1305
1306
1307
1308
1309
1310
1311
1312
1313
1314
1315
1316
1317
1318
1319
1320
1321
1322
1323
1324
1325
1326
1327
1328
1329
1330
1331
1332
1333
1334
1335
1336
1337
1338
1339
1340
1341
1342
1343
1344
1345
1346
1347
1348
1349
1350
1351
1352
1353
1354
1355
1356
1357
1358
1359
1360
1361
1362
1363
1364
1365
1366
1367
1368
1369
1370
1371
1372
1373
1374
1375
1376
1377
1378
1379
1380
1381
1382
1383
1384
1385
1386
1387
1388
1389
1390
1391
1392
1393
1394
1395
1396
1397
1398
1399
1400
1401
1402
1403
1404
1405
1406
1407
1408
1409
1410
1411
1412
1413
1414
1415
1416
1417
1418
1419
1420
1421
1422
1423
1424
1425
1426
1427
1428
1429
1430
1431
1432
1433
1434
1435
1436
1437
1438
1439
1440
1441
1442
1443
1444
1445
1446
1447
1448
1449
1450
1451
1452
1453
1454
1455
1456
1457
1458
1459
1460
1461
1462
1463
1464
1465
1466
1467
1468
1469
1470
1471
1472
1473
1474
1475
1476
1477
1478
1479
1480
1481
1482
1483
1484
1485
1486
1487
1488
1489
1490
1491
1492
1493
1494
1495
1496
1497
1498
1499
1500
1501
1502
1503
1504
1505
1506
1507
1508
1509
1510
1511
1512
1513
1514
1515
1516
1517
1518
1519
1520
1521
1522
1523
1524
1525
1526
1527
1528
1529
1530
1531
1532
1533
1534
1535
1536
1537
1538
1539
1540
1541
1542
1543
1544
1545
1546
1547
1548
1549
1550
1551
1552
1553
1554
1555
1556
1557
1558
1559
1560
1561
1562
1563
1564
1565
1566
1567
1568
1569
1570
1571
1572
1573
1574
1575
1576
1577
1578
1579
1580
1581
1582
1583
1584
1585
1586
1587
1588
1589
1590
1591
1592
1593
1594
1595
1596
1597
1598
1599
1600
1601
1602
1603
1604
1605
1606
1607
1608
1609
1610
1611
1612
1613
1614
1615
1616
1617
1618
1619
1620
1621
1622
1623
1624
1625
1626
1627
1628
1629
1630
1631
1632
1633
1634
1635
1636
1637
1638
1639
1640
1641
1642
1643
1644
1645
1646
1647
1648
1649
1650
1651
1652
1653
1654
1655
1656
1657
1658
1659
1660
1661
1662
1663
1664
1665
1666
1667
1668
1669
1670
1671
1672
1673
1674
1675
1676
1677
1678
1679
1680
1681
1682
1683
1684
1685
1686
1687
1688
1689
1690
1691
1692
1693
1694
1695
1696
1697
1698
1699
1700
1701
1702
1703
1704
1705
1706
1707
1708
1709
1710
1711
1712
1713
1714
1715
1716
1717
1718
1719
1720
1721
1722
1723
1724
1725
1726
1727
1728
1729
1730
1731
1732
1733
1734
1735
1736
1737
1738
1739
1740
1741
1742
1743
1744
1745
1746
1747
1748
1749
1750
1751
1752
1753
1754
1755
1756
1757
1758
1759
1760
1761
1762
1763
1764
1765
1766
1767
1768
1769
1770
1771
1772
1773
1774
1775
1776
1777
1778
1779
1780
1781
1782
1783
1784
1785
1786
1787
1788
1789
1790
1791
1792
1793
1794
1795
1796
1797
1798
1799
1800
1801
1802
1803
1804
1805
1806
1807
1808
1809
1810
1811
1812
1813
1814
1815
1816
1817
1818
1819
1820
1821
1822
1823
1824
1825
1826
1827
1828
1829
1830
1831
1832
1833
1834
1835
1836
1837
1838
1839
1840
1841
1842
1843
1844
1845
1846
1847
1848
1849
1850
1851
1852
1853
1854
1855
1856
1857
1858
1859
1860
1861
1862
1863
1864
1865
1866
1867
1868
1869
1870
1871
1872
1873
1874
1875
1876
1877
1878
1879
1880
1881
1882
1883
1884
1885
1886
1887
1888
1889
1890
1891
1892
1893
1894
1895
1896
1897
1898
1899
1900
1901
1902
1903
1904
1905
1906
1907
1908
1909
1910
1911
1912
1913
1914
1915
1916
1917
1918
1919
1920
1921
1922
1923
1924
1925
1926
1927
1928
1929
1930
1931
1932
1933
1934
1935
1936
1937
1938
1939
1940
1941
1942
1943
1944
1945
1946
1947
1948
1949
1950
1951
1952
1953
1954
1955
1956
1957
1958
1959
1960
1961
1962
1963
1964
1965
1966
1967
1968
1969
1970
1971
1972
1973
1974
1975
1976
1977
1978
1979
1980
1981
1982
1983
1984
1985
1986
1987
1988
1989
1990
1991
1992
1993
1994
1995
1996
1997
1998
1999
2000
2001
2002
2003
2004
2005
2006
2007
2008
2009
2010
2011
2012
2013
2014
2015
2016
2017
2018
2019
2020
2021
2022
2023
2024
2025
2026
2027
2028
2029
2030
2031
2032
2033
2034
2035
2036
2037
2038
2039
2040
2041
2042
2043
2044
2045
2046
2047
2048
2049
2050
2051
2052
2053
2054
2055
2056
2057
2058
2059
2060
2061
2062
2063
2064
2065
2066
2067
2068
2069
2070
2071
2072
2073
2074
2075
2076
2077
2078
2079
2080
2081
2082
2083
2084
2085
2086
2087
2088
2089
2090
2091
2092
2093
2094
2095
2096
2097
2098
2099
2100
2101
2102
2103
2104
2105
2106
2107
2108
2109
2110
2111
2112
2113
2114
2115
2116
2117
2118
2119
2120
2121
2122
2123
2124
2125
2126
2127
2128
2129
2130
2131
2132
2133
2134
2135
2136
2137
2138
2139
2140
2141
2142
2143
2144
2145
2146
2147
2148
2149
2150
2151
2152
2153
2154
2155
2156
2157
2158
2159
2160
2161
2162
2163
2164
2165
2166
2167
2168
2169
2170
2171
2172
2173
2174
2175
2176
2177
2178
2179
2180
2181
2182
2183
2184
2185
2186
2187
2188
2189
2190
2191
2192
2193
2194
2195
2196
2197
2198
2199
2200
2201
2202
2203
2204
2205
2206
2207
2208
2209
2210
2211
2212
2213
2214
2215
2216
2217
2218
2219
2220
2221
2222
2223
2224
2225
2226
2227
2228
2229
2230
2231
2232
2233
2234
2235
2236
2237
2238
2239
2240
2241
2242
2243
2244
2245
2246
2247
2248
2249
2250
2251
2252
2253
2254
2255
2256
2257
2258
2259
2260
2261
2262
2263
2264
2265
2266
2267
2268
2269
2270
2271
2272
2273
2274
2275
2276
2277
2278
2279
2280
2281
2282
2283
2284
2285
2286
2287
2288
2289
2290
2291
2292
2293
2294
2295
2296
2297
2298
2299
2300
2301
2302
2303
2304
2305
2306
2307
2308
2309
2310
2311
2312
2313
2314
2315
2316
2317
2318
2319
2320
2321
2322
2323
2324
2325
2326
2327
2328
2329
2330
2331
2332
2333
2334
2335
2336
2337
2338
2339
2340
2341
2342
2343
2344
2345
2346
2347
2348
2349
2350
2351
2352
2353
2354
2355
2356
2357
2358
2359
2360
2361
2362
2363
2364
2365
2366
2367
2368
2369
2370
2371
2372
2373
2374
2375
2376
2377
2378
2379
2380
2381
2382
2383
2384
2385
2386
2387
2388
2389
2390
2391
2392
2393
2394
2395
2396
2397
2398
2399
2400
2401
2402
2403
2404
2405
2406
2407
2408
2409
2410
2411
2412
2413
2414
2415
2416
2417
2418
2419
2420
2421
2422
2423
2424
2425
2426
2427
2428
2429
2430
2431
2432
2433
2434
2435
2436
2437
2438
2439
2440
2441
2442
2443
2444
2445
2446
2447
2448
2449
2450
2451
2452
2453
2454
2455
2456
2457
2458
2459
2460
2461
2462
2463
2464
2465
2466
2467
2468
2469
2470
2471
2472
2473
2474
2475
2476
2477
2478
2479
2480
2481
2482
2483
2484
2485
2486
2487
2488
2489
2490
2491
2492
2493
2494
2495
2496
2497
2498
2499
2500
2501
2502
2503
2504
2505
2506
2507
2508
2509
2510
2511
2512
2513
2514
2515
2516
2517
2518
2519
2520
2521
2522
2523
2524
2525
2526
2527
2528
2529
2530
2531
2532
2533
2534
2535
2536
2537
2538
2539
2540
2541
2542
2543
2544
2545
2546
2547
2548
2549
2550
2551
2552
2553
2554
2555
2556
2557
2558
2559
2560
2561
2562
2563
2564
2565
2566
2567
2568
2569
2570
2571
2572
2573
2574
2575
2576
2577
2578
2579
2580
2581
2582
2583
2584
2585
2586
2587
2588
2589
2590
2591
2592
2593
2594
2595
2596
2597
2598
2599
2600
2601
2602
2603
2604
2605
2606
2607
2608
2609
2610
2611
2612
2613
2614
2615
2616
2617
2618
2619
2620
2621
2622
2623
2624
2625
2626
2627
2628
2629
2630
2631
2632
2633
2634
2635
2636
2637
2638
2639
2640
2641
2642
2643
2644
2645
2646
2647
2648
2649
2650
2651
2652
2653
2654
2655
2656
2657
2658
2659
2660
2661
2662
2663
2664
2665
2666
2667
2668
2669
2670
2671
2672
2673
2674
2675
2676
2677
2678
2679
2680
2681
2682
2683
2684
2685
2686
2687
2688
2689
2690
2691
2692
2693
2694
2695
2696
2697
2698
2699
2700
2701
2702
2703
2704
2705
2706
2707
2708
2709
2710
2711
2712
2713
2714
2715
2716
2717
2718
2719
2720
2721
2722
2723
2724
2725
2726
2727
2728
2729
2730
2731
2732
2733
2734
2735
2736
2737
2738
2739
2740
2741
2742
2743
2744
2745
2746
2747
2748
2749
2750
2751
2752
2753
2754
2755
2756
2757
2758
2759
2760
2761
2762
2763
2764
2765
2766
2767
2768
2769
2770
2771
2772
2773
2774
2775
2776
2777
2778
2779
2780
2781
2782
2783
2784
2785
2786
2787
2788
2789
2790
2791
2792
2793
2794
2795
2796
2797
2798
2799
2800
2801
2802
2803
2804
2805
2806
2807
2808
2809
2810
2811
2812
2813
2814
2815
2816
2817
2818
2819
2820
2821
2822
2823
2824
2825
2826
2827
2828
2829
2830
2831
2832
2833
2834
2835
2836
2837
2838
2839
2840
2841
2842
2843
2844
2845
2846
2847
2848
2849
2850
2851
2852
2853
2854
2855
2856
2857
2858
2859
2860
2861
2862
2863
2864
2865
2866
2867
2868
2869
2870
2871
2872
2873
2874
2875
2876
2877
2878
2879
2880
2881
2882
2883
2884
2885
2886
2887
2888
2889
2890
2891
2892
2893
2894
2895
2896
2897
2898
2899
2900
2901
2902
2903
2904
2905
2906
2907
2908
2909
2910
2911
2912
2913
2914
2915
2916
2917
2918
2919
2920
2921
2922
2923
2924
2925
2926
2927
2928
2929
2930
2931
2932
2933
2934
2935
2936
2937
2938
2939
2940
2941
2942
2943
2944
2945
2946
2947
2948
2949
2950
2951
2952
2953
2954
2955
2956
2957
2958
2959
2960
2961
2962
2963
2964
2965
2966
2967
2968
2969
2970
2971
2972
2973
2974
2975
2976
2977
2978
2979
2980
2981
2982
2983
2984
2985
2986
2987
2988
2989
2990
2991
2992
2993
2994
2995
2996
2997
2998
2999
3000
3001
3002
3003
3004
3005
3006
3007
3008
3009
3010
3011
3012
3013
3014
3015
3016
3017
3018
3019
3020
3021
3022
3023
3024
3025
3026
3027
3028
3029
3030
3031
3032
3033
3034
3035
3036
3037
3038
3039
3040
3041
3042
3043
3044
3045
3046
3047
3048
3049
3050
3051
3052
3053
3054
3055
3056
3057
3058
3059
3060
3061
3062
3063
3064
3065
3066
3067
3068
3069
3070
3071
3072
3073
3074
3075
3076
3077
3078
3079
3080
3081
3082
3083
3084
3085
3086
3087
3088
3089
3090
3091
3092
3093
3094
3095
3096
3097
3098
3099
3100
3101
3102
3103
3104
3105
3106
3107
3108
3109
3110
3111
3112
3113
3114
3115
3116
3117
3118
3119
3120
3121
3122
3123
3124
3125
3126
3127
3128
3129
3130
3131
3132
3133
3134
3135
3136
3137
3138
3139
3140
3141
3142
3143
3144
3145
3146
3147
3148
3149
3150
3151
3152
3153
3154
3155
3156
3157
3158
3159
3160
3161
3162
3163
3164
3165
3166
3167
3168
3169
3170
3171
3172
3173
3174
3175
3176
3177
3178
3179
3180
3181
3182
3183
3184
3185
3186
3187
3188
3189
3190
3191
3192
3193
3194
3195
3196
3197
3198
3199
3200
3201
3202
3203
3204
3205
3206
3207
3208
3209
3210
3211
3212
3213
3214
3215
3216
3217
3218
3219
3220
3221
3222
3223
3224
3225
3226
3227
3228
3229
3230
3231
3232
3233
3234
3235
3236
3237
3238
3239
3240
3241
3242
3243
3244
3245
3246
3247
3248
3249
3250
3251
3252
3253
3254
3255
3256
3257
3258
3259
3260
3261
3262
3263
3264
3265
3266
3267
3268
3269
3270
3271
3272
3273
3274
3275
3276
3277
3278
3279
3280
3281
3282
3283
3284
3285
3286
3287
3288
3289
3290
3291
3292
3293
3294
3295
3296
3297
3298
3299
3300
3301
3302
3303
3304
3305
3306
3307
3308
3309
3310
3311
3312
3313
3314
3315
3316
3317
3318
3319
3320
3321
3322
3323
3324
3325
3326
3327
3328
3329
3330
3331
3332
3333
3334
3335
3336
3337
3338
3339
3340
3341
3342
3343
3344
3345
3346
3347
3348
3349
3350
3351
3352
3353
3354
3355
3356
3357
3358
3359
3360
3361
3362
3363
3364
3365
3366
3367
3368
3369
3370
3371
3372
3373
3374
3375
3376
3377
3378
3379
3380
3381
3382
3383
3384
3385
3386
3387
3388
3389
3390
3391
3392
3393
3394
3395
3396
3397
3398
3399
3400
3401
3402
3403
3404
3405
3406
3407
3408
3409
3410
3411
3412
3413
3414
3415
3416
3417
3418
3419
3420
3421
3422
3423
3424
3425
3426
3427
3428
3429
3430
3431
3432
3433
3434
3435
3436
3437
3438
3439
3440
3441
3442
3443
3444
3445
3446
3447
3448
3449
3450
3451
3452
3453
3454
3455
3456
3457
3458
3459
3460
3461
3462
3463
3464
3465
3466
3467
3468
3469
3470
3471
3472
3473
3474
3475
3476
3477
3478
3479
3480
3481
3482
3483
3484
3485
3486
3487
3488
3489
3490
3491
3492
3493
3494
3495
3496
3497
3498
3499
3500
3501
3502
3503
3504
3505
3506
3507
3508
3509
3510
3511
3512
3513
3514
3515
3516
3517
3518
3519
3520
3521
3522
3523
3524
3525
3526
3527
3528
3529
3530
3531
3532
3533
3534
3535
3536
3537
3538
3539
3540
3541
3542
3543
3544
3545
3546
3547
3548
3549
3550
3551
3552
3553
3554
3555
3556
3557
3558
3559
3560
3561
3562
3563
3564
3565
3566
3567
3568
3569
3570
3571
3572
3573
3574
3575
3576
3577
3578
3579
3580
3581
3582
3583
3584
3585
3586
3587
3588
3589
3590
3591
3592
3593
3594
3595
3596
3597
3598
3599
3600
3601
3602
3603
3604
3605
3606
3607
3608
3609
3610
3611
3612
3613
3614
3615
3616
3617
3618
3619
3620
3621
3622
3623
3624
3625
3626
3627
3628
3629
3630
3631
3632
3633
3634
3635
3636
3637
3638
3639
3640
3641
3642
3643
3644
3645
3646
3647
3648
3649
3650
3651
3652
3653
3654
3655
3656
3657
3658
3659
3660
3661
3662
3663
3664
3665
3666
3667
3668
3669
3670
3671
3672
3673
3674
3675
3676
3677
3678
3679
3680
3681
3682
3683
3684
3685
3686
3687
3688
3689
3690
3691
3692
3693
3694
3695
3696
3697
3698
3699
3700
3701
3702
3703
3704
3705
3706
3707
3708
3709
3710
3711
3712
3713
3714
3715
3716
3717
3718
3719
3720
3721
3722
3723
3724
3725
3726
3727
3728
3729
3730
3731
3732
3733
3734
3735
3736
3737
3738
3739
3740
3741
3742
3743
3744
3745
3746
3747
3748
3749
3750
3751
3752
3753
3754
3755
3756
3757
3758
3759
3760
3761
3762
3763
3764
3765
3766
3767
3768
3769
3770
3771
3772
3773
3774
3775
3776
3777
3778
3779
3780
3781
3782
3783
3784
3785
3786
3787
3788
3789
3790
3791
3792
3793
3794
3795
3796
3797
3798
3799
3800
3801
3802
3803
3804
3805
3806
3807
3808
3809
3810
3811
3812
3813
3814
3815
3816
3817
3818
3819
3820
3821
3822
3823
3824
3825
3826
3827
3828
3829
3830
3831
3832
3833
3834
3835
3836
3837
3838
3839
3840
3841
3842
3843
3844
3845
3846
3847
3848
3849
3850
3851
3852
3853
3854
3855
3856
3857
3858
3859
3860
3861
3862
3863
3864
3865
3866
3867
3868
3869
3870
3871
3872
3873
3874
3875
3876
3877
3878
3879
3880
3881
3882
3883
3884
3885
3886
3887
3888
3889
3890
3891
3892
3893
3894
3895
3896
3897
3898
3899
3900
3901
3902
3903
3904
3905
3906
3907
3908
3909
3910
3911
3912
3913
3914
3915
3916
3917
3918
3919
3920
3921
3922
3923
3924
3925
3926
3927
3928
3929
3930
3931
3932
3933
3934
3935
3936
3937
3938
3939
3940
3941
3942
3943
3944
3945
3946
3947
3948
3949
3950
3951
3952
3953
3954
3955
3956
3957
3958
3959
3960
3961
3962
3963
3964
3965
3966
3967
3968
3969
3970
3971
3972
3973
3974
3975
3976
3977
3978
3979
3980
3981
3982
3983
3984
3985
3986
3987
3988
3989
3990
3991
3992
3993
3994
3995
3996
3997
3998
3999
4000
4001
4002
4003
4004
4005
4006
4007
4008
4009
4010
4011
4012
4013
4014
4015
4016
4017
4018
4019
4020
4021
4022
4023
4024
4025
4026
4027
4028
4029
4030
4031
4032
4033
4034
4035
4036
4037
4038
4039
4040
4041
4042
4043
4044
4045
4046
4047
4048
4049
4050
4051
4052
4053
4054
4055
4056
4057
4058
4059
4060
4061
4062
4063
4064
4065
4066
4067
4068
4069
4070
4071
4072
4073
4074
4075
4076
4077
4078
4079
4080
4081
4082
4083
4084
4085
4086
4087
4088
4089
4090
4091
4092
4093
4094
4095
4096
4097
4098
4099
4100
4101
4102
4103
4104
4105
4106
4107
4108
4109
4110
4111
4112
4113
4114
4115
4116
4117
4118
4119
4120
4121
4122
4123
4124
4125
4126
4127
4128
4129
4130
4131
4132
4133
4134
4135
4136
4137
4138
4139
4140
4141
4142
4143
4144
4145
4146
4147
4148
4149
4150
4151
4152
4153
4154
4155
4156
4157
4158
4159
4160
4161
4162
4163
4164
4165
4166
4167
4168
4169
4170
4171
4172
4173
4174
4175
4176
4177
4178
4179
4180
4181
4182
4183
4184
4185
4186
4187
4188
4189
4190
4191
4192
4193
4194
4195
4196
4197
4198
4199
4200
4201
4202
4203
4204
4205
4206
4207
4208
4209
4210
4211
4212
4213
4214
4215
4216
4217
4218
4219
4220
4221
4222
4223
4224
4225
4226
4227
4228
4229
4230
4231
4232
4233
4234
4235
4236
4237
4238
4239
4240
4241
4242
4243
4244
4245
4246
4247
4248
4249
4250
4251
4252
4253
4254
4255
4256
4257
4258
4259
4260
4261
4262
4263
4264
4265
4266
4267
4268
4269
4270
4271
4272
4273
4274
4275
4276
4277
4278
4279
4280
4281
4282
4283
4284
4285
4286
4287
4288
4289
4290
4291
4292
4293
4294
4295
4296
4297
4298
4299
4300
4301
4302
4303
4304
4305
4306
4307
4308
4309
4310
4311
4312
4313
4314
4315
4316
4317
4318
4319
4320
4321
4322
4323
4324
4325
4326
4327
4328
4329
4330
4331
4332
4333
4334
4335
4336
4337
4338
4339
4340
4341
4342
4343
4344
4345
4346
4347
4348
4349
4350
4351
4352
4353
4354
4355
4356
4357
4358
4359
4360
4361
4362
4363
4364
4365
4366
4367
4368
4369
4370
4371
4372
4373
4374
4375
4376
4377
4378
4379
4380
4381
4382
4383
4384
4385
4386
4387
4388
4389
4390
4391
4392
4393
4394
4395
4396
4397
4398
4399
4400
4401
4402
4403
4404
4405
4406
4407
4408
4409
4410
4411
4412
4413
4414
4415
4416
4417
4418
4419
4420
4421
4422
4423
4424
4425
4426
4427
4428
4429
4430
4431
4432
4433
4434
4435
4436
4437
4438
4439
4440
4441
4442
4443
4444
4445
4446
4447
4448
4449
4450
4451
4452
4453
4454
4455
4456
4457
4458
4459
4460
4461
4462
4463
4464
4465
4466
4467
4468
4469
4470
4471
4472
4473
4474
4475
4476
4477
4478
4479
4480
4481
4482
4483
4484
4485
4486
4487
4488
4489
4490
4491
4492
4493
4494
4495
4496
4497
4498
4499
4500
4501
4502
4503
4504
4505
4506
4507
4508
4509
4510
4511
4512
4513
4514
4515
4516
4517
4518
4519
4520
4521
4522
4523
4524
4525
4526
4527
4528
4529
4530
4531
4532
4533
4534
4535
4536
4537
4538
4539
4540
4541
4542
4543
4544
4545
4546
4547
4548
4549
4550
4551
4552
4553
4554
4555
4556
4557
4558
4559
4560
4561
4562
4563
4564
4565
4566
4567
4568
4569
4570
4571
4572
4573
4574
4575
4576
4577
4578
4579
4580
4581
4582
4583
4584
4585
4586
4587
4588
4589
4590
4591
4592
4593
4594
4595
4596
4597
4598
4599
4600
4601
4602
4603
4604
4605
4606
4607
4608
4609
4610
4611
4612
4613
4614
4615
4616
4617
4618
4619
4620
4621
4622
4623
4624
4625
4626
4627
4628
4629
4630
4631
4632
4633
4634
4635
4636
4637
4638
4639
4640
4641
4642
4643
4644
4645
4646
4647
4648
4649
4650
4651
4652
4653
4654
4655
4656
4657
4658
4659
4660
4661
4662
4663
4664
4665
4666
4667
4668
4669
4670
4671
4672
4673
4674
4675
4676
4677
4678
4679
4680
4681
4682
4683
4684
4685
4686
4687
4688
4689
4690
4691
4692
4693
4694
4695
4696
4697
4698
4699
4700
4701
4702
4703
4704
4705
4706
4707
4708
4709
4710
4711
4712
4713
4714
4715
4716
4717
4718
4719
4720
4721
4722
4723
4724
4725
4726
4727
4728
4729
4730
4731
4732
4733
4734
4735
4736
4737
4738
4739
4740
4741
4742
4743
4744
4745
4746
4747
4748
4749
4750
4751
4752
4753
4754
4755
4756
4757
4758
4759
4760
4761
4762
4763
4764
4765
4766
4767
4768
4769
4770
4771
4772
4773
4774
4775
4776
4777
4778
4779
4780
4781
4782
4783
4784
4785
4786
4787
4788
4789
4790
4791
4792
4793
4794
4795
4796
4797
4798
4799
4800
4801
4802
4803
4804
4805
4806
4807
4808
4809
4810
4811
4812
4813
4814
4815
4816
4817
4818
4819
4820
4821
4822
4823
4824
4825
4826
4827
4828
4829
4830
4831
4832
4833
4834
4835
4836
4837
4838
4839
4840
4841
4842
4843
4844
4845
4846
4847
4848
4849
4850
4851
4852
4853
4854
4855
4856
4857
4858
4859
4860
4861
4862
4863
4864
4865
4866
4867
4868
4869
4870
4871
4872
4873
4874
4875
4876
4877
4878
4879
4880
4881
4882
4883
4884
4885
4886
4887
4888
4889
4890
4891
4892
4893
4894
4895
4896
4897
4898
4899
4900
4901
4902
4903
4904
4905
4906
4907
4908
4909
4910
4911
4912
4913
4914
4915
4916
4917
4918
4919
4920
4921
4922
4923
4924
4925
4926
4927
4928
4929
4930
4931
4932
4933
4934
4935
4936
4937
4938
4939
4940
4941
4942
4943
4944
4945
4946
4947
4948
4949
4950
4951
4952
4953
4954
4955
4956
4957
4958
4959
4960
4961
4962
4963
4964
4965
4966
4967
4968
4969
4970
4971
4972
4973
4974
4975
4976
4977
4978
4979
4980
4981
4982
4983
4984
4985
4986
4987
4988
4989
4990
4991
4992
4993
4994
4995
4996
4997
4998
4999
5000
5001
5002
5003
5004
5005
5006
5007
5008
5009
5010
5011
5012
5013
5014
5015
5016
5017
5018
5019
5020
5021
5022
5023
5024
5025
5026
5027
5028
5029
5030
5031
5032
5033
5034
5035
5036
5037
5038
5039
5040
5041
5042
5043
5044
5045
5046
5047
5048
5049
5050
5051
5052
5053
5054
5055
5056
5057
5058
5059
5060
5061
5062
5063
5064
5065
5066
5067
5068
5069
5070
5071
5072
5073
5074
5075
5076
5077
5078
5079
5080
5081
5082
5083
5084
5085
5086
5087
5088
5089
5090
5091
5092
5093
5094
5095
5096
5097
5098
5099
5100
5101
5102
5103
5104
5105
5106
5107
5108
5109
5110
5111
5112
5113
5114
5115
5116
5117
5118
5119
5120
5121
5122
5123
5124
5125
5126
5127
5128
5129
5130
5131
5132
5133
5134
5135
5136
5137
5138
5139
5140
5141
5142
5143
5144
5145
5146
5147
5148
5149
5150
5151
5152
5153
5154
5155
5156
5157
5158
5159
5160
5161
5162
5163
5164
5165
5166
5167
5168
5169
5170
5171
5172
5173
5174
5175
5176
5177
5178
5179
5180
5181
5182
5183
5184
5185
5186
5187
5188
5189
5190
5191
5192
5193
5194
5195
5196
5197
5198
5199
5200
5201
5202
5203
5204
5205
5206
5207
5208
5209
5210
5211
5212
5213
5214
5215
5216
5217
5218
5219
5220
5221
5222
5223
5224
5225
5226
5227
5228
5229
5230
5231
5232
5233
5234
5235
5236
5237
5238
5239
5240
5241
5242
5243
5244
5245
5246
5247
5248
5249
5250
5251
5252
5253
5254
5255
5256
5257
5258
5259
5260
5261
5262
5263
5264
5265
5266
5267
5268
5269
5270
5271
5272
5273
5274
5275
5276
5277
5278
5279
5280
5281
5282
5283
5284
5285
5286
5287
5288
5289
5290
5291
5292
5293
5294
5295
5296
5297
5298
5299
5300
5301
5302
5303
5304
5305
5306
5307
5308
5309
5310
5311
5312
5313
5314
5315
5316
5317
5318
5319
5320
5321
5322
5323
5324
5325
5326
5327
5328
5329
5330
5331
5332
5333
5334
5335
5336
5337
5338
5339
5340
5341
5342
5343
5344
5345
5346
5347
5348
5349
5350
5351
5352
5353
5354
5355
5356
5357
5358
5359
5360
5361
5362
5363
5364
5365
5366
5367
5368
5369
5370
5371
5372
5373
5374
5375
5376
5377
5378
5379
5380
5381
5382
5383
5384
5385
5386
5387
5388
5389
5390
5391
5392
5393
5394
5395
5396
5397
5398
5399
5400
5401
5402
5403
5404
5405
5406
5407
5408
5409
5410
5411
5412
5413
5414
5415
5416
5417
5418
5419
5420
5421
5422
5423
5424
5425
5426
5427
5428
5429
5430
5431
5432
5433
5434
5435
5436
5437
5438
5439
5440
5441
5442
5443
5444
5445
5446
5447
5448
5449
5450
5451
5452
5453
5454
5455
5456
5457
5458
5459
5460
5461
5462
5463
5464
5465
5466
5467
5468
5469
5470
5471
5472
5473
5474
5475
5476
5477
5478
5479
5480
5481
5482
5483
5484
5485
5486
5487
5488
5489
5490
5491
5492
5493
5494
5495
5496
5497
5498
5499
5500
5501
5502
5503
5504
5505
5506
5507
5508
5509
5510
5511
5512
5513
5514
5515
5516
5517
5518
5519
5520
5521
5522
5523
5524
5525
5526
5527
5528
5529
5530
5531
5532
5533
5534
5535
5536
5537
5538
5539
5540
5541
5542
5543
5544
5545
5546
5547
5548
5549
5550
5551
5552
5553
5554
5555
5556
5557
5558
5559
5560
5561
5562
5563
5564
5565
5566
5567
5568
5569
5570
5571
5572
5573
5574
5575
5576
5577
5578
5579
5580
5581
5582
5583
5584
5585
5586
5587
5588
5589
5590
5591
5592
5593
5594
5595
5596
5597
5598
5599
5600
5601
5602
5603
5604
5605
5606
5607
5608
5609
5610
5611
5612
5613
5614
5615
5616
5617
5618
5619
5620
5621
5622
5623
5624
5625
5626
5627
5628
5629
5630
5631
5632
5633
5634
5635
5636
5637
5638
5639
5640
5641
5642
5643
5644
5645
5646
5647
5648
5649
5650
5651
5652
5653
5654
5655
5656
5657
5658
5659
5660
5661
5662
5663
5664
5665
5666
5667
5668
5669
5670
5671
5672
5673
5674
5675
5676
5677
5678
5679
5680
5681
5682
5683
5684
5685
5686
5687
5688
5689
5690
5691
5692
5693
5694
5695
5696
5697
5698
5699
5700
5701
5702
5703
5704
5705
5706
5707
5708
5709
5710
5711
5712
5713
5714
5715
5716
5717
5718
5719
5720
5721
5722
5723
5724
5725
5726
5727
5728
5729
5730
5731
5732
5733
5734
5735
5736
5737
5738
5739
5740
5741
5742
5743
5744
5745
5746
5747
5748
5749
5750
5751
5752
5753
5754
5755
5756
5757
5758
5759
5760
5761
5762
5763
5764
5765
5766
5767
5768
5769
5770
5771
5772
5773
5774
5775
5776
5777
5778
5779
5780
5781
5782
5783
5784
5785
5786
5787
5788
5789
5790
5791
5792
5793
5794
5795
5796
5797
5798
5799
5800
5801
5802
5803
5804
5805
5806
5807
5808
5809
5810
5811
5812
5813
5814
5815
5816
5817
5818
5819
5820
5821
5822
5823
5824
5825
5826
5827
5828
5829
5830
5831
5832
5833
5834
5835
5836
5837
5838
5839
5840
5841
5842
5843
5844
5845
5846
5847
5848
5849
5850
5851
5852
5853
5854
5855
5856
5857
5858
5859
5860
5861
5862
5863
5864
5865
5866
5867
5868
5869
5870
5871
5872
5873
5874
5875
5876
5877
5878
5879
5880
5881
5882
5883
5884
5885
5886
5887
5888
5889
5890
5891
5892
5893
5894
5895
5896
5897
5898
5899
5900
5901
5902
5903
5904
5905
5906
5907
5908
5909
5910
5911
5912
5913
5914
5915
5916
5917
5918
5919
5920
5921
5922
5923
5924
5925
5926
5927
5928
5929
5930
5931
5932
5933
5934
5935
5936
5937
5938
5939
5940
5941
5942
5943
5944
5945
5946
5947
5948
5949
5950
5951
5952
5953
5954
5955
5956
5957
5958
5959
5960
5961
5962
5963
5964
5965
5966
5967
5968
5969
5970
5971
5972
5973
5974
5975
5976
5977
5978
5979
5980
5981
5982
5983
5984
5985
5986
5987
5988
5989
5990
5991
5992
5993
5994
5995
5996
5997
5998
5999
6000
6001
6002
6003
6004
6005
6006
6007
6008
6009
6010
6011
6012
6013
6014
6015
6016
6017
6018
6019
6020
6021
6022
6023
6024
6025
6026
6027
6028
6029
6030
6031
6032
6033
6034
6035
6036
6037
6038
6039
6040
6041
6042
6043
6044
6045
6046
6047
6048
6049
6050
6051
6052
6053
6054
6055
6056
6057
6058
6059
6060
6061
6062
6063
6064
6065
6066
6067
6068
6069
6070
6071
6072
6073
6074
6075
6076
6077
6078
6079
6080
6081
6082
6083
6084
6085
6086
6087
6088
6089
6090
6091
6092
6093
6094
6095
6096
6097
6098
6099
6100
6101
6102
6103
6104
6105
6106
6107
6108
6109
6110
6111
6112
6113
6114
6115
6116
6117
6118
6119
6120
6121
6122
6123
6124
6125
6126
6127
6128
6129
6130
6131
6132
6133
6134
6135
6136
6137
6138
6139
6140
6141
6142
6143
6144
6145
6146
6147
6148
6149
6150
6151
6152
6153
6154
6155
6156
6157
6158
6159
6160
6161
6162
6163
6164
6165
6166
6167
6168
6169
6170
6171
6172
6173
6174
6175
6176
6177
6178
6179
6180
6181
6182
6183
6184
6185
6186
6187
6188
6189
6190
6191
6192
6193
6194
6195
6196
6197
6198
6199
6200
6201
6202
6203
6204
6205
6206
6207
6208
6209
6210
6211
6212
6213
6214
6215
6216
6217
6218
6219
6220
6221
6222
6223
6224
6225
6226
6227
6228
6229
6230
6231
6232
6233
6234
6235
6236
6237
6238
6239
6240
6241
6242
6243
6244
6245
6246
6247
6248
6249
6250
6251
6252
6253
6254
6255
6256
6257
6258
6259
6260
6261
6262
6263
6264
6265
6266
6267
6268
6269
6270
6271
6272
6273
6274
6275
6276
6277
6278
6279
6280
6281
6282
6283
6284
6285
6286
6287
6288
6289
6290
6291
6292
6293
6294
6295
6296
6297
6298
6299
6300
6301
6302
6303
6304
6305
6306
6307
6308
6309
6310
6311
6312
6313
6314
6315
6316
6317
6318
6319
6320
6321
6322
6323
6324
6325
6326
6327
6328
6329
6330
6331
6332
6333
6334
6335
6336
6337
6338
6339
6340
6341
6342
6343
6344
6345
6346
6347
6348
6349
6350
6351
6352
6353
6354
6355
6356
6357
6358
6359
6360
6361
6362
6363
6364
6365
6366
6367
6368
6369
6370
6371
6372
6373
6374
6375
6376
6377
6378
6379
6380
6381
6382
6383
6384
6385
6386
6387
6388
6389
6390
6391
6392
6393
6394
6395
6396
6397
6398
6399
6400
6401
6402
6403
6404
6405
6406
6407
6408
6409
6410
6411
6412
6413
6414
6415
6416
6417
6418
6419
6420
6421
6422
6423
6424
6425
6426
6427
6428
6429
6430
6431
6432
6433
6434
6435
6436
6437
6438
6439
6440
6441
6442
6443
6444
6445
6446
6447
6448
6449
6450
6451
6452
6453
6454
6455
6456
6457
6458
6459
6460
6461
6462
6463
6464
6465
6466
6467
6468
6469
6470
6471
6472
6473
6474
6475
6476
6477
6478
6479
6480
6481
6482
6483
6484
6485
6486
6487
6488
6489
6490
6491
6492
6493
6494
6495
6496
6497
6498
6499
6500
6501
6502
6503
6504
6505
6506
6507
6508
6509
6510
6511
6512
6513
6514
6515
6516
6517
6518
6519
6520
6521
6522
6523
6524
6525
6526
6527
6528
6529
6530
6531
6532
6533
6534
6535
6536
6537
6538
6539
6540
6541
6542
6543
6544
6545
6546
6547
6548
6549
6550
6551
6552
6553
6554
6555
6556
6557
6558
6559
6560
6561
6562
6563
6564
6565
6566
6567
6568
6569
6570
6571
6572
6573
6574
6575
6576
6577
6578
6579
6580
6581
6582
6583
6584
6585
6586
6587
6588
6589
6590
6591
6592
6593
6594
6595
6596
6597
6598
6599
6600
6601
6602
6603
6604
6605
6606
6607
6608
6609
6610
6611
6612
6613
6614
6615
6616
6617
6618
6619
6620
6621
6622
6623
6624
6625
6626
6627
6628
6629
6630
6631
6632
6633
6634
6635
6636
6637
6638
6639
6640
6641
6642
6643
6644
6645
6646
6647
6648
6649
6650
6651
6652
6653
6654
6655
6656
6657
6658
6659
6660
6661
6662
6663
6664
6665
6666
6667
6668
6669
6670
6671
6672
6673
6674
6675
6676
6677
6678
6679
6680
6681
6682
6683
6684
6685
6686
6687
6688
6689
6690
6691
6692
6693
6694
6695
6696
6697
6698
6699
6700
6701
6702
6703
6704
6705
6706
6707
6708
6709
6710
6711
6712
6713
6714
6715
6716
6717
6718
6719
6720
6721
6722
6723
6724
6725
6726
6727
6728
6729
6730
6731
6732
6733
6734
6735
6736
6737
6738
6739
6740
6741
6742
6743
6744
6745
6746
6747
6748
6749
6750
6751
6752
6753
6754
6755
6756
6757
6758
6759
6760
6761
6762
6763
6764
6765
6766
6767
6768
6769
6770
6771
6772
6773
6774
6775
6776
6777
6778
6779
6780
6781
6782
6783
6784
6785
6786
6787
6788
6789
6790
6791
6792
6793
6794
6795
6796
6797
6798
6799
6800
6801
6802
6803
6804
6805
6806
6807
6808
6809
6810
6811
6812
6813
6814
6815
6816
6817
6818
6819
6820
6821
6822
6823
6824
6825
6826
6827
6828
6829
6830
6831
6832
6833
6834
6835
6836
6837
6838
6839
6840
6841
6842
6843
6844
6845
6846
6847
6848
6849
6850
6851
6852
6853
6854
6855
6856
6857
6858
6859
6860
6861
6862
6863
6864
6865
6866
6867
6868
6869
6870
6871
6872
6873
6874
6875
6876
6877
6878
6879
6880
6881
6882
6883
6884
6885
6886
6887
6888
6889
6890
6891
6892
6893
6894
6895
6896
6897
6898
6899
6900
6901
6902
6903
6904
6905
6906
6907
6908
6909
6910
6911
6912
6913
6914
6915
6916
6917
6918
6919
6920
6921
6922
6923
6924
6925
6926
6927
6928
6929
6930
6931
6932
6933
6934
6935
6936
6937
6938
6939
6940
6941
6942
6943
6944
6945
6946
6947
6948
6949
6950
6951
6952
6953
6954
6955
6956
6957
6958
6959
6960
6961
6962
6963
6964
6965
6966
6967
6968
6969
6970
6971
6972
6973
6974
6975
6976
6977
6978
6979
6980
6981
6982
6983
6984
6985
6986
6987
6988
6989
6990
6991
6992
6993
6994
6995
6996
6997
6998
6999
7000
7001
7002
7003
7004
7005
7006
7007
7008
7009
7010
7011
7012
7013
7014
7015
7016
7017
7018
7019
7020
7021
7022
7023
7024
7025
7026
7027
7028
7029
7030
7031
7032
7033
7034
7035
7036
7037
7038
7039
7040
7041
7042
7043
7044
7045
7046
7047
7048
7049
7050
7051
7052
7053
7054
7055
7056
7057
7058
7059
7060
7061
7062
7063
7064
7065
7066
7067
7068
7069
7070
7071
7072
7073
7074
7075
7076
7077
7078
7079
7080
7081
7082
7083
7084
7085
7086
7087
7088
7089
7090
7091
7092
7093
7094
7095
7096
7097
7098
7099
7100
7101
7102
7103
7104
7105
7106
7107
7108
7109
7110
7111
7112
7113
7114
7115
7116
7117
7118
7119
7120
7121
7122
7123
7124
7125
7126
7127
7128
7129
7130
7131
7132
7133
7134
7135
7136
7137
7138
7139
7140
7141
7142
7143
7144
7145
7146
7147
7148
7149
7150
7151
7152
7153
7154
7155
7156
7157
7158
7159
7160
7161
7162
7163
7164
7165
7166
7167
7168
7169
7170
7171
7172
7173
7174
7175
7176
7177
7178
7179
7180
7181
7182
7183
7184
7185
7186
7187
7188
7189
7190
7191
7192
7193
7194
7195
7196
7197
7198
7199
7200
7201
7202
7203
7204
7205
7206
7207
7208
7209
7210
7211
7212
7213
7214
7215
7216
7217
7218
7219
7220
7221
7222
7223
7224
7225
7226
7227
7228
7229
7230
7231
7232
7233
7234
7235
7236
7237
7238
7239
7240
7241
7242
7243
7244
7245
7246
7247
7248
7249
7250
7251
7252
7253
7254
7255
7256
7257
7258
7259
7260
7261
7262
7263
7264
7265
7266
7267
7268
7269
7270
7271
7272
7273
7274
7275
7276
7277
7278
7279
7280
7281
7282
7283
7284
7285
7286
7287
7288
7289
7290
7291
7292
7293
7294
7295
7296
7297
7298
7299
7300
7301
7302
7303
7304
7305
7306
7307
7308
7309
7310
7311
7312
7313
7314
7315
7316
7317
7318
7319
7320
7321
7322
7323
7324
7325
7326
7327
7328
7329
7330
7331
7332
7333
7334
7335
7336
7337
7338
7339
7340
7341
7342
7343
7344
7345
7346
7347
7348
7349
7350
7351
7352
7353
7354
7355
7356
7357
7358
7359
7360
7361
7362
7363
7364
7365
7366
7367
7368
7369
7370
7371
7372
7373
7374
7375
7376
7377
7378
7379
7380
7381
7382
7383
7384
7385
7386
7387
7388
7389
7390
7391
7392
7393
7394
7395
7396
7397
7398
7399
7400
7401
7402
7403
7404
7405
7406
7407
7408
7409
7410
7411
7412
7413
7414
7415
7416
7417
7418
7419
7420
7421
7422
7423
7424
7425
7426
7427
7428
7429
7430
7431
7432
7433
7434
7435
7436
7437
7438
7439
7440
7441
7442
7443
7444
7445
7446
7447
7448
7449
7450
7451
7452
7453
7454
7455
7456
7457
7458
7459
7460
7461
7462
7463
7464
7465
7466
7467
7468
7469
7470
7471
7472
7473
7474
7475
7476
7477
7478
7479
7480
7481
7482
7483
7484
7485
7486
7487
7488
7489
7490
7491
7492
7493
7494
7495
7496
7497
7498
7499
7500
7501
7502
7503
7504
7505
7506
7507
7508
7509
7510
7511
7512
7513
7514
7515
7516
7517
7518
7519
7520
7521
7522
7523
7524
7525
7526
7527
7528
7529
7530
7531
7532
7533
7534
7535
7536
7537
7538
7539
7540
7541
7542
7543
7544
7545
7546
7547
7548
7549
7550
7551
7552
7553
7554
7555
7556
7557
7558
7559
7560
7561
7562
7563
7564
7565
7566
7567
7568
7569
7570
7571
7572
7573
7574
7575
7576
7577
7578
7579
7580
7581
7582
7583
7584
7585
7586
7587
7588
7589
7590
7591
7592
7593
7594
7595
7596
7597
7598
7599
7600
7601
7602
7603
7604
7605
7606
7607
7608
7609
7610
7611
7612
7613
7614
7615
7616
7617
7618
7619
7620
7621
7622
7623
7624
7625
7626
7627
7628
7629
7630
7631
7632
7633
7634
7635
7636
7637
7638
7639
7640
7641
7642
7643
7644
7645
7646
7647
7648
7649
7650
7651
7652
7653
7654
7655
7656
7657
7658
7659
7660
7661
7662
7663
7664
7665
7666
7667
7668
7669
7670
7671
7672
7673
7674
7675
7676
7677
7678
7679
7680
7681
7682
7683
7684
7685
7686
7687
7688
7689
7690
7691
7692
7693
7694
7695
7696
7697
7698
7699
7700
7701
7702
7703
7704
7705
7706
7707
7708
7709
7710
7711
7712
7713
7714
7715
7716
7717
7718
7719
7720
7721
7722
7723
7724
7725
7726
7727
7728
7729
7730
7731
7732
7733
7734
7735
7736
7737
7738
7739
7740
7741
7742
7743
7744
7745
7746
7747
7748
7749
7750
7751
7752
7753
7754
7755
7756
7757
7758
7759
7760
7761
7762
7763
7764
7765
7766
7767
7768
7769
7770
7771
7772
7773
7774
7775
7776
7777
7778
7779
7780
7781
7782
7783
7784
7785
7786
7787
7788
7789
7790
7791
7792
7793
7794
7795
7796
7797
7798
7799
7800
7801
7802
7803
7804
7805
7806
7807
7808
7809
7810
7811
7812
7813
7814
7815
7816
7817
7818
7819
7820
7821
7822
7823
7824
7825
7826
7827
7828
7829
7830
7831
7832
7833
7834
7835
7836
7837
7838
7839
7840
7841
7842
7843
7844
7845
7846
7847
7848
7849
7850
7851
7852
7853
7854
7855
7856
7857
7858
7859
7860
7861
7862
7863
7864
7865
7866
7867
7868
7869
7870
7871
7872
7873
7874
7875
7876
7877
7878
7879
7880
7881
7882
7883
7884
7885
7886
7887
7888
7889
7890
7891
7892
7893
7894
7895
7896
7897
7898
7899
7900
7901
7902
7903
7904
7905
7906
7907
7908
7909
7910
7911
7912
7913
7914
7915
7916
7917
7918
7919
7920
7921
7922
7923
7924
7925
7926
7927
7928
7929
7930
7931
7932
7933
7934
7935
7936
7937
7938
7939
7940
7941
7942
7943
7944
7945
7946
7947
7948
7949
7950
7951
7952
7953
7954
7955
7956
7957
7958
7959
7960
7961
7962
7963
7964
7965
7966
7967
7968
7969
7970
7971
7972
7973
7974
7975
7976
7977
7978
7979
7980
7981
7982
7983
7984
7985
7986
7987
7988
7989
7990
7991
7992
7993
7994
7995
7996
7997
7998
7999
8000
8001
8002
8003
8004
8005
8006
8007
8008
8009
8010
8011
8012
8013
8014
8015
8016
8017
8018
8019
8020
8021
8022
8023
8024
8025
8026
8027
8028
8029
8030
8031
8032
8033
8034
8035
8036
8037
8038
8039
8040
8041
8042
8043
8044
8045
8046
8047
8048
8049
8050
8051
8052
8053
8054
8055
8056
8057
8058
8059
8060
8061
8062
8063
8064
8065
8066
8067
8068
8069
8070
8071
8072
8073
8074
8075
8076
8077
8078
8079
8080
8081
8082
8083
8084
8085
8086
8087
8088
8089
8090
8091
8092
8093
8094
8095
8096
8097
8098
8099
8100
8101
8102
8103
8104
8105
8106
8107
8108
8109
8110
8111
8112
8113
8114
8115
8116
8117
8118
8119
8120
8121
8122
8123
8124
8125
8126
8127
8128
8129
8130
8131
8132
8133
8134
8135
8136
8137
8138
8139
8140
8141
8142
8143
8144
8145
8146
8147
8148
8149
8150
8151
8152
8153
8154
8155
8156
8157
8158
8159
8160
8161
8162
8163
8164
8165
8166
8167
8168
8169
8170
8171
8172
8173
8174
8175
8176
8177
8178
8179
8180
8181
8182
8183
8184
8185
8186
8187
8188
8189
8190
8191
8192
8193
8194
8195
8196
8197
8198
8199
8200
8201
8202
8203
8204
8205
8206
8207
8208
8209
8210
8211
8212
8213
8214
8215
8216
8217
8218
8219
8220
8221
8222
8223
8224
8225
8226
8227
8228
8229
8230
8231
8232
8233
8234
8235
8236
8237
8238
8239
8240
8241
8242
8243
8244
8245
8246
8247
8248
8249
8250
8251
8252
8253
8254
8255
8256
8257
8258
8259
8260
8261
8262
8263
8264
8265
8266
8267
8268
8269
8270
8271
8272
8273
8274
8275
8276
8277
8278
8279
8280
8281
8282
8283
8284
8285
8286
8287
8288
8289
8290
8291
8292
8293
8294
8295
8296
8297
8298
8299
8300
8301
8302
8303
8304
8305
8306
8307
8308
8309
8310
8311
8312
8313
8314
8315
8316
8317
8318
8319
8320
8321
8322
8323
8324
8325
8326
8327
8328
8329
8330
8331
8332
8333
8334
8335
8336
8337
8338
8339
8340
8341
8342
8343
8344
8345
8346
8347
8348
8349
8350
8351
8352
8353
8354
8355
8356
8357
8358
8359
8360
8361
8362
8363
8364
8365
8366
8367
8368
8369
8370
8371
8372
8373
8374
8375
8376
8377
8378
8379
8380
8381
8382
8383
8384
8385
8386
8387
8388
8389
8390
8391
8392
8393
8394
8395
8396
8397
8398
8399
8400
8401
8402
8403
8404
8405
8406
8407
8408
8409
8410
8411
8412
8413
8414
8415
8416
8417
8418
8419
8420
8421
8422
8423
8424
8425
8426
8427
8428
8429
8430
8431
8432
8433
8434
8435
8436
8437
8438
8439
8440
8441
8442
8443
8444
8445
8446
8447
8448
8449
8450
8451
8452
8453
8454
8455
8456
8457
8458
8459
8460
8461
8462
8463
8464
8465
8466
8467
8468
8469
8470
8471
8472
8473
8474
8475
8476
8477
8478
8479
8480
8481
8482
8483
8484
8485
8486
8487
8488
8489
8490
8491
8492
8493
8494
8495
8496
8497
8498
8499
8500
8501
8502
8503
8504
8505
8506
8507
8508
8509
8510
8511
8512
8513
8514
8515
8516
8517
8518
8519
8520
8521
8522
8523
8524
8525
8526
8527
8528
8529
8530
8531
8532
8533
8534
8535
8536
8537
8538
8539
8540
8541
8542
8543
8544
8545
8546
8547
8548
8549
8550
8551
8552
8553
8554
8555
8556
8557
8558
8559
8560
8561
8562
8563
8564
8565
8566
8567
8568
8569
8570
8571
8572
8573
8574
8575
8576
8577
8578
8579
8580
8581
8582
8583
8584
8585
8586
8587
8588
8589
8590
8591
8592
8593
8594
8595
8596
8597
8598
8599
8600
8601
8602
8603
8604
8605
8606
8607
8608
8609
8610
8611
8612
8613
8614
8615
8616
8617
8618
8619
8620
8621
8622
8623
8624
8625
8626
8627
8628
8629
8630
8631
8632
8633
8634
8635
8636
8637
8638
8639
8640
8641
8642
8643
8644
8645
8646
8647
8648
8649
8650
8651
8652
8653
8654
8655
8656
8657
8658
8659
8660
8661
8662
8663
8664
8665
8666
8667
8668
8669
8670
8671
8672
8673
8674
8675
8676
8677
8678
8679
8680
8681
8682
8683
8684
8685
8686
8687
8688
8689
8690
8691
8692
8693
8694
8695
8696
8697
8698
8699
8700
8701
8702
8703
8704
8705
8706
8707
8708
8709
8710
8711
8712
8713
8714
8715
8716
8717
8718
8719
8720
8721
8722
8723
8724
8725
8726
8727
8728
8729
8730
8731
8732
8733
8734
8735
8736
8737
8738
8739
8740
8741
8742
8743
8744
8745
8746
8747
8748
8749
8750
8751
8752
8753
8754
8755
8756
8757
8758
8759
8760
8761
8762
8763
8764
8765
8766
8767
8768
8769
8770
8771
8772
8773
8774
8775
8776
8777
8778
8779
8780
8781
8782
8783
8784
8785
8786
8787
8788
8789
8790
8791
8792
8793
8794
8795
8796
8797
8798
8799
8800
8801
8802
8803
8804
8805
8806
8807
8808
8809
8810
8811
8812
8813
8814
8815
8816
8817
8818
8819
8820
8821
8822
8823
8824
8825
8826
8827
8828
8829
8830
8831
8832
8833
8834
8835
8836
8837
8838
8839
8840
8841
8842
8843
8844
8845
8846
8847
8848
8849
8850
8851
8852
8853
8854
8855
8856
8857
8858
8859
8860
8861
8862
8863
8864
8865
8866
8867
8868
8869
8870
8871
8872
8873
8874
8875
8876
8877
8878
8879
8880
8881
8882
8883
8884
8885
8886
8887
8888
8889
8890
8891
8892
8893
8894
8895
8896
8897
8898
8899
8900
8901
8902
8903
8904
8905
8906
8907
8908
8909
8910
8911
8912
8913
8914
8915
8916
8917
8918
8919
8920
8921
8922
8923
8924
8925
8926
8927
8928
8929
8930
8931
8932
8933
8934
8935
8936
8937
8938
8939
8940
8941
8942
8943
8944
8945
8946
8947
8948
8949
8950
8951
8952
8953
8954
8955
8956
8957
8958
8959
8960
8961
8962
8963
8964
8965
8966
8967
8968
8969
8970
8971
8972
8973
8974
8975
8976
8977
8978
8979
8980
8981
8982
8983
8984
8985
8986
8987
8988
8989
8990
8991
8992
8993
8994
8995
8996
8997
8998
8999
9000
9001
9002
9003
9004
9005
9006
9007
9008
9009
9010
9011
9012
9013
9014
9015
9016
9017
9018
9019
9020
9021
9022
9023
9024
9025
9026
9027
9028
9029
9030
9031
9032
9033
9034
9035
9036
9037
9038
9039
9040
9041
9042
9043
9044
9045
9046
9047
9048
9049
9050
9051
9052
9053
9054
9055
9056
9057
9058
9059
9060
9061
9062
9063
9064
9065
9066
9067
9068
9069
9070
9071
9072
9073
9074
9075
9076
9077
9078
9079
9080
9081
9082
9083
9084
9085
9086
9087
9088
9089
9090
9091
9092
9093
9094
9095
9096
9097
9098
9099
9100
9101
9102
9103
9104
9105
9106
9107
9108
9109
9110
9111
9112
9113
9114
9115
9116
9117
9118
9119
9120
9121
9122
9123
9124
9125
9126
9127
9128
9129
9130
9131
9132
9133
9134
9135
9136
9137
9138
9139
9140
9141
9142
9143
9144
9145
9146
9147
9148
9149
9150
9151
9152
9153
9154
9155
9156
9157
9158
9159
9160
9161
9162
9163
9164
9165
9166
9167
9168
9169
9170
9171
9172
9173
9174
9175
9176
9177
9178
9179
9180
9181
9182
9183
9184
9185
9186
9187
9188
9189
9190
9191
9192
9193
9194
9195
9196
9197
9198
9199
9200
9201
9202
9203
9204
9205
9206
9207
9208
9209
9210
9211
9212
9213
9214
9215
9216
9217
9218
9219
9220
9221
9222
9223
9224
9225
9226
9227
9228
9229
9230
9231
9232
9233
9234
9235
9236
9237
9238
9239
9240
9241
9242
9243
9244
9245
9246
9247
9248
9249
9250
9251
9252
9253
9254
9255
9256
9257
9258
9259
9260
9261
9262
9263
9264
9265
9266
9267
9268
9269
9270
9271
9272
9273
9274
9275
9276
9277
9278
9279
9280
9281
9282
9283
9284
9285
9286
9287
9288
9289
9290
9291
9292
9293
9294
9295
9296
9297
9298
9299
9300
9301
9302
9303
9304
9305
9306
9307
9308
9309
9310
9311
9312
9313
9314
9315
9316
9317
9318
9319
9320
9321
9322
9323
9324
9325
9326
9327
9328
9329
9330
9331
9332
9333
9334
9335
9336
9337
9338
9339
9340
9341
9342
9343
9344
9345
9346
9347
9348
9349
9350
9351
9352
9353
9354
9355
9356
9357
9358
9359
9360
9361
9362
9363
9364
9365
9366
9367
9368
9369
9370
9371
9372
9373
9374
9375
9376
9377
9378
9379
9380
9381
9382
9383
9384
9385
9386
9387
9388
9389
9390
9391
9392
9393
9394
9395
9396
9397
9398
9399
9400
9401
9402
9403
9404
9405
9406
9407
9408
9409
9410
9411
9412
9413
9414
9415
9416
9417
9418
9419
9420
9421
9422
9423
9424
9425
9426
9427
9428
9429
9430
9431
9432
9433
9434
9435
9436
9437
9438
9439
9440
9441
9442
9443
9444
9445
9446
9447
9448
9449
9450
9451
9452
9453
9454
9455
9456
9457
9458
9459
9460
9461
9462
9463
9464
9465
9466
9467
9468
9469
9470
9471
9472
9473
9474
9475
9476
9477
9478
9479
9480
9481
9482
9483
9484
9485
9486
9487
9488
9489
9490
9491
9492
9493
9494
9495
9496
9497
9498
9499
9500
9501
9502
9503
9504
9505
9506
9507
9508
9509
9510
9511
9512
9513
9514
9515
9516
9517
9518
9519
9520
9521
9522
9523
9524
9525
9526
9527
9528
9529
9530
9531
9532
9533
9534
9535
9536
9537
9538
9539
9540
9541
9542
9543
9544
9545
9546
9547
9548
9549
9550
9551
9552
9553
9554
9555
9556
9557
9558
9559
9560
9561
9562
9563
9564
9565
9566
9567
9568
9569
9570
9571
9572
9573
9574
9575
9576
9577
9578
9579
9580
9581
9582
9583
9584
9585
9586
9587
9588
9589
9590
9591
9592
9593
9594
9595
9596
9597
9598
9599
9600
9601
9602
9603
9604
9605
9606
9607
9608
9609
9610
9611
9612
9613
9614
9615
9616
9617
9618
9619
9620
9621
9622
9623
9624
9625
9626
9627
9628
9629
9630
9631
9632
9633
9634
9635
9636
9637
9638
9639
9640
9641
9642
9643
9644
9645
9646
9647
9648
9649
9650
9651
9652
9653
9654
9655
9656
9657
9658
9659
9660
9661
9662
9663
9664
9665
9666
9667
9668
9669
9670
9671
9672
9673
9674
9675
9676
9677
9678
9679
9680
9681
9682
9683
9684
9685
9686
9687
9688
9689
9690
9691
9692
9693
9694
9695
9696
9697
9698
9699
9700
9701
9702
9703
9704
9705
9706
9707
9708
9709
9710
9711
9712
9713
9714
9715
9716
9717
9718
9719
9720
9721
9722
9723
9724
9725
9726
9727
9728
9729
9730
9731
9732
9733
9734
9735
9736
9737
9738
9739
9740
9741
9742
9743
9744
9745
9746
9747
9748
9749
9750
9751
9752
9753
9754
9755
9756
9757
9758
9759
9760
9761
9762
9763
9764
9765
9766
9767
9768
9769
9770
9771
9772
9773
9774
9775
9776
9777
9778
9779
9780
9781
9782
9783
9784
9785
9786
9787
9788
9789
9790
9791
9792
9793
9794
9795
9796
9797
9798
9799
9800
9801
9802
9803
9804
9805
9806
9807
9808
9809
9810
9811
9812
9813
9814
9815
9816
9817
9818
9819
9820
9821
9822
9823
9824
9825
9826
9827
9828
9829
9830
9831
9832
9833
9834
9835
9836
9837
9838
9839
9840
9841
9842
9843
9844
9845
9846
9847
9848
9849
9850
9851
9852
9853
9854
9855
9856
9857
9858
9859
9860
9861
9862
9863
9864
9865
9866
9867
9868
9869
9870
9871
9872
9873
9874
9875
9876
9877
9878
9879
9880
9881
9882
9883
9884
9885
9886
9887
9888
9889
9890
9891
9892
9893
9894
9895
9896
9897
9898
9899
9900
9901
9902
9903
9904
9905
9906
9907
9908
9909
9910
9911
9912
9913
9914
9915
9916
9917
9918
9919
9920
9921
9922
9923
9924
9925
9926
9927
9928
9929
9930
9931
9932
9933
9934
9935
9936
9937
9938
9939
9940
9941
9942
9943
9944
9945
9946
9947
9948
9949
9950
9951
9952
9953
9954
9955
9956
9957
9958
9959
9960
9961
9962
9963
9964
9965
9966
9967
9968
9969
9970
9971
9972
9973
9974
9975
9976
9977
9978
9979
9980
9981
9982
9983
9984
9985
9986
9987
9988
9989
9990
9991
9992
9993
9994
9995
9996
9997
9998
9999
10000
10001
10002
10003
10004
10005
10006
10007
10008
10009
10010
10011
10012
10013
10014
10015
10016
10017
10018
10019
10020
10021
10022
10023
10024
10025
10026
10027
10028
10029
10030
10031
10032
10033
10034
10035
10036
10037
10038
10039
10040
10041
10042
10043
10044
10045
10046
10047
10048
10049
10050
10051
10052
10053
10054
10055
10056
10057
10058
10059
10060
10061
10062
10063
10064
10065
10066
10067
10068
10069
10070
10071
10072
10073
10074
10075
10076
10077
10078
10079
10080
10081
10082
10083
10084
10085
10086
10087
10088
10089
10090
10091
10092
10093
10094
10095
10096
10097
10098
10099
10100
10101
10102
10103
10104
10105
10106
10107
10108
10109
10110
10111
10112
10113
10114
10115
10116
10117
10118
10119
10120
10121
10122
10123
10124
10125
10126
10127
10128
10129
10130
10131
10132
10133
10134
10135
10136
10137
10138
10139
10140
10141
10142
10143
10144
10145
10146
10147
10148
10149
10150
10151
10152
10153
10154
10155
10156
10157
10158
10159
10160
10161
10162
10163
10164
10165
10166
10167
10168
10169
10170
10171
10172
10173
10174
10175
10176
10177
10178
10179
10180
10181
10182
10183
10184
10185
10186
10187
10188
10189
10190
10191
10192
10193
10194
10195
10196
10197
10198
10199
10200
10201
10202
10203
10204
10205
10206
10207
10208
10209
10210
10211
10212
10213
10214
10215
10216
10217
10218
10219
10220
10221
10222
10223
10224
10225
10226
10227
10228
10229
10230
10231
10232
10233
10234
10235
10236
10237
10238
10239
10240
10241
10242
10243
10244
10245
10246
10247
10248
10249
10250
10251
10252
10253
10254
10255
10256
10257
10258
10259
10260
10261
10262
10263
10264
10265
10266
10267
10268
10269
10270
10271
10272
10273
10274
10275
10276
10277
10278
10279
10280
10281
10282
10283
10284
10285
10286
10287
10288
10289
10290
10291
10292
10293
10294
10295
10296
10297
10298
10299
10300
10301
10302
10303
10304
10305
10306
10307
10308
10309
10310
10311
10312
10313
10314
10315
10316
10317
10318
10319
10320
10321
10322
10323
10324
10325
10326
10327
10328
10329
10330
10331
10332
10333
10334
10335
10336
10337
10338
10339
10340
10341
10342
10343
10344
10345
10346
10347
10348
10349
10350
10351
10352
10353
10354
10355
10356
10357
10358
10359
10360
10361
10362
10363
10364
10365
10366
10367
10368
10369
10370
10371
10372
10373
10374
10375
10376
10377
10378
10379
10380
10381
10382
10383
10384
10385
10386
10387
10388
10389
10390
10391
10392
10393
10394
10395
10396
10397
10398
10399
10400
10401
10402
10403
10404
10405
10406
10407
10408
10409
10410
10411
10412
10413
10414
10415
10416
10417
10418
10419
10420
10421
10422
10423
10424
10425
10426
10427
10428
10429
10430
10431
10432
10433
10434
10435
10436
10437
10438
10439
10440
10441
10442
10443
10444
10445
10446
10447
10448
10449
10450
10451
10452
10453
10454
10455
10456
10457
10458
10459
10460
10461
10462
10463
10464
10465
10466
10467
10468
10469
10470
10471
10472
10473
10474
10475
10476
10477
10478
10479
10480
10481
10482
10483
10484
10485
10486
10487
10488
10489
10490
10491
10492
10493
10494
10495
10496
10497
10498
10499
10500
10501
10502
10503
10504
10505
10506
10507
10508
10509
10510
10511
10512
10513
10514
10515
10516
10517
10518
10519
10520
10521
10522
10523
10524
10525
10526
10527
10528
10529
10530
10531
10532
10533
10534
10535
10536
10537
10538
10539
10540
10541
10542
10543
10544
10545
10546
10547
10548
10549
10550
10551
10552
10553
10554
10555
10556
10557
10558
10559
10560
10561
10562
10563
10564
10565
10566
10567
10568
10569
10570
10571
10572
10573
10574
10575
10576
10577
10578
10579
10580
10581
10582
10583
10584
10585
10586
10587
10588
10589
10590
10591
10592
10593
10594
10595
10596
10597
10598
10599
10600
10601
10602
10603
10604
10605
10606
10607
10608
10609
10610
10611
10612
10613
10614
10615
10616
10617
10618
10619
10620
10621
10622
10623
10624
10625
10626
10627
10628
10629
10630
10631
10632
10633
10634
10635
10636
10637
10638
10639
10640
10641
10642
10643
10644
10645
10646
10647
10648
10649
10650
10651
10652
10653
10654
10655
10656
10657
10658
10659
10660
10661
10662
10663
10664
10665
10666
10667
10668
10669
10670
10671
10672
10673
10674
10675
10676
10677
10678
10679
10680
10681
10682
10683
10684
10685
10686
10687
10688
10689
10690
10691
10692
10693
10694
10695
10696
10697
10698
10699
10700
10701
10702
10703
10704
10705
10706
10707
10708
10709
10710
10711
10712
10713
10714
10715
10716
10717
10718
10719
10720
10721
10722
10723
10724
10725
10726
10727
10728
10729
10730
10731
10732
10733
10734
10735
10736
10737
10738
10739
10740
10741
10742
10743
10744
10745
10746
10747
10748
10749
10750
10751
10752
10753
10754
10755
10756
10757
10758
10759
10760
10761
10762
10763
10764
10765
10766
10767
10768
10769
10770
10771
10772
10773
10774
10775
10776
10777
10778
10779
10780
10781
10782
10783
10784
10785
10786
10787
10788
10789
10790
10791
10792
10793
10794
10795
10796
10797
10798
10799
10800
10801
10802
10803
10804
10805
10806
10807
10808
10809
10810
10811
10812
10813
10814
10815
10816
10817
10818
10819
10820
10821
10822
10823
10824
10825
10826
10827
10828
10829
10830
10831
10832
10833
10834
10835
10836
10837
10838
10839
10840
10841
10842
10843
10844
10845
10846
10847
10848
10849
10850
10851
10852
10853
10854
10855
10856
10857
10858
10859
10860
10861
10862
10863
10864
10865
10866
10867
10868
10869
10870
10871
10872
10873
10874
10875
10876
10877
10878
10879
10880
10881
10882
10883
10884
10885
10886
10887
10888
10889
10890
10891
10892
10893
10894
10895
10896
10897
10898
10899
10900
10901
10902
10903
10904
10905
10906
10907
10908
10909
10910
10911
10912
10913
10914
10915
10916
10917
10918
10919
10920
10921
10922
10923
10924
10925
10926
10927
10928
10929
10930
10931
10932
10933
10934
10935
10936
10937
10938
10939
10940
10941
10942
10943
10944
10945
10946
10947
10948
10949
10950
10951
10952
10953
10954
10955
10956
10957
10958
10959
10960
10961
10962
10963
10964
10965
10966
10967
10968
10969
10970
10971
10972
10973
10974
10975
10976
10977
10978
10979
10980
10981
10982
10983
10984
10985
10986
10987
10988
10989
10990
10991
10992
10993
10994
10995
10996
10997
10998
10999
11000
11001
11002
11003
11004
11005
11006
11007
11008
11009
11010
11011
11012
11013
11014
11015
11016
11017
11018
11019
11020
11021
11022
11023
11024
11025
11026
11027
11028
11029
11030
11031
11032
11033
11034
11035
11036
11037
11038
11039
11040
11041
11042
11043
11044
11045
11046
11047
11048
11049
11050
11051
11052
11053
11054
11055
11056
11057
11058
11059
11060
11061
11062
11063
11064
11065
11066
11067
11068
11069
11070
11071
11072
11073
11074
11075
11076
11077
11078
11079
11080
11081
11082
11083
11084
11085
11086
11087
11088
11089
11090
11091
11092
11093
11094
11095
11096
11097
11098
11099
11100
11101
11102
11103
11104
11105
11106
11107
11108
11109
11110
11111
11112
11113
11114
11115
11116
11117
11118
11119
11120
11121
11122
11123
11124
11125
11126
11127
11128
11129
11130
11131
11132
11133
11134
11135
11136
11137
11138
11139
11140
11141
11142
11143
11144
11145
11146
11147
11148
11149
11150
11151
11152
11153
11154
11155
11156
11157
11158
11159
11160
11161
11162
11163
11164
11165
11166
11167
11168
11169
11170
11171
11172
11173
11174
11175
11176
11177
11178
11179
11180
11181
11182
11183
11184
11185
11186
11187
11188
11189
11190
11191
11192
11193
11194
11195
11196
11197
11198
11199
11200
11201
11202
11203
11204
11205
11206
11207
11208
11209
11210
11211
11212
11213
11214
11215
11216
11217
11218
11219
11220
11221
11222
11223
11224
11225
11226
11227
11228
11229
11230
11231
11232
11233
11234
11235
11236
11237
11238
11239
11240
11241
11242
11243
11244
11245
11246
11247
11248
11249
11250
11251
11252
11253
11254
11255
11256
11257
11258
11259
11260
11261
11262
11263
11264
11265
11266
11267
11268
11269
11270
11271
11272
11273
11274
11275
11276
11277
11278
11279
11280
11281
11282
11283
11284
11285
11286
11287
11288
11289
11290
11291
11292
11293
11294
11295
11296
11297
11298
11299
11300
11301
11302
11303
11304
11305
11306
11307
11308
11309
11310
11311
11312
11313
11314
11315
11316
11317
11318
11319
11320
11321
11322
11323
11324
11325
11326
11327
11328
11329
11330
11331
11332
11333
11334
11335
11336
11337
11338
11339
11340
11341
11342
11343
11344
11345
11346
11347
11348
11349
11350
11351
11352
11353
11354
11355
11356
11357
11358
11359
11360
11361
11362
11363
11364
11365
11366
11367
11368
11369
11370
11371
11372
11373
11374
11375
11376
11377
11378
11379
11380
11381
11382
11383
11384
11385
11386
11387
11388
11389
11390
11391
11392
11393
11394
11395
11396
11397
11398
11399
11400
11401
11402
11403
11404
11405
11406
11407
11408
11409
11410
11411
11412
11413
11414
11415
11416
11417
11418
11419
11420
11421
11422
11423
11424
11425
11426
11427
11428
11429
11430
11431
11432
11433
11434
11435
11436
11437
11438
11439
11440
11441
11442
11443
11444
11445
11446
11447
11448
11449
11450
11451
11452
11453
11454
11455
11456
11457
11458
11459
11460
11461
11462
11463
11464
11465
11466
11467
11468
11469
11470
11471
11472
11473
11474
11475
11476
11477
11478
11479
11480
11481
11482
11483
11484
11485
11486
11487
11488
11489
11490
11491
11492
11493
11494
11495
11496
11497
11498
11499
11500
11501
11502
11503
11504
11505
11506
11507
11508
11509
11510
11511
11512
11513
11514
11515
11516
11517
11518
11519
11520
11521
11522
11523
11524
11525
11526
11527
11528
11529
11530
11531
11532
11533
11534
11535
11536
11537
11538
11539
11540
11541
11542
11543
11544
11545
11546
11547
11548
11549
11550
11551
11552
11553
11554
11555
11556
11557
11558
11559
11560
11561
11562
11563
11564
11565
11566
11567
11568
11569
11570
11571
11572
11573
11574
11575
11576
11577
11578
11579
11580
11581
11582
11583
11584
11585
11586
11587
11588
11589
11590
11591
11592
11593
11594
11595
11596
11597
11598
11599
11600
11601
11602
11603
11604
11605
11606
11607
11608
11609
11610
11611
11612
11613
11614
11615
11616
11617
11618
11619
11620
11621
11622
11623
11624
11625
11626
11627
11628
11629
11630
11631
11632
11633
11634
11635
11636
11637
11638
11639
11640
11641
11642
11643
11644
11645
11646
11647
11648
11649
11650
11651
11652
11653
11654
11655
11656
11657
11658
11659
11660
11661
11662
11663
11664
11665
11666
11667
11668
11669
11670
11671
11672
11673
11674
11675
11676
11677
11678
11679
11680
11681
11682
11683
11684
11685
11686
11687
11688
11689
11690
11691
11692
11693
11694
11695
11696
11697
11698
11699
11700
11701
11702
11703
11704
11705
11706
11707
11708
11709
11710
11711
11712
11713
11714
11715
11716
11717
11718
11719
11720
11721
11722
11723
11724
11725
11726
11727
11728
11729
11730
11731
11732
11733
11734
11735
11736
11737
11738
11739
11740
11741
11742
11743
11744
11745
11746
11747
11748
11749
11750
11751
11752
11753
11754
11755
11756
11757
11758
11759
11760
11761
11762
11763
11764
11765
11766
11767
11768
11769
11770
11771
11772
11773
11774
11775
11776
11777
11778
11779
11780
11781
11782
11783
11784
11785
11786
11787
11788
11789
11790
11791
11792
11793
11794
11795
11796
11797
11798
11799
11800
11801
11802
11803
11804
11805
11806
11807
11808
11809
11810
11811
11812
11813
11814
11815
11816
11817
11818
11819
11820
11821
11822
11823
11824
11825
11826
11827
11828
11829
11830
11831
11832
11833
11834
11835
11836
11837
11838
11839
11840
11841
11842
11843
11844
11845
11846
11847
11848
11849
11850
11851
11852
11853
11854
11855
11856
11857
11858
11859
11860
11861
11862
11863
11864
11865
11866
11867
11868
11869
11870
11871
11872
11873
11874
11875
11876
11877
11878
11879
11880
11881
11882
11883
11884
11885
11886
11887
11888
11889
11890
11891
11892
11893
11894
11895
11896
11897
11898
11899
11900
11901
11902
11903
11904
11905
11906
11907
11908
11909
11910
11911
11912
11913
11914
11915
11916
11917
11918
11919
11920
11921
11922
11923
11924
11925
11926
11927
11928
11929
11930
11931
11932
11933
11934
11935
11936
11937
11938
11939
11940
11941
11942
11943
11944
11945
11946
11947
11948
11949
11950
11951
11952
11953
11954
11955
11956
11957
11958
11959
11960
11961
11962
11963
11964
11965
11966
11967
11968
11969
11970
11971
11972
11973
11974
11975
11976
11977
11978
11979
11980
11981
11982
11983
11984
11985
11986
11987
11988
11989
11990
11991
11992
11993
11994
11995
11996
11997
11998
11999
12000
12001
12002
12003
12004
12005
12006
12007
12008
12009
12010
12011
12012
12013
12014
12015
12016
12017
12018
12019
12020
12021
12022
12023
12024
12025
12026
12027
12028
12029
12030
12031
12032
12033
12034
12035
12036
12037
12038
12039
12040
12041
12042
12043
12044
12045
12046
12047
12048
12049
12050
12051
12052
12053
12054
12055
12056
12057
12058
12059
12060
12061
12062
12063
12064
12065
12066
12067
12068
12069
12070
12071
12072
12073
12074
12075
12076
12077
12078
12079
12080
12081
12082
12083
12084
12085
12086
12087
12088
12089
12090
12091
12092
12093
12094
12095
12096
12097
12098
12099
12100
12101
12102
12103
12104
12105
12106
12107
12108
12109
12110
12111
12112
12113
12114
12115
12116
12117
12118
12119
12120
12121
12122
12123
12124
12125
12126
12127
12128
12129
12130
12131
12132
12133
12134
12135
12136
12137
12138
12139
12140
12141
12142
12143
12144
12145
12146
12147
12148
12149
12150
12151
12152
12153
12154
12155
12156
12157
12158
12159
12160
12161
12162
12163
12164
12165
12166
12167
12168
12169
12170
12171
12172
12173
12174
12175
12176
12177
12178
12179
12180
12181
12182
12183
12184
12185
12186
12187
12188
12189
12190
12191
12192
12193
12194
12195
12196
12197
12198
12199
12200
12201
12202
12203
12204
12205
12206
12207
12208
12209
12210
12211
12212
12213
12214
12215
12216
12217
12218
12219
12220
12221
12222
12223
12224
12225
12226
12227
12228
12229
12230
12231
12232
12233
12234
12235
12236
12237
12238
12239
12240
12241
12242
12243
12244
12245
12246
12247
12248
12249
12250
12251
12252
12253
12254
12255
12256
12257
12258
12259
12260
12261
12262
12263
12264
12265
12266
12267
12268
12269
12270
12271
12272
12273
12274
12275
12276
12277
12278
12279
12280
12281
12282
12283
12284
12285
12286
12287
12288
12289
12290
12291
12292
12293
12294
12295
12296
12297
12298
12299
12300
12301
12302
12303
12304
12305
12306
12307
12308
12309
12310
12311
12312
12313
12314
12315
12316
12317
12318
12319
12320
12321
12322
12323
12324
12325
12326
12327
12328
12329
12330
12331
12332
12333
12334
12335
12336
12337
12338
12339
12340
12341
12342
12343
12344
12345
12346
12347
12348
12349
12350
12351
12352
12353
12354
12355
12356
12357
12358
12359
12360
12361
12362
12363
12364
12365
12366
12367
12368
12369
12370
12371
12372
12373
12374
12375
12376
12377
12378
12379
12380
12381
12382
12383
12384
12385
12386
12387
12388
12389
12390
12391
12392
12393
12394
12395
12396
12397
12398
12399
12400
12401
12402
12403
12404
12405
12406
12407
12408
12409
12410
12411
12412
12413
12414
12415
12416
12417
12418
12419
12420
12421
12422
12423
12424
12425
12426
12427
12428
12429
12430
12431
12432
12433
12434
12435
12436
12437
12438
12439
12440
12441
12442
12443
12444
12445
12446
12447
12448
12449
12450
12451
12452
12453
12454
12455
12456
12457
12458
12459
12460
12461
12462
12463
12464
12465
12466
12467
12468
12469
12470
12471
12472
12473
12474
12475
12476
12477
12478
12479
12480
12481
12482
12483
12484
12485
12486
12487
12488
12489
12490
12491
12492
12493
12494
12495
12496
12497
12498
12499
12500
12501
12502
12503
12504
12505
12506
12507
12508
12509
12510
12511
12512
12513
12514
12515
12516
12517
12518
12519
12520
12521
12522
12523
12524
12525
12526
12527
12528
12529
12530
12531
12532
12533
12534
12535
12536
12537
12538
12539
12540
12541
12542
12543
12544
12545
12546
12547
12548
12549
12550
12551
12552
12553
12554
12555
12556
12557
12558
12559
12560
12561
12562
12563
12564
12565
12566
12567
12568
12569
12570
12571
12572
12573
12574
12575
12576
12577
12578
12579
12580
12581
12582
12583
12584
12585
12586
12587
12588
12589
12590
12591
12592
12593
12594
12595
12596
12597
12598
12599
12600
12601
12602
12603
12604
12605
12606
12607
12608
12609
12610
12611
12612
12613
12614
12615
12616
12617
12618
12619
12620
12621
12622
12623
12624
12625
12626
12627
12628
12629
12630
12631
12632
12633
12634
12635
12636
12637
12638
12639
12640
12641
12642
12643
12644
12645
12646
12647
12648
12649
12650
12651
12652
12653
12654
12655
12656
12657
12658
12659
12660
12661
12662
12663
12664
12665
12666
12667
12668
12669
12670
12671
12672
12673
12674
12675
12676
12677
12678
12679
12680
12681
12682
12683
12684
12685
12686
12687
12688
12689
12690
12691
12692
12693
12694
12695
12696
12697
12698
12699
12700
12701
12702
12703
12704
12705
12706
12707
12708
12709
12710
12711
12712
12713
12714
12715
12716
12717
12718
12719
12720
12721
12722
12723
12724
12725
12726
12727
12728
12729
12730
12731
12732
12733
12734
12735
12736
12737
12738
12739
12740
12741
12742
12743
12744
12745
12746
12747
12748
12749
12750
12751
12752
12753
12754
12755
12756
12757
12758
12759
12760
12761
12762
12763
12764
12765
12766
12767
12768
12769
12770
12771
12772
12773
12774
12775
12776
12777
12778
12779
12780
12781
12782
12783
12784
12785
12786
12787
12788
12789
12790
12791
12792
12793
12794
12795
12796
12797
12798
12799
12800
12801
12802
12803
12804
12805
12806
12807
12808
12809
12810
12811
12812
12813
12814
12815
12816
12817
12818
12819
12820
12821
12822
12823
12824
12825
12826
12827
12828
12829
12830
12831
12832
12833
12834
12835
12836
12837
12838
12839
12840
12841
12842
12843
12844
12845
12846
12847
12848
12849
12850
12851
12852
12853
12854
12855
12856
12857
12858
12859
12860
12861
12862
12863
12864
12865
12866
12867
12868
12869
12870
12871
12872
12873
12874
12875
12876
12877
12878
12879
12880
12881
12882
12883
12884
12885
12886
12887
12888
12889
12890
12891
12892
12893
12894
12895
12896
12897
12898
12899
12900
12901
12902
12903
12904
12905
12906
12907
12908
12909
12910
12911
12912
12913
12914
12915
12916
12917
12918
12919
12920
12921
12922
12923
12924
12925
12926
12927
12928
12929
12930
12931
12932
12933
12934
12935
12936
12937
12938
12939
12940
12941
12942
12943
12944
12945
12946
12947
12948
12949
12950
12951
12952
12953
12954
12955
12956
12957
12958
12959
12960
12961
12962
12963
12964
12965
12966
12967
12968
12969
12970
12971
12972
12973
12974
12975
12976
12977
12978
12979
12980
12981
12982
12983
12984
12985
12986
12987
12988
12989
12990
12991
12992
12993
12994
12995
12996
12997
12998
12999
13000
13001
13002
13003
13004
13005
13006
13007
13008
13009
13010
13011
13012
13013
13014
13015
13016
13017
13018
13019
13020
13021
13022
13023
13024
13025
13026
13027
13028
13029
13030
13031
13032
13033
13034
13035
13036
13037
13038
13039
13040
13041
13042
13043
13044
13045
13046
13047
13048
13049
13050
13051
13052
13053
13054
13055
13056
13057
13058
13059
13060
13061
13062
13063
13064
13065
13066
13067
13068
13069
13070
13071
13072
13073
13074
13075
13076
13077
13078
13079
13080
13081
13082
13083
13084
13085
13086
13087
13088
13089
13090
13091
13092
13093
13094
13095
13096
13097
13098
13099
13100
13101
13102
13103
13104
13105
13106
13107
13108
13109
13110
13111
13112
13113
13114
13115
13116
13117
13118
13119
13120
13121
13122
13123
13124
13125
13126
13127
13128
13129
13130
13131
13132
13133
13134
13135
13136
13137
13138
13139
13140
13141
13142
13143
13144
13145
13146
13147
13148
13149
13150
13151
13152
13153
13154
13155
13156
13157
13158
13159
13160
13161
13162
13163
13164
13165
13166
13167
13168
13169
13170
13171
13172
13173
13174
13175
13176
13177
13178
13179
13180
13181
13182
13183
13184
13185
13186
13187
13188
13189
13190
13191
13192
13193
13194
13195
13196
13197
13198
13199
13200
13201
13202
13203
13204
13205
13206
13207
13208
13209
13210
13211
13212
13213
13214
13215
13216
13217
13218
13219
13220
13221
13222
13223
13224
13225
13226
13227
13228
13229
13230
13231
13232
13233
13234
13235
13236
13237
13238
13239
13240
13241
13242
13243
13244
13245
13246
13247
13248
13249
13250
13251
13252
13253
13254
13255
13256
13257
13258
13259
13260
13261
13262
13263
13264
13265
13266
13267
13268
13269
13270
13271
13272
13273
13274
13275
13276
13277
13278
13279
13280
13281
13282
13283
13284
13285
13286
13287
13288
13289
13290
13291
13292
13293
13294
13295
13296
13297
13298
13299
13300
13301
13302
13303
13304
13305
13306
13307
13308
13309
13310
13311
13312
13313
13314
13315
13316
13317
13318
13319
13320
13321
13322
13323
13324
13325
13326
13327
13328
13329
13330
13331
13332
13333
13334
13335
13336
13337
13338
13339
13340
13341
13342
13343
13344
13345
13346
13347
13348
13349
13350
13351
13352
13353
13354
13355
13356
13357
13358
13359
13360
13361
13362
13363
13364
13365
13366
13367
13368
13369
13370
13371
13372
13373
13374
13375
13376
13377
13378
13379
13380
13381
13382
13383
13384
13385
13386
13387
13388
13389
13390
13391
13392
13393
13394
13395
13396
13397
13398
13399
13400
13401
13402
13403
13404
13405
13406
13407
13408
13409
13410
13411
13412
13413
13414
13415
13416
13417
13418
13419
13420
13421
13422
13423
13424
13425
13426
13427
13428
13429
13430
13431
13432
13433
13434
13435
13436
13437
13438
13439
13440
13441
13442
13443
13444
13445
13446
13447
13448
13449
13450
13451
13452
13453
13454
13455
13456
13457
13458
13459
13460
13461
13462
13463
13464
13465
13466
13467
13468
13469
13470
13471
13472
13473
13474
13475
13476
13477
13478
13479
13480
13481
13482
13483
13484
13485
13486
13487
13488
13489
13490
13491
13492
13493
13494
13495
13496
13497
13498
13499
13500
13501
13502
13503
13504
13505
13506
13507
13508
13509
13510
13511
13512
13513
13514
13515
13516
13517
13518
13519
13520
13521
13522
13523
13524
13525
13526
13527
13528
13529
13530
13531
13532
13533
13534
13535
13536
13537
13538
13539
13540
13541
13542
13543
13544
13545
13546
13547
13548
13549
13550
13551
13552
13553
13554
13555
13556
13557
13558
13559
13560
13561
13562
13563
13564
13565
13566
13567
13568
13569
13570
13571
13572
13573
13574
13575
13576
13577
13578
13579
13580
13581
13582
13583
13584
13585
13586
13587
13588
13589
13590
13591
13592
13593
13594
13595
13596
13597
13598
13599
13600
13601
13602
13603
13604
13605
13606
13607
13608
13609
13610
13611
13612
13613
13614
13615
13616
13617
13618
13619
13620
13621
13622
13623
13624
13625
13626
13627
13628
13629
13630
13631
13632
13633
13634
13635
13636
13637
13638
13639
13640
13641
13642
13643
13644
13645
13646
13647
13648
13649
13650
13651
13652
13653
13654
13655
13656
13657
13658
13659
13660
13661
13662
13663
13664
13665
13666
13667
13668
13669
13670
13671
13672
13673
13674
13675
13676
13677
13678
13679
13680
13681
13682
13683
13684
13685
13686
13687
13688
13689
13690
13691
13692
13693
13694
13695
13696
13697
13698
13699
13700
13701
13702
13703
13704
13705
13706
13707
13708
13709
13710
13711
13712
13713
13714
13715
13716
13717
13718
13719
13720
13721
13722
13723
13724
13725
13726
13727
13728
13729
13730
13731
13732
13733
13734
13735
13736
13737
13738
13739
13740
13741
13742
13743
13744
13745
13746
13747
13748
13749
13750
13751
13752
13753
13754
13755
13756
13757
13758
13759
13760
13761
13762
13763
13764
13765
13766
13767
13768
13769
13770
13771
13772
13773
13774
13775
13776
13777
13778
13779
13780
13781
13782
13783
13784
13785
13786
13787
13788
13789
13790
13791
13792
13793
13794
13795
13796
13797
13798
13799
13800
13801
13802
13803
13804
13805
13806
13807
13808
13809
13810
13811
13812
13813
13814
13815
13816
13817
13818
13819
13820
13821
13822
13823
13824
13825
13826
13827
13828
13829
13830
13831
13832
13833
13834
13835
13836
13837
13838
13839
13840
13841
13842
13843
13844
13845
13846
13847
13848
13849
13850
13851
13852
13853
13854
13855
13856
13857
13858
13859
13860
13861
13862
13863
13864
13865
13866
13867
13868
13869
13870
13871
13872
13873
13874
13875
13876
13877
13878
13879
13880
13881
13882
13883
13884
13885
13886
13887
13888
13889
13890
13891
13892
13893
13894
13895
13896
13897
13898
13899
13900
13901
13902
13903
13904
13905
13906
13907
13908
13909
13910
13911
13912
13913
13914
13915
13916
13917
13918
13919
13920
13921
13922
13923
13924
13925
13926
13927
13928
13929
13930
13931
13932
13933
13934
13935
13936
13937
13938
13939
13940
13941
13942
13943
13944
13945
13946
13947
13948
13949
13950
13951
13952
13953
13954
13955
13956
13957
13958
13959
13960
13961
13962
13963
13964
13965
13966
13967
13968
13969
13970
13971
13972
13973
13974
13975
13976
13977
13978
13979
13980
13981
13982
13983
13984
13985
13986
13987
13988
13989
13990
13991
13992
13993
13994
13995
13996
13997
13998
13999
14000
14001
14002
14003
14004
14005
14006
14007
14008
14009
14010
14011
14012
14013
14014
14015
14016
14017
14018
14019
14020
14021
14022
14023
14024
14025
14026
14027
14028
14029
14030
14031
14032
14033
14034
14035
14036
14037
14038
14039
14040
14041
14042
14043
14044
14045
14046
14047
14048
14049
14050
14051
14052
14053
14054
14055
14056
14057
14058
14059
14060
14061
14062
14063
14064
14065
14066
14067
14068
14069
14070
14071
14072
14073
14074
14075
14076
14077
14078
14079
14080
14081
14082
14083
14084
14085
14086
14087
14088
14089
14090
14091
14092
14093
14094
14095
14096
14097
14098
14099
14100
14101
14102
14103
14104
14105
14106
14107
14108
14109
14110
14111
14112
14113
14114
14115
14116
14117
14118
14119
14120
14121
14122
14123
14124
14125
14126
14127
14128
14129
14130
14131
14132
14133
14134
14135
14136
14137
14138
14139
14140
14141
14142
14143
14144
14145
14146
14147
14148
14149
14150
14151
14152
14153
14154
14155
14156
14157
14158
14159
14160
14161
14162
14163
14164
14165
14166
14167
14168
14169
14170
14171
14172
14173
14174
14175
14176
14177
14178
14179
14180
14181
14182
14183
14184
14185
14186
14187
14188
14189
14190
14191
14192
14193
14194
14195
14196
14197
14198
14199
14200
14201
14202
14203
14204
14205
14206
14207
14208
14209
14210
14211
14212
14213
14214
14215
14216
14217
14218
14219
14220
14221
14222
14223
14224
14225
14226
14227
14228
14229
14230
14231
14232
14233
14234
14235
14236
14237
14238
14239
14240
14241
14242
14243
14244
14245
14246
14247
14248
14249
14250
14251
14252
14253
14254
14255
14256
14257
14258
14259
14260
14261
14262
14263
14264
14265
14266
14267
14268
14269
14270
14271
14272
14273
14274
14275
14276
14277
14278
14279
14280
14281
14282
14283
14284
14285
14286
14287
14288
14289
14290
14291
14292
14293
14294
14295
14296
14297
14298
14299
14300
14301
14302
14303
14304
14305
14306
14307
14308
14309
14310
14311
14312
14313
14314
14315
14316
14317
14318
14319
14320
14321
14322
14323
14324
14325
14326
14327
14328
14329
14330
14331
14332
14333
14334
14335
14336
14337
14338
14339
14340
14341
14342
14343
14344
14345
14346
14347
14348
14349
14350
14351
14352
14353
14354
14355
14356
14357
14358
14359
14360
14361
14362
14363
14364
14365
14366
14367
14368
14369
14370
14371
14372
14373
14374
14375
14376
14377
14378
14379
14380
14381
14382
14383
14384
14385
14386
14387
14388
14389
14390
14391
14392
14393
14394
14395
14396
14397
14398
14399
14400
14401
14402
14403
14404
14405
14406
14407
14408
14409
14410
14411
14412
14413
14414
14415
14416
14417
14418
14419
14420
14421
14422
14423
14424
14425
14426
14427
14428
14429
14430
14431
14432
14433
14434
14435
14436
14437
14438
14439
14440
14441
14442
14443
14444
14445
14446
14447
14448
14449
14450
14451
14452
14453
14454
14455
14456
14457
14458
14459
14460
14461
14462
14463
14464
14465
14466
14467
14468
14469
14470
14471
14472
14473
14474
14475
14476
14477
14478
14479
14480
14481
14482
14483
14484
14485
14486
14487
14488
14489
14490
14491
14492
14493
14494
14495
14496
14497
14498
14499
14500
14501
14502
14503
14504
14505
14506
14507
14508
14509
14510
14511
14512
14513
14514
14515
14516
14517
14518
14519
14520
14521
14522
14523
14524
14525
14526
14527
14528
14529
14530
14531
14532
14533
14534
14535
14536
14537
14538
14539
14540
14541
14542
14543
14544
14545
14546
14547
14548
14549
14550
14551
14552
14553
14554
14555
14556
14557
14558
14559
14560
14561
14562
14563
14564
14565
14566
14567
14568
14569
14570
14571
14572
14573
14574
14575
14576
14577
14578
14579
14580
14581
14582
14583
14584
14585
14586
14587
14588
14589
14590
14591
14592
14593
14594
14595
14596
14597
14598
14599
14600
14601
14602
14603
14604
14605
14606
14607
14608
14609
14610
14611
14612
14613
14614
14615
14616
14617
14618
14619
14620
14621
14622
14623
14624
14625
14626
14627
14628
14629
14630
14631
14632
14633
14634
14635
14636
14637
14638
14639
14640
14641
14642
14643
14644
14645
14646
14647
14648
14649
14650
14651
14652
14653
14654
14655
14656
14657
14658
14659
14660
14661
14662
14663
14664
14665
14666
14667
14668
14669
14670
14671
14672
14673
14674
14675
14676
14677
14678
14679
14680
14681
14682
14683
14684
14685
14686
14687
14688
14689
14690
14691
14692
14693
14694
14695
14696
14697
14698
14699
14700
14701
14702
14703
14704
14705
14706
14707
14708
14709
14710
14711
14712
14713
14714
14715
14716
14717
14718
14719
14720
14721
14722
14723
14724
14725
14726
14727
14728
14729
14730
14731
14732
14733
14734
14735
14736
14737
14738
14739
14740
14741
14742
14743
14744
14745
14746
14747
14748
14749
14750
14751
14752
14753
14754
14755
14756
14757
14758
14759
14760
14761
14762
14763
14764
14765
14766
14767
14768
14769
14770
14771
14772
14773
14774
14775
14776
14777
14778
14779
14780
14781
14782
14783
14784
14785
14786
14787
14788
14789
14790
14791
14792
14793
14794
14795
14796
14797
14798
14799
14800
14801
14802
14803
14804
14805
14806
14807
14808
14809
14810
14811
14812
14813
14814
14815
14816
14817
14818
14819
14820
14821
14822
14823
14824
14825
14826
14827
14828
14829
14830
14831
14832
14833
14834
14835
14836
14837
14838
14839
14840
14841
14842
14843
14844
14845
14846
14847
14848
14849
14850
14851
14852
14853
14854
14855
14856
14857
14858
14859
14860
14861
14862
14863
14864
14865
14866
14867
14868
14869
14870
14871
14872
14873
14874
14875
14876
14877
14878
14879
14880
14881
14882
14883
14884
14885
14886
14887
14888
14889
14890
14891
14892
14893
14894
14895
14896
14897
14898
14899
14900
14901
14902
14903
14904
14905
14906
14907
14908
14909
14910
14911
14912
14913
14914
14915
14916
14917
14918
14919
14920
14921
14922
14923
14924
14925
14926
14927
14928
14929
14930
14931
14932
14933
14934
14935
14936
14937
14938
14939
14940
14941
14942
14943
14944
14945
14946
14947
14948
14949
14950
14951
14952
14953
14954
14955
14956
14957
14958
14959
14960
14961
14962
14963
14964
14965
14966
14967
14968
14969
14970
14971
14972
14973
14974
14975
14976
14977
14978
14979
14980
14981
14982
14983
14984
14985
14986
14987
14988
14989
14990
14991
14992
14993
14994
14995
14996
14997
14998
14999
15000
15001
15002
15003
15004
15005
15006
15007
15008
15009
15010
15011
15012
15013
15014
15015
15016
15017
15018
15019
15020
15021
15022
15023
15024
15025
15026
15027
15028
15029
15030
15031
15032
15033
15034
15035
15036
15037
15038
15039
15040
15041
15042
15043
15044
15045
15046
15047
15048
15049
15050
15051
15052
15053
15054
15055
15056
15057
15058
15059
15060
15061
15062
15063
15064
15065
15066
15067
15068
15069
15070
15071
15072
15073
15074
15075
15076
15077
15078
15079
15080
15081
15082
15083
15084
15085
15086
15087
15088
15089
15090
15091
15092
15093
15094
15095
15096
15097
15098
15099
15100
15101
15102
15103
15104
15105
15106
15107
15108
15109
15110
15111
15112
15113
15114
15115
15116
15117
15118
15119
15120
15121
15122
15123
15124
15125
15126
15127
15128
15129
15130
15131
15132
15133
15134
15135
15136
15137
15138
15139
15140
15141
15142
15143
15144
15145
15146
15147
15148
15149
15150
15151
15152
15153
15154
15155
15156
15157
15158
15159
15160
15161
15162
15163
15164
15165
15166
15167
15168
15169
15170
15171
15172
15173
15174
15175
15176
15177
15178
15179
15180
15181
15182
15183
15184
15185
15186
15187
15188
15189
15190
15191
15192
15193
15194
15195
15196
15197
15198
15199
15200
15201
15202
15203
15204
15205
15206
15207
15208
15209
15210
15211
15212
15213
15214
15215
15216
15217
15218
15219
15220
15221
15222
15223
15224
15225
15226
15227
15228
15229
15230
15231
15232
15233
15234
15235
15236
15237
15238
15239
15240
15241
15242
15243
15244
15245
15246
15247
15248
15249
15250
15251
15252
15253
15254
15255
15256
15257
15258
15259
15260
15261
15262
15263
15264
15265
15266
15267
15268
15269
15270
15271
15272
15273
15274
15275
15276
15277
15278
15279
15280
15281
15282
15283
15284
15285
15286
15287
15288
15289
15290
15291
15292
15293
15294
15295
15296
15297
15298
15299
15300
15301
15302
15303
15304
15305
15306
15307
15308
15309
15310
15311
15312
15313
15314
15315
15316
15317
15318
15319
15320
15321
15322
15323
15324
15325
15326
15327
15328
15329
15330
15331
15332
15333
15334
15335
15336
15337
15338
15339
15340
15341
15342
15343
15344
15345
15346
15347
15348
15349
15350
15351
15352
15353
15354
15355
15356
15357
15358
15359
15360
15361
15362
15363
15364
15365
15366
15367
15368
15369
15370
15371
15372
15373
15374
15375
15376
15377
15378
15379
15380
15381
15382
15383
15384
15385
15386
15387
15388
15389
15390
15391
15392
15393
15394
15395
15396
15397
15398
15399
15400
15401
15402
15403
15404
15405
15406
15407
15408
15409
15410
15411
15412
15413
15414
15415
15416
15417
15418
15419
15420
15421
15422
15423
15424
15425
15426
15427
15428
15429
15430
15431
15432
15433
15434
15435
15436
15437
15438
15439
15440
15441
15442
15443
15444
15445
15446
15447
15448
15449
15450
15451
15452
15453
15454
15455
15456
15457
15458
15459
15460
15461
15462
15463
15464
15465
15466
15467
15468
15469
15470
15471
15472
15473
15474
15475
15476
15477
15478
15479
15480
15481
15482
15483
15484
15485
15486
15487
15488
15489
15490
15491
15492
15493
15494
15495
15496
15497
15498
15499
15500
15501
15502
15503
15504
15505
15506
15507
15508
15509
15510
15511
15512
15513
15514
15515
15516
15517
15518
15519
15520
15521
15522
15523
15524
15525
15526
15527
15528
15529
15530
15531
15532
15533
15534
15535
15536
15537
15538
15539
15540
15541
15542
15543
15544
15545
15546
15547
15548
15549
15550
15551
15552
15553
15554
15555
15556
15557
15558
15559
15560
15561
15562
15563
15564
15565
15566
15567
15568
15569
15570
15571
15572
15573
15574
15575
15576
15577
15578
15579
15580
15581
15582
15583
15584
15585
15586
15587
15588
15589
15590
15591
15592
15593
15594
15595
15596
15597
15598
15599
15600
15601
15602
15603
15604
15605
15606
15607
15608
15609
15610
15611
15612
15613
15614
15615
15616
15617
15618
15619
15620
15621
15622
15623
15624
15625
15626
15627
15628
15629
15630
15631
15632
15633
15634
15635
15636
15637
15638
15639
15640
15641
15642
15643
15644
15645
15646
15647
15648
15649
15650
15651
15652
15653
15654
15655
15656
15657
15658
15659
15660
15661
15662
15663
15664
15665
15666
15667
15668
15669
15670
15671
15672
15673
15674
15675
15676
15677
15678
15679
15680
15681
15682
15683
15684
15685
15686
15687
15688
15689
15690
15691
15692
15693
15694
15695
15696
15697
15698
15699
15700
15701
15702
15703
15704
15705
15706
15707
15708
15709
15710
15711
15712
15713
15714
15715
15716
15717
15718
15719
15720
15721
15722
15723
15724
15725
15726
15727
15728
15729
15730
15731
15732
15733
15734
15735
15736
15737
15738
15739
15740
15741
15742
15743
15744
15745
15746
15747
15748
15749
15750
15751
15752
15753
15754
15755
15756
15757
15758
15759
15760
15761
15762
15763
15764
15765
15766
15767
15768
15769
15770
15771
15772
15773
15774
15775
15776
15777
15778
15779
15780
15781
15782
15783
15784
15785
15786
15787
15788
15789
15790
15791
15792
15793
15794
15795
15796
15797
15798
15799
15800
15801
15802
15803
15804
15805
15806
15807
15808
15809
15810
15811
15812
15813
15814
15815
15816
15817
15818
15819
15820
15821
15822
15823
15824
15825
15826
15827
15828
15829
15830
15831
15832
15833
15834
15835
15836
15837
15838
15839
15840
15841
15842
15843
15844
15845
15846
15847
15848
15849
15850
15851
15852
15853
15854
15855
15856
15857
15858
15859
15860
15861
15862
15863
15864
15865
15866
15867
15868
15869
15870
15871
15872
15873
15874
15875
15876
15877
15878
15879
15880
15881
15882
15883
15884
15885
15886
15887
15888
15889
15890
15891
15892
15893
15894
15895
15896
15897
15898
15899
15900
15901
15902
15903
15904
15905
15906
15907
15908
15909
15910
15911
15912
15913
15914
15915
15916
15917
15918
15919
15920
15921
15922
15923
15924
15925
15926
15927
15928
15929
15930
15931
15932
15933
15934
15935
15936
15937
15938
15939
15940
15941
15942
15943
15944
15945
15946
15947
15948
15949
15950
15951
15952
15953
15954
15955
15956
15957
15958
15959
15960
15961
15962
15963
15964
15965
15966
15967
15968
15969
15970
15971
15972
15973
15974
15975
15976
15977
15978
15979
15980
15981
15982
15983
15984
15985
15986
15987
15988
15989
15990
15991
15992
15993
15994
15995
15996
15997
15998
15999
16000
16001
16002
16003
16004
16005
16006
16007
16008
16009
16010
16011
16012
16013
16014
16015
16016
16017
16018
16019
16020
16021
16022
16023
16024
16025
16026
16027
16028
16029
16030
16031
16032
16033
16034
16035
16036
16037
16038
16039
16040
16041
16042
16043
16044
16045
16046
16047
16048
16049
16050
16051
16052
16053
16054
16055
16056
16057
16058
16059
16060
16061
16062
16063
16064
16065
16066
16067
16068
16069
16070
16071
16072
16073
16074
16075
16076
16077
16078
16079
16080
16081
16082
16083
16084
16085
16086
16087
16088
16089
16090
16091
16092
16093
16094
16095
16096
16097
16098
16099
16100
16101
16102
16103
16104
16105
16106
16107
16108
16109
16110
16111
16112
16113
16114
16115
16116
16117
16118
16119
16120
16121
16122
16123
16124
16125
16126
16127
16128
16129
16130
16131
16132
16133
16134
16135
16136
16137
16138
16139
16140
16141
16142
16143
16144
16145
16146
16147
16148
16149
16150
16151
16152
16153
16154
16155
16156
16157
16158
16159
16160
16161
16162
16163
16164
16165
16166
16167
16168
16169
16170
16171
16172
16173
16174
16175
16176
16177
16178
16179
16180
16181
16182
16183
16184
16185
16186
16187
16188
16189
16190
16191
16192
16193
16194
16195
16196
16197
16198
16199
16200
16201
16202
16203
16204
16205
16206
16207
16208
16209
16210
16211
16212
16213
16214
16215
16216
16217
16218
16219
16220
16221
16222
16223
16224
16225
16226
16227
16228
16229
16230
16231
16232
16233
16234
16235
16236
16237
16238
16239
16240
16241
16242
16243
16244
16245
16246
16247
16248
16249
16250
16251
16252
16253
16254
16255
16256
16257
16258
16259
16260
16261
16262
16263
16264
16265
16266
16267
16268
16269
16270
16271
16272
16273
16274
16275
16276
16277
16278
16279
16280
16281
16282
16283
16284
16285
16286
16287
16288
16289
16290
16291
16292
16293
16294
16295
16296
16297
16298
16299
16300
16301
16302
16303
16304
16305
16306
16307
16308
16309
16310
16311
16312
16313
16314
16315
16316
16317
16318
16319
16320
16321
16322
16323
16324
16325
16326
16327
16328
16329
16330
16331
16332
16333
16334
16335
16336
16337
16338
16339
16340
16341
16342
16343
16344
16345
16346
16347
16348
16349
16350
16351
16352
16353
16354
16355
16356
16357
16358
16359
16360
16361
16362
16363
16364
16365
16366
16367
16368
16369
16370
16371
16372
16373
16374
16375
16376
16377
16378
16379
16380
16381
16382
16383
16384
16385
16386
16387
16388
16389
16390
16391
16392
16393
16394
16395
16396
16397
16398
16399
16400
16401
16402
16403
16404
16405
16406
16407
16408
16409
16410
16411
16412
16413
16414
16415
16416
16417
16418
16419
16420
16421
16422
16423
16424
16425
16426
16427
16428
16429
16430
16431
16432
16433
16434
16435
16436
16437
16438
16439
16440
16441
16442
16443
16444
16445
16446
16447
16448
16449
16450
16451
16452
16453
16454
16455
16456
16457
16458
16459
16460
16461
16462
16463
16464
16465
16466
16467
16468
16469
16470
16471
16472
16473
16474
16475
16476
16477
16478
16479
16480
16481
16482
16483
16484
16485
16486
16487
16488
16489
16490
16491
16492
16493
16494
16495
16496
16497
16498
16499
16500
16501
16502
16503
16504
16505
16506
16507
16508
16509
16510
16511
16512
16513
16514
16515
16516
16517
16518
16519
16520
16521
16522
16523
16524
16525
16526
16527
16528
16529
16530
16531
16532
16533
16534
16535
16536
16537
16538
16539
16540
16541
16542
16543
16544
16545
16546
16547
16548
16549
16550
16551
16552
16553
16554
16555
16556
16557
16558
16559
16560
16561
16562
16563
16564
16565
16566
16567
16568
16569
16570
16571
16572
16573
16574
16575
16576
16577
16578
16579
16580
16581
16582
16583
16584
16585
16586
16587
16588
16589
16590
16591
16592
16593
16594
16595
16596
16597
16598
16599
16600
16601
16602
16603
16604
16605
16606
16607
16608
16609
16610
16611
16612
16613
16614
16615
16616
16617
16618
16619
16620
16621
16622
16623
16624
16625
16626
16627
16628
16629
16630
16631
16632
16633
16634
16635
16636
16637
16638
16639
16640
16641
16642
16643
16644
16645
16646
16647
16648
16649
16650
16651
16652
16653
16654
16655
16656
16657
16658
16659
16660
16661
16662
16663
16664
16665
16666
16667
16668
16669
16670
16671
16672
16673
16674
16675
16676
16677
16678
16679
16680
16681
16682
16683
16684
16685
16686
16687
16688
16689
16690
16691
16692
16693
16694
16695
16696
16697
16698
16699
16700
16701
16702
16703
16704
16705
16706
16707
16708
16709
16710
16711
16712
16713
16714
16715
16716
16717
16718
16719
16720
16721
16722
16723
16724
16725
16726
16727
16728
16729
16730
16731
16732
16733
16734
16735
16736
16737
16738
16739
16740
16741
16742
16743
16744
16745
16746
16747
16748
16749
16750
16751
16752
16753
16754
16755
16756
16757
16758
16759
16760
16761
16762
16763
16764
16765
16766
16767
16768
16769
16770
16771
16772
16773
16774
16775
16776
16777
16778
16779
16780
16781
16782
16783
16784
16785
16786
16787
16788
16789
16790
16791
16792
16793
16794
16795
16796
16797
16798
16799
16800
16801
16802
16803
16804
16805
16806
16807
16808
16809
16810
16811
16812
16813
16814
16815
16816
16817
16818
16819
16820
16821
16822
16823
16824
16825
16826
16827
16828
16829
16830
16831
16832
16833
16834
16835
16836
16837
16838
16839
16840
16841
16842
16843
16844
16845
16846
16847
16848
16849
16850
16851
16852
16853
16854
16855
16856
16857
16858
16859
16860
16861
16862
16863
16864
16865
16866
16867
16868
16869
16870
16871
16872
16873
16874
16875
16876
16877
16878
16879
16880
16881
16882
16883
16884
16885
16886
16887
16888
16889
16890
16891
16892
16893
16894
16895
16896
16897
16898
16899
16900
16901
16902
16903
16904
16905
16906
16907
16908
16909
16910
16911
16912
16913
16914
16915
16916
16917
16918
16919
16920
16921
16922
16923
16924
16925
16926
16927
16928
16929
16930
16931
16932
16933
16934
16935
16936
16937
16938
16939
16940
16941
16942
16943
16944
16945
16946
16947
16948
16949
16950
16951
16952
16953
16954
16955
16956
16957
16958
16959
16960
16961
16962
16963
16964
16965
16966
16967
16968
16969
16970
16971
16972
16973
16974
16975
16976
16977
16978
16979
16980
16981
16982
16983
16984
16985
16986
16987
16988
16989
16990
16991
16992
16993
16994
16995
16996
16997
16998
16999
17000
17001
17002
17003
17004
17005
17006
17007
17008
17009
17010
17011
17012
17013
17014
17015
17016
17017
17018
17019
17020
17021
17022
17023
17024
17025
17026
17027
17028
17029
17030
17031
17032
17033
17034
17035
17036
17037
17038
17039
17040
17041
17042
17043
17044
17045
17046
17047
17048
17049
17050
17051
17052
17053
17054
17055
17056
17057
17058
17059
17060
17061
17062
17063
17064
17065
17066
17067
17068
17069
17070
17071
17072
17073
17074
17075
17076
17077
17078
17079
17080
17081
17082
17083
17084
17085
17086
17087
17088
17089
17090
17091
17092
17093
17094
17095
17096
17097
17098
17099
17100
17101
17102
17103
17104
17105
17106
17107
17108
17109
17110
17111
17112
17113
17114
17115
17116
17117
17118
17119
17120
17121
17122
17123
17124
17125
17126
17127
17128
17129
17130
17131
17132
17133
17134
17135
17136
17137
17138
17139
17140
17141
17142
17143
17144
17145
17146
17147
17148
17149
17150
17151
17152
17153
17154
17155
17156
17157
17158
17159
17160
17161
17162
17163
17164
17165
17166
17167
17168
17169
17170
17171
17172
17173
17174
17175
17176
17177
17178
17179
17180
17181
17182
17183
17184
17185
17186
17187
17188
17189
17190
17191
17192
17193
17194
17195
17196
17197
17198
17199
17200
17201
17202
17203
17204
17205
17206
17207
17208
17209
17210
17211
17212
17213
17214
17215
17216
17217
17218
17219
17220
17221
17222
17223
17224
17225
17226
17227
17228
17229
17230
17231
17232
17233
17234
17235
17236
17237
17238
17239
17240
17241
17242
17243
17244
17245
17246
17247
17248
17249
17250
17251
17252
17253
17254
17255
17256
17257
17258
17259
17260
17261
17262
17263
17264
17265
17266
17267
17268
17269
17270
17271
17272
17273
17274
17275
17276
17277
17278
17279
17280
17281
17282
17283
17284
17285
17286
17287
17288
17289
17290
17291
17292
17293
17294
17295
17296
17297
17298
17299
17300
17301
17302
17303
17304
17305
17306
17307
17308
17309
17310
17311
17312
17313
17314
17315
17316
17317
17318
17319
17320
17321
17322
17323
17324
17325
17326
17327
17328
17329
17330
17331
17332
17333
17334
17335
17336
17337
17338
17339
17340
17341
17342
17343
17344
17345
17346
17347
17348
17349
17350
17351
17352
17353
17354
17355
17356
17357
17358
17359
17360
17361
17362
17363
17364
17365
17366
17367
17368
17369
17370
17371
17372
17373
17374
17375
17376
17377
17378
17379
17380
17381
17382
17383
17384
17385
17386
17387
17388
17389
17390
17391
17392
17393
17394
17395
17396
17397
17398
17399
17400
17401
17402
17403
17404
17405
17406
17407
17408
17409
17410
17411
17412
17413
17414
17415
17416
17417
17418
17419
17420
17421
17422
17423
17424
17425
17426
17427
17428
17429
17430
17431
17432
17433
17434
17435
17436
17437
17438
17439
17440
17441
17442
17443
17444
17445
17446
17447
17448
17449
17450
17451
17452
17453
17454
17455
17456
17457
17458
17459
17460
17461
17462
17463
17464
17465
17466
17467
17468
17469
17470
17471
17472
17473
17474
17475
17476
17477
17478
17479
17480
17481
17482
17483
17484
17485
17486
17487
17488
17489
17490
17491
17492
17493
17494
17495
17496
17497
17498
17499
17500
17501
17502
17503
17504
17505
17506
17507
17508
17509
17510
17511
17512
17513
17514
17515
17516
17517
17518
17519
17520
17521
17522
17523
17524
17525
17526
17527
17528
17529
17530
17531
17532
17533
17534
17535
17536
17537
17538
17539
17540
17541
17542
17543
17544
17545
17546
17547
17548
17549
17550
17551
17552
17553
17554
17555
17556
17557
17558
17559
17560
17561
17562
17563
17564
17565
17566
17567
17568
17569
17570
17571
17572
17573
17574
17575
17576
17577
17578
17579
17580
17581
17582
17583
17584
17585
17586
17587
17588
17589
17590
17591
17592
17593
17594
17595
17596
17597
17598
17599
17600
17601
17602
17603
17604
17605
17606
17607
17608
17609
17610
17611
17612
17613
17614
17615
17616
17617
17618
17619
17620
17621
17622
17623
17624
17625
17626
17627
17628
17629
17630
17631
17632
17633
17634
17635
17636
17637
17638
17639
17640
17641
17642
17643
17644
17645
17646
17647
17648
17649
17650
17651
17652
17653
17654
17655
17656
17657
17658
17659
17660
17661
17662
17663
17664
17665
17666
17667
17668
17669
17670
17671
17672
17673
17674
17675
17676
17677
17678
17679
17680
17681
17682
17683
17684
17685
17686
17687
17688
17689
17690
17691
17692
17693
17694
17695
17696
17697
17698
17699
17700
17701
17702
17703
17704
17705
17706
17707
17708
17709
17710
17711
17712
17713
17714
17715
17716
17717
17718
17719
17720
17721
17722
17723
17724
17725
17726
17727
17728
17729
17730
17731
17732
17733
17734
17735
17736
17737
17738
17739
17740
17741
17742
17743
17744
17745
17746
17747
17748
17749
17750
17751
17752
17753
17754
17755
17756
17757
17758
17759
17760
17761
17762
17763
17764
17765
17766
17767
17768
17769
17770
17771
17772
17773
17774
17775
17776
17777
17778
17779
17780
17781
17782
17783
17784
17785
17786
17787
17788
17789
17790
17791
17792
17793
17794
17795
17796
17797
17798
17799
17800
17801
17802
17803
17804
17805
17806
17807
17808
17809
17810
17811
17812
17813
17814
17815
17816
17817
17818
17819
17820
17821
17822
17823
17824
17825
17826
17827
17828
17829
17830
17831
17832
17833
17834
17835
17836
17837
17838
17839
17840
17841
17842
17843
17844
17845
17846
17847
17848
17849
17850
17851
17852
17853
17854
17855
17856
17857
17858
17859
17860
17861
17862
17863
17864
17865
17866
17867
17868
17869
17870
17871
17872
17873
17874
17875
17876
17877
17878
17879
17880
17881
17882
17883
17884
17885
17886
17887
17888
17889
17890
17891
17892
17893
17894
17895
17896
17897
17898
17899
17900
17901
17902
17903
17904
17905
17906
17907
17908
17909
17910
17911
17912
17913
17914
17915
17916
17917
17918
17919
17920
17921
17922
17923
17924
17925
17926
17927
17928
17929
17930
17931
17932
17933
17934
17935
17936
17937
17938
17939
17940
17941
17942
17943
17944
17945
17946
17947
17948
17949
17950
17951
17952
17953
17954
17955
17956
17957
17958
17959
17960
17961
17962
17963
17964
17965
17966
17967
17968
17969
17970
17971
17972
17973
17974
17975
17976
17977
17978
17979
17980
17981
17982
17983
17984
17985
17986
17987
17988
17989
17990
17991
17992
17993
17994
17995
17996
17997
17998
17999
18000
18001
18002
18003
18004
18005
18006
18007
18008
18009
18010
18011
18012
18013
18014
18015
18016
18017
18018
18019
18020
18021
18022
18023
18024
18025
18026
18027
18028
18029
18030
18031
18032
18033
18034
18035
18036
18037
18038
18039
18040
18041
18042
18043
18044
18045
18046
18047
18048
18049
18050
18051
18052
18053
18054
18055
18056
18057
18058
18059
18060
18061
18062
18063
18064
18065
18066
18067
18068
18069
18070
18071
18072
18073
18074
18075
18076
18077
18078
18079
18080
18081
18082
18083
18084
18085
18086
18087
18088
18089
18090
18091
18092
18093
18094
18095
18096
18097
18098
18099
18100
18101
18102
18103
18104
18105
18106
18107
18108
18109
18110
18111
18112
18113
18114
18115
18116
18117
18118
18119
18120
18121
18122
18123
18124
18125
18126
18127
18128
18129
18130
18131
18132
18133
18134
18135
18136
18137
18138
18139
18140
18141
18142
18143
18144
18145
18146
18147
18148
18149
18150
18151
18152
18153
18154
18155
18156
18157
18158
18159
18160
18161
18162
18163
18164
18165
18166
18167
18168
18169
18170
18171
18172
18173
18174
18175
18176
18177
18178
18179
18180
18181
18182
18183
18184
18185
18186
18187
18188
18189
18190
18191
18192
18193
18194
18195
18196
18197
18198
18199
18200
18201
18202
18203
18204
18205
18206
18207
18208
18209
18210
18211
18212
18213
18214
18215
18216
18217
18218
18219
18220
18221
18222
18223
18224
18225
18226
18227
18228
18229
18230
18231
18232
18233
18234
18235
18236
18237
18238
18239
18240
18241
18242
18243
18244
18245
18246
18247
18248
18249
18250
18251
18252
18253
18254
18255
18256
18257
18258
18259
18260
18261
18262
18263
18264
18265
18266
18267
18268
18269
18270
18271
18272
18273
18274
18275
18276
18277
18278
18279
18280
18281
18282
18283
18284
18285
18286
18287
18288
18289
18290
18291
18292
18293
18294
18295
18296
18297
18298
18299
18300
18301
18302
18303
18304
18305
18306
18307
18308
18309
18310
18311
18312
18313
18314
18315
18316
18317
18318
18319
18320
18321
18322
18323
18324
18325
18326
18327
18328
18329
18330
18331
18332
18333
18334
18335
18336
18337
18338
18339
18340
18341
18342
18343
18344
18345
18346
18347
18348
18349
18350
18351
18352
18353
18354
18355
18356
18357
18358
18359
18360
18361
18362
18363
18364
18365
18366
18367
18368
18369
18370
18371
18372
18373
18374
18375
18376
18377
18378
18379
18380
18381
18382
18383
18384
18385
18386
18387
18388
18389
18390
18391
18392
18393
18394
18395
18396
18397
18398
18399
18400
18401
18402
18403
18404
18405
18406
18407
18408
18409
18410
18411
18412
18413
18414
18415
18416
18417
18418
18419
18420
18421
18422
18423
18424
18425
18426
18427
18428
18429
18430
18431
18432
18433
18434
18435
18436
18437
18438
18439
18440
18441
18442
18443
18444
18445
18446
18447
18448
18449
18450
18451
18452
18453
18454
18455
18456
18457
18458
18459
18460
18461
18462
18463
18464
18465
18466
18467
18468
18469
18470
18471
18472
18473
18474
18475
18476
18477
18478
18479
18480
18481
18482
18483
18484
18485
18486
18487
18488
18489
18490
18491
18492
18493
18494
18495
18496
18497
18498
18499
18500
18501
18502
18503
18504
18505
18506
18507
18508
18509
18510
18511
18512
18513
18514
18515
18516
18517
18518
18519
18520
18521
18522
18523
18524
18525
18526
18527
18528
18529
18530
18531
18532
18533
18534
18535
18536
18537
18538
18539
18540
18541
18542
18543
18544
18545
18546
18547
18548
18549
18550
18551
18552
18553
18554
18555
18556
18557
18558
18559
18560
18561
18562
18563
18564
18565
18566
18567
18568
18569
18570
18571
18572
18573
18574
18575
18576
18577
18578
18579
18580
18581
18582
18583
18584
18585
18586
18587
18588
18589
18590
18591
18592
18593
18594
18595
18596
18597
18598
18599
18600
18601
18602
18603
18604
18605
18606
18607
18608
18609
18610
18611
18612
18613
18614
18615
18616
18617
18618
18619
18620
18621
18622
18623
18624
18625
18626
18627
18628
18629
18630
18631
18632
18633
18634
18635
18636
18637
18638
18639
18640
18641
18642
18643
18644
18645
18646
18647
18648
18649
18650
18651
18652
18653
18654
18655
18656
18657
18658
18659
18660
18661
18662
18663
18664
18665
18666
18667
18668
18669
18670
18671
18672
18673
18674
18675
18676
18677
18678
18679
18680
18681
18682
18683
18684
18685
18686
18687
18688
18689
18690
18691
18692
18693
18694
18695
18696
18697
18698
18699
18700
18701
18702
18703
18704
18705
18706
18707
18708
18709
18710
18711
18712
18713
18714
18715
18716
18717
18718
18719
18720
18721
18722
18723
18724
18725
18726
18727
18728
18729
18730
18731
18732
18733
18734
18735
18736
18737
18738
18739
18740
18741
18742
18743
18744
18745
18746
18747
18748
18749
18750
18751
18752
18753
18754
18755
18756
18757
18758
18759
18760
18761
18762
18763
18764
18765
18766
18767
18768
18769
18770
18771
18772
18773
18774
18775
18776
18777
18778
18779
18780
18781
18782
18783
18784
18785
18786
18787
18788
18789
18790
18791
18792
18793
18794
18795
18796
18797
18798
18799
18800
18801
18802
18803
18804
18805
18806
18807
18808
18809
18810
18811
18812
18813
18814
18815
18816
18817
18818
18819
18820
18821
18822
18823
18824
18825
18826
18827
18828
18829
18830
18831
18832
18833
18834
18835
18836
18837
18838
18839
18840
18841
18842
18843
18844
18845
18846
18847
18848
18849
18850
18851
18852
18853
18854
18855
18856
18857
18858
18859
18860
18861
18862
18863
18864
18865
18866
18867
18868
18869
18870
18871
18872
18873
18874
18875
18876
18877
18878
18879
18880
18881
18882
18883
18884
18885
18886
18887
18888
18889
18890
18891
18892
18893
18894
18895
18896
18897
18898
18899
18900
18901
18902
18903
18904
18905
18906
18907
18908
18909
18910
18911
18912
18913
18914
18915
18916
18917
18918
18919
18920
18921
18922
18923
18924
18925
18926
18927
18928
18929
18930
18931
18932
18933
18934
18935
18936
18937
18938
18939
18940
18941
18942
18943
18944
18945
18946
18947
18948
18949
18950
18951
18952
18953
18954
18955
18956
18957
18958
18959
18960
18961
18962
18963
18964
18965
18966
18967
18968
18969
18970
18971
18972
18973
18974
18975
18976
18977
18978
18979
18980
18981
18982
18983
18984
18985
18986
18987
18988
18989
18990
18991
18992
18993
18994
18995
18996
18997
18998
18999
19000
19001
19002
19003
19004
19005
19006
19007
19008
19009
19010
19011
19012
19013
19014
19015
19016
19017
19018
19019
19020
19021
19022
19023
19024
19025
19026
19027
19028
19029
19030
19031
19032
19033
19034
19035
19036
19037
19038
19039
19040
19041
19042
19043
19044
19045
19046
19047
19048
19049
19050
19051
19052
19053
19054
19055
19056
19057
19058
19059
19060
19061
19062
19063
19064
19065
19066
19067
19068
19069
19070
19071
19072
19073
19074
19075
19076
19077
19078
19079
19080
19081
19082
19083
19084
19085
19086
19087
19088
19089
19090
19091
19092
19093
19094
19095
19096
19097
19098
19099
19100
19101
19102
19103
19104
19105
19106
19107
19108
19109
19110
19111
19112
19113
19114
19115
19116
19117
19118
19119
19120
19121
19122
19123
19124
19125
19126
19127
19128
19129
19130
19131
19132
19133
19134
19135
19136
19137
19138
19139
19140
19141
19142
19143
19144
19145
19146
19147
19148
19149
19150
19151
19152
19153
19154
19155
19156
19157
19158
19159
19160
19161
19162
19163
19164
19165
19166
19167
19168
19169
19170
19171
19172
19173
19174
19175
19176
19177
19178
19179
19180
19181
19182
19183
19184
19185
19186
19187
19188
19189
19190
19191
19192
19193
19194
19195
19196
19197
19198
19199
19200
19201
19202
19203
19204
19205
19206
19207
19208
19209
19210
19211
19212
19213
19214
19215
19216
19217
19218
19219
19220
19221
19222
19223
19224
19225
19226
19227
19228
19229
19230
19231
19232
19233
19234
19235
19236
19237
19238
19239
19240
19241
19242
19243
19244
19245
19246
19247
19248
19249
19250
19251
19252
19253
19254
19255
19256
19257
19258
19259
19260
19261
19262
19263
19264
19265
19266
19267
19268
19269
19270
19271
19272
19273
19274
19275
19276
19277
19278
19279
19280
19281
19282
19283
19284
19285
19286
19287
19288
19289
19290
19291
19292
19293
19294
19295
19296
19297
19298
19299
19300
19301
19302
19303
19304
19305
19306
19307
19308
19309
19310
19311
19312
19313
19314
19315
19316
19317
19318
19319
19320
19321
19322
19323
19324
19325
19326
19327
19328
19329
19330
19331
19332
19333
19334
19335
19336
19337
19338
19339
19340
19341
19342
19343
19344
19345
19346
19347
19348
19349
19350
19351
19352
19353
19354
19355
19356
19357
19358
19359
19360
19361
19362
19363
19364
19365
19366
19367
19368
19369
19370
19371
19372
19373
19374
19375
19376
19377
19378
19379
19380
19381
19382
19383
19384
19385
19386
19387
19388
19389
19390
19391
19392
19393
19394
19395
19396
19397
19398
19399
19400
19401
19402
19403
19404
19405
19406
19407
19408
19409
19410
19411
19412
19413
19414
19415
19416
19417
19418
19419
19420
19421
19422
19423
19424
19425
19426
19427
19428
19429
19430
19431
19432
19433
19434
19435
19436
19437
19438
19439
19440
19441
19442
19443
19444
19445
19446
19447
19448
19449
19450
19451
19452
19453
19454
19455
19456
19457
19458
19459
19460
19461
19462
19463
19464
19465
19466
19467
19468
19469
19470
19471
19472
19473
19474
19475
19476
19477
19478
19479
19480
19481
19482
19483
19484
19485
19486
19487
19488
19489
19490
19491
19492
19493
19494
19495
19496
19497
19498
19499
19500
19501
19502
19503
19504
19505
19506
19507
19508
19509
19510
19511
19512
19513
19514
19515
19516
19517
19518
19519
19520
19521
19522
19523
19524
19525
19526
19527
19528
19529
19530
19531
19532
19533
19534
19535
19536
19537
19538
19539
19540
19541
19542
19543
19544
19545
19546
19547
19548
19549
19550
19551
19552
19553
19554
19555
19556
19557
19558
19559
19560
19561
19562
19563
19564
19565
19566
19567
19568
19569
19570
19571
19572
19573
19574
19575
19576
19577
19578
19579
19580
19581
19582
19583
19584
19585
19586
19587
19588
19589
19590
19591
19592
19593
19594
19595
19596
19597
19598
19599
19600
19601
19602
19603
19604
19605
19606
19607
19608
19609
19610
19611
19612
19613
19614
19615
19616
19617
19618
19619
19620
19621
19622
19623
19624
19625
19626
19627
19628
19629
19630
19631
19632
19633
19634
19635
19636
19637
19638
19639
19640
19641
19642
19643
19644
19645
19646
19647
19648
19649
19650
19651
19652
19653
19654
19655
19656
19657
19658
19659
19660
19661
19662
19663
19664
19665
19666
19667
19668
19669
19670
19671
19672
19673
19674
19675
19676
19677
19678
19679
19680
19681
19682
19683
19684
19685
19686
19687
19688
19689
19690
19691
19692
19693
19694
19695
19696
19697
19698
19699
19700
19701
19702
19703
19704
19705
19706
19707
19708
19709
19710
19711
19712
19713
19714
19715
19716
19717
19718
19719
19720
19721
19722
19723
19724
19725
19726
19727
19728
19729
19730
19731
19732
19733
19734
19735
19736
19737
19738
19739
19740
19741
19742
19743
19744
19745
19746
19747
19748
19749
19750
19751
19752
19753
19754
19755
19756
19757
19758
19759
19760
19761
19762
19763
19764
19765
19766
19767
19768
19769
19770
19771
19772
19773
19774
19775
19776
19777
19778
19779
19780
19781
19782
19783
19784
19785
19786
19787
19788
19789
19790
19791
19792
19793
19794
19795
19796
19797
19798
19799
19800
19801
19802
19803
19804
19805
19806
19807
19808
19809
19810
19811
19812
19813
19814
19815
19816
19817
19818
19819
19820
19821
19822
19823
19824
19825
19826
19827
19828
19829
19830
19831
19832
19833
19834
19835
19836
19837
19838
19839
19840
19841
19842
19843
19844
19845
19846
19847
19848
19849
19850
19851
19852
19853
19854
19855
19856
19857
19858
19859
19860
19861
19862
19863
19864
19865
19866
19867
19868
19869
19870
19871
19872
19873
19874
19875
19876
19877
19878
19879
19880
19881
19882
19883
19884
19885
19886
19887
19888
19889
19890
19891
19892
19893
19894
19895
19896
19897
19898
19899
19900
19901
19902
19903
19904
19905
19906
19907
19908
19909
19910
19911
19912
19913
19914
19915
19916
19917
19918
19919
19920
19921
19922
19923
19924
19925
19926
19927
19928
19929
19930
19931
19932
19933
19934
19935
19936
19937
19938
19939
19940
19941
19942
19943
19944
19945
19946
19947
19948
19949
19950
19951
19952
19953
19954
19955
19956
19957
19958
19959
19960
19961
19962
19963
19964
19965
19966
19967
19968
19969
19970
19971
19972
19973
19974
19975
19976
19977
19978
19979
19980
19981
19982
19983
19984
19985
19986
19987
19988
19989
19990
19991
19992
19993
19994
19995
19996
19997
19998
19999
20000
20001
20002
20003
20004
20005
20006
20007
20008
20009
20010
20011
20012
20013
20014
20015
20016
20017
20018
20019
20020
20021
20022
20023
20024
20025
20026
20027
20028
20029
20030
20031
20032
20033
20034
20035
20036
20037
20038
20039
20040
20041
20042
20043
20044
20045
20046
20047
20048
20049
20050
20051
20052
20053
20054
20055
20056
20057
20058
20059
20060
20061
20062
20063
20064
20065
20066
20067
20068
20069
20070
20071
20072
20073
20074
20075
20076
20077
20078
20079
20080
20081
20082
20083
20084
20085
20086
20087
20088
20089
20090
20091
20092
20093
20094
20095
20096
20097
20098
20099
20100
20101
20102
20103
20104
20105
20106
20107
20108
20109
20110
20111
20112
20113
20114
20115
20116
20117
20118
20119
20120
20121
20122
20123
20124
20125
20126
20127
20128
20129
20130
20131
20132
20133
20134
20135
20136
20137
20138
20139
20140
20141
20142
20143
20144
20145
20146
20147
20148
20149
20150
20151
20152
20153
20154
20155
20156
20157
20158
20159
20160
20161
20162
20163
20164
20165
20166
20167
20168
20169
20170
20171
20172
20173
20174
20175
20176
20177
20178
20179
20180
20181
20182
20183
20184
20185
20186
20187
20188
20189
20190
20191
20192
20193
20194
20195
20196
20197
20198
20199
20200
20201
20202
20203
20204
20205
20206
20207
20208
20209
20210
20211
20212
20213
20214
20215
20216
20217
20218
20219
20220
20221
20222
20223
20224
20225
20226
20227
20228
20229
20230
20231
20232
20233
20234
20235
20236
20237
20238
20239
20240
20241
20242
20243
20244
20245
20246
20247
20248
20249
20250
20251
20252
20253
20254
20255
20256
20257
20258
20259
20260
20261
20262
20263
20264
20265
20266
20267
20268
20269
20270
20271
20272
20273
20274
20275
20276
20277
20278
20279
20280
20281
20282
20283
20284
20285
20286
20287
20288
20289
20290
20291
20292
20293
20294
20295
20296
20297
20298
20299
20300
20301
20302
20303
20304
20305
20306
20307
20308
20309
20310
20311
20312
20313
20314
20315
20316
20317
20318
20319
20320
20321
20322
20323
20324
20325
20326
20327
20328
20329
20330
20331
20332
20333
20334
20335
20336
20337
20338
20339
20340
20341
20342
20343
20344
20345
20346
20347
20348
20349
20350
20351
20352
20353
20354
20355
20356
20357
20358
20359
20360
20361
20362
20363
20364
20365
20366
20367
20368
20369
20370
20371
20372
20373
20374
20375
20376
20377
20378
20379
20380
20381
20382
20383
20384
20385
20386
20387
20388
20389
20390
20391
20392
20393
20394
20395
20396
20397
20398
20399
20400
20401
20402
20403
20404
20405
20406
20407
20408
20409
20410
20411
20412
20413
20414
20415
20416
20417
20418
20419
20420
20421
20422
20423
20424
20425
20426
20427
20428
20429
20430
20431
20432
20433
20434
20435
20436
20437
20438
20439
20440
20441
20442
20443
20444
20445
20446
20447
20448
20449
20450
20451
20452
20453
20454
20455
20456
20457
20458
20459
20460
20461
20462
20463
20464
20465
20466
20467
20468
20469
20470
20471
20472
20473
20474
20475
20476
20477
20478
20479
20480
20481
20482
20483
20484
20485
20486
20487
20488
20489
20490
20491
20492
20493
20494
20495
20496
20497
20498
20499
20500
20501
20502
20503
20504
20505
20506
20507
20508
20509
20510
20511
20512
20513
20514
20515
20516
20517
20518
20519
20520
20521
20522
20523
20524
20525
20526
20527
20528
20529
20530
20531
20532
20533
20534
20535
20536
20537
20538
20539
20540
20541
20542
20543
20544
20545
20546
20547
20548
20549
20550
20551
20552
20553
20554
20555
20556
20557
20558
20559
20560
20561
20562
20563
20564
20565
20566
20567
20568
20569
20570
20571
20572
20573
20574
20575
20576
20577
20578
20579
20580
20581
20582
20583
20584
20585
20586
20587
20588
20589
20590
20591
20592
20593
20594
20595
20596
20597
20598
20599
20600
20601
20602
20603
20604
20605
20606
20607
20608
20609
20610
20611
20612
20613
20614
20615
20616
20617
20618
20619
20620
20621
20622
20623
20624
20625
20626
20627
20628
20629
20630
20631
20632
20633
20634
20635
20636
20637
20638
20639
20640
20641
20642
20643
20644
20645
20646
20647
20648
20649
20650
20651
20652
20653
20654
20655
20656
20657
20658
20659
20660
20661
20662
20663
20664
20665
20666
20667
20668
20669
20670
20671
20672
20673
20674
20675
20676
20677
20678
20679
20680
20681
20682
20683
20684
20685
20686
20687
20688
20689
20690
20691
20692
20693
20694
20695
20696
20697
20698
20699
20700
20701
20702
20703
20704
20705
20706
20707
20708
20709
20710
20711
20712
20713
20714
20715
20716
20717
20718
20719
20720
20721
20722
20723
20724
20725
20726
20727
20728
20729
20730
20731
20732
20733
20734
20735
20736
20737
20738
20739
20740
20741
20742
20743
20744
20745
20746
20747
20748
20749
20750
20751
20752
20753
20754
20755
20756
20757
20758
20759
20760
20761
20762
20763
20764
20765
20766
20767
20768
20769
20770
20771
20772
20773
20774
20775
20776
20777
20778
20779
20780
20781
20782
20783
20784
20785
20786
20787
20788
20789
20790
20791
20792
20793
20794
20795
20796
20797
20798
20799
20800
20801
20802
20803
20804
20805
20806
20807
20808
20809
20810
20811
20812
20813
20814
20815
20816
20817
20818
20819
20820
20821
20822
20823
20824
20825
20826
20827
20828
20829
20830
20831
20832
20833
20834
20835
20836
20837
20838
20839
20840
20841
20842
20843
20844
20845
20846
20847
20848
20849
20850
20851
20852
20853
20854
20855
20856
20857
20858
20859
20860
20861
20862
20863
20864
20865
20866
20867
20868
20869
20870
20871
20872
20873
20874
20875
20876
20877
20878
20879
20880
20881
20882
20883
20884
20885
20886
20887
20888
20889
20890
20891
20892
20893
20894
20895
20896
20897
20898
20899
20900
20901
20902
20903
20904
20905
20906
20907
20908
20909
20910
20911
20912
20913
20914
20915
20916
20917
20918
20919
20920
20921
20922
20923
20924
20925
20926
20927
20928
20929
20930
20931
20932
20933
20934
20935
20936
20937
20938
20939
20940
20941
20942
20943
20944
20945
20946
20947
20948
20949
20950
20951
20952
20953
20954
20955
20956
20957
20958
20959
20960
20961
20962
20963
20964
20965
20966
20967
20968
20969
20970
20971
20972
20973
20974
20975
20976
20977
20978
20979
20980
20981
20982
20983
20984
20985
20986
20987
20988
20989
20990
20991
20992
20993
20994
20995
20996
20997
20998
20999
21000
21001
21002
21003
21004
21005
21006
21007
21008
21009
21010
21011
21012
21013
21014
21015
21016
21017
21018
21019
21020
21021
21022
21023
21024
21025
21026
21027
21028
21029
21030
21031
21032
21033
21034
21035
21036
21037
21038
21039
21040
21041
21042
21043
21044
21045
21046
21047
21048
21049
21050
21051
21052
21053
21054
21055
21056
21057
21058
21059
21060
21061
21062
21063
21064
21065
21066
21067
21068
21069
21070
21071
21072
21073
21074
21075
21076
21077
21078
21079
21080
21081
21082
21083
21084
21085
21086
21087
21088
21089
21090
21091
21092
21093
21094
21095
21096
21097
21098
21099
21100
21101
21102
21103
21104
21105
21106
21107
21108
21109
21110
21111
21112
21113
21114
21115
21116
21117
21118
21119
21120
21121
21122
21123
21124
21125
21126
21127
21128
21129
21130
21131
21132
21133
21134
21135
21136
21137
21138
21139
21140
21141
21142
21143
21144
21145
21146
21147
21148
21149
21150
21151
21152
21153
21154
21155
21156
21157
21158
21159
21160
21161
21162
21163
21164
21165
21166
21167
21168
21169
21170
21171
21172
21173
21174
21175
21176
21177
21178
21179
21180
21181
21182
21183
21184
21185
21186
21187
21188
21189
21190
21191
21192
21193
21194
21195
21196
21197
21198
21199
21200
21201
21202
21203
21204
21205
21206
21207
21208
21209
21210
21211
21212
21213
21214
21215
21216
21217
21218
21219
21220
21221
21222
21223
21224
21225
21226
21227
21228
21229
21230
21231
21232
21233
21234
21235
21236
21237
21238
21239
21240
21241
21242
21243
21244
21245
21246
21247
21248
21249
21250
21251
21252
21253
21254
21255
21256
21257
21258
21259
21260
21261
21262
21263
21264
21265
21266
21267
21268
21269
21270
21271
21272
21273
21274
21275
21276
21277
21278
21279
21280
21281
21282
21283
21284
21285
21286
21287
21288
21289
21290
21291
21292
21293
21294
21295
21296
21297
21298
21299
21300
21301
21302
21303
21304
21305
21306
21307
21308
21309
21310
21311
21312
21313
21314
21315
21316
21317
21318
21319
21320
21321
21322
21323
21324
21325
21326
21327
21328
21329
21330
21331
21332
21333
21334
21335
21336
21337
21338
21339
21340
21341
21342
21343
21344
21345
21346
21347
21348
21349
21350
21351
21352
21353
21354
21355
21356
21357
21358
21359
21360
21361
21362
21363
21364
21365
21366
21367
21368
21369
21370
21371
21372
21373
21374
21375
21376
21377
21378
21379
21380
21381
21382
21383
21384
21385
21386
21387
21388
21389
21390
21391
21392
21393
21394
21395
21396
21397
21398
21399
21400
21401
21402
21403
21404
21405
21406
21407
21408
21409
21410
21411
21412
21413
21414
21415
21416
21417
21418
21419
21420
21421
21422
21423
21424
21425
21426
21427
21428
21429
21430
21431
21432
21433
21434
21435
21436
21437
21438
21439
21440
21441
21442
21443
21444
21445
21446
21447
21448
21449
21450
21451
21452
21453
21454
21455
21456
21457
21458
21459
21460
21461
21462
21463
21464
21465
21466
21467
21468
21469
21470
21471
21472
21473
21474
21475
21476
21477
21478
21479
21480
21481
21482
21483
21484
21485
21486
21487
21488
21489
21490
21491
21492
21493
21494
21495
21496
21497
21498
21499
21500
21501
21502
21503
21504
21505
21506
21507
21508
21509
21510
21511
21512
21513
21514
21515
21516
21517
21518
21519
21520
21521
21522
21523
21524
21525
21526
21527
21528
21529
21530
21531
21532
21533
21534
21535
21536
21537
21538
21539
21540
21541
21542
21543
21544
21545
21546
21547
21548
21549
21550
21551
21552
21553
21554
21555
21556
21557
21558
21559
21560
21561
21562
21563
21564
21565
21566
21567
21568
21569
21570
21571
21572
21573
21574
21575
21576
21577
21578
21579
21580
21581
21582
21583
21584
21585
21586
21587
21588
21589
21590
21591
21592
21593
21594
21595
21596
21597
21598
21599
21600
21601
21602
21603
21604
21605
21606
21607
21608
21609
21610
21611
21612
21613
21614
21615
21616
21617
21618
21619
21620
21621
21622
21623
21624
21625
21626
21627
21628
21629
21630
21631
21632
21633
21634
21635
21636
21637
21638
21639
21640
21641
21642
21643
21644
21645
21646
21647
21648
21649
21650
21651
21652
21653
21654
21655
21656
21657
21658
21659
21660
21661
21662
21663
21664
21665
21666
21667
21668
21669
21670
21671
21672
21673
21674
21675
21676
21677
21678
21679
21680
21681
21682
21683
21684
21685
21686
21687
21688
21689
21690
21691
21692
21693
21694
21695
21696
21697
21698
21699
21700
21701
21702
21703
21704
21705
21706
21707
21708
21709
21710
21711
21712
21713
21714
21715
21716
21717
21718
21719
21720
21721
21722
21723
21724
21725
21726
21727
21728
21729
21730
21731
21732
21733
21734
21735
21736
21737
21738
21739
21740
21741
21742
21743
21744
21745
21746
21747
21748
21749
21750
21751
21752
21753
21754
21755
21756
21757
21758
21759
21760
21761
21762
21763
21764
21765
21766
21767
21768
21769
21770
21771
21772
21773
21774
21775
21776
21777
21778
21779
21780
21781
21782
21783
21784
21785
21786
21787
21788
21789
21790
21791
21792
21793
21794
21795
21796
21797
21798
21799
21800
21801
21802
21803
21804
21805
21806
21807
21808
21809
21810
21811
21812
21813
21814
21815
21816
21817
21818
21819
21820
21821
21822
21823
21824
21825
21826
21827
21828
21829
21830
21831
21832
21833
21834
21835
21836
21837
21838
21839
21840
21841
21842
21843
21844
21845
21846
21847
21848
21849
21850
21851
21852
21853
21854
21855
21856
21857
21858
21859
21860
21861
21862
21863
21864
21865
21866
21867
21868
21869
21870
21871
21872
21873
21874
21875
21876
21877
21878
21879
21880
21881
21882
21883
21884
21885
21886
21887
21888
21889
21890
21891
21892
21893
21894
21895
21896
21897
21898
21899
21900
21901
21902
21903
21904
21905
21906
21907
21908
21909
21910
21911
21912
21913
21914
21915
21916
21917
21918
21919
21920
21921
21922
21923
21924
21925
21926
21927
21928
21929
21930
21931
21932
21933
21934
21935
21936
21937
21938
21939
21940
21941
21942
21943
21944
21945
21946
21947
21948
21949
21950
21951
21952
21953
21954
21955
21956
21957
21958
21959
21960
21961
21962
21963
21964
21965
21966
21967
21968
21969
21970
21971
21972
21973
21974
21975
21976
21977
21978
21979
21980
21981
21982
21983
21984
21985
21986
21987
21988
21989
21990
21991
21992
21993
21994
21995
21996
21997
21998
21999
22000
22001
22002
22003
22004
22005
22006
22007
22008
22009
22010
22011
22012
22013
22014
22015
22016
22017
22018
22019
22020
22021
22022
22023
22024
22025
22026
22027
22028
22029
22030
22031
22032
22033
22034
22035
22036
22037
22038
22039
22040
22041
22042
22043
22044
22045
22046
22047
22048
22049
22050
22051
22052
22053
22054
22055
22056
22057
22058
22059
22060
22061
22062
22063
22064
22065
22066
22067
22068
22069
22070
22071
22072
22073
22074
22075
22076
22077
22078
22079
22080
22081
22082
22083
22084
22085
22086
22087
22088
22089
22090
22091
22092
22093
22094
22095
22096
22097
22098
22099
22100
22101
22102
22103
22104
22105
22106
22107
22108
22109
22110
22111
22112
22113
22114
22115
22116
22117
22118
22119
22120
22121
22122
22123
22124
22125
22126
22127
22128
22129
22130
22131
22132
22133
22134
22135
22136
22137
22138
22139
22140
22141
22142
22143
22144
22145
22146
22147
22148
22149
22150
22151
22152
22153
22154
22155
22156
22157
22158
22159
22160
22161
22162
22163
22164
22165
22166
22167
22168
22169
22170
22171
22172
22173
22174
22175
22176
22177
22178
22179
22180
22181
22182
22183
22184
22185
22186
22187
22188
22189
22190
22191
22192
22193
22194
22195
22196
22197
22198
22199
22200
22201
22202
22203
22204
22205
22206
22207
22208
22209
22210
22211
22212
22213
22214
22215
22216
22217
22218
22219
22220
22221
22222
22223
22224
22225
22226
22227
22228
22229
22230
22231
22232
22233
22234
22235
22236
22237
22238
22239
22240
22241
22242
22243
22244
22245
22246
22247
22248
22249
22250
22251
22252
22253
22254
22255
22256
22257
22258
22259
22260
22261
22262
22263
22264
22265
22266
22267
22268
22269
22270
22271
22272
22273
22274
22275
22276
22277
22278
22279
22280
22281
22282
22283
22284
22285
22286
22287
22288
22289
22290
22291
22292
22293
22294
22295
22296
22297
22298
22299
22300
22301
22302
22303
22304
22305
22306
22307
22308
22309
22310
22311
22312
22313
22314
22315
22316
22317
22318
22319
22320
22321
22322
22323
22324
22325
22326
22327
22328
22329
22330
22331
22332
22333
22334
22335
22336
22337
22338
22339
22340
22341
22342
22343
22344
22345
22346
22347
22348
22349
22350
22351
22352
22353
22354
22355
22356
22357
22358
22359
22360
22361
22362
22363
22364
22365
22366
22367
22368
22369
22370
22371
22372
22373
22374
22375
22376
22377
22378
22379
22380
22381
22382
22383
22384
22385
22386
22387
22388
22389
22390
22391
22392
22393
22394
22395
22396
22397
22398
22399
22400
22401
22402
22403
22404
22405
22406
22407
22408
22409
22410
22411
22412
22413
22414
22415
22416
22417
22418
22419
22420
22421
22422
22423
22424
22425
22426
22427
22428
22429
22430
22431
22432
22433
22434
22435
22436
22437
22438
22439
22440
22441
22442
22443
22444
22445
22446
22447
22448
22449
22450
22451
22452
22453
22454
22455
22456
22457
22458
22459
22460
22461
22462
22463
22464
22465
22466
22467
22468
22469
22470
22471
22472
22473
22474
22475
22476
22477
22478
22479
22480
22481
22482
22483
22484
22485
22486
22487
22488
22489
22490
22491
22492
22493
22494
22495
22496
22497
22498
22499
22500
22501
22502
22503
22504
22505
22506
22507
22508
22509
22510
22511
22512
22513
22514
22515
22516
22517
22518
22519
22520
22521
22522
22523
22524
22525
22526
22527
22528
22529
22530
22531
22532
22533
22534
22535
22536
22537
22538
22539
22540
22541
22542
22543
22544
22545
22546
22547
22548
22549
22550
22551
22552
22553
22554
22555
22556
22557
22558
22559
22560
22561
22562
22563
22564
22565
22566
22567
22568
22569
22570
22571
22572
22573
22574
22575
22576
22577
22578
22579
22580
22581
22582
22583
22584
22585
22586
22587
22588
22589
22590
22591
22592
22593
22594
22595
22596
22597
22598
22599
22600
22601
22602
22603
22604
22605
22606
22607
22608
22609
22610
22611
22612
22613
22614
22615
22616
22617
22618
22619
22620
22621
22622
22623
22624
22625
22626
22627
22628
22629
22630
22631
22632
22633
22634
22635
22636
22637
22638
22639
22640
22641
22642
22643
22644
22645
22646
22647
22648
22649
22650
22651
22652
22653
22654
22655
22656
22657
22658
22659
22660
22661
22662
22663
22664
22665
22666
22667
22668
22669
22670
22671
22672
22673
22674
22675
22676
22677
22678
22679
22680
22681
22682
22683
22684
22685

<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN"
    "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd">

<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml">
  <head>
    <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" />
    <title>
      The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Letters of Charles Dickens, Vol. 1, edited by Mamie Dickens and Georgina Hogarth.
    </title>
    <style type="text/css">
/*<![CDATA[  XML blockout */
<!--
    p {margin-top: .75em;
       text-align: justify;
       text-indent: 1.25em;
       margin-bottom: .75em;
        }
    img {border: 0;}
    .tnote      {border: dashed 1px; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; padding-bottom: .5em; padding-top: .5em;
                  padding-left: .5em; padding-right: .5em;}
    ins {text-decoration:none;  border-bottom: thin dotted gray;}
    h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 {
         text-align: center; /* all headings centered */
         clear: both;
         }
    hr { width: 33%;
	 margin-top: 2em;
	 margin-bottom: 2em;
         margin-left: auto;
         margin-right: auto;
         clear: both;
       }

    table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;}

    body{margin-left: 10%;
         margin-right: 10%;
        }
     .date {text-align: right;}
    .pagenum  { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */
            /*  visibility: hidden;  */
                position: absolute;
                left: 92%;
                font-size: smaller;
                text-align: right;
              } /* page numbers */

    .blockquot{margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 10%; text-align: justify;}

    .bbox     {border: solid 2px; margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; padding-bottom: .5em; padding-top: .5em;
                  padding-left: .5em; padding-right: .5em;}

    .center   {text-align: center;}
    .smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}

    .caption  {font-weight: bold;}

    .figcenter   {margin: auto; text-align: center;}

    .figleft     {float: left; clear: left; margin-left: 0; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top:
                 1em; margin-right: 1em; padding: 0; text-align: center;}

    .figright    {float: right; clear: right; margin-left: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em;
                 margin-top: 1em; margin-right: 0; padding: 0; text-align: center;}

    .unindent {margin-top: .75em;
       text-align: justify;
       margin-bottom: .75em;
        }
    .right    {text-align: right;}
    .poem      {margin-left: 30%; margin-right: 10%; text-align: left;}
    .poem2   {margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 10%; text-align: left;}
    .sig    {margin-right: 10%; text-align: right;}
    .u        {text-decoration: underline;}
    .linenum  {position: absolute; top: auto; left: 4%;} /* poetry number */
    .sidenote {position: absolute;
                right: 91%;
width: 10%; padding-bottom: .5em; padding-top: .5em; text-align: center;
               padding-left: .5em; padding-right: .5em; margin-left: 1em;
               float: right; margin-top: 1em;
               font-size: smaller; color: black; background: 0; border: solid 1px;}

    .footnotes        {border: dashed 1px;}
    .footnote         {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;}
    .fnanchor         {vertical-align:baseline;
        position: relative;
        bottom: 0.33em;
        font-size: .8em;
        text-decoration: none;}
    .hang1 {text-indent: -3em; margin-left: 3em;}
    // -->
    /* XML end  ]]>*/
    </style>
  </head>
<body>


<pre>

Project Gutenberg's The Letters of Charles Dickens, by Charles Dickens

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org


Title: The Letters of Charles Dickens
       Vol. 1 (of 3), 1833-1856

Author: Charles Dickens

Editor: Mamie Dickens
        Georgina Hogarth

Release Date: June 20, 2008 [EBook #25852]

Language: English

Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LETTERS OF CHARLES DICKENS ***




Produced by Susan Skinner, Emmy and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net






</pre>



<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_iii" id="Page_iii">[iii]</a></span></p>
<h1>THE LETTERS</h1>

<h3>OF</h3>

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;">
<img src="images/1title_sig.png" width="400" height="167" alt="HW: Charles Dickens" title="HW: Charles Dickens" />
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_iv" id="Page_iv">[iv]</a></span></p>
<h1>THE LETTERS</h1>

<h3>OF</h3>

<h1>CHARLES DICKENS.</h1>

<h4>EDITED BY</h4>

<h3>HIS SISTER-IN-LAW AND HIS ELDEST DAUGHTER.</h3>

<h4>In Two Volumes.</h4>

<div class='center'><br /><br />VOL. I.<br />

1833 to 1856.<br /><br /><br /><br /><br />

<b>London:</b><br />
CHAPMAN AND HALL, 193, PICCADILLY.<br />
1880.<br />
<small>[<i>The Right of Translation is Reserved.</i>]</small></div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">[v]</a></span></p>

<div class='center'><small>CHARLES DICKENS AND EVANS,</small><br />
<small>CRYSTAL PALACE PRESS.</small></div>
<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_vi" id="Page_vi">[vi]</a></span></p>

<div class='center'>
TO<br />
<br />
<big>KATE PERUGINI,</big><br />
<br />
THIS MEMORIAL OF HER FATHER<br />
<br />
<small>IS LOVINGLY INSCRIBED</small><br />
<br />
BY HER AUNT AND SISTER.</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[vii]</a></span></p>

<h2>PREFACE.</h2>


<div class='unindent'><span class='smcap'>We</span> intend this Collection of Letters to be a Supplement
to the "Life of Charles Dickens," by John Forster. That
work, perfect and exhaustive as a biography, is only incomplete
as regards correspondence; the scheme of the
book having made it impossible to include in its space
any letters, or hardly any, besides those addressed to
Mr. Forster. As no man ever expressed <i>himself</i> more
in his letters than Charles Dickens, we believe that in
publishing this careful selection from his general correspondence
we shall be supplying a want which has been
universally felt.</div>

<p>Our request for the loan of letters was so promptly
and fully responded to, that we have been provided with
more than sufficient material for our work. By arranging
the letters in chronological order, we find that they
very frequently explain themselves and form a narrative
of the events of each year. Our collection dates from
1833, the commencement of Charles Dickens's literary
life, just before the starting of the "Pickwick Papers,"
and is carried on up to the day before his death, in 1870.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">[viii]</a></span></p>

<p>We find some difficulty in being quite accurate in the
arrangements of letters up to the end of 1839, for he had
a careless habit in those days about dating his letters,
very frequently putting only the day of the week on
which he wrote, curiously in contrast with the habit of
his later life, when his dates were always of the very
fullest.</p>

<p>A blank is made in Charles Dickens's correspondence
with his family by the absence of any letter addressed to
his daughter Kate (Mrs. Perugini), to her great regret
and to ours. In 1873, her furniture and other possessions
were stored in the warehouse of the Pantechnicon at the
time of the great fire there. All her property was
destroyed, and, among other things, a box of papers which
included her letters from her father.</p>

<p>It was our intention as well as our desire to have
thanked, individually, every one&mdash;both living friends and
representatives of dead ones&mdash;for their readiness to give
us every possible help to make our work complete. But
the number of such friends, besides correspondents
hitherto unknown, who have volunteered contributions
of letters, make it impossible in our space to do otherwise
than to express, collectively, our earnest and heartfelt
thanks.</p>

<p>A separate word of gratitude, however, must be given
by us to Mr. Wilkie Collins for the invaluable help which
we have received from his great knowledge and experience,
in the technical part of our work, and for the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix">[ix]</a></span>
deep interest which he has shown from the beginning,
in our undertaking.</p>

<p>It is a great pleasure to us to have the name of
Henry Fielding Dickens associated with this book. To
him, for the very important assistance he has given in
making our Index, we return our loving thanks.</p>

<p>In writing our explanatory notes we have, we hope,
left nothing out which in any way requires explanation
from us. But we have purposely made them as short
as possible; our great desire being to give to the public
another book from Charles Dickens's own hands&mdash;as it
were, a portrait of himself by himself.</p>

<p>Those letters which need no explanation&mdash;and of
those we have many&mdash;we give without a word from us.</p>

<p>In publishing the more private letters, we do so with
the view of showing him in his homely, domestic life&mdash;of
showing how in the midst of his own constant and arduous
work, no household matter was considered too trivial to
claim his care and attention. He would take as much
pains about the hanging of a picture, the choosing of
furniture, the superintending any little improvement in
the house, as he would about the more serious business
of his life; thus carrying out to the very letter his
favourite motto of "What is worth doing at all is worth
doing well."</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span class="smcap">Mamie Dickens.</span><br />
<span class="smcap">Georgina Hogarth.</span><br />
</div>

<p><span class="smcap">London</span>: <i>October</i>, 1879.</p>




<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_x" id="Page_x">[x]</a></span></p>

<h2>ERRATA.</h2>

<h3>VOL. I.</h3>



<div class='center'>
<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Errata">
<tr><td align='left'>Page</td><td align='left'>111,</td><td align='left'>&nbsp;line 6. For "because if I hear of you," <i>read</i> "because I hear of you."</td></tr>
<tr><td align='center'>"</td><td align='left'>&nbsp;114,</td><td align='left'>&nbsp;line 24. For "any old end," <i>read</i> "or any old end."</td></tr>
<tr><td align='center'>"</td><td align='left' valign='top'>&nbsp;137.</td><td align='left'>&nbsp;First paragraph, second sentence, <i>should read</i>, "All the ancient part of Rome is wonderful and impressive in the extreme, far beyond the possibility of exaggeration. As to the," etc.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='center'>"</td><td align='left'>&nbsp;456,</td><td align='left'>&nbsp;line 11. For "Mr." <i>read</i> "Mrs."</td></tr>
</table></div>


<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_xi" id="Page_xi">[xi]</a></span></p>
<h2>Book I.</h2>

<h3>1833 <span class="smcap">to</span> 1842.</h3>


<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span></p>

<h3>THE</h3>

<h2>LETTERS OF CHARLES DICKENS.</h2>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<h2>1833 <span class="smcap">or</span> 1834, <span class="smcap">and</span> 1835, 1836.</h2>

<h3>NARRATIVE.</h3>


<div class='unindent'><span class='smcap'>We</span> have been able to procure so few early letters of any
general interest that we put these first years together.
Charles Dickens was then living, as a bachelor, in Furnival's
Inn, and was engaged as a parliamentary reporter on
<i>The Morning Chronicle</i>. The "Sketches by Boz" were
written during these years, published first in "The Monthly
Magazine" and continued in <i>The Evening Chronicle</i>. He
was engaged to be married to Catherine Hogarth in 1835&mdash;the
marriage took place on the 2nd April, 1836; and he
continued to live in Furnival's Inn with his wife for more
than a year after their marriage. They passed the summer
months of that year in a lodging at Chalk, near Gravesend,
in the neighbourhood associated with all his life, from his
childhood to his death. The two letters which we publish,
addressed to his wife as Miss Hogarth, have no date, but
were written in 1835. The first of the two refers to the
offer made to him by Chapman and Hall to edit a monthly
periodical, the emolument (which he calls "too tempting to
resist!") to be fourteen pounds a month. The bargain was
concluded, and this was the starting of "The Pickwick
Papers." The first number was published in March, 1836.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span>
The second letter to Miss Hogarth was written after he had
completed three numbers of "Pickwick," and the character
who is to "make a decided hit" is "Jingle."</div>

<p>The first letter of this book is addressed to Henry
Austin, a friend from his boyhood, who afterwards married
his second sister Letitia. It bears no date, but must have
been written in 1833 or 1834, during the early days of his
reporting for <i>The Morning Chronicle</i>; the journey on which
he was "ordered" being for that paper.</p>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. Henry
Austin.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class='smcap'>Furnivall's Inn</span>, <i>Wednesday Night, past 12.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">Dear Henry</span>,</div>

<p>I have just been ordered on a journey, the length of
which is at present uncertain. I may be back on Sunday
very probably, and start again on the following day. Should
this be the case, you shall hear from me before.</p>

<p>Don't laugh. I am going (alone) in a gig; and, to
quote the eloquent inducement which the proprietors of
Hampstead <i>chays</i> hold out to Sunday riders&mdash;"the gen'l'm'n
drives himself." I am going into Essex and Suffolk. It
strikes me I shall be spilt before I pay a turnpike. I have
a presentiment I shall run over an only child before I reach
Chelmsford, my first stage.</p>

<p>Let the evident haste of this specimen of "The Polite
Letter Writer" be its excuse, and</p>

<p>Believe me, dear Henry, most sincerely yours,</p>

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;">
<img src="images/2signature.png" width="400" height="89" alt="Signature: Charles Dickens" title="Signature: Charles Dickens" />
</div>

<p><span class="smcap">Note</span>.&mdash;To avoid the monotony of a constant repetition, we propose to dispense with
the signature at the close of each letter, excepting to the first and last letters of our
collection. Charles Dickens's handwriting altered so much during these years of his life,
that we have thought it advisable to give a facsimile of his autograph to this our first
letter; and we reproduce in the same way his latest autograph<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span>.</p>


<div class="sidenote">Miss
Hogarth.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Furnival's Inn</span>, <i>Wednesday Evening, 1835.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dearest Kate</span>,</div>

<p>The House is up; but I am very sorry to say that I
must stay at home. I have had a visit from the publishers
this morning, and the story cannot be any longer delayed;
it must be done to-morrow, as there are more important
considerations than the mere payment for the story involved
too. I must exercise a little self-denial, and set to work.</p>

<p>They (Chapman and Hall) have made me an offer of
fourteen pounds a month, to write and edit a new publication
they contemplate, entirely by myself, to be published
monthly, and each number to contain four woodcuts. I am
to make my estimate and calculation, and to give them a
decisive answer on Friday morning. The work will be no
joke, but the emolument is too tempting to resist.</p>

<div class='center'><b>*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*</b></div>

<div class="sidenote">The same.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br /><i>Sunday Evening.</i></div>

<div class='center'><b>*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*</b></div>

<p>I have at this moment got Pickwick and his friends on
the Rochester coach, and they are going on swimmingly,
in company with a very different character from any I have
yet described, who I flatter myself will make a decided hit.
I want to get them from the ball to the inn before I go to
bed; and I think that will take me until one or two o'clock
at the earliest. The publishers will be here in the morning,
so you will readily suppose I have no alternative but to
stick at my desk.</p>

<div class='center'><b>*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*</b></div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span></p>
<h2>1837.</h2>

<h3>NARRATIVE.</h3>


<div class='unindent'><span class='smcap'>From</span> the commencement of "The Pickwick Papers," and
of Charles Dickens's married life, dates the commencement
of his literary life and his sudden world-wide fame. And
this year saw the beginning of many of those friendships
which he most valued, and of which he had most reason to
be proud, and which friendships were ended only by death.</div>

<p>The first letters which we have been able to procure to
Mr. Macready and Mr. Harley will be found under this date.
In January, 1837, he was living in Furnival's Inn, where
his first child, a son, was born. It was an eventful year to
him in many ways. He removed from Furnival's Inn to
Doughty Street in March, and here he sustained the first
great grief of his life. His young sister-in-law, Mary
Hogarth, to whom he was devotedly attached, died very
suddenly, at his house, on the 7th May. In the autumn
of this year he took lodgings at Broadstairs. This was
his first visit to that pleasant little watering-place, of which
he became very fond, and whither he removed for the
autumn months with all his household, for many years in
succession.</p>

<p>Besides the monthly numbers of "Pickwick," which
were going on through this year until November, when the
last number appeared, he had commenced "Oliver Twist,"
which was appearing also monthly, in the magazine called
"Bentley's Miscellany," long before "Pickwick" was
completed. And during this year he had edited, for
Mr. Bentley, "The Life of Grimaldi," the celebrated
clown. To this book he wrote himself only the preface,
and altered and rearranged the autobiographical MS.
which was in Mr. Bentley's possession.</p>

<p>The letter to Mr. Harley, which bears no date, but must
have been written either in 1836 or 1837, refers to a farce
called "The Strange Gentleman" (founded on one of the
"Sketches," called the "Great Winglebury Duel"), which he
wrote expressly for Mr. Harley, and which was produced<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span>
at the St. James's Theatre, under the management of
Mr. Braham. The only other piece which he wrote for that
theatre was the story of an operetta, called "The Village
Coquettes," the music of which was composed by Mr. John
Hullah.</p>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. J. P.
Harley.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
48, <span class="smcap">Doughty Street</span>, <i>Saturday Morning.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My Dear Sir</span>,</div>

<p>I have considered the terms on which I could afford
just now to sell Mr. Braham the acting copyright in London
of an entirely new piece for the St. James's Theatre; and
I could not sit down to write one in a single act of about
one hour long, under a hundred pounds. For a new piece
in two acts, a hundred and fifty pounds would be the sum
I should require.</p>

<p>I do not know whether, with reference to arrangements
that were made with any other writers, this may or
may not appear a large item. I state it merely with regard
to the value of my own time and writings at this moment;
and in so doing I assure you I place the remuneration
below the mark rather than above it.</p>

<p>As you begged me to give you my reply upon this
point, perhaps you will lay it before Mr. Braham. If these
terms exceed his inclination or the ability of the theatre,
there is an end of the matter, and no harm done.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Believe me ever faithfully yours.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. W. C.
Macready.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
48, <span class="smcap">Doughty Street</span>, <i>Wednesday Evening.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My Dear Sir</span>,</div>

<p>There is a semi-business, semi-pleasure little dinner
which I intend to give at The Prince of Wales, in
Leicester Place, Leicester Square, on Saturday, at five for
half-past precisely, at which only Talfourd, Forster, Ainsworth,
Jerdan, and the publishers will be present. It is<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span>
to celebrate (that is too great a word, but I can think of
no better) the conclusion of my "Pickwick" labours; and
so I intend, before you take that roll upon the grass
you spoke of, to beg your acceptance of one of the first
complete copies of the work. I shall be much delighted if
you would join us.</p>

<p>I know too well the many anxieties that press upon
you just now to seek to persuade you to come if you would
prefer a night's repose and quiet. Let me assure you, notwithstanding,
most honestly and heartily that there is no
one I should be more happy or gratified to see, and that
among your brilliant circle of well-wishers and admirers you
number none more unaffectedly and faithfully yours than,</p>

<div class='sig'>
My dear Sir, yours most truly.<br />
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<h2>1838.</h2>

<h3>NARRATIVE.</h3>


<div class='unindent'><span class='smcap'>In</span> February of this year Charles Dickens made an expedition
with his friend, and the illustrator of most of his books,
Mr. Hablot K. Browne ("Phiz"), to investigate for himself
the real facts as to the condition of the Yorkshire schools,
and it may be observed that portions of a letter to his
wife, dated Greta Bridge, Yorkshire, which will be found
among the following letters, were reproduced in "Nicholas
Nickleby." In the early summer he had a cottage at
Twickenham Park. In August and September he was
again at Broadstairs; and in the late autumn he made
another bachelor excursion&mdash;Mr. Browne being again his
companion&mdash;in England, which included his first visit to
Stratford-on-Avon and Kenilworth. In February appeared
the first number of "Nicholas Nickleby," on which work
he was engaged all through the year, writing each number
ready for the following month, and never being in advance,
as was his habit with all his other periodical works, until
his very latest ones.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span></div>

<p>The first letter which appears under this date, from
Twickenham Park, is addressed to Mr. Thomas Mitton, a
schoolfellow at one of his earliest schools, and afterwards
for some years his solicitor. The letter contains instructions
for his first will; the friend of almost his whole life,
Mr. John Forster, being appointed executor to this will as
he was to the last, to which he was "called upon to act"
only three years before his own death.</p>

<p>The letter which we give in this year to Mr. Justice
Talfourd is, unfortunately, the only one we have been able
to procure to that friend, who was, however, one with
whom he was most intimately associated, and with whom
he maintained a constant correspondence.</p>

<p>The letter beginning "Respected Sir" was an answer
to a little boy (Master Hastings Hughes), who had written
to him as "Nicholas Nickleby" approached completion,
stating his views and wishes as to the rewards and punishments
to be bestowed on the various characters in the book.
The letter was sent to him through the Rev. Thomas
Barham, author of "The Ingoldsby Legends."</p>

<p>The two letters to Mr. Macready, at the end of this year,
refer to a farce which Charles Dickens wrote, with an idea
that it might be suitable for Covent Garden Theatre, then
under Mr. Macready's management.</p>


<div class="sidenote">Mrs.
Charles
Dickens.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Greta Bridge</span>, <i>Thursday, Feb. 1st, 1838.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dearest Kate</span>,</div>

<p>I am afraid you will receive this later than I could
wish, as the mail does not come through this place until two
o'clock to-morrow morning. However, I have availed
myself of the very first opportunity of writing, so the fault
is that mail's, and not this.</p>

<p>We reached Grantham between nine and ten on Thursday
night, and found everything prepared for our reception
in the very best inn I have ever put up at. It is odd<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span>
enough that an old lady, who had been outside all day and
came in towards dinner time, turned out to be the mistress
of a Yorkshire school returning from the holiday stay in
London. She was a very queer old lady, and showed us a
long letter she was carrying to one of the boys from his
father, containing a severe lecture (enforced and aided by
many texts of Scripture) on his refusing to eat boiled meat.
She was very communicative, drank a great deal of brandy
and water, and towards evening became insensible, in which
state we left her.</p>

<p>Yesterday we were up again shortly after seven <span class="smcap">a.m.</span>,
came on upon our journey by the Glasgow mail, which
charged us the remarkably low sum of six pounds fare for
two places inside. We had a very droll male companion
until seven o'clock in the evening, and a most delicious
lady's-maid for twenty miles, who implored us to keep a
sharp look-out at the coach-windows, as she expected the
carriage was coming to meet her and she was afraid of
missing it. We had many delightful vauntings of the same
kind; but in the end it is scarcely necessary to say that the
coach did not come, but a very dirty girl did.</p>

<p>As we came further north the mire grew deeper. About
eight o'clock it began to fall heavily, and, as we crossed the
wild heaths hereabout, there was no vestige of a track. The
mail kept on well, however, and at eleven we reached a
bare place with a house standing alone in the midst of a
dreary moor, which the guard informed us was Greta Bridge.
I was in a perfect agony of apprehension, for it was fearfully
cold, and there were no outward signs of anybody
being up in the house. But to our great joy we discovered
a comfortable room, with drawn curtains and a most blazing
fire. In half an hour they gave us a smoking supper and
a bottle of mulled port (in which we drank your health),<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span>
and then we retired to a couple of capital bedrooms,
in each of which there was a rousing fire halfway up the
chimney.</p>

<p>We have had for breakfast, toast, cakes, a Yorkshire pie,
a piece of beef about the size and much the shape of my
portmanteau, tea, coffee, ham, and eggs; and are now going
to look about us. Having finished our discoveries, we start
in a postchaise for Barnard Castle, which is only four miles
off, and there I deliver the letter given me by Mitton's
friend. All the schools are round about that place, and a
dozen old abbeys besides, which we shall visit by some means
or other to-morrow. We shall reach York on Saturday
I hope, and (God willing) I trust I shall be at home on
Wednesday morning.</p>

<p>I wish you would call on Mrs. Bentley and thank her for
the letter; you can tell her when I expect to be in York.</p>

<p>A thousand loves and kisses to the darling boy, whom I
see in my mind's eye crawling about the floor of this Yorkshire
inn. Bless his heart, I would give two sovereigns for
a kiss. Remember me too to Frederick, who I hope is
attentive to you.</p>

<p>Is it not extraordinary that the same dreams which have
constantly visited me since poor Mary died follow me everywhere?
After all the change of scene and fatigue, I have
dreamt of her ever since I left home, and no doubt shall till
I return. I should be sorry to lose such visions, for they
are very happy ones, if it be only the seeing her in one's
sleep. I would fain believe, too, sometimes, that her spirit
may have some influence over them, but their perpetual
repetition is extraordinary.</p>

<p>Love to all friends.</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 6em;">Ever, my dear Kate,</span><br />
Your affectionate Husband.<br />
</div>

<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span></p>
<div class="sidenote">Mr.
Thomas
Mitton.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Twickenham Park</span>, <i>Tuesday Night.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">Dear Tom</span>,</div>

<p>I sat down this morning and put on paper my
testamentary meaning. Whether it is sufficiently legal
or not is another question, but I hope it is. The rough
draft of the clauses which I enclose will be preceded by
as much of the fair copy as I send you, and followed by
the usual clause about the receipts of the trustees being
a sufficient discharge. I also wish to provide that if all
our children should die before twenty-one, and Kate married
again, half the surplus should go to her and half to my
surviving brothers and sisters, share and share alike.</p>

<p>This will be all, except a few lines I wish to add
which there will be no occasion to consult you about, as
they will merely bear reference to a few tokens of remembrance
and one or two slight funeral directions.
And so pray God that you may be gray, and Forster
bald, long before you are called upon to act as my
executors.</p>

<p>I suppose I shall see you at the water-party on
Thursday? We will then make an appointment for
Saturday morning, and if you think my clauses will do, I
will complete my copy, seal it up, and leave it in your
hands. There are some other papers which you ought to
have. We must get a box.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever yours.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr.
Serjeant
Talfourd,
M.P.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Twickenham Park</span>, <i>Sunday, July 15th, 1838.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Talfourd</span>,</div>

<p>I cannot tell you how much pleasure I have derived
from the receipt of your letter. I have heard little of
you, and seen less, for so long a time, that your handwriting<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span>
came like the renewal of some old friendship,
and gladdened my eyes like the face of some old friend.</p>

<p>If I hear from Lady Holland before you return, I
shall, as in duty bound, present myself at her bidding;
but between you and me and the general post, I hope
she may not renew her invitation until I can visit her
with you, as I would much rather avail myself of your
personal introduction. However, whatever her ladyship
may do I shall respond to, and anyway shall be only too
happy to avail myself of what I am sure cannot fail to
form a very pleasant and delightful introduction.</p>

<p>Your kind invitation and reminder of the subject of a
pleasant conversation in one of our pleasant rides, has
thrown a gloom over the brightness of Twickenham, for
here I am chained. It is indispensably necessary that
"Oliver Twist" should be published in three volumes, in
September next. I have only just begun the last one,
and, having the constant drawback of my monthly work,
shall be sadly harassed to get it finished in time, especially
as I have several very important scenes (important to the
story I mean) yet to write. Nothing would give me so
much pleasure as to be with you for a week or so. I
can only imperfectly console myself with the hope that
when you see "Oliver" you will like the close of the
book, and approve my self-denial in staying here to write
it. I should like to know your address in Scotland when
you leave town, so that I may send you the earliest copy
if it be produced in the vacation, which I pray Heaven
it may.</p>

<p>Meanwhile, believe that though my body is on the banks
of the Thames, half my heart is going the Oxford circuit.</p>

<p>Mrs. Dickens and Charley desire their best remembrances
(the latter expresses some anxiety, not unmixed<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span>
with apprehension, relative to the Copyright Bill, in which
he conceives himself interested), with hearty wishes that
you may have a fine autumn, which is all you want, being
sure of all other means of enjoyment that a man can have.</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 2em;">I am, my dear Talfourd,</span><br />
Ever faithfully yours.<br />
</div>

<p>P.S.&mdash;I hope you are able to spare a moment now and
then to glance at "Nicholas Nickleby," and that you have
as yet found no reason to alter the opinion you formed on
the appearance of the first number.</p>

<p>You know, I suppose, that they elected me at the
Athen&aelig;um? Pray thank Mr. Serjeant Storks for me.</p>


<div class="sidenote">Mrs.
Charles
Dickens.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Lion Hotel, Shrewsbury</span>, <i>Thursday, Nov. 1st, 1838.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dearest Love</span>,</div>

<p>I received your welcome letter on arriving here last
night, and am rejoiced to hear that the dear children are so
much better. I hope that in your next, or your next but
one, I shall learn that they are quite well. A thousand
kisses to them. I wish I could convey them myself.</p>

<p>We found a roaring fire, an elegant dinner, a snug room,
and capital beds all ready for us at Leamington, after a
very agreeable (but very cold) ride. We started in a postchaise
next morning for Kenilworth, with which we were
both enraptured, and where I really think we MUST have
lodgings next summer, please God that we are in good
health and all goes well. You cannot conceive how delightful
it is. To read among the ruins in fine weather
would be perfect luxury. From here we went on to
Warwick Castle, which is an ancient building, newly
restored, and possessing no very great attraction beyond
a fine view and some beautiful pictures; and thence to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span>
Stratford-upon-Avon, where we sat down in the room
where Shakespeare was born, and left our autographs
and read those of other people and so forth.</p>

<p>We remained at Stratford all night, and found to our
unspeakable dismay that father's plan of proceeding by
Bridgenorth was impracticable, as there were no coaches.
So we were compelled to come here by way of Birmingham
and Wolverhampton, starting at eight o'clock through
a cold wet fog, and travelling, when the day had cleared up,
through miles of cinder-paths and blazing furnaces, and
roaring steam-engines, and such a mass of dirt, gloom, and
misery as I never before witnessed. We got pretty well
accommodated here when we arrived at half-past four, and
are now going off in a postchaise to Llangollen&mdash;thirty
miles&mdash;where we shall remain to-night, and where the
Bangor mail will take us up to-morrow. Such are our
movements up to this point, and when I have received your
letter at Chester I shall write to you again and tell you
when I shall be back. I can say positively that I shall
not exceed the fortnight, and I think it very possible that
I may return a day or two before it expires.</p>

<p>We were at the play last night. It was a bespeak&mdash;"The
Love Chase," a ballet (with a phenomenon!), divers
songs, and "A Roland for an Oliver." It is a good theatre,
but the actors are very funny. Browne laughed with such
indecent heartiness at one point of the entertainment, that
an old gentleman in the next box suffered the most violent
indignation. The bespeak party occupied two boxes, the
ladies were full-dressed, and the gentlemen, to a man, in
white gloves with flowers in their button-holes. It amused
us mightily, and was really as like the Miss Snevellicci
business as it could well be.</p>

<p>My side has been very bad since I left home, although<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span>
I have been very careful not to drink much, remaining to
the full as abstemious as usual, and have not eaten any
great quantity, having no appetite. I suffered such an
ecstasy of pain all night at Stratford that I was half dead
yesterday, and was obliged last night to take a dose of
henbane. The effect was most delicious. I slept soundly,
and without feeling the least uneasiness, and am a great
deal better this morning; neither do I find that the henbane
has affected my head, which, from the great effect it
had upon me&mdash;exhilarating me to the most extraordinary
degree, and yet keeping me sleepy&mdash;I feared it would. If
I had not got better I should have turned back to Birmingham,
and come straight home by the railroad. As it
is, I hope I shall make out the trip.</p>

<p>God bless you, my darling. I long to be back with you
again and to see the sweet Babs.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Your faithful and most affectionate Husband.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Master
Hastings
Hughes.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Doughty Street, London</span>, <i>Dec. 12th, 1838.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">Respected Sir</span>,</div>

<p>I have given Squeers one cut on the neck and two
on the head, at which he appeared much surprised and
began to cry, which, being a cowardly thing, is just what I
should have expected from him&mdash;wouldn't you?</p>

<p>I have carefully done what you told me in your letter
about the lamb and the two "sheeps" for the little boys.
They have also had some good ale and porter, and some
wine. I am sorry you didn't say <i>what</i> wine you would like
them to have. I gave them some sherry, which they liked
very much, except one boy, who was a little sick and choked
a good deal. He was rather greedy, and that's the truth,
and I believe it went the wrong way, which I say served
him right, and I hope you will say so too.</p>

<p>Nicholas had his roast lamb, as you said he was to, but<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span>
he could not eat it all, and says if you do not mind his
doing so he should like to have the rest hashed to-morrow
with some greens, which he is very fond of, and so am I.
He said he did not like to have his porter hot, for he
thought it spoilt the flavour, so I let him have it cold.
You should have seen him drink it. I thought he never
would have left off. I also gave him three pounds of
money, all in sixpences, to make it seem more, and he said
directly that he should give more than half to his mamma
and sister, and divide the rest with poor Smike. And I
say he is a good fellow for saying so; and if anybody says
he isn't I am ready to fight him whenever they like&mdash;there!</p>

<p>Fanny Squeers shall be attended to, depend upon it.
Your drawing of her is very like, except that I don't think
the hair is quite curly enough. The nose is particularly
like hers, and so are the legs. She is a nasty disagreeable
thing, and I know it will make her very cross when she
sees it; and what I say is that I hope it may. You will
say the same I know&mdash;at least I think you will.</p>

<p>I meant to have written you a long letter, but I cannot
write very fast when I like the person I am writing to,
because that makes me think about them, and I like you,
and so I tell you. Besides, it is just eight o'clock at night,
and I always go to bed at eight o'clock, except when it is
my birthday, and then I sit up to supper. So I will not
say anything more besides this&mdash;and that is my love to
you and Neptune; and if you will drink my health every
Christmas Day I will drink yours&mdash;come.</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 11em;">I am,</span><br />
<span style="margin-right: 6em;">Respected Sir,</span><br />
Your affectionate Friend.<br />
</div>

<p>P.S.&mdash;I don't write my name very plain, but you know
what it is you know, so never mind<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span>.</p>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. W. C.
Macready.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Doughty Street</span>, <i>Monday Morning.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Macready</span>,</div>

<p>I have not seen you for the past week, because I
hoped when we next met to bring "The Lamplighter" in
my hand. It would have been finished by this time, but
I found myself compelled to set to work first at the
"Nickleby" on which I am at present engaged, and
which I regret to say&mdash;after my close and arduous application
last month&mdash;I find I cannot write as quickly as
usual. I must finish it, at latest, by the 24th (a doubtful
comfort!), and the instant I have done so I will apply
myself to the farce. I am afraid to name any particular
day, but I pledge myself that you shall have it this
month, and you may calculate on that promise. I send
you with this a copy of a farce I wrote for Harley when
he left Drury Lane, and in which he acted for some
seventy nights. It is the best thing he does. It is
barely possible you might like to try it. Any local or
temporary allusions could be easily altered.</p>

<p>Believe me that I only feel gratified and flattered by
your inquiry after the farce, and that if I had as much
time as I have inclination, I would write on and on and
on, farce after farce and comedy after comedy, until I
wrote you something that would run. You do me justice
when you give me credit for good intentions; but the
extent of my good-will and strong and warm interest in
you personally and your great undertaking, you cannot
fathom nor express.</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 2em;">Believe me, my dear Macready,</span><br />
Ever faithfully yours.<br />
</div>

<p>P.S.&mdash;For Heaven's sake don't fancy that I hold "The
Strange Gentleman" in any estimation, or have a wish upon
the subject<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span>.</p>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. W. C
Macready.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
48, <span class="smcap">Doughty Street</span>, <i>December 13th, 1838.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Macready</span>,</div>

<p>I can have but one opinion on the subject&mdash;withdraw
the farce at once, by all means.</p>

<p>I perfectly concur in all you say, and thank you most
heartily and cordially for your kind and manly conduct,
which is only what I should have expected from you;
though, under such circumstances, I sincerely believe there
are few but you&mdash;if any&mdash;who would have adopted it.</p>

<p>Believe me that I have no other feeling of disappointment
connected with this matter but that arising from the
not having been able to be of some use to you. And trust
me that, if the opportunity should ever arrive, my ardour
will only be increased&mdash;not damped&mdash;by the result of this
experiment.</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 2em;">Believe me always, my dear Macready,</span><br />
Faithfully yours.<br />
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<h2>1839.</h2>

<h3>NARRATIVE.</h3>


<div class='unindent'><span class='smcap'>Charles Dickens</span> was still living in Doughty Street, but
he removed at the end of this year to 1, Devonshire
Terrace, Regent's Park. He hired a cottage at Petersham
for the summer months, and in the autumn took lodgings
at Broadstairs.</div>

<p>The cottage at Alphington, near Exeter, mentioned in
the letter to Mr. Mitton, was hired by Charles Dickens
for his parents.</p>

<p>He was at work all through this year on "Nicholas
Nickleby."</p>

<p>We have now the commencement of his correspondence
with Mr. George Cattermole. His first letter was written
immediately after Mr. Cattermole's marriage with Miss
Elderton, a distant connection of Charles Dickens; hence<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span>
the allusions to "cousin," which will be found in many
of his letters to Mr. Cattermole. The bride and bridegroom
were passing their honeymoon in the neighbourhood
of Petersham, and the letter refers to a request from them
for the loan of some books, and also to his having lent
them his pony carriage and groom, during their stay in this
neighbourhood.</p>

<p>The first letter in this year to Mr. Macready is in
answer to one from him, announcing his retirement from
the management of Covent Garden Theatre.</p>

<p>The portrait by Mr. Maclise, mentioned to Mr. Harley,
was the, now, well-known one, which appeared as a
frontispiece to "Nicholas Nickleby."</p>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. W. C.
Macready.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Doughty Street</span>, <i>Sunday.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Macready</span>,</div>

<p>I will have, if you please, three dozen of the extraordinary
champagne; and I am much obliged to you for
recollecting me.</p>

<p>I ought not to be sorry to hear of your abdication,
but I am, notwithstanding, most heartily and sincerely
sorry, for my own sake and the sake of thousands, who may
now go and whistle for a theatre&mdash;at least, such a theatre
as you gave them; and I do now in my heart believe that
for a long and dreary time that exquisite delight has
passed away. If I may jest with my misfortunes, and
quote the Portsmouth critic of Mr. Crummles's company,
I say that: "As an exquisite embodiment of the poet's
visions and a realisation of human intellectuality, gilding
with refulgent light our dreamy moments, and laying open
a new and magic world before the mental eye, the drama
is gone&mdash;perfectly gone."</p>

<p>With the same perverse and unaccountable feeling which
causes a heart-broken man at a dear friend's funeral to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span>
see something irresistibly comical in a red-nosed or one-eyed
undertaker, I receive your communication with ghostly
facetiousness; though on a moment's reflection I find better
cause for consolation in the hope that, relieved from your
most trying and painful duties, you will now have leisure to
return to pursuits more congenial to your mind, and to
move more easily and pleasantly among your friends. In
the long catalogue of the latter, I believe that there is not
one prouder of the name, or more grateful for the store of
delightful recollections you have enabled him to heap up
from boyhood, than,</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 3em;">My dear Macready,</span><br />
Yours always faithfully.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr.
Thomas
Mitton.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span style="margin-right: 8em;"><span class="smcap">New London Inn, Exeter,</span></span><br />
<i>Wednesday Morning, March 6th, 1839.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">Dear Tom</span>,</div>

<p>Perhaps you have heard from Kate that I succeeded
yesterday in the very first walk, and took a cottage at
a place called Alphington, one mile from Exeter, which
contains, on the ground-floor, a good parlour and kitchen,
and above, a full-sized country drawing-room and three
bedrooms; in the yard behind, coal-holes, fowl-houses, and
meat-safes out of number; in the kitchen, a neat little
range; in the other rooms, good stoves and cupboards;
and all for twenty pounds a year, taxes included. There
is a good garden at the side well stocked with cabbages,
beans, onions, celery, and some flowers. The stock
belonging to the landlady (who lives in the adjoining
cottage), there was some question whether she was not
entitled to half the produce, but I settled the point by<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span>
paying five shillings, and becoming absolute master of the
whole!</p>

<p>I do assure you that I am charmed with the place and
the beauty of the country round about, though I have not
seen it under very favourable circumstances, for it
snowed when I was there this morning, and blew bitterly
from the east yesterday. It is really delightful, and when
the house is to rights and the furniture all in, I shall be
quite sorry to leave it. I have had some few things
second-hand, but I take it seventy pounds will be the mark,
even taking this into consideration. I include in that estimate
glass and crockery, garden tools, and such like little
things. There is a spare bedroom of course. That I have
furnished too.</p>

<p>I am on terms of the closest intimacy with Mrs.
Samuell, the landlady, and her brother and sister-in-law,
who have a little farm hard by. They are capital specimens
of country folks, and I really think the old woman herself
will be a great comfort to my mother. Coals are dear just
now&mdash;twenty-six shillings a ton. They found me a boy to
go two miles out and back again to order some this
morning. I was debating in my mind whether I should
give him eighteenpence or two shillings, when his fee was
announced&mdash;twopence!</p>

<p>The house is on the high road to Plymouth, and,
though in the very heart of Devonshire, there is as much
long-stage and posting life as you would find in Piccadilly.
The situation is charming. Meadows in front, an orchard
running parallel to the garden hedge, richly-wooded hills
closing in the prospect behind, and, away to the left,
before a splendid view of the hill on which Exeter is
situated, the cathedral towers rising up into the sky in
the most picturesque manner possible. I don't think I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span>
ever saw so cheerful or pleasant a spot. The drawing-room
is nearly, if not quite, as large as the outer room
of my old chambers in Furnival's Inn. The paint and
paper are new, and the place clean as the utmost excess of
snowy cleanliness can be.</p>

<p>You would laugh if you could see me powdering away
with the upholsterer, and endeavouring to bring about all
sorts of impracticable reductions and wonderful arrangements.
He has by him two second-hand carpets; the important
ceremony of trying the same comes off at three this
afternoon. I am perpetually going backwards and forwards.
It is two miles from here, so I have plenty of
exercise, which so occupies me and prevents my being
lonely that I stopped at home to read last night, and
shall to-night, although the theatre is open. Charles Kean
has been the star for the last two evenings. He was stopping
in this house, and went away this morning. I have got
his sitting-room now, which is smaller and more comfortable
than the one I had before.</p>

<p>You will have heard perhaps that I wrote to my mother
to come down to-morrow. There are so many things she
can make comfortable at a much less expense than I could,
that I thought it best. If I had not, I could not have
returned on Monday, which I now hope to do, and to be in
town at half-past eight.</p>

<p>Will you tell my father that if he could devise any
means of bringing him down, I think it would be a great
thing for him to have Dash, if it be only to keep down the
trampers and beggars. The cheque I send you below.</p>

<div class='center'><b>*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*</b></div>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span></p>
<div class="sidenote">Mr.
George
Cattermole.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Elm Cottage, Petersham</span>, <i>Wednesday Morning.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Cattermole</span>,</div>

<p>Why is "Peveril" lingering on my dusty shelves
in town, while my fair cousin and your fair bride remains in
blissful ignorance of his merits? There he is, I grieve
to say, but there he shall not be long, for I shall be
visiting my other home on Saturday morning, and will
bring him bodily down and forward him the moment he
arrives.</p>

<p>Not having many of my books here, I don't find any
among them which I think more suitable to your purpose
than a carpet-bagful sent herewith, containing the Italian
and German novelists (convenient as being easily taken up
and laid down again; and I suppose you won't read long
at a sitting), Leigh Hunt's "Indicator" and "Companion"
(which have the same merit), "Hood's Own" (complete),
"A Legend of Montrose," and "Kenilworth," which I
have just been reading with greater delight than ever,
and so I suppose everybody else must be equally interested
in. I have Goldsmith, Swift, Fielding, Smollett, and the
British Essayists "handy;" and I need not say that you
have them on hand too, if you like.</p>

<p>You know all I would say from my heart and soul on
the auspicious event of yesterday; but you don't know
what I could say about the delightful recollections I have
of your "good lady's" charming looks and bearing, upon
which I discoursed most eloquently here last evening,
and at considerable length. As I am crippled in
this respect, however, by the suspicion that possibly
she may be looking over your shoulder while you read
this note (I would lay a moderate wager that you have
looked round twice or thrice already), I shall content<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span>
myself with saying that I am ever heartily, my dear
Cattermole,</p>

<div class='sig'>
Hers and yours.<br />
</div>

<p>P.S.&mdash;My man (who with his charge is your man
while you stay here) waits to know if you have any orders
for him.</p>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. J. P.
Harley.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span style="margin-right: 2em;"><span class="smcap">Elm Cottage, Petersham, near Richmond</span>,</span><br />
<i>June 28th, 1839.</i><br />
</div>

<p><span class="smcap">My dear Harley,</span></p>

<p>I have "left my home," and been here ever since the
end of April, and shall remain here most probably until the
end of September, which is the reason that we have been
such strangers of late.</p>

<p>I am very sorry that I cannot dine with you on Sunday,
but some people are coming here, and I cannot get away.
Better luck next time, I hope.</p>

<p>I was on the point of writing to you when your note
came, to ask you if you would come down here next
Saturday&mdash;to-morrow week, I mean&mdash;and stop till Monday.
I will either call for you at the theatre, at any time you
name, or send for you, "punctual," and have you brought
down. Can you come if it's fine? Say yes, like a good
fellow as you are, and say it per post.</p>

<p>I have countermanded that face. Maclise has made
another face of me, which all people say is astonishing.
The engraving will be ready soon, and I would rather you
had that, as I am sure you would if you had seen it.</p>

<p>In great haste to save the post, I am, my dear
Harley,</p>

<div class='sig'>
Faithfully yours.<br />
</div>

<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span></p>
<div class="sidenote">Mr.
William
Longman.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Doughty Street</span>, <i>Monday Morning.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,</div>

<p>On Friday I have a family dinner at home&mdash;uncles,
aunts, brothers, sisters, cousins&mdash;an annual gathering.</p>

<p>By what fatality is it that you always ask me to dine on
the wrong day?</p>

<p>While you are tracing this non-consequence to its cause,
I wish you would tell Mr. Sydney Smith that of all the men
I ever heard of and never saw, I have the greatest curiosity
to see and the greatest interest to know him.</p>

<p>Begging my best compliments at home,</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 2em;">I am, my dear Sir,</span><br />
Faithfully yours.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. W. C.
Macready.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Petersham</span>, <i>July 26th, 1839.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Macready</span>,</div>

<p>Fix your visit for whenever you please. It can never
give us anything but delight to see you, and it is better to
look forward to such a pleasure than to look back upon it,
as the last gratification is enjoyable all our lives, and the
first for a few short stages in the journey.</p>

<p>I feel more true and cordial pleasure than I can express
to you in the request you have made. Anything which can
serve to commemorate our friendship and to keep the recollection
of it alive among our children is, believe me, and
ever will be, most deeply prized by me. I accept the office
with hearty and fervent satisfaction; and, to render this
pleasant bond between us the more complete, I must solicit
you to become godfather to the last and final branch of
a genteel small family of three which I am told may be
looked for in that auspicious month when Lord Mayors are
born and guys prevail. This I look upon as a bargain
between us, and I have shaken hands with you in spirit<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span>
upon it. Family topics remind me of Mr. Kenwigs. As
the weather is wet, and he is about to make his last appearance
on my little stage, I send Mrs. Macready an early
proof of the next number, containing an account of his
baby's progress.</p>

<p>I am going to send you something else on Monday&mdash;a
tragedy. Don't be alarmed. I didn't write it, nor do I
want it acted. A young Scotch lady whom I don't know
(but she is evidently very intelligent and accomplished)
has sent me a translation of a German play, soliciting my
aid and advice in the matter of its publication. Among a
crowd of Germanisms, there are many things in it which
are so very striking, that I am sure it will amuse you very
much. At least I think it will; it has me. I am going to
send it back to her&mdash;when I come to Elstree will be time
enough; and meantime, if you bestow a couple of hours
upon it, you will not think them thrown away.</p>

<p>It's a large parcel, and I must keep it here till somebody
goes up to town and can book it by the coach. I
warrant it, large as it looks, readable in two hours; and
I very much want to know what you think of the first
act, and especially the opening, which seems to me quite
famous. The metre is very odd and rough, but now and
then there's a wildness in it which helps the thing very
much; and altogether it has left a something on my mind
which I can't get rid of.</p>

<p>Mrs. Dickens joins with me in kindest regards to yourself,
Mrs., and Miss Macready. And I am always,</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 4em;">My dear Macready,</span><br />
Faithfully and truly yours.<br />
</div>

<p>P.S.&mdash;A dreadful thought has just occurred to me&mdash;that
this is a quadruple letter, and that Elstree may not be within
the twopenny post. Pray Heaven my fears are unfounded<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span>.</p>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. W. C.
Macready.</div>


<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span style="margin-right: 2em;">40, <span class="smcap">Albion Street, Broadstairs</span>,</span><br />
<i>September 21st, 1839.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Macready</span>,</div>

<p>I am so anxious to prefer a request to you which
does not admit of delay that I send you a double letter,
with the one redeeming point though of having very
little in it.</p>

<p>Let me prefix to the last number of "Nickleby," and to
the book, a duplicate of the leaf which I now send you.
Believe me that there will be no leaf in the volume which
will afford me in times to come more true pleasure and
gratification, than that in which I have written your name
as foremost among those of the friends whom I love and
honour. Believe me, there will be no one line in it conveying
a more honest truth or a more sincere feeling than
that which describes its dedication to you as a slight token
of my admiration and regard.</p>

<p>So let me tell the world by this frail record that I
was a friend of yours, and interested to no ordinary extent
in your proceedings at that interesting time when you
showed them such noble truths in such noble forms, and
gave me a new interest in, and associations with, the labours
of so many months.</p>

<p>I write to you very hastily and crudely, for I have been
very hard at work, having only finished to-day, and my
head spins yet. But you know what I mean. I am then
always,</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 2em;">Believe me, my dear Macready,</span><br />
Faithfully yours.<br />
</div>

<p>P.S.&mdash;(Proof of Dedication enclosed): "To W. C.
Macready, Esq., the following pages are inscribed, as a
slight token of admiration and regard, by his friend, the
Author."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span></p>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. W. C.
Macready.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Doughty Street</span>, <i>Friday Night, Oct. 25th, 1839.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Macready</span>,</div>

<p>The book, the whole book, and nothing but the
book (except the binding, which is an important item),
has arrived at last, and is forwarded herewith. The red
represents my blushes at its gorgeous dress; the gilding,
all those bright professions which I do not make to you;
and the book itself, my whole heart for twenty months,
which should be yours for so short a term, as you have it
always.</p>

<p>With best regards to Mrs. and Miss Macready, always
believe me,</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 2em;">My dear Macready,</span><br />
Your faithful Friend.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">The same.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Doughty Street</span>, <i>Thursday, Nov. 14th, 1839.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Macready</span>,</div>

<p>Tom Landseer&mdash;that is, the deaf one, whom everybody
quite loves for his sweet nature under a most
deplorable infirmity&mdash;Tom Landseer asked me if I would
present to you from him the accompanying engraving,
which he has executed from a picture by his brother
Edwin; submitting it to you as a little tribute from an
unknown but ardent admirer of your genius, which speaks
to his heart, although it does not find its way there through
his ears. I readily undertook the task, and send it herewith.</p>

<p>I urged him to call upon you with me and proffer it
boldly; but he is a very modest and delicately-minded
creature, and was shy of intruding. If you thank him
through me, perhaps you will say something about my
bringing him to call, and so gladden the gentle artist and
make him happy.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span></p>

<p>You must come and see my new house when we have it
to rights. By Christmas Day we shall be, I hope, your
neighbours.</p>

<p>Kate progresses splendidly, and, with me, sends her best
remembrances to Mrs. Macready and all your house.</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 6em;">Ever believe me,</span><br />
<span style="margin-right: 4em;">Dear Macready,</span><br />
Faithfully yours.<br />
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<h2>1840.</h2>

<h3>NARRATIVE.</h3>


<div class='unindent'><span class='smcap'>Charles Dickens</span> was at Broadstairs with his family for the
autumn months. During all this year he was busily engaged
with the periodical entitled "Master Humphrey's Clock," in
which the story of "The Old Curiosity Shop" subsequently
appeared. Nearly all these letters to Mr. George Cattermole
refer to the illustrations for this story.</div>

<p>The one dated March 9th alludes to short papers written
for "Master Humphrey's Clock" prior to the commencement
of "The Old Curiosity Shop."</p>

<p>We have in this year Charles Dickens's first letter to
Mr. Daniel Maclise, this and one other being, unfortunately,
the only letters we have been able to obtain addressed to
this much-loved friend and most intimate companion.</p>


<div class="sidenote">Mr.
George
Cattermole.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span style="margin-right: 4em;">1, <span class="smcap">Devonshire Terrace</span>,</span><br />
<i>Monday, January 13th, 1840.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My Dear Cattermole</span>,</div>

<p>I am going to propound a mightily grave matter to
you. My now periodical work appears&mdash;or I should rather
say the first number does&mdash;on Saturday, the 28th of March;
and as it has to be sent to America and Germany, and
must therefore be considerably in advance, it is now in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span>
hand; I having in fact begun it on Saturday last. Instead
of being published in monthly parts at a shilling each only,
it will be published in weekly parts at threepence and
monthly parts at a shilling; my object being to baffle the
imitators and make it as novel as possible. The plan is
a new one&mdash;I mean the plan of the fiction&mdash;and it will
comprehend a great variety of tales. The title is: "Master
Humphrey's Clock."</p>

<p>Now, among other improvements, I have turned my
attention to the illustrations, meaning to have woodcuts
dropped into the text and no separate plates. I want to
know whether you would object to make me a little sketch
for a woodcut&mdash;in indian-ink would be quite sufficient&mdash;about
the size of the enclosed scrap; the subject, an old
quaint room with antique Elizabethan furniture, and in
the chimney-corner an extraordinary old clock&mdash;the clock
belonging to Master Humphrey, in fact, and no figures.
This I should drop into the text at the head of my opening
page.</p>

<p>I want to know besides&mdash;as Chapman and Hall are my
partners in the matter, there need be no delicacy about
my asking or your answering the question&mdash;what would be
your charge for such a thing, and whether (if the work
answers our expectations) you would like to repeat the
joke at regular intervals, and, if so, on what terms? I
should tell you that I intend to ask Maclise to join me
likewise, and that the copying the drawing on wood and
the cutting will be done in first-rate style. We are justified
by past experience in supposing that the sale would be
enormous, and the popularity very great; and when I explain
to you the notes I have in my head, I think you will
see that it opens a vast number of very good subjects.</p>

<p>I want to talk the matter over with you, and wish you<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span>
would fix your own time and place&mdash;either here or at your
house or at the Athen&aelig;um, though this would be the best
place, because I have my papers about me. If you would
take a chop with me, for instance, on Tuesday or Wednesday,
I could tell you more in two minutes than in
twenty letters, albeit I have endeavoured to make this as
businesslike and stupid as need be.</p>

<p>Of course all these tremendous arrangements are as yet
a profound secret, or there would be fifty Humphreys in
the field. So write me a line like a worthy gentleman, and
convey my best remembrances to your worthy lady.</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 2em;">Believe me always, my dear Cattermole,</span><br />
Faithfully yours.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr.
George
Cattermole.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Devonshire Terrace</span>, <i>Tuesday Afternoon.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Cattermole</span>,</div>

<p>I think the drawing most famous, and so do the
publishers, to whom I sent it to-day. If Browne should
suggest anything for the future which may enable him to
do you justice in copying (on which point he is very
anxious), I will communicate it to you. It has occurred
to me that perhaps you will like to see his copy on the
block before it is cut, and I have therefore told Chapman
and Hall to forward it to you.</p>

<p>In future, I will take care that you have the number to
choose your subject from. I ought to have done so, perhaps,
in this case; but I was very anxious that you should
do the room.</p>

<p>Perhaps the shortest plan will be for me to send you, as
enclosed, regularly; but if you prefer keeping account with
the publishers, they will be happy to enter upon it when,
where, and how you please.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Faithfully yours always.<br />
</div>

<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span></p>
<div class="sidenote">Mr.
George
Cattermole.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span style="margin-right: 4em;">1, <span class="smcap">Devonshire Terrace</span>,</span><br />
<i>Monday, March 9th, 1840.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Cattermole</span>,</div>

<p>I have been induced, on looking over the works of
the "Clock," to make a slight alteration in their disposal,
by virtue of which the story about "John Podgers" will
stand over for some little time, and that short tale will
occupy its place which you have already by you, and which
treats of the assassination of a young gentleman under circumstances
of peculiar aggravation. I shall be greatly
obliged to you if you will turn your attention to this last
morsel as the feature of No. 3, and still more if you can
stretch a point with regard to time (which is of the last
importance just now), and make a subject out of it, rather
than find one in it. I would neither have made this
alteration nor have troubled you about it, but for weighty
and cogent reasons which I feel very strongly, and into
the composition of which caprice or fastidiousness has no
part.</p>

<p>I should tell you perhaps, with reference to Chapman and
Hall, that they will never trouble you (as they never trouble
me) but when there is real and pressing occasion, and that
their representations in this respect, unlike those of most
men of business, are to be relied upon.</p>

<p>I cannot tell you how admirably I think Master
Humphrey's room comes out, or what glowing accounts I
hear of the second design you have done. I had not the
faintest anticipation of anything so good&mdash;taking into
account the material and the despatch.</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 8em;">With best regards at home,</span><br />
<span style="margin-right: 4em;">Believe me, dear Cattermole,</span><br />
Heartily yours.<br />
</div>

<p>P.S.&mdash;The new (No. 3) tale begins: "I hold a lieutenant's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span>
commission in his Majesty's army, and served abroad in
the campaigns of 1677 and 1678." It has at present no
title.</p>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. S. A.
Diezman.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span style="margin-right: 4em;">1, <span class="smcap">Devonshire Terrace, York Gate, Regent's Park</span>,</span><br />
<span class="smcap">London</span>, <i>10th March, 1840.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,</div>

<p>I will not attempt to tell you how much gratified
I have been by the receipt of your first English letter;
nor can I describe to you with what delight and gratification
I learn that I am held in such high esteem by
your great countrymen, whose favourable appreciation is
flattering indeed.</p>

<p>To you, who have undertaken the laborious (and often,
I fear, very irksome) task of clothing me in the German
garb, I owe a long arrear of thanks. I wish you would
come to England, and afford me an opportunity of slightly
reducing the account.</p>

<p>It is with great regret that I have to inform you, in
reply to the request contained in your pleasant communication,
that my publishers have already made such arrangements
and are in possession of such stipulations
relative to the proof-sheets of my new works, that I
have no power to send them out of England. If I had,
I need not tell you what pleasure it would afford me to
promote your views.</p>

<p>I am too sensible of the trouble you must have already
had with my writings to impose upon you now a long letter.
I will only add, therefore, that I am,</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 8em;">My dear Sir,</span><br />
<span style="margin-right: 3em;">With great sincerity,</span><br />
Faithfully yours.<br />
</div>

<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span></p>
<div class="sidenote">Mr.
Daniel
Maclise.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Broadstairs</span>, <i>June 2nd, 1840.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Maclise</span>,</div>

<div class='poem'>
My foot is in the house,<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">My bath is on the sea,</span><br />
And, before I take a souse,<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Here's a single note to thee.</span><br />
</div>

<p>It merely says that the sea is in a state of extraordinary
sublimity; that this place is, as the Guide Book most justly
observes, "unsurpassed for the salubrity of the refreshing
breezes, which are wafted on the ocean's pinions from far-distant
shores." That we are all right after the perils and
voyages of yesterday. That the sea is rolling away in
front of the window at which I indite this epistle, and that
everything is as fresh and glorious as fine weather and a
splendid coast can make it. Bear these recommendations
in mind, and shunning Talfourdian pledges, come to the
bower which is shaded for you in the one-pair front, where
no chair or table has four legs of the same length, and
where no drawers will open till you have pulled the pegs
off, and then they keep open and won't shut again.</p>

<div class='center'>
<span class="smcap">Come!</span><br />
</div>

<p>I can no more.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Always faithfully yours.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr.
George
Cattermole.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Devonshire Terrace</span>, <i>December 21st.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear George</span>,</div>

<p>Kit, the single gentleman, and Mr. Garland go down
to the place where the child is, and arrive there at night.
There has been a fall of snow. Kit, leaving them behind,
runs to the old house, and, with a lanthorn in one hand and
the bird in its cage in the other, stops for a moment at a
little distance with a natural hesitation before he goes up to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span>
make his presence known. In a window&mdash;supposed to be
that of the child's little room&mdash;a light is burning, and in
that room the child (unknown, of course, to her visitors,
who are full of hope) lies dead.</p>

<p>If you have any difficulty about Kit, never mind about
putting him in.</p>

<p>The two others to-morrow.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Faithfully always.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr.
George
Cattermole.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Devonshire Terrace</span>, <i>Friday Morning.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Cattermole</span>,</div>

<p>I sent the MS. of the enclosed proof, marked 2, up
to Chapman and Hall, from Devonshire, mentioning a subject
of an old gateway, which I had put in expressly with a view
to your illustrious pencil. By a mistake, however, it went
to Browne instead. Chapman is out of town, and such
things have gone wrong in consequence.</p>

<p>The subject to which I wish to call your attention is in
an unwritten number to follow this one, but it is a mere
echo of what you will find at the conclusion of this proof
marked 2. I want the cart, gaily decorated, going through
the street of the old town with the wax brigand displayed
to fierce advantage, and the child seated in it also dispersing
bills. As many flags and inscriptions about Jarley's Wax
Work fluttering from the cart as you please. You know the
wax brigands, and how they contemplate small oval miniatures?
That's the figure I want. I send you the scrap of
MS. which contains the subject.</p>

<p>Will you, when you have done this, send it with all
speed to Chapman and Hall, as we are mortally pressed for
time, and I must go hard to work to make up for what I
have lost by being dutiful and going to see my father.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span></p>

<p>I want to see you about a frontispiece to our first
"Clock" volume, which will come out (I think) at the end
of September, and about other matters. When shall we
meet and where?</p>

<p>I say nothing about our cousin or the baby, for Kate
bears this, and will make me a full report and convey all
loves and congratulations.</p>

<p>Could you dine with us on Sunday, at six o'clock sharp?
I'd come and fetch you in the morning, and we could take
a ride and walk. We shall be quite alone, unless Macready
comes. What say you?</p>

<p>Don't forget despatch, there's a dear fellow, and ever
believe me,</p>

<div class='sig'>
Heartily yours.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr.
George
Cattermole.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<i>December 22nd, 1840.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">Dear George</span>,</div>

<p>The child lying dead in the little sleeping-room,
which is behind the open screen. It is winter time, so there
are no flowers; but upon her breast and pillow, and about
her bed, there may be strips of holly and berries, and such
free green things. Window overgrown with ivy. The little
boy who had that talk with her about angels may be by
the bedside, if you like it so; but I think it will be quieter
and more peaceful if she is quite alone. I want it to
express the most beautiful repose and tranquillity, and to
have something of a happy look, if death can.</p>


<p>2.</p>

<p>The child has been buried inside the church, and the
old man, who cannot be made to understand that she is
dead, repairs to the grave and sits there all day long,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span>
waiting for her arrival, to begin another journey. His
staff and knapsack, her little bonnet and basket, etc., lie
beside him. "She'll come to-morrow," he says when it
gets dark, and goes sorrowfully home. I think an hourglass
running out would help the notion; perhaps her little
tilings upon his knee, or in his hand.</p>

<p>I am breaking my heart over this story, and cannot bear
to finish it.</p>

<p>Love to Missis.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever and always heartily.<br />
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<h2>1841.</h2>

<h3>NARRATIVE.</h3>


<div class='unindent'><span class='smcap'>In</span> the summer of this year Charles Dickens made, accompanied
by Mrs. Dickens, his first visit to Scotland, and
was received in Edinburgh with the greatest enthusiasm.</div>

<p>He was at Broadstairs with his family for the autumn,
and at the close of the year he went to Windsor for change
of air after a serious illness.</p>

<p>On the 17th January "The Old Curiosity Shop" was
finished. In the following week the first number of
his story of "Barnaby Rudge" appeared, in "Master
Humphrey's Clock," and the last number of this story
was written at Windsor, in November of this year.</p>

<p>We have the first letters to his dear and valued friends
the Rev. William Harness and Mr. Harrison Ainsworth.
Also his first letter to Mr. Monckton Milnes (now Lord
Houghton).</p>

<p>Of the letter to Mr. John Tomlin we would only remark,
that it was published in an American magazine, edited by
Mr. E. A. Poe, in the year 1842.</p>

<p>"The New First Rate" (first letter to Mr. Harrison
Ainsworth) must, we think, be an allusion to the outside
cover of "Bentley's Miscellany," which first appeared in
this year, and of which Mr. Ainsworth was editor.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span></p>

<p>The two letters to Mr. Lovejoy are in answer to a
requisition from the people of Reading that he would
represent them in Parliament.</p>

<p>The letter to Mr. George Cattermole (26th June) refers
to a dinner given to Charles Dickens by the people of
Edinburgh, on his first visit to that city.</p>

<p>The "poor Overs," mentioned in the letter to Mr.
Macready of 24th August, was a carpenter dying of consumption,
to whom Dr. Elliotson had shown extraordinary
kindness. "When poor Overs was dying" (wrote Charles
Dickens to Mr. Forster), "he suddenly asked for a pen and
ink and some paper, and made up a little parcel for me,
which it was his last conscious act to direct. She (his
wife) told me this, and gave it me. I opened it last night.
It was a copy of his little book, in which he had written my
name, 'with his devotion.' I thought it simple and affecting
of the poor fellow."</p>

<p>"The Saloon," alluded to in our last letter of this year,
was an institution at Drury Lane Theatre during Mr.
Macready's management. The original purpose for which
this saloon was established having become perverted and
degraded, Charles Dickens had it much at heart to remodel
and improve it. Hence this letter to Mr. Macready.</p>


<div class="sidenote">Rev.
William
Harness.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Devonshire Terrace</span>, <i>Saturday Morning, Jan. 2nd, 1841.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Harness</span>,</div>

<p>I should have been very glad to join your pleasant
party, but all next week I shall be laid up with a broken
heart, for I must occupy myself in finishing the "Curiosity
Shop," and it is such a painful task to me that I must concentrate
myself upon it tooth and nail, and go out nowhere
until it is done.</p>

<p>I have delayed answering your kind note in a vague
hope of being heart-whole again by the seventh. The
present state of my work, however (Christmas not being a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span>
very favourable season for making progress in such doings),
assures me that this cannot be, and that I must heroically
deny myself the pleasure you offer.</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 2em;">Always believe me,</span><br />
Faithfully yours.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr.
George
Cattermole.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Devonshire Terrace</span>, <i>Thursday, Jan. 14th, 1841.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Cattermole</span>,</div>

<p>I cannot tell you how much obliged I am to you
for altering the child, or how much I hope that my wish
in that respect didn't go greatly against the grain.</p>

<p>I saw the old inn this morning. Words cannot say how
good it is. I can't bear the thought of its being cut, and
should like to frame and glaze it in <i>statu quo</i> for ever and
ever.</p>

<p>Will you do a little tail-piece for the "Curiosity" story?&mdash;only
one figure if you like&mdash;giving some notion of the
etherealised spirit of the child; something like those little
figures in the frontispiece. If you will, and can despatch it
at once, you will make me happy.</p>

<p>I am, for the time being, nearly dead with work and
grief for the loss of my child.</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 4em;">Always, my dear George,</span><br />
Heartily yours.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">The same.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Devonshire Terrace</span>, <i>Thursday Night, Jan. 28th, 1841.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear George</span>,</div>

<p>I sent to Chapman and Hall yesterday morning about
the second subject for No. 2 of "Barnaby," but found they
had sent it to Browne.</p>

<p>The first subject of No. 3 I will either send to you on<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span>
Saturday, or, at latest, on Sunday morning. I have also
directed Chapman and Hall to send you proofs of what has
gone before, for reference, if you need it.</p>

<p>I want to know whether you feel ravens in general and
would fancy Barnaby's raven in particular. Barnaby being
an idiot, my notion is to have him always in company
with a pet raven, who is immeasurably more knowing than
himself. To this end I have been studying my bird, and
think I could make a very queer character of him. Should
you like the subject when this raven makes his first
appearance?</p>

<div class='sig'>
Faithfully always.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr.
George
Cattermole.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Devonshire Terrace</span>, <i>Saturday Evening, Jan. 30th, 1841.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear George</span>,</div>

<p>I send you the first four slips of No. 48, containing
the description of the locksmith's house, which I think will
make a good subject, and one you will like. If you put
the "'prentice" in it, show nothing more than his paper cap,
because he will be an important character in the story, and
you will need to know more about him as he is minutely
described. I may as well say that he is very short. Should
you wish to put the locksmith in, you will find him described
in No. 2 of "Barnaby" (which I told Chapman and Hall
to send you). Browne has done him in one little thing, but
so very slightly that you will not require to see his sketch, I
think.</p>

<p>Now, I must know what you think about the raven,
my buck; I otherwise am in this fix. I have given
Browne no subject for this number, and time is flying.
If you would like to have the raven's first appearance,
and don't object to having both subjects, so be it. I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span>
shall be delighted. If otherwise, I must feed that hero
forthwith.</p>

<p>I cannot close this hasty note, my dear fellow, without
saying that I have deeply felt your hearty and most
invaluable co-operation in the beautiful illustrations you
have made for the last story, that I look at them with a
pleasure I cannot describe to you in words, and that it is
impossible for me to say how sensible I am of your
earnest and friendly aid. Believe me that this is the very
first time any designs for what I have written have
touched and moved me, and caused me to feel that they
expressed the idea I had in my mind.</p>

<p>I am most sincerely and affectionately grateful to you,
and am full of pleasure and delight.</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 6em;">Believe me, my dear Cattermole,</span><br />
Always heartily yours.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. John
Tomlin.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span style="margin-right: 4em;">1, <span class="smcap">Devonshire Terrace, York Gate, Regent's Park,</span></span><br />
<span class="smcap">London</span>, <i>Tuesday, Feb. 23rd, 1841.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">Dear Sir</span>,</div>

<p>You are quite right in feeling assured that I should
answer the letter you have addressed to me. If you had
entertained a presentiment that it would afford me sincere
pleasure and delight to hear from a warm-hearted and
admiring reader of my books in the backwoods of America,
you would not have been far wrong.</p>

<p>I thank you cordially and heartily both for your letter
and its kind and courteous terms. To think that I have
awakened a fellow-feeling and sympathy with the creatures
of many thoughtful hours among the vast solitudes in which
you dwell, is a source of the purest delight and pride to
me; and believe me that your expressions of affectionate<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span>
remembrance and approval, sounding from the green forests
on the banks of the Mississippi, sink deeper into my heart
and gratify it more than all the honorary distinctions that
all the courts in Europe could confer.</p>

<p>It is such things as these that make one hope one does
not live in vain, and that are the highest reward of an
author's life. To be numbered among the household gods
of one's distant countrymen, and associated with their
homes and quiet pleasures; to be told that in each nook
and corner of the world's great mass there lives one well-wisher
who holds communion with one in the spirit, is a
worthy fame indeed, and one which I would not barter for
a mine of wealth.</p>

<p>That I may be happy enough to cheer some of your
leisure hours for a very long time to come, and to hold
a place in your pleasant thoughts, is the earnest wish of
"Boz."</p>

<p>And, with all good wishes for yourself, and with a
sincere reciprocation of all your kindly feeling,</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 2em;">I am, dear Sir,</span><br />
Faithfully yours.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. R.
Monckton
Milnes</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Devonshire Terrace</span>, <i>Wednesday, March 10th, 1841.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Milnes</span>,</div>

<p>I thank you very much for the "Nickleby" correspondence,
which I will keep for a day or two, and return
when I see you. Poor fellow! The long letter is quite
admirable, and most affecting.</p>

<p>I am not quite sure either of Friday or Saturday, for,
independently of the "Clock" (which for ever wants winding),
I am getting a young brother off to New Zealand just
now, and have my mornings sadly cut up in consequence.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span>
But, knowing your ways, I know I may say that I will
come if I can; and that if I can't I won't.</p>

<p>That Nellicide was the act of Heaven, as you may see
any of these fine mornings when you look about you. If
you knew the pain it gave me&mdash;but what am I talking of?
if you don't know, nobody does. I am glad to shake you
by the hand again autographically,</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 2em;">And am always,</span><br />
Faithfully yours.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr.
George
Cattermole.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Devonshire Terrace</span>, <i>Tuesday, February 9th.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear George</span>,</div>

<p>My notes tread upon each other's heels. In my last
I quite forgot business.</p>

<p>Will you, for No. 49, do the locksmith's house, which
was described in No. 48? I mean the outside. If you can,
without hurting the effect, shut up the shop as though it
were night, so much the better. Should you want a figure,
an ancient watchman in or out of his box, very sleepy, will
be just the thing for me.</p>

<p>I have written to Chapman and requested him to send
you a block of a long shape, so that the house may come
upright as it were.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Faithfully ever.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">The same.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Old Ship Hotel, Brighton</span>, <i>Feb. 26th, 1841.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Kittenmoles</span>,</div>

<p>I passed your house on Wednesday, being then atop
of the Brighton Era; but there was nobody at the door,
saving a solitary poulterer, and all my warm-hearted aspirations
lodged in the goods he was delivering. No doubt you
observed a peculiar relish in your dinner. That was the
cause.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span></p>

<p>I send you the MS. I fear you will have to read all the
five slips; but the subject I think of is at the top of the
last, when the guest, with his back towards the spectator,
is looking out of window. I think, in your hands, it will
be a very pretty one.</p>

<p>Then, my boy, when you have done it, turn your
thoughts (as soon as other engagements will allow) first to
the outside of The Warren&mdash;see No. 1; secondly, to the
outside of the locksmith's house, by night&mdash;see No. 3.
Put a penny pistol to Chapman's head and demand the
blocks of him.</p>

<p>I have addled my head with writing all day, and have
barely wit enough left to send my love to my cousin,
and&mdash;there's a genealogical poser&mdash;what relation of mine
may the dear little child be? At present, I desire to be
commended to her clear blue eyes.</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 2em;">Always, my dear George,</span><br />
<span style="margin-right: 2em;">Faithfully yours,</span><br />
<div class="figright" style="width: 150px;">
<img src="images/3boz.png" width="150" height="91" alt="Signature: Boz." title="Signature: Boz." />
</div><br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr.
William
Harrison
Ainsworth.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Devonshire Terrace</span>, <i>April 29th, 1841.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Ainsworth</span>,</div>

<p>With all imaginable pleasure. I quite look forward
to the day. It is an age since we met, and it ought not
to be.</p>

<p>The artist has just sent home your "Nickleby." He
suggested variety, pleading his fancy and genius. As an
artful binder must have his way, I put the best face on
the matter, and gave him his. I will bring it together
with the "Pickwick" to your house-warming with me.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span></p>

<p>The old <i>Royal George</i> went down in consequence of
having too much weight on one side. I trust the new
"First Rate" won't be heavy anywhere. There seems to
me to be too much whisker for a shilling, but that's a
matter of taste.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Faithfully yours always.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. G.
Lovejoy.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span style="margin-right: 4em;">1, <span class="smcap">Devonshire Terrace, York Gate, Regent's Park</span>,</span><br />
<i>Monday Evening, May 31st, 1841.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">Sir</span>,</div>

<p>I am much obliged and flattered by the receipt of
your letter, which I should have answered immediately
on its arrival but for my absence from home at the
moment.</p>

<p>My principles and inclinations would lead me to
aspire to the distinction you invite me to seek, if there
were any reasonable chance of success, and I hope I
should do no discredit to such an honour if I won and
wore it. But I am bound to add, and I have no hesitation
in saying plainly, that I cannot afford the expense
of a contested election. If I could, I would act on your
suggestion instantly. I am not the less indebted to you
and the friends to whom the thought occurred, for your
good opinion and approval. I beg you to understand
that I am restrained solely (and much against my will) by
the consideration I have mentioned, and thank both you
and them most warmly.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Yours faithfully.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">The same.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Devonshire Terrace</span>, <i>June 10th, 1841.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">Dear Sir</span>,</div>

<p>I am favoured with your note of yesterday's date,
and lose no time in replying to it.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span></p>

<p>The sum you mention, though small I am aware in
the abstract, is greater than I could afford for such a
purpose; as the mere sitting in the House and attending
to my duties, if I were a member, would oblige me to
make many pecuniary sacrifices, consequent upon the very
nature of my pursuits.</p>

<p>The course you suggest did occur to me when I
received your first letter, and I have very little doubt
indeed that the Government would support me&mdash;perhaps
to the whole extent. But I cannot satisfy myself that to
enter Parliament under such circumstances would enable
me to pursue that honourable independence without which
I could neither preserve my own respect nor that of my
constituents. I confess therefore (it may be from not
having considered the points sufficiently, or in the right
light) that I cannot bring myself to propound the subject
to any member of the administration whom I know. I
am truly obliged to you nevertheless, and am,</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 4em;">Dear Sir,</span><br />
Faithfully yours.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr.
George
Cattermole.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Devonshire Terrace</span>, <i>Wednesday Evening, July 28th, 1841.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear George</span>,</div>

<p>Can you do for me by Saturday evening&mdash;I know
the time is short, but I think the subject will suit you, and
I am greatly pressed&mdash;a party of rioters (with Hugh and
Simon Tappertit conspicuous among them) in old John
Willet's bar, turning the liquor taps to their own advantage,
smashing bottles, cutting down the grove of lemons, sitting
astride on casks, drinking out of the best punch-bowls,
eating the great cheese, smoking sacred pipes, etc. etc.;
John Willet, fallen backward in his chair, regarding them<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span>
with a stupid horror, and quite alone among them, with
none of The Maypole customers at his back.</p>

<p>It's in your way, and you'll do it a hundred times better
than I can suggest it to you, I know.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Faithfully always.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr.
George
Cattermole.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Broadstairs</span>, <i>Friday, August 6th, 1841.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear George</span>,</div>

<p>Here is a subject for the next number; the next to
that I hope to send you the MS. of very early in the week,
as the best opportunities of illustration are all coming off
now, and we are in the thick of the story.</p>

<p>The rioters went, sir, from John Willet's bar (where you
saw them to such good purpose) straight to The Warren,
which house they plundered, sacked, burned, pulled down as
much of as they could, and greatly damaged and destroyed.
They are supposed to have left it about half an hour. It
is night, and the ruins are here and there flaming and
smoking. I want&mdash;if you understand&mdash;to show one of the
turrets laid open&mdash;the turret where the alarm-bell is, mentioned
in No. 1; and among the ruins (at some height if
possible) Mr. Haredale just clutching our friend, the mysterious
file, who is passing over them like a spirit; Solomon
Daisy, if you can introduce him, looking on from the ground
below.</p>

<p>Please to observe that the M. F. wears a large cloak
and a slouched hat. This is important, because Browne
will have him in the same number, and he has not changed
his dress meanwhile. Mr. Haredale is supposed to have
come down here on horseback, pell-mell; to be excited to
the last degree. I think it will make a queer picturesque
thing in your hands. I have told Chapman and Hall that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span>
you may like to have a block of a peculiar shape for it.
One of them will be with you almost as soon as you receive
this.</p>

<p>We are very anxious to know that our cousin is out of
her trouble, and you free from your anxiety. Mind you
write when it comes off. And when she is quite comfortable
come down here for a day or two, like a bachelor,
as you will be. It will do you a world of good. Think of
that.</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 2em;">Always, dear Cattermole,</span><br />
Heartily yours.<br />
</div>

<p>P.S.&mdash;When you have done the subject, I wish you'd
write me one line and tell me how, that I may be sure we
agree. Loves from Kate.</p>


<div class="sidenote">Mr.
George
Cattermole.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Devonshire Terrace</span>, <i>Thursday, August 13th.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Cattermole</span>,</div>

<p>Will you turn your attention to a frontispiece for
our first volume, to come upon the left-hand side of the
book as you open it, and to face a plain printed title?
My idea is, some scene from the "Curiosity Shop," in a
pretty border, or scroll-work, or architectural device; it
matters not what, so that it be pretty. The scene even
might be a fanciful thing, partaking of the character of
the story, but not reproducing any particular passage in it,
if you thought that better for the effect.</p>

<p>I ask you to think of this, because, although the volume
is not published until the end of September, there is no
time to lose. We wish to have it engraved with great
care, and worked very skilfully; and this cannot be done
unless we get it on the stocks soon.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span></p>

<p>They will give you every opportunity of correction,
alteration, revision, and all other ations and isions
connected with the fine arts.</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 2em;">Always believe me,</span><br />
Faithfully yours.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr.
George
Cattermole.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Broadstairs</span>, <i>August 19th, 1841.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear George</span>,</div>

<p>When Hugh and a small body of the rioters cut off
from The Warren beckoned to their pals, they forced into
a very remarkable postchaise Dolly Varden and Emma
Haredale, and bore them away with all possible rapidity;
one of their company driving, and the rest running
beside the chaise, climbing up behind, sitting on the
top, lighting the way with their torches, etc. etc. If
you can express the women inside without showing them&mdash;as
by a fluttering veil, a delicate arm, or so forth appearing
at the half-closed window&mdash;so much the better.
Mr. Tappertit stands on the steps, which are partly down,
and, hanging on to the window with one hand and extending
the other with great majesty, addresses a few
words of encouragement to the driver and attendants.
Hugh sits upon the bar in front; the driver sitting
postilion-wise, and turns round to look through the window
behind him at the little doves within. The gentlemen
behind are also anxious to catch a glimpse of the ladies.
One of those who are running at the side may be gently
rebuked for his curiosity by the cudgel of Hugh. So they
cut away, sir, as fast as they can.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Always faithfully.<br />
</div>

<p>P.S.&mdash;John Willet's bar is noble.</p>

<p>We take it for granted that cousin and baby are hearty.
Our loves to them.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span></p>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. W. C.
Macready.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Broadstairs</span>, <i>Tuesday, August 24th, 1841.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Macready</span>,</div>

<p>I must thank you, most heartily and cordially, for
your kind note relative to poor Overs. I can't tell you
how glad I am to know that he thoroughly deserves such
kindness.</p>

<p>What a good fellow Elliotson is. He kept him in his
room a whole hour, and has gone into his case as if he were
Prince Albert; laying down all manner of elaborate projects
and determining to leave his friend Wood in town when
he himself goes away, on purpose to attend to him. Then
he writes me four sides of paper about the man, and says he
can't go back to his old work, for that requires muscular
exertion (and muscular exertion he mustn't make), what
are we to do with him? He says: "Here's five pounds for
the present."</p>

<p>I declare before God that I could almost bear the
Jones's for five years out of the pleasure I feel in knowing
such things, and when I think that every dirty speck upon
the fair face of the Almighty's creation, who writes in a
filthy, beastly newspaper; every rotten-hearted pander who
has been beaten, kicked, and rolled in the kennel, yet struts
it in the editorial "We," once a week; every vagabond that
an honest man's gorge must rise at; every live emetic in
that noxious drug-shop the press, can have his fling at such
men and call them knaves and fools and thieves, I grow so
vicious that, with bearing hard upon my pen, I break the nib
down, and, with keeping my teeth set, make my jaws ache.</p>

<p>I have put myself out of sorts for the day, and shall go
and walk, unless the direction of this sets me up again.
On second thoughts I think it will.</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 2em;">Always, my dear Macready,</span><br />
Your faithful Friend.<br />
</div>

<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span></p>
<div class="sidenote">Mr.
George
Cattermole.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Broadstairs</span>, <i>Sunday, September 12th, 1841.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear George</span>,</div>

<p>Here is a business letter, written in a scramble just
before post time, whereby I dispose of loves to cousin in a
line.</p>

<p>Firstly. Will you design, upon a block of wood, Lord
George Gordon, alone and very solitary, in his prison in
the Tower? The chamber as ancient as you please, and
after your own fancy; the time, evening; the season,
summer.</p>

<p>Secondly. Will you ditto upon a ditto, a sword duel
between Mr. Haredale and Mr. Chester, in a grove of trees?
No one close by. Mr. Haredale has just pierced his adversary,
who has fallen, dying, on the grass. He (that is,
Chester) tries to staunch the wound in his breast with his
handkerchief; has his snuffbox on the earth beside him,
and looks at Mr. Haredale (who stands with his sword in
his hand, looking down on him) with most supercilious
hatred, but polite to the last. Mr. Haredale is more sorry
than triumphant.</p>

<p>Thirdly. Will you conceive and execute, after your own
fashion, a frontispiece for "Barnaby"?</p>

<p>Fourthly. Will you also devise a subject representing
"Master Humphrey's Clock" as stopped; his chair by the
fireside, empty; his crutch against the wall; his slippers on
the cold hearth; his hat upon the chair-back; the MSS. of
"Barnaby" and "The Curiosity Shop" heaped upon the
table; and the flowers you introduced in the first subject of
all withered and dead? Master Humphrey being supposed
to be no more.</p>

<p>I have a fifthly, sixthly, seventhly, and eighthly; for I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span>
sorely want you, as I approach the close of the tale, but I
won't frighten you, so we'll take breath.</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 2em;">Always, my dear Cattermole,</span><br />
Heartily yours.<br />
</div>

<p>P.S.&mdash;I have been waiting until I got to subjects of this
nature, thinking you would like them best.</p>


<div class="sidenote">Mr.
George
Cattermole.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Broadstairs</span>, <i>September 21st, 1841.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear George</span>,</div>

<p>Will you, before you go on with the other subjects
I gave you, do one of Hugh, bareheaded, bound, tied on
a horse, and escorted by horse-soldiers to jail? If you
can add an indication of old Fleet Market, and bodies of
foot soldiers firing at people who have taken refuge on the
tops of stalls, bulk-heads, etc., it will be all the better.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Faithfully yours always.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Miss Mary
Talfourd.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Devonshire Terrace</span>, <i>December 16th, 1841.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Mary</span>,</div>

<p>I should be delighted to come and dine with you
on your birthday, and to be as merry as I wish you to
be always; but as I am going, within a very few days afterwards,
a very long distance from home, and shall not see
any of my children for six long months, I have made up
my mind to pass all that week at home for their sakes;
just as you would like your papa and mamma to spend all
the time they possibly could spare with you if they were
about to make a dreary voyage to America; which is what
I am going to do myself.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span></p>

<p>But although I cannot come to see you on that day,
you may be sure I shall not forget that it is your birthday,
and that I shall drink your health and many happy returns,
in a glass of wine, filled as full as it will hold. And I
shall dine at half-past five myself, so that we may both
be drinking our wine at the same time; and I shall tell my
Mary (for I have got a daughter of that name but she is a
very small one as yet) to drink your health too; and we
shall try and make believe that you are here, or that we
are in Russell Square, which is the best thing we can do,
I think, under the circumstances.</p>

<p>You are growing up so fast that by the time I come
home again I expect you will be almost a woman; and in
a very few years we shall be saying to each other:
"Don't you remember what the birthdays used to be in
Russell Square?" and "How strange it seems!" and
"How quickly time passes!" and all that sort of thing,
you know. But I shall always be very glad to be asked
on your birthday, and to come if you will let me, and to
send my love to you, and to wish that you may live to
be very old and very happy, which I do now with all my
heart.</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 6em;">Believe me always,</span><br />
<span style="margin-right: 4em;">My dear Mary,</span><br />
Yours affectionately.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. W. C.
Macready.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Devonshire Terrace</span>, <i>Tuesday, Dec. 28th, 1841.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Macready</span>,</div>

<p>This note is about the saloon. I make it as brief as
possible. Read it when you have time. As we were the
first experimentalists last night you will be glad to know
what it wants.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span></p>

<p>First, the refreshments are preposterously dear. A glass
of wine is a shilling, and it ought to be sixpence.</p>

<p>Secondly, they were served out by the wrong sort of
people&mdash;two most uncomfortable drabs of women, and a
dirty man with his hat on.</p>

<p>Thirdly, there ought to be a box-keeper to ring a bell
or give some other notice of the commencement of the
overture to the after-piece. The promenaders were in a
perpetual fret and worry to get back again.</p>

<p>And fourthly, and most important of all&mdash;if the plan is
ever to succeed&mdash;you must have some notice up to the effect
that as it is now a place of resort for ladies, gentlemen are
requested not to lounge there in their hats and greatcoats.
No ladies will go there, though the conveniences should be
ten thousand times greater, while the sort of swells who
have been used to kick their heels there do so in the old
sort of way. I saw this expressed last night more strongly
than I can tell you.</p>

<p>Hearty congratulations on the brilliant triumph. I have
always expected one, as you know, but nobody could have
imagined the reality.</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 2em;">Always, my dear Macready,</span><br />
Affectionately yours.<br />
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<h2>1842.</h2>

<h3>NARRATIVE.</h3>


<div class='unindent'><span class='smcap'>In</span> January of this year Charles Dickens went, with his
wife, to America, the house in Devonshire Terrace being let
for the term of their absence (six months), and the four
children left in a furnished house in Osnaburgh Street,
Regent's Park, under the care of Mr. and Mrs. Macready.
They returned from America in July, and in August went to
Broadstairs for the autumn months as usual, and in October<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span>
Charles Dickens made an expedition to Cornwall, with Mr.
Forster, Mr. Maclise, and Mr. Stanfield for his companions.</div>

<p>During his stay at Broadstairs he was engaged in
writing his "American Notes," which book was published
in October. At the end of the year he had written the
first number of "Martin Chuzzlewit," which appeared in
January, 1843.</p>

<p>An extract from a letter, addressed to Messrs. Chapman
and Hall before his departure for America, is given as a
testimony of the estimation in which Charles Dickens
held the firm with whom he was connected for so many
years.</p>

<p>His letters to Mr. H. P. Smith, for many years actuary
of the Eagle Insurance Office, are a combination of business
and friendship. Mr. Smith gives us, as an explanation of
a note to him, dated 14th July, that he alluded to the
stamp of the office upon the cheque, which was, as he
described it, "almost a work of art"&mdash;a truculent-looking
eagle seated on a rock and scattering rays over the whole
sheet.</p>

<p>Of letters written by Charles Dickens in America we
have been able to obtain very few. One, to Dr. F. H.
Deane, Cincinnati, complying with his request to write him
an epitaph for the tombstone of his little child, has been
kindly copied for us from an album, by Mrs. Fields, of
Boston. Therefore, it is not directly received, but as we
have no doubt of its authenticity, we give it here; and there
is one to Mr. Halleck, the American poet.</p>

<p>At the close of the voyage to America (a very bad and
dangerous one), a meeting of the passengers, with Lord
Mulgrave in the chair, took place, and a piece of plate and
thanks were voted to the captain of the <i>Britannia</i>, Captain
Hewett. The vote of thanks, being drawn up by Charles
Dickens, is given here. We have letters in this year to
Mr. Thomas Hood, Miss Pardoe, Mrs. Trollope, and Mr.
W. P. Frith. The last-named artist&mdash;then a very young
man&mdash;had made great success with several charming
<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span>pictures of Dolly Varden. One of these was bought by
Charles Dickens, who ordered a companion picture of Kate
Nickleby, from the young painter, whose acquaintance he
made at the same time; and the two letters to Mr. Frith
have reference to the purchase of the one picture and the
commission for the other.</p>

<p>The letter to Mr. Cattermole is an acknowledgment also
of a completed commission of two water-colour drawings,
from the subjects of two of Mr. Cattermole's illustrations
to "The Old Curiosity Shop."</p>

<p>A note to Mr. Macready, at the close of this year, refers
to the first representation of Mr. Westland Marston's play,
"The Patrician's Daughter." Charles Dickens took great
interest in the production of this work at Drury Lane. It
was, to a certain extent, an experiment of the effect of a
tragedy of modern times and in modern dress; and the
prologue, which Charles Dickens wrote and which we give,
was intended to show that there need be no incongruity
between plain clothes of this century and high tragedy.
The play was quite successful.</p>


<div class="sidenote">Messrs.
Chapman
and Hall.</div>

<div class='center'><b>*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*</b></div>

<p>Having disposed of the business part of this letter, I
should not feel at ease on leaving England if I did not tell
you once more with my whole heart that your conduct to
me on this and all other occasions has been honourable,
manly, and generous, and that I have felt it a solemn duty,
in the event of any accident happening to me while I am
away, to place this testimony upon record. It forms part of
a will I have made for the security of my children; for I
wish them to know it when they are capable of understanding
your worth and my appreciation of it.</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 4em;">Always believe me,</span><br />
Faithfully and truly yours.<br />
</div>

<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span></p>
<div class="sidenote">Mr.
Thomas
Mitton.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Adelphi Hotel, Liverpool</span>, <i>Monday, Jan. 3rd, 1842.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Mitton</span>,</div>

<p>This is a short note, but I will fulfil the adage and
make it a merry one.</p>

<p>We came down in great comfort. Our luggage is now
aboard. Anything so utterly and monstrously absurd as
the size of our cabin, no "gentleman of England who lives
at home at ease" can for a moment imagine. Neither of the
portmanteaus would go into it. There!</p>

<p>These Cunard packets are not very big you know
actually, but the quantity of sleeping-berths makes them
much smaller, so that the saloon is not nearly as large as in
one of the Ramsgate boats. The ladies' cabin is so close to
ours that I could knock the door open without getting
off something they call my bed, but which I believe to
be a muffin beaten flat. This is a great comfort, for it
is an excellent room (the only good one in the ship); and
if there be only one other lady besides Kate, as the
stewardess thinks, I hope I shall be able to sit there very
often.</p>

<p>They talk of seventy passengers, but I can't think there
will be so many; they talk besides (which is even more to
the purpose) of a very fine passage, having had a noble one
this time last year. God send it so! We are in the best
spirits, and full of hope. I was dashed for a moment
when I saw our "cabin," but I got over that directly, and
laughed so much at its ludicrous proportions, that you
might have heard me all over the ship.</p>

<p>God bless you! Write to me by the first opportunity. I
will do the like to you. And always believe me,</p>

<div class='sig'>
Your old and faithful Friend.<br />
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span></p>
<h2>NARRATIVE.</h2>


<p>At a meeting of the passengers on board the <i>Britannia</i>
steam-ship, travelling from Liverpool to Boston, held in the
saloon of that vessel, on Friday, the 21st January, 1842, it
was moved and seconded:</p>

<div class="blockquot"><p>"That the Earl of Mulgrave do take the chair."</p></div>

<p>The motion having been carried unanimously, the Earl
of Mulgrave took the chair accordingly.</p>

<p>It was also moved and seconded, and carried
unanimously:</p>

<div class="blockquot"><p>"That Charles Dickens, Esq., be appointed secretary
and treasurer to the meeting."</p></div>

<p>The three following resolutions were then proposed and
carried <i>nem. con.</i>:</p>

<div class="blockquot"><p>"First. That, gratefully recognising the blessing of
Divine Providence by which we are brought nearly to the
termination of our voyage, we have great pleasure in expressing
our high appreciation of Captain Hewett's nautical
skill and of his indefatigable attention to the management
and safe conduct of the ship, during a more than ordinarily
tempestuous passage.</p>

<p>"Secondly. That a subscription be opened for the purchase
of a piece of silver plate, and that Captain Hewett be
respectfully requested to accept it, as a sincere expression of
the sentiments embodied in the foregoing resolution.</p>

<p>"Thirdly. That a committee be appointed to carry
these resolutions into effect; and that the committee be
composed of the following gentlemen: Charles Dickens,
Esq., E. Dunbar, Esq., and Solomon Hopkins, Esq."</p></div>

<p>The committee having withdrawn and conferred with
Captain Hewett, returned, and informed the meeting that
Captain Hewett desired to attend and express his thanks,
which he did.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span></p>

<p>The amount of the subscription was reported at fifty
pounds, and the list was closed. It was then agreed that the
following inscription should be placed upon the testimonial
to Captain Hewett:</p>

<div class='center'>
<span class="smcap">This Piece of Plate</span><br />
was presented to<br />
<big>CAPTAIN JOHN HEWETT,</big><br />
of the <span class="smcap">Britannia</span> Steam-ship,<br />
<br />
By the Passengers on board that vessel in a voyage from Liverpool<br />
to Boston, in the month of January, 1842,<br />
<br />
As a slight acknowledgment of his great ability and skill<br />
under circumstances of much difficulty and danger,<br />
And as a feeble token of their lasting gratitude.<br />
</div>

<p>Thanks were then voted to the chairman and to the
secretary, and the meeting separated.</p>


<div class="sidenote">Mr.
Thomas
Mitton.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Tremont House, Boston</span>, <i>January 31st, 1842.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Mitton</span>,</div>

<p>I am so exhausted with the life I am obliged to
lead here, that I have had time to write but one letter which
is at all deserving of the name, as giving any account of
our movements. Forster has it, in trust, to tell you all its
news; and he has also some newspapers which I had an
opportunity of sending him, in which you will find further
particulars of our progress.</p>

<p>We had a dreadful passage, the worst, the officers all
concur in saying, that they have ever known. We were
eighteen days coming; experienced a dreadful storm which
swept away our paddle-boxes and stove our lifeboats; and
ran aground besides, near Halifax, among rocks and
breakers, where we lay at anchor all night. After we left
the English Channel we had only one fine day. And we
had the additional discomfort of being eighty-six passengers.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span>
I was ill five days, Kate six; though, indeed, she had a
swelled face and suffered the utmost terror all the way.</p>

<p>I can give you no conception of my welcome here.
There never was a king or emperor upon the earth so
cheered and followed by crowds, and entertained in public
at splendid balls and dinners, and waited on by public
bodies and deputations of all kinds. I have had one from
the Far West&mdash;a journey of two thousand miles! If I
go out in a carriage, the crowd surround it and escort me
home; if I go to the theatre, the whole house (crowded to
the roof) rises as one man, and the timbers ring again.
You cannot imagine what it is. I have five great public
dinners on hand at this moment, and invitations from every
town and village and city in the States.</p>

<p>There is a great deal afloat here in the way of subjects for
description. I keep my eyes open pretty wide, and hope to
have done so to some purpose by the time I come home.</p>

<p>When you write to me again&mdash;I say again, hoping that
your first letter will be soon upon its way here&mdash;direct to
me to the care of David Colden, Esq., New York. He will
forward all communications by the quickest conveyance and
will be perfectly acquainted with all my movements.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Always your faithful Friend.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr.
Fitz-Greene
Halleck.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Carlton House</span>, <i>February 14th, 1842.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,</div>

<p>Will you come and breakfast with me on Tuesday,
the 22nd, at half-past ten? Say yes. I should have been
truly delighted to have a talk with you to-night (being
quite alone), but the doctor says that if I talk to man,
woman, or child this evening I shall be dumb to-morrow.</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 2em;">Believe me, with true regard,</span><br />
Faithfully your Friend.<br />
</div>

<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span></p>
<div class="sidenote">Mr. W. C.
Macready.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Baltimore</span>, <i>March 22nd, 1842.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Friend</span>,</div>

<p>I beg your pardon, but you were speaking of rash
leaps at hasty conclusions. Are you quite sure you
designed that remark for me? Have you not, in the
hurry of correspondence, slipped a paragraph into my
letter which belongs of right to somebody else? When
did you ever find me leap at wrong conclusions? I pause
for a reply.</p>

<p>Pray, sir, did you ever find me admiring Mr. &mdash;&mdash;?
On the contrary, did you never hear of my protesting
through good, better, and best report that he was not an
open or a candid man, and would one day, beyond all
doubt, displease you by not being so? I pause again for a
reply.</p>

<p>Are you quite sure, Mr. Macready&mdash;and I address myself
to you with the sternness of a man in the pit&mdash;are
you quite sure, sir, that you do not view America
through the pleasant mirage which often surrounds a
thing that has been, but not a thing that is? Are you
quite sure that when you were here you relished it as well
as you do now when you look back upon it. The early
spring birds, Mr. Macready, <i>do</i> sing in the groves that you
were, very often, not over well pleased with many of the
new country's social aspects. Are the birds to be trusted?
Again I pause for a reply.</p>

<p>My dear Macready, I desire to be so honest and
just to those who have so enthusiastically and earnestly
welcomed me, that I burned the last letter I wrote to
you&mdash;even to you to whom I would speak as to myself&mdash;rather
than let it come with anything that might seem
like an ill-considered word of disappointment. I preferred
that you should think me neglectful (if you could imagine<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span>
anything so wild) rather than I should do wrong in this
respect. Still it is of no use. I <i>am</i> disappointed. This
is not the republic I came to see; this is not the republic of
my imagination. I infinitely prefer a liberal monarchy&mdash;even
with its sickening accompaniments of court circulars&mdash;to
such a government as this. The more I think of its youth
and strength, the poorer and more trifling in a thousand
aspects it appears in my eyes. In everything of which it
has made a boast&mdash;excepting its education of the people and
its care for poor children&mdash;it sinks immeasurably below the
level I had placed it upon; and England, even England,
bad and faulty as the old land is, and miserable as millions
of her people are, rises in the comparison.</p>

<p><i>You</i> live here, Macready, as I have sometimes heard you
imagining! <i>You!</i> Loving you with all my heart and soul,
and knowing what your disposition really is, I would not
condemn you to a year's residence on this side of the
Atlantic for any money. Freedom of opinion! Where is
it? I see a press more mean, and paltry, and silly, and
disgraceful than any country I ever knew. If that is its
standard, here it is. But I speak of Bancroft, and am
advised to be silent on that subject, for he is "a black sheep&mdash;a
Democrat." I speak of Bryant, and am entreated to
be more careful, for the same reason. I speak of international
copyright, and am implored not to ruin myself outright.
I speak of Miss Martineau, and all parties&mdash;Slave
Upholders and Abolitionists, Whigs, Tyler Whigs, and
Democrats, shower down upon me a perfect cataract of
abuse. "But what has she done? Surely she praised
America enough!" "Yes, but she told us of some of our
faults, and Americans can't bear to be told of their faults.
Don't split on that rock, Mr. Dickens, don't write about
America; we are so very suspicious."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span></p>

<p>Freedom of opinion! Macready, if I had been born
here and had written my books in this country, producing
them with no stamp of approval from any other land,
it is my solemn belief that I should have lived and died
poor, unnoticed, and a "black sheep" to boot. I never
was more convinced of anything than I am of that.</p>

<p>The people are affectionate, generous, open-hearted,
hospitable, enthusiastic, good-humoured, polite to women,
frank and candid to all strangers, anxious to oblige, far
less prejudiced than they have been described to be,
frequently polished and refined, very seldom rude or disagreeable.
I have made a great many friends here, even in
public conveyances, whom I have been truly sorry to part
from. In the towns I have formed perfect attachments.
I have seen none of that greediness and indecorousness
on which travellers have laid so much emphasis. I have
returned frankness with frankness; met questions not intended
to be rude, with answers meant to be satisfactory;
and have not spoken to one man, woman, or child of any
degree who has not grown positively affectionate before we
parted. In the respects of not being left alone, and of
being horribly disgusted by tobacco chewing and tobacco
spittle, I have suffered considerably. The sight of slavery
in Virginia, the hatred of British feeling upon the subject,
and the miserable hints of the impotent indignation of the
South, have pained me very much; on the last head, of
course, I have felt nothing but a mingled pity and amusement;
on the other, sheer distress. But however much I
like the ingredients of this great dish, I cannot but come
back to the point upon which I started, and say that the
dish itself goes against the grain with me, and that I don't
like it.</p>

<p>You know that I am truly a Liberal. I believe I have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span>
as little pride as most men, and I am conscious of not the
smallest annoyance from being "hail fellow well met" with
everybody. I have not had greater pleasure in the company
of any set of men among the thousands I have received
(I hold a regular <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'levee'">lev&eacute;e</ins> every day, you know, which is
duly heralded and proclaimed in the newspapers) than in
that of the carmen of Hertford, who presented themselves
in a body in their blue frocks, among a crowd of well-dressed
ladies and gentlemen, and bade me welcome through
their spokesman. They had all read my books, and all
perfectly understood them. It is not these things I have
in my mind when I say that the man who comes to this
country a Radical and goes home again with his opinions
unchanged, must be a Radical on reason, sympathy, and
reflection, and one who has so well considered the subject
that he has no chance of wavering.</p>

<p>We have been to Boston, Worcester, Hertford, New
Haven, New York, Philadelphia, Baltimore, Washington,
Fredericksburgh, Richmond, and back to Washington
again. The premature heat of the weather (it was eighty
yesterday in the shade) and Clay's advice&mdash;how you would
like Clay!&mdash;have made us determine not to go to Charleston;
but having got to Richmond, I think I should have turned
back under any circumstances. We remain at Baltimore
for two days, of which this is one; then we go to Harrisburgh.
Then by the canal boat and the railroad over the
Alleghany Mountains to Pittsburgh, then down the Ohio to
Cincinnati, then to Louisville, and then to St. Louis. I have
been invited to a public entertainment in every town I
have entered, and have refused them; but I have excepted
St. Louis as the farthest point of my travels. My friends
there have passed some resolutions which Forster has, and
<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span>will show you. From St. Louis we cross to Chicago,
traversing immense prairies. Thence by the lakes and
Detroit to Buffalo, and so to Niagara. A run into Canada
follows of course, and then&mdash;let me write the blessed word
in capitals&mdash;we turn towards <span class="smcap">home</span>.</p>

<p>Kate has written to Mrs. Macready, and it is useless for
me to thank you, my dearest friend, or her, for your care
of our dear children, which is our constant theme of discourse.
Forster has gladdened our hearts with his account
of the triumph of "Acis and Galatea," and I am anxiously
looking for news of the tragedy. Forrest breakfasted
with us at Richmond last Saturday&mdash;he was acting there,
and I invited him&mdash;and he spoke very gratefully, and
very like a man, of your kindness to him when he was in
London.</p>

<p>David Colden is as good a fellow as ever lived; and
I am deeply in love with his wife. Indeed we have received
the greatest and most earnest and zealous kindness from
the whole family, and quite love them all. Do you
remember one Greenhow, whom you invited to pass some
days with you at the hotel on the Kaatskill Mountains?
He is translator to the State Office at Washington, has a
very pretty wife, and a little girl of five years old. We
dined with them, and had a very pleasant day. The
President invited me to dinner, but I couldn't stay for it. I
had a private audience, however, and we attended the public
drawing-room besides.</p>

<p>Now, don't you rush at the quick conclusion that I have
rushed at a quick conclusion. Pray, be upon your guard.
If you can by any process estimate the extent of my
affectionate regard for you, and the rush I shall make when
I reach London to take you by your true right hand, I
don't object. But let me entreat you to be very careful
how you come down upon the sharpsighted individual who<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span>
pens these words, which you seem to me to have done in what
Willmott would call "one of Mr. Macready's rushes." As my
pen is getting past its work, I have taken a new one to say that</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 2em;">I am ever, my dear Macready,</span><br />
Your faithful Friend.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr.
Thomas
Mitton.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Baltimore, United States</span>, <i>March 22nd, 1842.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Friend</span>,</div>

<p>We have been as far south as Richmond in Virginia
(where they grow and manufacture tobacco, and where the
labour is all performed by slaves), but the season in those
latitudes is so intensely and prematurely hot, that it was
considered a matter of doubtful expediency to go on to
Charleston. For this unexpected reason, and because the
country between Richmond and Charleston is but a desolate
swamp the whole way, and because slavery is anything but
a cheerful thing to live amidst, I have altered my route by
the advice of Mr. Clay (the great political leader in this
country), and have returned here previous to diving into
the far West. We start for that part of the country&mdash;which
includes mountain travelling, and lake travelling,
and prairie travelling&mdash;the day after to-morrow, at eight
o'clock in the morning; and shall be in the West, and from
there going northward again, until the 30th of April or 1st
of May, when we shall halt for a week at Niagara, before
going further into Canada. We have taken our passage home
(God bless the word) in the <i>George Washington</i> packet-ship
from New York. She sails on the 7th of June.</p>

<p>I have departed from my resolution not to accept any
more public entertainments; they have been proposed in
every town I have visited&mdash;in favour of the people of
St. Louis, my utmost western point. That town is on the
borders of the Indian territory, a trifling distance from<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span>
this place&mdash;only two thousand miles! At my second
halting-place I shall be able to write to fix the day; I
suppose it will be somewhere about the 12th of April.
Think of my going so far towards the setting sun to dinner!</p>

<p>In every town where we stay, though it be only for a
day, we hold a regular <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'levee'">lev&eacute;e</ins> or drawing-room, where I
shake hands on an average with five or six hundred people,
who pass on from me to Kate, and are shaken again by
her. Maclise's picture of our darlings stands upon a table
or sideboard the while; and my travelling secretary, assisted
very often by a committee belonging to the place, presents
the people in due form. Think of two hours of this every
day, and the people coming in by hundreds, all fresh, and
piping hot, and full of questions, when we are literally
exhausted and can hardly stand. I really do believe that
if I had not a lady with me, I should have been obliged to
leave the country and go back to England. But for her they
never would leave me alone by day or night, and as it is, a
slave comes to me now and then in the middle of the night
with a letter, and waits at the bedroom door for an answer.</p>

<p>It was so hot at Richmond that we could scarcely
breathe, and the peach and other fruit trees were in full
blossom; it was so cold at Washington next day that we
were shivering; but even in the same town you might often
wear nothing but a shirt and trousers in the morning, and two
greatcoats at night, the thermometer very frequently taking
a little trip of thirty degrees between sunrise and sunset.</p>

<p>They do lay it on at the hotels in such style! They
charge by the day, so that whether one dines out or dines at
home makes no manner of difference. T'other day I wrote
to order our rooms at Philadelphia to be ready on a certain
day, and was detained a week longer than I expected in
New York. The Philadelphia landlord not only charged me<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span>
half rent for the rooms during the whole of that time, but
board for myself and Kate and Anne during the whole time
too, though we were actually boarding at the same expense
during the same time in New York! What do you say to
that? If I remonstrated, the whole virtue of the newspapers
would be aroused directly.</p>

<p>We were at the President's drawing-room while we were
in Washington. I had a private audience besides, and was
asked to dinner, but couldn't stay.</p>

<p>Parties&mdash;parties&mdash;parties&mdash;of course, every day and
night. But it's not all parties. I go into the prisons, the
police-offices, the watch-houses, the hospitals, the workhouses.
I was out half the night in New York with two
of their most famous constables; started at midnight, and
went into every brothel, thieves' house, murdering hovel,
sailors' dancing-place, and abode of villany, both black and
white, in the town. I went <i>incog.</i> behind the scenes to the
little theatre where Mitchell is making a fortune. He has
been rearing a little dog for me, and has called him "Boz."<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a>
I am going to bring him home. In a word I go everywhere,
and a hard life it is. But I am careful to drink hardly
anything, and not to smoke at all. I have recourse to my
medicine-chest whenever I feel at all bilious, and am, thank
God, thoroughly well.</p>

<p>When I next write to you, I shall have begun, I hope, to
turn my face homeward. I have a great store of oddity
and whimsicality, and am going now into the oddest and
most characteristic part of this most queer country.</p>

<p>Always direct to the care of David Colden, Esq.,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span>
28, Laight Street, Hudson Square, New York. I received
your Caledonia letter with the greatest joy.</p>

<p>Kate sends her best remembrances.</p>

<div class='sig'>
And I am always.<br />
</div>

<p>P.S.&mdash;Richmond was my extreme southern point, and I
turn from the South altogether the day after to-morrow. Will
you let the Britannia<a name="FNanchor_2_2" id="FNanchor_2_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a> know of this change&mdash;if needful?</p>


<div class="sidenote">Dr. F. H.
Deane.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Cincinnati, Ohio</span>, <i>April 4th, 1842.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,</div>

<p>I have not been unmindful of your request for a
moment, but have not been able to think of it until now.
I hope my good friends (for whose christian-names I have
left blanks in the epitaph) may like what I have written,
and that they will take comfort and be happy again. I sail
on the 7th of June, and purpose being at the Carlton House,
New York, about the 1st. It will make me easy to know
that this letter has reached you.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Faithfully yours.<br />
</div>

<div class='center'><br />
<b>This is the Grave of a Little Child,</b><br />
<br />
<small>WHOM GOD IN HIS GOODNESS CALLED TO A BRIGHT ETERNITY</small><br />
<small>WHEN HE WAS VERY YOUNG.</small><br />
<br />
<small>HARD AS IT IS FOR HUMAN AFFECTION TO RECONCILE ITSELF TO DEATH IN ANY</small><br />
<small>SHAPE (AND MOST OF ALL, PERHAPS, AT FIRST IN THIS),</small><br />
<br />
<small>HIS PARENTS CAN EVEN NOW BELIEVE THAT IT WILL BE A CONSOLATION</small><br />
<small>TO THEM THROUGHOUT THEIR LIVES,</small><br />
<br />
<small>AND WHEN THEY SHALL HAVE GROWN OLD AND GRAY,</small><br />
<br />
<b>Always to think of him as a Child in Heaven.</b><br />
<br />
"<i>And Jesus called a little child unto Him, and set him in the midst of them.</i>"<br />
<br />
<span class="smcap">He was the Son of Q&mdash;&mdash; and M&mdash;&mdash; THORNTON, christened</span><br />
<br />
CHARLES JERKING.<br />
<br />
<small><span class="smcap">HE WAS BORN ON THE 20TH DAY OF JANUARY, 1841,</span></small><br />
<small><span class="smcap">AND HE DIED ON THE 12TH DAY OF MARCH, 1842,</span></small><br />
<span class="smcap">having lived only thirteen months and twenty days.</span><br />
</div>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span></p>

<div class="sidenote">Mr. Henry
Austin.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span style="margin-right: 2em;"><span class="smcap">Niagara Falls</span> (English Side),</span><br />
<i>Sunday, May 1st, 1842.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Henry</span>,</div>

<p>Although I date this letter as above, it will not be so
old a one as at first sight it would appear to be when it
reaches you. I shall carry it on with me to Montreal, and
despatch it from there by the steamer which goes to Halifax,
to meet the Cunard boat at that place, with Canadian letters
and passengers. Before I finally close it, I will add a short
postscript, so that it will contain the latest intelligence.</p>

<p>We have had a blessed interval of quiet in this beautiful
place, of which, as you may suppose, we stood greatly in
need, not only by reason of our hard travelling for a long
time, but on account of the incessant persecutions of the
people, by land and water, on stage coach, railway car, and
steamer, which exceeds anything you can picture to yourself
by the utmost stretch of your imagination. So far we
have had this hotel nearly to ourselves. It is a large square
house, standing on a bold height, with overhanging eaves
like a Swiss cottage, and a wide handsome gallery outside
every story. These colonnades make it look so very light,
that it has exactly the appearance of a house built with a
pack of cards; and I live in bodily terror lest any man should
venture to step out of a little observatory on the roof, and
crush the whole structure with one stamp of his foot.</p>

<p>Our sitting-room (which is large and low like a nursery)
is on the second floor, and is so close to the Falls that the
windows are always wet and dim with spray. Two bedrooms
open out of it&mdash;one our own; one Anne's. The secretary
slumbers near at hand, but without these sacred precincts.
From the three chambers, or any part of them, you can see
the Falls rolling and tumbling, and roaring and leaping,
all day long, with bright rainbows making fiery arches<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span>
down a hundred feet below us. When the sun is on them,
they shine and glow like molten gold. When the day is
gloomy, the water falls like snow, or sometimes it seems
to crumble away like the face of a great chalk cliff, or
sometimes again to roll along the front of the rock like
white smoke. But it all seems gay or gloomy, dark or light,
by sun or moon. From the bottom of both Falls, there is
always rising up a solemn ghostly cloud, which hides the
boiling cauldron from human sight, and makes it in its
mystery a hundred times more grand than if you could see
all the secrets that lie hidden in its tremendous depth. One
Fall is as close to us as York Gate is to No. 1, Devonshire
Terrace. The other (the great Horse-shoe Fall) may be,
perhaps, about half as far off as "Creedy's."<a name="FNanchor_3_3" id="FNanchor_3_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> One circumstance
in connection with them is, in all the accounts,
greatly exaggerated&mdash;I mean the noise. Last night was
perfectly still. Kate and I could just hear them, at the
quiet time of sunset, a mile off. Whereas, believing the
statements I had heard I began putting my ear to the
ground, like a savage or a bandit in a ballet, thirty miles
off, when we were coming here from Buffalo.</p>

<p>I was delighted to receive your famous letter, and to
read your account of our darlings, whom we long to see
with an intensity it is impossible to shadow forth, ever so
faintly. I do believe, though I say it as shouldn't, that
they are good 'uns&mdash;both to look at and to go. I roared out
this morning, as soon as I was awake, "Next month,"
which we have been longing to be able to say ever since we
have been here. I really do not know how we shall ever
knock at the door, when that slowest of all impossibly slow
hackney-coaches shall pull up&mdash;at home.</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span></p>
<p>I am glad you exult in the fight I have had about the
copyright. If you knew how they tried to stop me, you
would have a still greater interest in it. The greatest men
in England have sent me out, through Forster, a very manly,
and becoming, and spirited memorial and address, backing
me in all I have done. I have despatched it to Boston for
publication, and am coolly prepared for the storm it will
raise. But my best rod is in pickle.</p>

<p>Is it not a horrible thing that scoundrel booksellers
should grow rich here from publishing books, the authors of
which do not reap one farthing from their issue by scores
of thousands; and that every vile, blackguard, and detestable
newspaper, so filthy and bestial that no honest man
would admit one into his house for a scullery door-mat,
should be able to publish those same writings side by side,
cheek by jowl, with the coarsest and most obscene companions
with which they must become connected, in course
of time, in people's minds? Is it tolerable that besides
being robbed and rifled an author should be forced to appear
in any form, in any vulgar dress, in any atrocious company;
that he should have no choice of his audience, no
control over his own distorted text, and that he should be
compelled to jostle out of the course the best men in this
country who only ask to live by writing? I vow before
high heaven that my blood so boils at these enormities, that
when I speak about them I seem to grow twenty feet high,
and to swell out in proportion. "Robbers that ye are," I
think to myself when I get upon my legs, "here goes!"</p>

<p>The places we have lodged in, the roads we have gone
over, the company we have been among, the tobacco-spittle
we have wallowed in, the strange customs we have
complied with, the packing-cases in which we have travelled,
the woods, swamps, rivers, prairies, lakes, and mountains we<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span>
have crossed, are all subjects for legends and tales at home;
quires, reams, wouldn't hold them. I don't think Anne
has so much as seen an American tree. She never looks
at a prospect by any chance, or displays the smallest emotion
at any sight whatever. She objects to Niagara that "it's
nothing but water," and considers that "there is too much
of that."</p>

<p>I suppose you have heard that I am going to act at
the Montreal theatre with the officers? Farce-books being
scarce, and the choice consequently limited, I have selected
Keeley's part in "Two o'Clock in the Morning." I wrote
yesterday to Mitchell, the actor and manager at New York,
to get and send me a comic wig, light flaxen, with a small
whisker halfway down the cheek; over this I mean to wear
two night-caps, one with a tassel and one of flannel; a
flannel wrapper, drab tights and slippers, will complete the
costume.</p>

<p>I am very sorry to hear that business is so flat, but the
proverb says it never rains but it pours, and it may be remarked
with equal truth upon the other side, that it never
<i>don't</i> rain but it holds up very much indeed. You will be
busy again long before I come home, I have no doubt.</p>

<p>We purpose leaving this on Wednesday morning.
Give my love to Letitia and to mother, and always
believe me, my dear Henry,</p>

<div class='sig'>
Affectionately yours.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. Henry
Austin.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Montreal, Canada</span>, <i>May 12th, 1842.</i><br />
</div>

<p>All well, though (with the exception of one from Fred)
we have received no letters whatever by the <i>Caledonia</i>.
We have experienced impossible-to-be-described attentions
in Canada. Everybody's carriage and horses are at our<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span>
disposal, and everybody's servants; and all the Government
boats and boats' crews. We shall play, between
the 20th and the 25th, "A Roland for an Oliver," "Two
o'Clock in the Morning," and "Deaf as a Post."</p>


<div class="sidenote">Mr.
Thomas
Longman.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Athen&aelig;um</span>, <i>Friday Afternoon.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,</div>

<p>If I could possibly have attended the meeting yesterday
I would most gladly have done so. But I have been up
the whole night, and was too much exhausted even to write
and say so before the proceedings came on.</p>

<p>I have fought the fight across the Atlantic with the
utmost energy I could command; have never been turned
aside by any consideration for an instant; am fresher for
the fray than ever; will battle it to the death, and die
game to the last.</p>

<p>I am happy to say that my boy is quite well again.
From being in perfect health he fell into alarming convulsions
with the surprise and joy of our return.</p>

<p>I beg my regards to Mrs. Longman,</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 3em;">And am always,</span><br />
Faithfully yours.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Miss
Pardoe.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span style="margin-right: 2em;"><span class="smcap">Devonshire Terrace, York Gate, Regent's Park</span>,</span><br />
<i>July 19th, 1842.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">Dear Madam</span>,</div>

<p>I beg to set you right on one point in reference
to the American robbers, which perhaps you do not quite
understand.</p>

<p>The existing law allows them to reprint any English
book, without any communication whatever with the author<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span>
or anybody else. My books have all been reprinted on these
agreeable terms.</p>

<p>But sometimes, when expectation is awakened there
about a book before its publication, one firm of pirates
will pay a trifle to procure early proofs of it, and get so
much the start of the rest as they can obtain by the
time necessarily consumed in printing it. Directly it is
printed it is common property, and may be reprinted a
thousand times. My circular only referred to such bargains
as these.</p>

<p>I should add that I have no hope of the States doing
justice in this dishonest respect, and therefore do not
expect to overtake these fellows, but we may cry "Stop
thief!" nevertheless, especially as they wince and smart
under it.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Faithfully yours always.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. H. P.
Smith.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Devonshire Terrace</span>, <i>Thursday, July 14th, 1842.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Smith</span>,</div>

<p>The cheque safely received. As you say, it would
be cheap at any money. My devotion to the fine arts
renders it impossible for me to cash it. I have therefore
ordered it to be framed and glazed.</p>

<p>I am really grateful to you for the interest you take in
my proceedings. Next time I come into the City I will
show you my introductory chapter to the American book.
It may seem to prepare the reader for a much greater
amount of slaughter than he will meet with; but it is honest
and true. Therefore my hand does not shake.</p>

<p>Best love and regards. "Certainly" to the Richmondian
intentions.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Always faithfully your Friend.<br />
</div>

<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span></p>
<div class="sidenote">Mr.
Harrison
Ainsworth.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Broadstairs, Kent</span>, <i>September 14th, 1842.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Ainsworth</span>,</div>

<p>The enclosed has been sent to me by a young gentleman
in Devonshire (of whom I know no more than that I
have occasionally, at his request, read and suggested
amendments in some of his writings), with a special petition
that I would recommend it to you for insertion in your
magazine.</p>

<p>I think it very pretty, and I have no doubt you will
also. But it is poetry, and may be too long.</p>

<p>He is a very modest young fellow, and has decided
ability.</p>

<p>I hope when I come home at the end of the month,
we shall foregather more frequently. Of course you are
working, tooth and nail; and of course I am.</p>

<p>Kate joins me in best regards to yourself and all your
house (not forgetting, but especially remembering, my old
friend, Mrs. Touchet), and I am always,</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 2em;">My dear Ainsworth,</span><br />
Heartily yours.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. Henry
Austin.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Broadstairs</span>, <i>Sunday, September 25th, 1842.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Henry</span>,</div>

<p>I enclose you the Niagara letter, with many thanks
for the loan of it.</p>

<p>Pray tell Mr. Chadwick that I am greatly obliged to
him for his remembrance of me, and I heartily concur
with him in the great importance and interest of the
subject, though I do differ from him, to the death, on his
crack topic&mdash;the New Poor-Law.</p>

<p>I have been turning my thoughts to this very item
in the condition of American towns, and had put their<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span>
present aspects strongly before the American people;
therefore I shall read his report with the greater interest
and attention.</p>

<p>We return next Saturday night.</p>

<p>If you will dine with us next day or any day in the
week, we shall be truly glad and delighted to see you.
Let me know, then, what day you will come.</p>

<p>I need scarcely say that I shall joyfully talk with you
about the Metropolitan Improvement Society, then or at
any time; and with love to Letitia, in which Kate and the
babies join, I am always, my dear Henry,</p>

<div class='sig'>
Affectionately yours.<br />
</div>

<p>P.S.&mdash;The children's present names are as follows:</p>

<p>Katey (from a lurking propensity to fieryness), Lucifer
Box.</p>

<p>Mamey (as generally descriptive of her bearing), Mild
Glo'ster.</p>

<p>Charley (as a corruption of Master Toby), Flaster Floby.</p>

<p>Walter (suggested by his high cheek-bones), Young
Skull.</p>

<p>Each is pronounced with a peculiar howl, which I shall
have great pleasure in illustrating.</p>


<div class="sidenote">Rev.
William
Harness.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Devonshire Terrace</span>, <i>November 8th, 1842.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Harness</span>,</div>

<p>Some time ago, you sent me a note from a friend of
yours, a barrister, I think, begging me to forward to him
any letters I might receive from a deranged nephew of his,
at Newcastle. In the midst of a most bewildering correspondence
with unknown people, on every possible and impossible
subject, I have forgotten this gentleman's name,
though I have a kind of hazy remembrance that he lived<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span>
near Russell Square. As the Post Office would be rather
puzzled, perhaps, to identify him by such an address, may
I ask the favour of you to hand him the enclosed, and to
say that it is the second I have received since I returned
from America? The last, I think, was a defiance to mortal
combat. With best remembrances to your sister, in which
Mrs. Dickens joins, believe me, my dear Harness,</p>

<div class='sig'>
Always faithfully yours.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. W. C.
Macready.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Devonshire Terrace</span>, <i>Saturday, Nov. 12th, 1842.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Macready</span>,</div>

<p>You pass this house every day on your way to or from
the theatre. I wish you would call once as you go by, and
soon, that you may have plenty of time to deliberate on
what I wish to suggest to you. The more I think of
Marston's play, the more sure I feel that a prologue to
the purpose would help it materially, and almost decide
the fate of any ticklish point on the first night. Now I
have an idea (not easily explainable in writing but told
in five words), that would take the prologue out of the
conventional dress of prologues, quite. Get the curtain up
with a dash, and begin the play with a sledge-hammer
blow. If on consideration, you should think with me, I
will write the prologue heartily.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Faithfully yours ever.<br />
</div>


<div class='center'><br />PROLOGUE<br /><br />
<span class="smcap">To Mr. Marston's Play of "The Patrician's Daughter.</span>"<br /><br /></div>

<div class='poem'>
No tale of streaming plumes and harness bright<br />
Dwells on the poet's maiden harp to-night;<br />
No trumpet's clamour and no battle's fire<br />
<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span>Breathes in the trembling accents of his lyre;<br />
Enough for him, if in his lowly strain<br />
He wakes one household echo not in vain;<br />
Enough for him, if in his boldest word<br />
The beating heart of <span class="smcap">man</span> be dimly heard.<br />
<br />
Its solemn music which, like strains that sigh<br />
Through charm&egrave;d gardens, all who hearing die;<br />
Its solemn music he does not pursue<br />
To distant ages out of human view;<br />
Nor listen to its wild and mournful chime<br />
In the dead caverns on the shore of Time;<br />
But musing with a calm and steady gaze<br />
Before the crackling flames of living days,<br />
He hears it whisper through the busy roar<br />
Of what shall be and what has been before.<br />
Awake the Present! shall no scene display<br />
The tragic passion of the passing day?<br />
Is it with Man, as with some meaner things,<br />
That out of death his single purpose springs?<br />
Can his eventful life no moral teach<br />
Until he be, for aye, beyond its reach?<br />
Obscurely shall he suffer, act, and fade,<br />
Dubb'd noble only by the sexton's spade?<br />
Awake the Present! Though the steel-clad age<br />
Find life alone within the storied page,<br />
Iron is worn, at heart, by many still&mdash;<br />
The tyrant Custom binds the serf-like will;<br />
If the sharp rack, and screw, and chain be gone,<br />
These later days have tortures of their own;<br />
The guiltless writhe, while Guilt is stretched in sleep,<br />
And Virtue lies, too often, dungeon deep.<br />
Awake the Present! what the Past has sown<br />
Be in its harvest garner'd, reap'd, and grown!<br />
How pride breeds pride, and wrong engenders wrong,<br />
Read in the volume Truth has held so long,<br />
Assured that where life's flowers freshest blow,<br />
The sharpest thorns and keenest briars grow,<br />
How social usage has the pow'r to change<br />
Good thoughts to evil; in its highest range<br />
To cramp the noble soul, and turn to ruth<br />
The kindling impulse of our glorious youth,<br />
Crushing the spirit in its house of clay,<br />
Learn from the lessons of the present day.<br />
Not light its import and not poor its mien;<br />
Yourselves the actors, and your homes the scene.<br />.
</div>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span></p>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. W. C.
Macready.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<i>Saturday Morning.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Macready</span>,</div>

<p>One suggestion, though it be a late one. Do have
upon the table, in the opening scene of the second act,
something in a velvet case, or frame, that may look like a
large miniature of Mabel, such as one of Ross's, and eschew
that picture. It haunts me with a sense of danger. Even
a titter at that critical time, with the whole of that act
before you, would be a fatal thing. The picture is bad in
itself, bad in its effect upon the beautiful room, bad in all
its associations with the house. In case of your having
nothing at hand, I send you by bearer what would be a
million times better. Always, my dear Macready,</p>

<div class='sig'>
Faithfully yours.<br />
</div>

<p>P.S.&mdash;I need not remind you how common it is to have
such pictures in cases lying about elegant rooms.</p>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. W. P.
Frith.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span style="margin-right: 4em;">1, <span class="smcap">Devonshire Terrace, York Gate, Regent's Park</span>,</span><br />
<i>November 15th, 1842.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,</div>

<p>I shall be very glad if you will do me the favour
to paint me two little companion pictures; one, a Dolly
Varden (whom you have so exquisitely done already), the
other, a Kate Nickleby.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Faithfully yours always.<br />
</div>

<p>P.S.&mdash;I take it for granted that the original picture
of Dolly with the bracelet is sold?</p>


<div class="sidenote">The same.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Devonshire Terrace</span>, <i>November 17th, 1842.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,</div>

<p>Pray consult your own convenience in the matter of
my little commission; whatever suits your engagements
and prospects will best suit me.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span></p>

<p>I saw an unfinished proof of Dolly at Mitchell's some
two or three months ago; I thought it was proceeding
excellently well then. It will give me great pleasure to
see her when completed.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Faithfully yours.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr.
Thomas
Hood.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Devonshire Terrace</span>, <i>November 30th, 1842.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Hood</span>,</div>

<p>In asking your and Mrs. Hood's leave to bring
Mrs. D.'s sister (who stays with us) on Tuesday, let me
add that I should very much like to bring at the same
time a very unaffected and ardent admirer of your genius,
who has no small portion of that commodity in his own
right, and is a very dear friend of mine and a very famous
fellow; to wit, Maclise, the painter, who would be glad (as
he has often told me) to know you better, and would be
much pleased, I know, if I could say to him, "Hood wants
me to bring you."</p>

<p>I use so little ceremony with you, in the conviction that
you will use as little with me, and say, "My dear D.&mdash;Convenient;"
or, "My dear D.&mdash;Ill-convenient," (as the
popular phrase is), just as the case may be. Of course, I
have said nothing to him.</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 2em;">Always heartily yours,</span><br />
<span class="smcap">Boz.</span><br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mrs.
Trollope.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span style="margin-right: 4em;">1, <span class="smcap">Devonshire Terrace, York Gate, Regent's Park</span>,</span><br />
<i>December 16th, 1842.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Mrs. Trollope</span>,</div>

<p>Let me thank you most cordially for your kind note,
in reference to my Notes, which has given me true pleasure
and gratification.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span></p>

<p>As I never scrupled to say in America, so I can have no
delicacy in saying to you, that, allowing for the change you
worked in many social features of American society, and
for the time that has passed since you wrote of the country,
I am convinced that there is no writer who has so well and
accurately (I need not add so entertainingly) described it, in
many of its aspects, as you have done; and this renders your
praise the more valuable to me. I do not recollect ever
to have heard or seen the charge of exaggeration made
against a feeble performance, though, in its feebleness,
it may have been most untrue. It seems to me essentially
natural, and quite inevitable, that common observers should
accuse an uncommon one of this fault, and I have no doubt
that you were long ago of this opinion; very much to your
own comfort.</p>

<p>Mrs. Dickens begs me to thank you for your kind remembrance
of her, and to convey to you her best regards.
Always believe me,</p>

<div class='sig'>
Faithfully yours.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr.
George
Cattermole.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Devonshire Terrace</span>, <i>December 20th, 1842.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear George</span>,</div>

<p>It is impossible for me to tell you how greatly I
am charmed with those beautiful pictures, in which the
whole feeling, and thought, and expression of the little
story is rendered to the gratification of my inmost heart;
and on which you have lavished those amazing resources
of yours with a power at which I fairly wondered when I
sat down yesterday before them.</p>

<p>I took them to Mac, straightway, in a cab, and it
would have done you good if you could have seen and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span>
heard him. You can't think how moved he was by the old
man in the church, or how pleased I was to have chosen
it before he saw the drawings.</p>

<p>You are such a queer fellow and hold yourself so much
aloof, that I am afraid to say half I would say touching
my grateful admiration; so you shall imagine the rest. I
enclose a note from Kate, to which I hope you will bring
the only one acceptable reply. Always, my dear Cattermole,</p>

<div class='sig'>
Faithfully yours.<br />
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span></p>
<h2>Book II.</h2>

<h3>1843 TO 1857.</h3>



<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span><br /><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span></p>
<h2>1843.</h2>

<h3>NARRATIVE.</h3>


<div class='unindent'><span class='smcap'>We</span> have, unfortunately, very few letters of interest in this
year. But we are able to give the commencement of
Charles Dickens's correspondence with his beloved friends,
Mr. Douglas Jerrold and Mr. Clarkson Stanfield; with Lord
Morpeth (afterwards Lord Carlisle), for whom he always
entertained the highest regard; and with Mr. Charles
Babbage.</div>

<p>He was at work upon "Martin Chuzzlewit" until the
end of the year, when he also wrote and published the
first of his Christmas stories&mdash;"The Christmas Carol."</p>

<p>He was much distressed by the sad fate of Mr. Elton (a
respected actor), who was lost in the wreck of the <i>Pegasus</i>,
and was very eager and earnest in his endeavours to raise a
fund on behalf of Mr. Elton's children.</p>

<p>We are sorry to be unable to give any explanation as to
the nature of the Cockspur Street Society, mentioned in
this first letter to Mr. Charles Babbage. But we publish
it notwithstanding, considering it to be one of general
interest.</p>

<p>The "Little History of England" was never finished&mdash;not,
that is to say, the one alluded to in the letter to
Mr. Jerrold.</p>

<p>Mr. David Dickson kindly furnishes us with an explanation
of the letter dated 10th May. "It was," he says,
"in answer to a letter from me, pointing out that the
'Shepherd' in 'Pickwick' was apparently reflecting on the
scriptural doctrine of the new birth."</p>

<p>The beginning of the letter to Mr. Jerrold (15th June)
is, as will be readily understood, an imaginary cast of a
purely imaginary play. A portion of this letter has already<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span>
been published, in Mr. Blanchard Jerrold's life of his father.
It originated in a proposal of Mr. Webster's&mdash;the manager
of the Haymarket Theatre&mdash;to give five hundred pounds
for a prize comedy by an English author.</p>

<p>The opera referred to in the letter to Mr. R. H. Horne
was called "The Village Coquettes," and the farce was
"The Strange Gentleman," already alluded to by us, in
connection with a letter to Mr. Harley.</p>


<div class="sidenote">Mr.
Charles
Babbage.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Devonshire Terrace</span>, <i>April 27th, 1843.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,</div>

<p>I write to you, <i>confidentially</i>, in answer to your note
of last night, and the tenor of mine will tell you why.</p>

<p>You may suppose, from seeing my name in the printed
letter you have received, that I am favourable to the proposed
society. I am decidedly opposed to it. I went there
on the day I was in the chair, after much solicitation; and
being put into it, opened the proceedings by telling the
meeting that I approved of the design in theory, but in
practice considered it hopeless. I may tell you&mdash;I did not
tell them&mdash;that the nature of the meeting, and the character
and position of many of the men attending it, cried
"Failure" trumpet-tongued in my ears. To quote an expression
from Tennyson, I may say that if it were the best
society in the world, the grossness of some natures in it
would have weight to drag it down.</p>

<p>In the wisdom of all you urge in the notes you have
sent me, taking them as statements of theory, I entirely
concur. But in practice, I feel sure that the present publishing
system cannot be overset until authors are different
men. The first step to be taken is to move as a body in the
question of copyright, enforce the existing laws, and try to
obtain better. For that purpose I hold that the authors<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span>
and publishers must unite, as the wealth, business habits,
and interest of that latter class are of great importance
to such an end. The Longmans and Murray have been
with me proposing such an association. That I shall support.
But having seen the Cockspur Street Society, I am
as well convinced of its invincible hopelessness as if I saw
it written by a celestial penman in the Book of Fate.</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 6em;">My dear Sir,</span><br />
Always faithfully yours.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr.
Douglas
Jerrold.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Devonshire Terrace</span>, <i>May 3rd, 1843.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Jerrold</span>,</div>

<p>Let me thank you most cordially for your books,
not only for their own sakes (and I have read them with
perfect delight), but also for this hearty and most welcome
mark of your recollection of the friendship we have
established; in which light I know I may regard and
prize them.</p>

<p>I am greatly pleased with your opening paper in the
Illuminated. It is very wise, and capital; written with the
finest end of that iron pen of yours; witty, much needed,
and full of truth. I vow to God that I think the parrots
of society are more intolerable and mischievous than its
birds of prey. If ever I destroy myself, it will be in the
bitterness of hearing those infernal and damnably good old
times extolled. Once, in a fit of madness, after having
been to a public dinner which took place just as this
Ministry came in, I wrote the parody I send you enclosed,
for Fonblanque. There is nothing in it but wrath; but
that's wholesome, so I send it you.</p>

<p>I am writing a little history of England for my boy,
which I will send you when it is printed for him, though<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span>
your boys are too old to profit by it. It is curious that I
have tried to impress upon him (writing, I daresay, at
the same moment with you) the exact spirit of your paper,
for I don't know what I should do if he were to get hold
of any Conservative or High Church notions; and the best
way of guarding against any such horrible result is, I take
it, to wring the parrots' necks in his very cradle.</p>

<p>Oh Heaven, if you could have been with me at a hospital
dinner last Monday! There were men there who made
such speeches and expressed such sentiments as any
moderately intelligent dustman would have blushed through
his cindery bloom to have thought of. Sleek, slobbering,
bow-paunched, over-fed, apoplectic, snorting cattle, and
the auditory leaping up in their delight! I never saw such
an illustration of the power of purse, or felt so degraded
and debased by its contemplation, since I have had eyes
and ears. The absurdity of the thing was too horrible to
laugh at. It was perfectly overwhelming. But if I could
have partaken it with anybody who would have felt it
as you would have done, it would have had quite another
aspect; or would at least, like a "classic mask" (oh
d&mdash;&mdash; that word!) have had one funny side to relieve its
dismal features.</p>

<p>Supposing fifty families were to emigrate into the wilds
of North America&mdash;yours, mine, and forty-eight others&mdash;picked
for their concurrence of opinion on all important
subjects and for their resolution to found a colony of common-sense,
how soon would that devil, Cant, present itself
among them in one shape or other? The day they landed,
do you say, or the day after?</p>

<p>That is a great mistake (almost the only one I know) in
the "Arabian Nights," when the princess restores people
to their original beauty by sprinkling them with the golden<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span>
water. It is quite clear that she must have made monsters
of them by such a christening as that.</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 4em;">My dear Jerrold,</span><br />
Faithfully your Friend.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. David
Dickson.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span style="margin-right: 4em;">1, <span class="smcap">Devonshire Terrace, York Gate, Regent's Park</span>,</span><br />
<i>May 10th, 1843.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">Sir</span>,</div>

<p>Permit me to say, in reply to your letter, that you
do not understand the intention (I daresay the fault is
mine) of that passage in the "Pickwick Papers" which
has given you offence. The design of "the Shepherd" and
of this and every other allusion to him is, to show how
sacred things are degraded, vulgarised, and rendered absurd
when persons who are utterly incompetent to teach the
commonest things take upon themselves to expound such
mysteries, and how, in making mere cant phrases of divine
words, these persons miss the spirit in which they had their
origin. I have seen a great deal of this sort of thing in
many parts of England, and I never knew it lead to charity
or good deeds.</p>

<p>Whether the great Creator of the world and the
creature of his hands, moulded in his own image, be
quite so opposite in character as you believe, is a question
which it would profit us little to discuss. I like the frankness
and candour of your letter, and thank you for it. That
every man who seeks heaven must be born again, in good
thoughts of his Maker, I sincerely believe. That it is expedient
for every hound to say so in a certain snuffling form
of words, to which he attaches no good meaning, I do not
believe. I take it there is no difference between us.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Faithfully yours.<br />
</div>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span></p>

<div class="sidenote">Mr.
Douglas
Jerrold.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Devonshire Terrace</span>, <i>June 13th, 1843.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Jerrold</span>,</div>

<p>Yes, you have anticipated my occupation. Chuzzlewit
be d&mdash;&mdash;d. High comedy and five hundred pounds are the
only matters I can think of. I call it "The One Thing
Needful; or, A Part is Better than the Whole." Here are
the characters:</p>



<div class='center'>
<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Cast">
<tr><td align='left'>Old Febrile</td><td align='left'>Mr. <span class="smcap">Farren</span>.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>Young Febrile (his Son)</td><td align='left'>Mr. <span class="smcap">Howe</span>.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>Jack Hessians (his Friend)&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</td><td align='left'>Mr. <span class="smcap">W. Lacy</span>.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>Chalks (a Landlord)</td><td align='left'>Mr. <span class="smcap">Gough</span>.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>Hon. Harry Staggers</td><td align='left'>Mr. <span class="smcap">Mellon</span>.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>Sir Thomas Tip</td><td align='left'>Mr. <span class="smcap">Buckstone</span>.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>Swig</td><td align='left'>Mr. <span class="smcap">Webster</span>.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>The Duke of Leeds</td><td align='left'>Mr. <span class="smcap">Coutts</span>.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>Sir Smivin Growler</td><td align='left'>Mr. <span class="smcap">Macready</span>.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='center' colspan='2'><br />Servants, Gamblers, Visitors, etc.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>Mrs. Febrile</td><td align='left'>Mrs. <span class="smcap">Gallot</span>.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>Lady Tip</td><td align='left'>Mrs. <span class="smcap">Humby</span>.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>Mrs. Sour</td><td align='left'>Mrs. <span class="smcap">W. Clifford</span>.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>Fanny</td><td align='left'>Miss <span class="smcap">A. Smith</span>.</td></tr>
</table></div>

<p>One scene, where Old Febrile tickles Lady Tip in the
ribs, and afterwards dances out with his hat behind him, his
stick before, and his eye on the pit, I expect will bring
the house down. There is also another point, where Old
Febrile, at the conclusion of his disclosure to Swig, rises
and says: "And now, Swig, tell me, have I acted well?"
And Swig says: "Well, Mr. Febrile, have you ever acted
ill?" which will carry off the piece.</p>

<p>Herne Bay. Hum. I suppose it's no worse than any
other place in this weather, but it is watery rather&mdash;isn't it?
In my mind's eye, I have the sea in a perpetual state of
smallpox; and the chalk running downhill like town milk.
But I know the comfort of getting to work in a fresh place,
and proposing pious projects to one's self, and having the
more substantial advantage of going to bed early and getting
up ditto, and walking about alone. I should like to deprive<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span>
you of the last-named happiness, and to take a good long
stroll, terminating in a public-house, and whatever they
chanced to have in it. But fine days are over, I think.
The horrible misery of London in this weather, with not
even a fire to make it cheerful, is hideous.</p>

<p>But I have my comedy to fly to. My only comfort!
I walk up and down the street at the back of the theatre
every night, and peep in at the green-room window, thinking
of the time when "Dick&mdash;ins" will be called for by
excited hundreds, and won't come till Mr. Webster (half
Swig and half himself) shall enter from his dressing-room,
and quelling the tempest with a smile, beseech that wizard,
if he be in the house (here he looks up at my box), to accept
the congratulations of the audience, and indulge them with a
sight of the man who has got five hundred pounds in money,
and it's impossible to say how much in laurel. Then I shall
come forward, and bow once&mdash;twice&mdash;thrice&mdash;roars of approbation&mdash;Brayvo&mdash;brarvo&mdash;hooray&mdash;hoorar&mdash;hooroar&mdash;one
cheer more; and asking Webster home to supper, shall
declare eternal friendship for that public-spirited individual.</p>

<p>They have not sent me the "Illustrated Magazine."
What do they mean by that? You don't say your daughter
is better, so I hope you mean that she is quite well. My
wife desires her best regards.</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 4em;">I am always, my dear Jerrold,</span><br />
<span style="margin-right: 2em;">Faithfully your Friend,</span><br />
<span class="smcap">The Congreve of the Nineteenth Century</span><br />
(which I mean to be called in the Sunday papers).<br />
</div>

<p>P.S.&mdash;I shall dedicate it to Webster, beginning:
"My dear Sir,&mdash;When you first proposed to stimulate the
slumbering dramatic talent of England, I assure you I had
not the least idea"&mdash;etc. etc. etc.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span></p>


<div class="sidenote">Mr.
Clarkson
Stanfield.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
1, <span class="smcap">Devonshire Terrace</span>, <i>July 26th, 1843.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Stanfield</span>,</div>

<p>I am chairman of a committee, whose object is to
open a subscription, and arrange a benefit for the relief of
the seven destitute children of poor Elton the actor, who
was drowned in the <i>Pegasus</i>. They are exceedingly anxious
to have the great assistance of your name; and if you will
allow yourself to be announced as one of the body, I do
assure you you will help a very melancholy and distressful
cause.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Faithfully always.<br />
</div>

<p>P.S.&mdash;The committee meet to-night at the Freemasons',
at eight o'clock.</p>


<div class="sidenote">Lord
Morpeth.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span style="margin-right: 4em;">1, <span class="smcap">Devonshire Terrace, York Gate, Regent's Park</span>,</span><br />
<i>August 3rd, 1843.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">Dear Lord Morpeth</span>,</div>

<p>In acknowledging the safe receipt of your kind
donation in behalf of poor Mr. Elton's orphan children, I
hope you will suffer me to address you with little ceremony,
as the best proof I can give you of my cordial reciprocation
of all you say in your most welcome note. I have
long esteemed you and been your distant but very truthful
admirer; and trust me that it is a real pleasure and happiness
to me to anticipate the time when we shall have a
nearer intercourse.</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 2em;">Believe me, with sincere regard,</span><br />
Faithfully your Servant.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr.
William
Harrison
Ainsworth.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Devonshire Terrace</span>, <i>October 13th, 1843.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Ainsworth</span>,</div>

<p>I want very much to see you, not having had that
old pleasure for a long time. I am at this moment deaf
in the ears, hoarse in the throat, red in the nose, green in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span>
the gills, damp in the eyes, twitchy in the joints, and
fractious in the temper from a most intolerable and oppressive
cold, caught the other day, I suspect, at Liverpool,
where I got exceedingly wet; but I will make prodigious
efforts to get the better of it to-night by resorting to
all conceivable remedies, and if I succeed so as to be
only negatively disgusting to-morrow, I will joyfully
present myself at six, and bring my womankind along
with me.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Cordially yours.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. R. H.
Horne.</div>



<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Devonshire Terrace</span>, <i>November 13th, 1843.</i><br />
</div>

<div class='center'><b>*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*</b></div>

<p>Pray tell that besotted &mdash;&mdash; to let the opera sink into
its native obscurity. I did it in a fit of d&mdash;&mdash;ble good
nature long ago, for Hullah, who wrote some very pretty
music to it. I just put down for everybody what everybody
at the St. James's Theatre wanted to say and do, and that
they could say and do best, and I have been most sincerely
repentant ever since. The farce I also did as a sort of
practical joke, for Harley, whom I have known a long time.
It was funny&mdash;adapted from one of the published sketches
called the "Great Winglebury Duel," and was published
by Chapman and Hall. But I have no copy of it now,
nor should I think they have. But both these things
were done without the least consideration or regard to
reputation.</p>

<p>I wouldn't repeat them for a thousand pounds apiece,
and devoutly wish them to be forgotten. If you will impress
this on the waxy mind of &mdash;&mdash; I shall be truly and
unaffectedly obliged to you.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Always faithfully yours.<br />
</div>




<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span></p>
<h2>1844.</h2>

<h3>NARRATIVE.</h3>


<div class='unindent'><span class='smcap'>In</span> the summer of this year the house in Devonshire
Terrace was let, and Charles Dickens started with his family
for Italy, going first to a villa at Albaro, near Genoa, for
a few months, and afterwards to the Palazzo Pescheire,
Genoa. Towards the end of this year he made excursions to
the many places of interest in this country, and was joined
at Milan by his wife and sister-in-law, previous to his own
departure alone on a business visit to England. He had
written his Christmas story, "The Chimes," and was anxious
to take it himself to England, and to read it to some of his
most intimate friends there.</div>

<p>Mr. Macready went to America and returned in the
autumn, and towards the end of the year he paid a
professional visit to Paris.</p>

<p>Charles Dickens's letter to his wife (26th February)
treats of a visit to Liverpool, where he went to take the
chair on the opening of the Mechanics' Institution and to
make a speech on education. The "Fanny" alluded to
was his sister, Mrs. Burnett; the <i>Britannia</i>, the ship in
which he and Mrs. Dickens made their outward trip to
America; the "Mrs. Bean," the stewardess, and "Hewett,"
the captain, of that same vessel.</p>

<p>The letter to Mr. Charles Knight was in acknowledgment
of the receipt of a prospectus entitled "Book Clubs
for all readers." The attempt, which fortunately proved
completely successful, was to establish a cheap book club.
The scheme was, that a number of families should combine
together, each contributing about three halfpennies a week;
which contribution would enable them, by exchanging the
volumes among them, to have sufficient reading to last the
year. The publications, which were to be made as cheap as
possible, could be purchased by families at the end of the
year, on consideration of their putting by an extra penny a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span>
week for that purpose. Charles Dickens, who always had
the comfort and happiness of the working-classes greatly
at heart, was much interested in this scheme of Mr. Charles
Knight's, and highly approved of it. Charles Dickens and this
new correspondent became subsequently true and fast friends.</p>

<p>"Martin Chuzzlewit" was dramatised in the early
autumn of this year, at the Lyceum Theatre, which was
then under the management of Mr. and Mrs. Robert Keeley.
Charles Dickens superintended some rehearsals, but had left
England before the play was acted in public.</p>

<p>The man "Roche," alluded to in his letter to
Mr. Maclise, was the French courier engaged to go with the
family to Italy. He remained as servant there, and was
with Charles Dickens through all his foreign travels. His
many excellent qualities endeared him to the whole family,
and his master never lost sight of this faithful servant
until poor Roche's untimely death in 1849.</p>

<p>The Rev. Edward Tagart was a celebrated Unitarian
minister, and a very highly esteemed and valued friend.</p>

<p>The "Chickenstalker" (letter to Mrs. Dickens, November
8th), is an instance of the eccentric names he was
constantly giving to his children, and these names he
frequently made use of in his books.</p>

<p>In this year we have our first letter to Mr. (afterwards
Sir Edwin) Landseer, for whom Charles Dickens had the
highest admiration and personal regard.</p>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. W. C.
Macready.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Devonshire Terrace</span>, <i>January 3rd, 1844.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My very dear Macready</span>,</div>

<p>You know all the news, and you know I love you;
so I no more know why I write than I do why I "come
round" after the play to shake hands with you in your
dressing-room. I say come, as if you were at this present
moment the lessee of Drury Lane, and had &mdash;&mdash; with a
long face on one hand, &mdash;&mdash; elaborately explaining that
everything in creation is a joint-stock company on the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span>
other, the inimitable B. by the fire, in conversation with
&mdash;&mdash;. Well-a-day! I see it all, and smell that extraordinary
compound of odd scents peculiar to a theatre,
which bursts upon me when I swing open the little door in
the hall, accompanies me as I meet perspiring supers in
the narrow passage, goes with me up the two steps, crosses
the stage, winds round the third entrance P.S. as I wind,
and escorts me safely into your presence, where I find you
unwinding something slowly round and round your chest,
which is so long that no man can see the end of it.</p>

<p>Oh that you had been at Clarence Terrace on Nina's
birthday! Good God, how we missed you, talked of you,
drank your health, and wondered what you were doing!
Perhaps you are Falkland enough (I swear I suspect you
of it) to feel rather sore&mdash;just a little bit, you know, the
merest trifle in the world&mdash;on hearing that Mrs. Macready
looked brilliant, blooming, young, and handsome, and that
she danced a country dance with the writer hereof (Acres
to your Falkland) in a thorough spirit of becoming good
humour and enjoyment. Now you don't like to be told
that? Nor do you quite like to hear that Forster and I
conjured bravely; that a plum-pudding was produced from
an empty saucepan, held over a blazing fire kindled in
Stanfield's hat without damage to the lining; that a box of
bran was changed into a live guinea-pig, which ran between
my godchild's feet, and was the cause of such a shrill
uproar and clapping of hands that you might have heard it
(and I daresay did) in America; that three half-crowns
being taken from Major Burns and put into a tumbler-glass
before his eyes, did then and there give jingling
answers to the questions asked of them by me, and knew
where you were and what you were doing, to the unspeakable
admiration of the whole assembly. Neither do<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span>
you quite like to be told that we are going to do it again
next Saturday, with the addition of demoniacal dresses
from the masquerade shop; nor that Mrs. Macready, for
her gallant bearing always, and her best sort of best
affection, is the best creature I know. Never mind; no
man shall gag me, and those are my opinions.</p>

<p>My dear Macready, the lecturing proposition is not to
be thought of. I have not the slightest doubt or hesitation
in giving you my most strenuous and decided advice
against it. Looking only to its effect at home, I am
immovable in my conviction that the impression it would
produce would be one of failure, and a reduction of
yourself to the level of those who do the like here.
To us who know the Boston names and honour them,
and who know Boston and like it (Boston is what I would
have the whole United States to be), the Boston requisition
would be a valuable document, of which you and your
friends might be proud. But those names are perfectly
unknown to the public here, and would produce not the
least effect. The only thing known to the public here is,
that they ask (when I say "they" I mean the people)
everybody to lecture. It is one of the things I have
ridiculed in "Chuzzlewit." Lecture you, and you fall into
the roll of Lardners, Vandenhoffs, Eltons, Knowleses,
Buckinghams. You are off your pedestal, have flung away
your glass slipper, and changed your triumphal coach into
a seedy old pumpkin. I am quite sure of it, and cannot
express my strong conviction in language of sufficient force.</p>

<p>"Puff-ridden!" why to be sure they are. The nation is
a miserable Sindbad, and its boasted press the loathsome, foul
old man upon his back, and yet they will tell you, and proclaim
to the four winds for repetition here, that they don't
need their ignorant and brutal papers, as if the papers<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span>
could exist if they didn't need them! Let any two of these
vagabonds, in any town you go to, take it into their heads
to make you an object of attack, or to direct the general
attention elsewhere, and what avail those wonderful images
of passion which you have been all your life perfecting!</p>

<p>I have sent you, to the charge of our trusty and well-beloved
Colden, a little book I published on the 17th of
December, and which has been a most prodigious success&mdash;the
greatest, I think, I have ever achieved. It pleases me
to think that it will bring you home for an hour or two,
and I long to hear you have read it on some quiet morning.
Do they allow you to be quiet, by-the-way? "Some of our
most fashionable people, sir," denounced me awfully for
liking to be alone sometimes.</p>

<p>Now that we have turned Christmas, I feel as if your
face were directed homewards, Macready. The downhill
part of the road is before us now, and we shall travel on to
midsummer at a dashing pace; and, please Heaven, I will be
at Liverpool when you come steaming up the Mersey, with
that red funnel smoking out unutterable things, and your
heart much fuller than your trunks, though something
lighter! If I be not the first Englishman to shake hands
with you on English ground, the man who gets before me
will be a brisk and active fellow, and even then need put
his best leg foremost. So I warn Forster to keep in the
rear, or he'll be blown.</p>

<p>If you shall have any leisure to project and put on paper
the outline of a scheme for opening any theatre on your
return, upon a certain list subscribed, and on certain
understandings with the actors, it strikes me that it would
be wise to break ground while you are still away. Of course
I need not say that I will see anybody or do anything&mdash;even
to the calling together of the actors&mdash;if you should<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span>
ever deem it desirable. My opinion is that our respected
and valued friend Mr. &mdash;&mdash; will stagger through another
season, if he don't rot first. I understand he is in a
partial state of decomposition at this minute. He was very
ill, but got better. How is it that &mdash;&mdash; always do get
better, and strong hearts are so easy to die?</p>

<p>Kate sends her tender love; so does Georgy, so does
Charlie, so does Mamey, so does Katey, so does Walter, so
does the other one who is to be born next week. Look
homeward always, as we look abroad to you. God bless
you, my dear Macready.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever your affectionate Friend.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. Laman
Blanchard.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Devonshire Terrace</span>, <i>January 4th, 1844.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Blanchard</span>,</div>

<p>I cannot thank you enough for the beautiful manner
and the true spirit of friendship in which you have noticed
my "Carol." But I <i>must</i> thank you because you have filled
my heart up to the brim, and it is running over.</p>

<p>You meant to give me great pleasure, my dear fellow,
and you have done it. The tone of your elegant and
fervent praise has touched me in the tenderest place. I
cannot write about it, and as to talking of it, I could no
more do that than a dumb man. I have derived inexpressible
gratification from what I know was a labour of
love on your part. And I can never forget it.</p>

<p>When I think it likely that I may meet you (perhaps at
Ainsworth's on Friday?) I shall slip a "Carol" into my
pocket and ask you to put it among your books for
my sake. You will never like it the less for having made it
the means of so much happiness to me.</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 2em;">Always, my dear Blanchard,</span><br />
Faithfully your Friend.<br />
</div>

<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span></p>
<div class="sidenote">Mrs.
Charles
Dickens.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Liverpool, Radley's Hotel</span>, <i>Monday, Feb. 26th, 1844.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Kate</span>,</div>

<p>I got down here last night (after a most intolerably
wet journey) before seven, and found Thompson sitting by
my fire. He had ordered dinner, and we ate it pleasantly
enough, and went to bed in good time. This morning,
Mr. Yates, the great man connected with the Institution
(and a brother of Ashton Yates's), called. I went to look
at it with him. It is an enormous place, and the tickets
have been selling at two and even three guineas apiece.
The lecture-room, in which the celebration is held, will
accommodate over thirteen hundred people. It was being
fitted with gas after the manner of the ring at Astley's. I
should think it an easy place to speak in, being a semicircle
with seats rising one above another to the ceiling,
and will have eight hundred ladies to-night, in full dress.
I am rayther shaky just now, but shall pull up, I have no
doubt. At dinner-time to-morrow you will receive, I hope,
a facetious document hastily penned after I return to-night,
telling you how it all went off.</p>

<p>When I came back here, I found Fanny and Hewett had
picked me up just before. We all went off straight to the
<i>Britannia</i>, which lay where she did when we went on board.
We went into the old little cabin and the ladies' cabin, but
Mrs. Bean had gone to Scotland, as the ship does not sail
again before May. In the saloon we had some champagne
and biscuits, and Hewett had set out upon the table a
block of Boston ice, weighing fifty pounds. Scott, of the
<i>Caledonia</i>, lunched with us&mdash;a very nice fellow. He saw
Macready play Macbeth in Boston, and gave me a tremendous
account of the effect. Poor Burroughs, of the <i>George
Washington</i>, died on board, on his last passage home. His
little wife was with him.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span></p>

<p>Hewett dines with us to-day, and I have procured him
admission to-night. I am very sorry indeed (and so was
he), that you didn't see the old ship. It was the strangest
thing in the world to go on board again.</p>

<p>I had Bacon with me as far as Watford yesterday, and
very pleasant. Sheil was also in the train, on his way to
Ireland.</p>

<p>Give my best love to Georgy, and kisses to the darlings.
Also affectionate regards to Mac and Forster.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever affectionately.<br />
</div>



<div class='center'><br />OUT OF THE COMMON&mdash;PLEASE.<br /><br />

<span class="smcap">Dickens</span> <i>against</i> <span class="smcap">The World</span>.</div>


<p><span class="smcap">Charles Dickens</span>, of No. 1, Devonshire Terrace, York
Gate, Regent's Park, in the county of Middlesex, gentleman,
the successful plaintiff in the above cause, maketh oath
and saith: That on the day and date hereof, to wit at seven
o'clock in the evening, he, this deponent, took the chair at a
large assembly of the Mechanics' Institution at Liverpool, and
that having been received with tremendous and enthusiastic
plaudits, he, this deponent, did immediately dash into a
vigorous, brilliant, humorous, pathetic, eloquent, fervid, and
impassioned speech. That the said speech was enlivened
by thirteen hundred persons, with frequent, vehement,
uproarious, and deafening cheers, and to the best of this
deponent's knowledge and belief, he, this deponent, did
speak up like a man, and did, to the best of his knowledge
and belief, considerably distinguish himself. That after the
proceedings of the opening were over, and a vote of thanks
was proposed to this deponent, he, this deponent, did again
distinguish himself, and that the cheering at that time,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span>
accompanied with clapping of hands and stamping of feet,
was in this deponent's case thundering and awful. And this
deponent further saith, that his white-and-black or magpie
waistcoat, did create a strong sensation, and that during the
hours of promenading, this deponent heard from persons
surrounding him such exclamations as, "What is it! <i>Is</i>
it a waistcoat? No, it's a shirt"&mdash;and the like&mdash;all of
which this deponent believes to have been complimentary
and gratifying; but this deponent further saith that he is
now going to supper, and wishes he may have an appetite to
eat it.</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span class="smcap">Charles Dickens.</span><br />
</div>
<div>

<div>
<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Sworn statement">
<tr><td align='left'>Sworn before me, at the Adelphi</td><td align='left' rowspan='4'><div class="figcenter" style="width: 10px;">
<img src="images/largebracketpointright.png" width="10" height="100" alt="Bracket" title="Bracket" />
</div></td></tr>
<tr><td align='right'>Hotel, Liverpool, on the 26th</td></tr>
<tr><td align='right'>of February, 1844.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='right'><span class="smcap">S. Radley.</span></td></tr>
</table></div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr.
Clarkson
Stanfield.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Devonshire Terrace</span>, <i>April 30th, 1844.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Stanfield</span>,</div>

<p>The Sanatorium, or sick house for students, governesses,
clerks, young artists, and so forth, who are above
hospitals, and not rich enough to be well attended in illness
in their own lodgings (you know its objects), is going to
have a dinner at the London Tavern, on Tuesday, the 5th
of June.</p>

<p>The Committee are very anxious to have you for a
steward, as one of the heads of a large class; and I have
told them that I have no doubt you will act. There is no
steward's fee or collection whatever.</p>

<p>They are particularly anxious also to have Mr. Etty and
Edwin Landseer. As you see them daily at the Academy,
will you ask them or show them this note? Sir Martin<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span>
became one of the Committee some few years ago, at my
solicitation, as recommending young artists, struggling alone
in London, to the better knowledge of this establishment.</p>

<p>The dinner is to comprise the new feature of ladies
dining at the tables with the gentlemen&mdash;not looking down
upon them from the gallery. I hope in your reply you will
not only book yourself, but Mrs. Stanfield and Mary. It
will be very brilliant and cheerful I hope. Dick in the
chair. Gentlemen's dinner-tickets a guinea, as usual;
ladies', twelve shillings. I think this is all I have to say,
except (which is nonsensical and needless) that I am always,</p>

<div class='sig'>
Affectionately yours.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. Edwin
Landseer.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Athen&aelig;um</span>, <i>Monday Morning, May 27th, 1844.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Landseer</span>,</div>

<p>I have let my house with such delicious promptitude,
or, as the Americans would say, "with sich everlass'in
slickness and al-mity sprydom," that we turn out to-night!
in favour of a widow lady, who keeps it all the time we
are away!</p>

<p>Wherefore if you, looking up into the sky this evening
between five and six (as possibly you may be, in search of
the spring), should see a speck in the air&mdash;a mere dot&mdash;which,
growing larger and larger by degrees, appears in
course of time to be an eagle (chain and all) in a light cart,
accompanied by a raven of uncommon sagacity, curse that
good-nature which prompted you to say it&mdash;that you would
give them house-room. And do it for the love of</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span class="smcap">Boz.</span><br />
</div>

<p>P.S.&mdash;The writer hereof may be heerd on by personal
enquiry at No. 9, Osnaburgh Terrace, New Road.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span></p>


<div class="sidenote">Mr.
Charles
Knight.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Devonshire Terrace</span>, <i>June 4th, 1844.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,</div>

<p>Many thanks for your proof, and for your truly
gratifying mention of my name. I think the subject excellently
chosen, the introduction exactly what it should be,
the allusion to the International Copyright question most
honourable and manly, and the whole scheme full of the
highest interest. I had already seen your prospectus, and
if I can be of the feeblest use in advancing a project so
intimately connected with an end on which my heart is set&mdash;the
liberal education of the people&mdash;I shall be sincerely
glad. All good wishes and success attend you!</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 2em;">Believe me always,</span><br />
Faithfully yours.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr.
Dudley
Costello.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<i>June 7th, 1844.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">Dear Sir</span>,</div>

<p>Mrs. Harris, being in that delicate state (just confined,
and "made comfortable," in fact), hears some sounds
below, which she fancies may be the owls (or howls) of the
husband to whom she is devoted. They ease her mind by
informing her that these sounds are only organs. By
"they" I mean the gossips and attendants. By "organs"
I mean instrumental boxes with barrels in them, which are
commonly played by foreigners under the windows of people
of sedentary pursuits, on a speculation of being bribed to
leave the street. Mrs. Harris, being of a confiding nature,
believed in this pious fraud, and was fully satisfied "that
his owls was organs."</p>

<div class='sig'>
Faithfully yours.<br />
</div>

<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span></p>
<div class="sidenote">Mr.
Robert
Keeley.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
9, <span class="smcap">Osnaburgh Terrace</span>, <i>Monday Evening, June 24th, 1844.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My Dear Sir</span>,</div>

<p>I have been out yachting for two or three days; and
consequently could not answer your letter in due course.</p>

<p>I cannot, consistently with the opinion I hold and have
always held, in reference to the principle of adapting novels
for the stage, give you a prologue to "Chuzzlewit." But
believe me to be quite sincere in saying that if I felt I could
reasonably do such a thing for anyone, I would do it for
you.</p>

<p>I start for Italy on Monday next, but if you have the
piece on the stage, and rehearse on Friday, I will gladly
come down at any time you may appoint on that morning,
and go through it with you all. If you be not in a sufficiently
forward state to render this proposal convenient to
you, or likely to assist your preparations, do not take the
trouble to answer this note.</p>

<p>I presume Mrs. Keeley will do Ruth Pinch. If so, I feel
secure about her, and of Mrs. Gamp I am certain. But a
queer sensation begins in my legs, and comes upward to my
forehead, when I think of Tom.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Faithfully yours always.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. Daniel
Maclise.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Villa Di Bagnarello, Albaro</span>, <i>Monday, July 22nd, 1844.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My very dear Mac</span>,</div>

<p>I address you with something of the lofty spirit of an
exile&mdash;a banished commoner&mdash;a sort of Anglo-Pole. I
don't exactly know what I have done for my country in
coming away from it; but I feel it is something&mdash;something
great&mdash;something virtuous and heroic. Lofty emotions
rise within me, when I see the sun set on the blue<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span>
Mediterranean. I am the limpet on the rock. My father's
name is Turner and my boots are green.</p>

<p>Apropos of blue. In a certain picture, called "The
Serenade," you painted a sky. If you ever have occasion to
paint the Mediterranean, let it be exactly of that colour.
It lies before me now, as deeply and intensely blue. But
no such colour is above me. Nothing like it. In the South
of France&mdash;at Avignon, at Aix, at Marseilles&mdash;I saw deep
blue skies (not <i>so</i> deep though&mdash;oh Lord, no!), and also in
America; but the sky above me is familiar to my sight.
Is it heresy to say that I have seen its twin-brother shining
through the window of Jack Straw's&mdash;that down in Devonshire
I have seen a better sky? I daresay it is; but like
a great many other heresies, it is true.</p>

<p>But such green&mdash;green&mdash;green&mdash;as flutters in the vineyard
down below the windows, <i>that</i> I never saw; nor yet
such lilac, and such purple as float between me and the
distant hills; nor yet&mdash;in anything&mdash;picture, book, or
verbal boredom&mdash;such awful, solemn, impenetrable blue, as
is that same sea. It has such an absorbing, silent, deep,
profound effect, that I can't help thinking it suggested
the idea of Styx. It looks as if a draught of it&mdash;only so
much as you could scoop up on the beach, in the hollow of
your hand&mdash;would wash out everything else, and make a
great blue blank of your intellect.</p>

<p>When the sun sets clearly, then, by Heaven, it is
majestic! From any one of eleven windows here, or from
a terrace overgrown with grapes, you may behold the broad
sea; villas, houses, mountains, forts, strewn with rose
leaves&mdash;strewn with thorns&mdash;stifled in thorns! Dyed
through and through and through. For a moment. No
more. The sun is impatient and fierce, like everything else
in these parts, and goes down headlong. Run to fetch<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span>
your hat&mdash;and it's night. Wink at the right time of black
night&mdash;and it's morning. Everything is in extremes. There
is an insect here (I forget its name, and Fletcher and
Roche are both out) that chirps all day. There is one
outside the window now. The chirp is very loud, something
like a Brobdingnagian grasshopper. The creature is
born to chirp&mdash;to progress in chirping&mdash;to chirp louder,
louder, louder&mdash;till it gives one tremendous chirp, and
bursts itself. That is its life and death. Everything "is
in a concatenation accordingly." The day gets brighter,
brighter, brighter, till it's night. The summer gets
hotter, hotter, hotter, till it bursts. The fruit gets riper,
riper, riper, till it tumbles down and rots.</p>

<p>Ask me a question or two about fresco&mdash;will you be so
good? All the houses are painted in fresco hereabout&mdash;the
outside walls I mean; the fronts, and backs, and sides&mdash;and
all the colour has run into damp and green seediness, and
the very design has struggled away into the component
atoms of the plaster. Sometimes (but not often) I can
make out a Virgin with a mildewed glory round her
head; holding nothing, in an indiscernible lap, with invisible
arms; and occasionally the leg or arms of a
cherub, but it is very melancholy and dim. There are
two old fresco-painted vases outside my own gate&mdash;one
on either hand&mdash;which are so faint, that I never saw them
till last night; and only then because I was looking over
the wall after a lizard, who had come upon me while I
was smoking a cigar above, and crawled over one of
these embellishments to his retreat. There is a church
here&mdash;the Church of the Annunciation&mdash;which they are
now (by "they" I mean certain noble families) restoring
at a vast expense, as a work of piety. It is a large church,
with a great many little chapels in it, and a very high<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span>
dome. Every inch of this edifice is painted, and every
design is set in a great gold frame or border elaborately
wrought. You can imagine nothing so splendid. It is
worth coming the whole distance to see. But every sort of
splendour is in perpetual enactment through the means of
these churches. Gorgeous processions in the streets, illuminations
of windows on festa nights; lighting up of
lamps and clustering of flowers before the shrines of saints;
all manner of show and display. The doors of the churches
stand wide open; and in this hot weather great red curtains
flutter and wave in their palaces; and if you go and sit in
one of these to get out of the sun, you see the queerest
figures kneeling against pillars, and the strangest people
passing in and out, and vast streams of women in veils (they
don't wear bonnets), with great fans in their hands, coming
and going, that you are never tired of looking on. Except
in the churches, you would suppose the city (at this time of
year) to be deserted, the people keep so close within doors.
Indeed it is next to impossible to go out into the heat. I
have only been into Genoa twice myself. We are deliciously
cool here, by comparison; being high, and having the sea
breeze. There is always some shade in the vineyard, too;
and underneath the rocks on the sea-shore, so if I
choose to saunter I can do it easily, even in the hot time
of the day. I am as lazy, however, as&mdash;as you are, and do
little but eat and drink and read.</p>

<p>As I am going to transmit regular accounts of all sight-seeings
and journeyings to Forster, who will show them to
you, I will not bore you with descriptions, however. I
hardly think you allow enough for the great brightness and
brilliancy of colour which is commonly achieved on the
Continent, in that same fresco painting. I saw some&mdash;by a
French artist and his pupil&mdash;in progress at the cathedral at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span>
Avignon, which was as bright and airy as anything can be,&mdash;nothing
dull or dead about it; and I have observed quite
fierce and glaring colours elsewhere.</p>

<p>We have a piano now (there was none in the house), and
have fallen into a pretty settled easy track. We breakfast
about half-past nine or ten, dine about four, and go to bed
about eleven. We are much courted by the visiting people,
of course, and I very much resort to my old habit of bolting
from callers, and leaving their reception to Kate. Green
figs I have already learnt to like. Green almonds (we have
them at dessert every day) are the most delicious fruit in
the world. And green lemons, combined with some rare
hollands that is to be got here, make prodigious punch, I
assure you. You ought to come over, Mac; but I don't expect
you, though I am sure it would be a very good move for
you. I have not the smallest doubt of that. Fletcher has
made a sketch of the house, and will copy it in pen-and-ink
for transmission to you in my next letter. I shall look out
for a place in Genoa, between this and the winter time. In
the meantime, the people who come out here breathe
delightedly, as if they had got into another climate. Landing
in the city, you would hardly suppose it possible that there
could be such an air within two miles.</p>

<p>Write to me as often as you can, like a dear good
fellow, and rely upon the punctuality of my correspondence.
Losing you and Forster is like losing my arms and legs,
and dull and lame I am without you. But at Broadstairs
next year, please God, when it is all over, I shall be very
glad to have laid up such a store of recollections and
improvement.</p>

<p>I don't know what to do with Timber. He is as ill-adapted
to the climate at this time of year as a suit of fur.
I have had him made a lion dog; but the fleas flock in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span>
such crowds into the hair he has left, that they drive him
nearly frantic, and renders it absolutely necessary that he
should be kept by himself. Of all the miserable hideous
little frights you ever saw, you never beheld such a devil.
Apropos, as we were crossing the Seine within two stages
of Paris, Roche suddenly said to me, sitting by me on the
box: "The littel dog 'ave got a great lip!" I was thinking
of things remote and very different, and couldn't comprehend
why any peculiarity in this feature on the part of
the dog should excite a man so much. As I was musing
upon it, my ears were attracted by shouts of "Helo! hola!
Hi, hi, hi! Le voil&agrave;! Regardez!" and the like. And
looking down among the oxen&mdash;we were in the centre of a
numerous drove&mdash;I saw him, Timber, lying in the road,
curled up&mdash;you know his way&mdash;like a lobster, only not so
stiff, yelping dismally in the pain of his "lip" from the
roof of the carriage; and between the aching of his bones,
his horror of the oxen, and his dread of me (who he
evidently took to be the immediate agent in and cause of
the damage), singing out to an extent which I believe to
be perfectly unprecedented; while every Frenchman and
French boy within sight roared for company. He wasn't
hurt.</p>

<p>Kate and Georgina send their best loves; and the
children add "theirs." Katey, in particular, desires to be
commended to "Mr. Teese." She has a sore throat; from
sitting in constant draughts, I suppose; but with that
exception, we are all quite well. Ever believe me, my
dear Mac,</p>

<div class='sig'>
Your affectionate Friend.<br />
</div>

<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span></p>
<div class="sidenote">Rev.
Edward
Tagart.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Albaro, Near Genoa</span>, <i>Friday, August 9th, 1844.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,</div>

<p>I find that if I wait to write you a long letter (which
has been the cause of my procrastination in fulfilling my
part of our agreement), I am likely to wait some time
longer. And as I am very anxious to hear from you; not
the less so, because if I hear of you through my brother,
who usually sees you once a week in my absence; I take
pen in hand and stop a messenger who is going to Genoa.
For my main object being to qualify myself for the receipt
of a letter from you, I don't see why a ten-line qualification
is not as good as one of a hundred lines.</p>

<p>You told me it was possible that you and Mrs. Tagart
might wander into these latitudes in the autumn. I wish
you would carry out that infant intention to the utmost.
It would afford us the truest delight and pleasure to receive
you. If you come in October, you will find us in the
Palazzo Peschiere, in Genoa, which is surrounded by a
delicious garden, and is a most charming habitation in all
respects. If you come in September, you will find us less
splendidly lodged, but on the margin of the sea, and in the
midst of vineyards. The climate is delightful even now;
the heat being not at all oppressive, except in the actual
city, which is what the Americans would call considerable
fiery, in the middle of the day. But the sea-breezes out
here are refreshing and cool every day, and the bathing in
the early morning is something more agreeable than you can
easily imagine. The orange trees of the Peschiere shall
give you their most fragrant salutations if you come to us<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span>
at that time, and we have a dozen spare beds in that house
that I know of; to say nothing of some vast chambers
here and there with ancient iron chests in them, where
Mrs. Tagart might enact Ginevra to perfection, and never
be found out. To prevent which, I will engage to watch
her closely, if she will only come and see us.</p>

<p>The flies are incredibly numerous just now. The
unsightly blot a little higher up was occasioned by a
very fine one who fell into the inkstand, and came out,
unexpectedly, on the nib of my pen. We are all quite well,
thank Heaven, and had a very interesting journey here, of
which, as well as of this place, I will not write a word, lest
I should take the edge off those agreeable conversations
with which we will beguile our walks.</p>

<p>Pray tell me about the presentation of the plate, and
whether &mdash;&mdash; was very slow, or trotted at all, and if so,
when. He is an excellent creature, and I respect him very
much, so I don't mind smiling when I think of him as he
appeared when addressing you and pointing to the plate,
with his head a little on one side, and one of his eyes turned
up languidly.</p>

<p>Also let me know exactly how you are travelling, and
when, and all about it; that I may meet you with open
arms on the threshold of the city, if happily you bend your
steps this way. You had better address me, "Poste
Restante, Genoa," as the Albaro postman gets drunk, and
when he has lost letters, and is sober, sheds tears&mdash;which is
affecting, but hardly satisfactory.</p>

<p>Kate and her sister send their best regards to yourself,
and Mrs. and Miss Tagart, and all your family. I heartily
join them in all kind remembrances and good wishes. As
the messenger has just looked in at the door, and shedding
on me a balmy gale of onions, has protested against being<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span>
detained any longer, I will only say (which is not at all
necessary) that I am ever,</p>

<div class='sig'>
Faithfully yours.<br />
</div>

<p>P.S.&mdash;There is a little to see here, in the church way,
I assure you.</p>


<div class="sidenote">Mr.
Clarkson
Stanfield.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Albaro</span>, <i>Saturday Night, August 24th, 1844.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Stanfield</span>,</div>

<p>I love you so truly, and have such pride and joy of
heart in your friendship, that I don't know how to begin
writing to you. When I think how you are walking up and
down London in that portly surtout, and can't receive
proposals from Dick to go to the theatre, I fall into a state
between laughing and crying, and want some friendly back
to smite. "Je-im!" "Aye, aye, your honour," is in my
ears every time I walk upon the sea-shore here; and the
number of expeditions I make into Cornwall in my sleep,
the springs of Flys I break, the songs I sing, and the bowls
of punch I drink, would soften a heart of stone.</p>

<p>We have had weather here, since five o'clock this morning,
after your own heart. Suppose yourself the Admiral in
"Black-eyed Susan" after the acquittal of William, and
when it was possible to be on friendly terms with him. I
am T. P.<a name="FNanchor_4_4" id="FNanchor_4_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a> My trousers are very full at the ankles, my black
neckerchief is tied in the regular style, the name of my ship
is painted round my glazed hat, I have a red waistcoat on,
and the seams of my blue jacket are "paid"&mdash;permit me to
dig you in the ribs when I make use of this nautical expression&mdash;with
white. In my hand I hold the very box connected
with the story of Sandomingerbilly. I lift up my
eyebrows as far as I can (on the T. P. model), take a quid<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span>
from the box, screw the lid on again (chewing at the same
time, and looking pleasantly at the pit), brush it with my
right elbow, take up my right leg, scrape my right foot on
the ground, hitch up my trousers, and in reply to a question
of yours, namely, "Indeed, what weather, William?" I
deliver myself as follows:</p>

<div class="blockquot"><p>Lord love your honour! Weather! Such weather as would set all
hands to the pumps aboard one of your fresh-water cockboats, and set the
purser to his wits' ends to stow away, for the use of the ship's company, the
casks and casks full of blue water as would come powering in over the
gunnel! The dirtiest night, your honour, as ever you see 'atween Spithead
at gun-fire and the Bay of Biscay! The wind sou'-west, and your house
dead in the wind's eye; the breakers running up high upon the rocky
beads, the light'us no more looking through the fog than Davy Jones's
sarser eye through the blue sky of heaven in a calm, or the blue toplights
of your honour's lady cast down in a modest overhauling of her catheads:
avast! (<i>whistling</i>) my dear eyes; here am I a-goin' head on to the
breakers (<i>bowing</i>).</p>

<p><i>Admiral</i> (<i>smiling</i>). No, William! I admire plain speaking, as you know,
and so does old England, William, and old England's Queen. But you were
saying&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p><i>William.</i> Aye, aye, your honour (<i>scratching his head</i>). I've lost my
reckoning. Damme!&mdash;I ast pardon&mdash;but won't your honour throw a hencoop
<ins title="Transcriber's Note: this word not in original text">or</ins> any old end of towline to a man as is overboard?</p>

<p><i>Admiral</i> (<i>smiling still</i>). You were saying, William, that the wind&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p><i>William</i> (<i>again cocking his leg, and slapping the thighs very hard</i>). Avast
heaving, your honour! I see your honour's signal fluttering in the breeze,
without a glass. As I was a-saying, your honour, the wind was blowin'
from the sou'-west, due sou'-west, your honour, not a pint to larboard nor a
pint to starboard; the clouds a-gatherin' in the distance for all the world
like Beachy Head in a fog, the sea a-rowling in, in heaps of foam, and
making higher than the mainyard arm, the craft a-scuddin' by all taught
and under storms'ils for the harbour; not a blessed star a-twinklin' out
aloft&mdash;aloft, your honour, in the little cherubs' native country&mdash;and the
spray is flying like the white foam from the Jolly's lips when Poll of Portsea
took him for a tailor! (<i>laughs.</i>)</p>

<p><i>Admiral</i> (<i>laughing also</i>). You have described it well, William, and I
thank you. But who are these?</p>

<div class='hang1'><i>Enter Supers in calico jackets to look like cloth, some in brown
holland petticoat-trousers and big boots, all with very large
buckles. Last Super rolls on a cask, and pretends to keep it.
Other Supers apply their mugs to the bunghole and drink,
previously holding them upside down.</i></div>

<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span><i>William</i> (<i>after shaking hands with everybody</i>). Who are these, your
honour! Messmates as staunch and true as ever broke biscuit. Ain't you,
my lads?</p>

<p><i>All.</i> Aye, aye, William. That we are! that we are!</p>

<p><i>Admiral</i> (<i>much affected</i>). Oh, England, what wonder that&mdash;&mdash;! But I will
no longer detain you from your sports, my humble friends (<span class="smcap">Admiral</span>
<i>speaks very low, and looks hard at the orchestra, this being the cue for the
dance</i>)&mdash;from your sports, my humble friends. Farewell!</p>

<p><i>All.</i> Hurrah! hurrah! [<i>Exit</i> <span class="smcap">Admiral</span>.</p>

<p><i>Voice behind.</i> Suppose the dance, Mr. Stanfield. Are you all ready? Go
then!</p></div>

<p>My dear Stanfield, I wish you would come this way and
see me in that Palazzo Peschiere! Was ever man so welcome
as I would make you! What a truly gentlemanly action it
would be to bring Mrs. Stanfield and the baby. And how
Kate and her sister would wave pocket-handkerchiefs from
the wharf in joyful welcome! Ah, what a glorious
proceeding!</p>

<p>Do you know this place? Of course you do. I won't
bore you with anything about it, for I know Forster reads
my letters to you; but what a place it is. The views from
the hills here, and the immense variety of prospects of the
sea, are as striking, I think, as such scenery can be. Above
all, the approach to Genoa, by sea from Marseilles, constitutes
a picture which you ought to paint, for nobody else
can ever do it! William, you made that bridge at Avignon
better than it is. Beautiful as it undoubtedly is, you made
it fifty times better. And if I were Morrison, or one of that
school (bless the dear fellows one and all!), I wouldn't stand
it, but would insist on having another picture gratis, to
atone for the imposition.</p>

<p>The night is like a seaside night in England towards the
end of September. They say it is the prelude to clear
weather. But the wind is roaring now, and the sea is
raving, and the rain is driving down, as if they had all set<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span>
in for a real hearty picnic, and each had brought its own
relations to the general festivity. I don't know whether
you are acquainted with the coastguard and men in these
parts? They are extremely civil fellows, of a very amiable
manner and appearance, but the most innocent men in
matters you would suppose them to be well acquainted with,
in virtue of their office, that I ever encountered. One of
them asked me only yesterday, if it would take a year to get
to England in a ship? Which I thought for a coastguardman
was rather a tidy question. It would take a long time
to catch a ship going there if he were on board a pursuing
cutter though. I think he would scarcely do it in twelve
months, indeed.</p>

<p>So you were at Astley's t'other night. "Now, Mr.
Stickney, sir, what can I come for to go for to do for to
bring for to fetch for to carry for you, sir?" "He, he, he!
Oh, I say, sir!" "Well, sir?" "Miss Woolford knows
me, sir. She laughed at me!" I see him run away after
this; not on his feet, but on his knees and the calves of his
legs alternately; and that smell of sawdusty horses, which
was never in any other place in the world, salutes my nose
with painful distinctness. What do you think of my suddenly
finding myself a swimmer? But I have really made
the discovery, and skim about a little blue bay just below
the town here, like a fish in high spirits. I hope to preserve
my bathing-dress for your inspection and approval, or possibly
to enrich your collection of Italian costumes on my
return. Do you recollect Yarnold in "Masaniello"? I
fear that I, unintentionally, "dress at him," before plunging
into the sea. I enhanced the likeness very much, last Friday
morning, by singing a barcarole on the rocks. I was a
trifle too flesh-coloured (the stage knowing no medium
between bright salmon and dirty yellow), but apart from<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span>
that defect, not badly made up by any means. When you
write to me, my dear Stanny, as I hope you will soon,
address Poste Restante, Genoa. I remain out here until the
end of September, and send in for my letters daily. There
is a postman for this place, but he gets drunk and loses the
letters; after which he calls to say so, and to fall upon his
knees. About three weeks ago I caught him at a wine-shop
near here, playing bowls in the garden. It was then
about five o'clock in the afternoon, and he had been airing
a newspaper addressed to me, since nine o'clock in the
morning.</p>

<p>Kate and Georgina unite with me in most cordial remembrances
to Mrs. and Miss Stanfield, and to all the children.
They particularise all sorts of messages, but I tell them that
they had better write themselves if they want to send any.
Though I don't know that this writing would end in the
safe deliverance of the commodities after all; for when I
began this letter, I meant to give utterance to all kinds of
heartiness, my dear Stanfield; and I come to the end of it
without having said anything more than that I am&mdash;which
is new to you&mdash;under every circumstance and everywhere,</p>

<div class='sig'>
Your most affectionate Friend.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. W. C.
Macready.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Palazzo Peschiere, Genoa</span>, <i>October 14th, 1844.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My very dear Macready</span>,</div>

<p>My whole heart is with you <i>at home</i>. I have not yet
felt so far off as I do now, when I think of you there, and
cannot fold you in my arms. This is only a shake of the
hand. I couldn't <i>say</i> much to you, if I were home to greet
you. Nor can I write much, when I think of you, safe and
sound and happy, after all your wanderings.</p>

<p>My dear fellow, God bless you twenty thousand times.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span>
Happiness and joy be with you! I hope to see you soon.
If I should be so unfortunate as to miss you in London, I
will fall upon you, with a swoop of love, in Paris. Kate says
all kind things in the language; and means more than are
in the dictionary capacity of all the descendants of all the
stonemasons that worked at Babel. Again and again and
again, my own true friend, God bless you!</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever yours affectionately.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr.
Douglas
Jerrold.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Cremona</span>, <i>Saturday Night, October 16th, 1844.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Jerrold</span>,</div>

<p>As half a loaf is better than no bread, so I hope that
half a sheet of paper may be better than none at all, coming
from one who is anxious to live in your memory and friendship.
I should have redeemed the pledge I gave you in
this regard long since, but occupation at one time, and
absence from pen and ink at another, have prevented me.</p>

<p>Forster has told you, or will tell you, that I very much
wish you to hear my little Christmas book; and I hope you
will meet me, at his bidding, in Lincoln's Inn Fields. I
have tried to strike a blow upon that part of the brass
countenance of wicked Cant, when such a compliment is sorely
needed at this time, and I trust that the result of my training
is at least the exhibition of a strong desire to make it a
staggerer. If <i>you</i> should think at the end of the four
rounds (there are no more) that the said Cant, in the
language of <i>Bell's Life</i>, "comes up piping," I shall be very
much the better for it.</p>

<p>I am now on my way to Milan; and from thence (after
a day or two's rest) I mean to come to England by the
grandest Alpine pass that the snow may leave open. You
know this place as famous of yore for fiddles. I don't see<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span>
any here now. But there is a whole street of coppersmiths
not far from this inn; and they throb so d&mdash;&mdash;ably and
fitfully, that I thought I had a palpitation of the heart after
dinner just now, and seldom was more relieved than when I
found the noise to be none of mine.</p>

<p>I was rather shocked yesterday (I am not strong in
geographical details) to find that Romeo was only banished
twenty-five miles. That is the distance between Mantua
and Verona. The latter is a quaint old place, with great
houses in it that are now solitary and shut up&mdash;exactly the
place it ought to be. The former has a great many apothecaries
in it at this moment, who could play that part to the
life. For of all the stagnant ponds I ever beheld, it is the
greenest and weediest. I went to see the old palace of the
Capulets, which is still distinguished by their cognizance (a
hat carved in stone on the courtyard wall). It is a miserable
inn. The court was full of crazy coaches, carts, geese,
and pigs, and was ankle-deep in mud and dung. The
garden is walled off and built out. There was nothing to
connect it with its old inhabitants, and a very unsentimental
lady at the kitchen door. The Montagues used to live some
two or three miles off in the country. It does not appear
quite clear whether they ever inhabited Verona itself. But
there is a village bearing their name to this day, and traditions
of the quarrels between the two families are still
as nearly alive as anything can be, in such a drowsy
neighbourhood.</p>

<p>It was very hearty and good of you, Jerrold, to
make that affectionate mention of the "Carol" in <i>Punch</i>,
and I assure you it was not lost on the distant object of
your manly regard, but touched him as you wished and
meant it should. I wish we had not lost so much time in
improving our personal knowledge of each other. But I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span>
have so steadily read you, and so selfishly gratified myself
in always expressing the admiration with which your gallant
truths inspired me, that I must not call it time lost, either.</p>

<p>You rather entertained a notion, once, of coming to see
me at Genoa. I shall return straight, on the 9th of
December, limiting my stay in town to one week. Now
couldn't you come back with me? The journey, that way,
is very cheap, costing little more than twelve pounds; and
I am sure the gratification to you would be high. I am
lodged in quite a wonderful place, and would put you in a
painted room, as big as a church and much more comfortable.
There are pens and ink upon the premises; orange
trees, gardens, battledores and shuttlecocks, rousing wood-fires
for evenings, and a welcome worth having.</p>

<p>Come! Letter from a gentleman in Italy to Bradbury
and Evans in London. Letter from a gentleman in a
country gone to sleep to a gentleman in a country that
would go to sleep too, and never wake again, if some people
had their way. You can work in Genoa. The house is
used to it. It is exactly a week's post. Have that portmanteau
looked to, and when we meet, say, "I am coming."</p>

<p>I have never in my life been so struck by any place as
by Venice. It is <i>the</i> wonder of the world. Dreamy, beautiful,
inconsistent, impossible, wicked, shadowy, d&mdash;&mdash;able
old place. I entered it by night, and the sensation of
that night and the bright morning that followed is a
part of me for the rest of my existence. And, oh
God! the cells below the water, underneath the Bridge of
Sighs; the nook where the monk came at midnight to
confess the political offender; the bench where he was
strangled; the deadly little vault in which they tied him in
a sack, and the stealthy crouching little door through
which they hurried him into a boat, and bore him away to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span>
sink him where no fisherman dare cast his net&mdash;all shown
by torches that blink and wink, as if they were ashamed to
look upon the gloomy theatre of sad horrors; past and
gone as they are, these things stir a man's blood, like a
great wrong or passion of the instant. And with these in
their minds, and with a museum there, having a chamber
full of such frightful instruments of torture as the devil
in a brain fever could scarcely invent, there are hundreds of
parrots, who will declaim to you in speech and print, by the
hour together, on the degeneracy of the times in which a
railroad is building across the water at Venice; instead of
going down on their knees, the drivellers, and thanking
Heaven that they live in a time when iron makes roads,
instead of prison bars and engines for driving screws into
the skulls of innocent men. Before God, I could almost
turn bloody-minded, and shoot the parrots of our island
with as little compunction as Robinson Crusoe shot the
parrots in his.</p>

<p>I have not been in bed, these ten days, after five in the
morning, and have been, travelling many hours every day.
If this be the cause of my inflicting a very stupid and
sleepy letter on you, my dear Jerrold, I hope it will be a
kind of signal at the same time, of my wish to hail you
lovingly even from this sleepy and unpromising state. And
believe me as I am,</p>

<div class='sig'>
Always your Friend and Admirer.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr.
Thomas
Mitton.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Peschiere, Genoa</span>, <i>Tuesday, Nov. 5th, 1844.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Mitton</span>,</div>

<p>The cause of my not having written to you is too
obvious to need any explanation. I have worn myself to
death in the month I have been at work. None of my<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span>
usual reliefs have been at hand; I have not been able to
divest myself of the story&mdash;have suffered very much in my
sleep in consequence&mdash;and am so shaken by such work in
this trying climate, that I am as nervous as a man who is
dying of drink, and as haggard as a murderer.</p>

<p>I believe I have written a tremendous book, and
knocked the "Carol" out of the field. It will make a
great uproar, I have no doubt.</p>

<p>I leave here to-morrow for Venice and many other
places; and I shall certainly come to London to see my
proofs, coming by new ground all the way, cutting through
the snow in the valleys of Switzerland, and plunging through
the mountains in the dead of winter. I would accept your
hearty offer with right goodwill, but my visit being one of
business and consultation, I see impediments in the way,
and insurmountable reasons for not doing so. Therefore, I
shall go to an hotel in Covent Garden, where they know me
very well, and with the landlord of which I have already
communicated. My orders are not upon a mighty scale,
extending no further than a good bedroom and a cold
shower-bath.</p>

<p>Bradbury and Evans are going at it, ding-dong, and are
wild with excitement. All news on that subject (and on
every other) I must defer till I see you. That will be
immediately after I arrive, of course. Most likely on
Monday, 2nd December.</p>

<p>Kate and her sister (who send their best regards) and
all the children are as well as possible. The house is
<i>perfect</i>; the servants are as quiet and well-behaved as at
home, which very rarely happens here, and Roche is my
right hand. There never was such a fellow.</p>

<p>We have now got carpets down&mdash;burn fires at night&mdash;draw
the curtains, and are quite wintry. We have a box at<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span>
the opera, which, is close by (for nothing), and sit there
when we please, as in our own drawing-room. There have
been three fine days in four weeks. On every other the
water has been falling down in one continual sheet, and it
has been thundering and lightening every day and night.</p>

<p>My hand shakes in that feverish and horrible manner
that I can hardly hold a pen. And I have so bad a cold
that I can't see.</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 2em;">In haste to save the post,</span><br />
Ever faithfully.<br />
</div>

<p>P.S.&mdash;Charley has a writing-master every day, and a
French master. He and his sisters are to be waited on
by a professor of the noble art of dancing, next week.</p>


<div class="sidenote">Mrs.
Charles
Dickens.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Parma, Albergo della Posta</span>, <i>Friday, Nov. 8th, 1844.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dearest Kate</span>,</div>

<p>"If missis could see us to-night, what would she
say?" That was the brave C.'s remark last night at midnight,
and he had reason. We left Genoa, as you know,
soon after five on the evening of my departure; and in
company with the lady whom you saw, and the dog whom I
don't think you did see, travelled all night at the rate of
four miles an hour over bad roads, without the least refreshment
until daybreak, when the brave and myself escaped
into a miserable caff&eacute; while they were changing horses, and
got a cup of that drink hot. That same day, a few hours
afterwards, between ten and eleven, we came to (I hope) the
d&mdash;&mdash;dest inn in the world, where, in a vast chamber,
rendered still more desolate by the presence of a most offensive
specimen of what D'Israeli calls the Mosaic Arab (who
had a beautiful girl with him), I regaled upon a breakfast,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span>
almost as cold, and damp, and cheerless, as myself. Then,
in another coach, much smaller than a small Fly, I was packed
up with an old padre, a young Jesuit, a provincial avvocato, a
private gentleman with a very red nose and a very wet brown
umbrella, and the brave C. and I went on again at the same
pace through the mud and rain until four in the afternoon,
when there was a place in the coup&eacute; (two indeed), which I
took, holding that select compartment in company with a very
ugly but very agreeable Tuscan "gent," who said "<i>gia</i>"
instead of "<i>si</i>," and rung some other changes in this
changing language, but with whom I got on very well, being
extremely conversational. We were bound, as you know
perhaps, for Piacenza, but it was discovered that we couldn't
get to Piacenza, and about ten o'clock at night we halted at
a place called Stradella, where the inn was a series of queer
galleries open to the night, with a great courtyard full of
waggons and horses, and "<i>velociferi</i>," and what not in the
centre. It was bitter cold and very wet, and we all walked
into a bare room (mine!) with two immensely broad beds on
two deal dining-tables, a third great empty table, the usual
washing-stand tripod, with a slop-basin on it, and two chairs.
And then we walked up and down for three-quarters of an
hour or so, while dinner, or supper, or whatever it was, was
getting ready. This was set forth (by way of variety) in the
old priest's bedroom, which had two more immensely broad
beds on two more deal dining-tables in it. The first dish
was a cabbage boiled in a great quantity of rice and hot
water, the whole flavoured with cheese. I was so cold that
I thought it comfortable, and so hungry that a bit of cabbage,
when I found such a thing floating my way, charmed
me. After that we had a dish of very little pieces of pork,
fried with pigs' kidneys; after that a fowl; after that something
very red and stringy, which I think was veal; and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span>
after that two tiny little new-born-baby-looking turkeys,
very red and very swollen. Fruit, of course, to wind up,
and garlic in one shape or another in every course. I made
three jokes at supper (to the immense delight of the
company), and retired early. The brave brought in a bush
or two and made a fire, and after that a glass of screeching
hot brandy and water; that bottle of his being full of brandy.
I drank it at my leisure, undressed before the fire, and went
into one of the beds. The brave reappeared about an hour
afterwards and went into the other; previously tying a
pocket-handkerchief round and round his head in a strange
fashion, and giving utterance to the sentiment with which
this letter begins. At five this morning we resumed our
journey, still through mud and rain, and at about eleven
arrived at Piacenza; where we fellow-passengers took leave
of one another in the most affectionate manner. As there
was no coach on till six at night, and as it was a very grim,
despondent sort of place, and as I had had enough of diligences
for one while, I posted forward here in the strangest
carriages ever beheld, which we changed when we changed
horses. We arrived here before six. The hotel is quite
French. I have dined very well in my own room on the
second floor; and it has two beds in it, screened off from
the room by drapery. I only use one to-night, and that is
already made.</p>

<p>I purpose posting on to Bologna, if I can arrange it, at
twelve to-morrow; seeing the sights here first.</p>

<p>It is dull work this travelling alone. My only comfort
is in motion. I look forward with a sort of shudder to
Sunday, when I shall have a day to myself in Bologna; and
I think I must deliver my letters in Venice in sheer desperation.
Never did anybody want a companion after dinner
so much as I do.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span></p>

<p>There has been music on the landing outside my door
to-night. Two violins and a violoncello. One of the violins
played a solo, and the others struck in as an orchestra does
now and then, very well. Then he came in with a small tin
platter. "Bella musica," said I. "Bellissima musica,
signore. Mi piace moltissimo. Sono felice, signoro," said
he. I gave him a franc. "O moltissimo generoso. Tanto
generoso signore!"</p>

<p>It was a joke to laugh at when I was learning, but I
swear unless I could stagger on, Zoppa-wise, with the people,
I verily believe I should have turned back this morning.</p>

<p>In all other respects I think the entire change has done
me undoubted service already. I am free of the book, and
am red-faced; and feel marvellously disposed to sleep.</p>

<p>So for all the straggling qualities of this straggling
letter, want of sleep must be responsible. Give my best love
to Georgy, and my paternal blessing to</p>

<div class='center'>
Mamey,<br />
Katey,<br />
Charley,<br />
Wally,<br />
and<br />
Chickenstalker.<br />
</div>

<p>P.S.&mdash;Get things in their places. I can't bear to picture
them otherwise.</p>

<p>P.P.S.&mdash;I think I saw Roche sleeping with his head on
the lady's shoulder, in the coach. I couldn't swear it, and
the light was deceptive. But I think I did.</p>

<div class='unindent'>
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Alia sign<sup>a</sup></span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Sign<sup>a</sup> Dickens.</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Palazzo Peschiere, Genova.</span><br /></div>


<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span></p>


<div class="sidenote">Mrs.
Charles
Dickens.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Fribourg</span>, <i>Saturday Night, November 23rd, 1844.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dearest Kate</span>,</div>

<p>For the first time since I left you I am sitting in a
room of my own hiring, with a fire and a bed in it. And I
am happy to say that I have the best and fullest intentions
of sleeping in the bed, having arrived here at half-past four
this afternoon, without any cessation of travelling, night or
day, since I parted from Mr. Bairr's cheap firewood.</p>

<p>The Alps appeared in sight very soon after we left
Milan&mdash;by eight or nine o'clock in the morning; and the
brave C. was so far wrong in his calculations that we began
the ascent of the Simplon that same night, while you were
travelling (as I would I were) towards the Peschiere. Most
favourable state of circumstances for journeying up that
tremendous pass! The brightest moon I ever saw, all
night, and daybreak on the summit. The glory of which,
making great wastes of snow a rosy red, exceeds all telling.
We <i>sledged</i> through the snow on the summit for two hours
or so. The weather was perfectly fair and bright, and
there was neither difficulty nor danger&mdash;except the danger
that there always must be, in such a place, of a horse
stumbling on the brink of an immeasurable precipice. In
which case no piece of the unfortunate traveller would be
left large enough to tell his story in dumb show. You may
imagine something of the rugged grandeur of such a scene
as this great passage of these great mountains, and indeed
Glencoe, well sprinkled with snow, would be very like the
ascent. But the top itself, so wild, and bleak, and lonely,
is a thing by itself, and not to be likened to any other
sight. The cold was piercing; the north wind high and
boisterous; and when it came driving in our faces, bringing
a sharp shower of little points of snow and piercing it into<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span>
our very blood, it really was, what it is often said to be,
"cutting"&mdash;with a very sharp edge too. There are houses
of refuge here&mdash;bleak, solitary places&mdash;for travellers overtaken
by the snow to hurry to, as an escape from death;
and one great house, called the Hospital, kept by monks,
where wayfarers get supper and bed for nothing. We saw
some coming out and pursuing their journey. If all monks
devoted themselves to such uses, I should have little fault
to find with them.</p>

<p>The cold in Switzerland, since, has been something quite
indescribable. My eyes are tingling to-night as one may
suppose cymbals to tingle when they have been lustily
played. It is positive pain to me to write. The great
organ which I was to have had "pleasure in hearing"
don't play on a Sunday, at which the brave is inconsolable.
But the town is picturesque and quaint, and worth seeing.
And this inn (with a German bedstead in it about the size
and shape of a baby's linen-basket) is perfectly clean and
comfortable. Butter is so cheap hereabouts that they bring
you a great mass like the squab of a sofa for tea. And of
honey, which is most delicious, they set before you a proportionate
allowance. We start to-morrow morning at six
for Strasburg, and from that town, or the next halting-place
on the Rhine, I will report progress, if it be only in
half-a-dozen words.</p>

<p>I am anxious to hear that you reached Genoa quite
comfortably, and shall look forward with impatience to that
letter which you are to indite with so much care and pains
next Monday. My best love to Georgy, and to Charley,
and Mamey, and Katey, and Wally, and Chickenstalker.
I have treated myself to a new travelling-cap to-night (my
old one being too thin), and it is rather a prodigious affair I
flatter myself.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span></p>

<p>Swiss towns, and mountains, and the Lake of Geneva,
and the famous suspension bridge at this place, and a great
many other objects (with a very low thermometer conspicuous
among them), are dancing up and down me,
strangely. But I am quite collected enough, notwithstanding,
to have still a very distinct idea that this hornpipe
travelling is uncomfortable, and that I would gladly
start for my palazzo out of hand without any previous rest,
stupid as I am and much as I want it.</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 4em;">Ever, my dear love,</span><br />
Affectionately yours.<br />
</div>

<p>P.S.&mdash;I hope the dancing lessons will be a success.
Don't fail to let me know.</p>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. W. C.
Macready.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span style="margin-right: 2em;"><span class="smcap">H&ocirc;tel Bristol, Paris</span>, <i>Thursday Night,</i></span><br />
<i>Nov. 28th, 1844, Half-past Ten.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dearest Macready</span>,</div>

<p>Since I wrote to you what would be called in law
proceedings the exhibit marked A, I have been round to
the H&ocirc;tel Brighton, and personally examined and cross-examined
the attendants. It is painfully clear to me that
I shall not see you to-night, nor until Tuesday, the 10th
of December, when, please God, I shall re-arrive here, on
my way to my Italian bowers. I mean to stay all the
Wednesday and all the Thursday in Paris. One night to
see you act (my old delight when you little thought of such
a being in existence), and one night to read to you and
Mrs. Macready (if that scamp of Lincoln's Inn Fields has
not anticipated me) my little Christmas book, in which I
have endeavoured to plant an indignant right-hander on
the eye of certain wicked Cant that makes my blood boil,
which I hope will not only cloud that eye with black and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span>
blue, but many a gentle one with crystal of the finest sort.
God forgive me, but I think there are good things in the
little story!</p>

<p>I took it for granted you were, as your American friends
say, "in full blast" here, and meant to have sent a
card into your dressing-room, with "Mr. G. S. Hancock
Muggridge, United States," upon it. But Paris looks
coldly on me without your eye in its head, and not being
able to shake your hand I shake my own head dolefully,
which is but poor satisfaction.</p>

<p>My love to Mrs. Macready. I will swear to the death
that it is truly hers, for her gallantry in your absence if for
nothing else, and to you, my dear Macready, I am ever a
devoted friend.</p>


<div class="sidenote">Mrs.
Charles
Dickens.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">H&ocirc;tel Bristol, Paris</span>, <i>Thursday Night, Nov. 28th, 1844.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dearest Kate</span>,</div>

<p>With an intolerable pen and no ink, I am going to
write a few lines to you to report progress.</p>

<p>I got to Strasburg on Monday night, intending to go
down the Rhine. But the weather being foggy, and the
season quite over, they could not insure me getting on for
certain beyond Mayence, or our not being detained by
unpropitious weather. Therefore I resolved (the malle
poste being full) to take the diligence hither next day in
the afternoon. I arrived here at half-past five to-night,
after fifty hours of it in a French coach. I was so beastly
dirty when I got to this house, that I had quite lost all
sense of my identity, and if anybody had said, "Are you
Charles Dickens?" I should have unblushingly answered,
"No; I never heard of him." A good wash, and a good
dress, and a good dinner have revived me, however; and I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span>
can report of this house, concerning which the brave was so
anxious when we were here before, that it is the best I ever
was in. My little apartment, consisting of three rooms and
other conveniences, is a perfect curiosity of completeness.
You never saw such a charming little baby-house. It is
infinitely smaller than those first rooms we had at Meurice's,
but for elegance, compactness, comfort, and quietude,
exceeds anything I ever met with at an inn.</p>

<p>The moment I arrived here, I enquired, of course, after
Macready. They said the English theatre had not begun
yet, that they thought he was at Meurice's, where they knew
some members of the company to be. I instantly despatched
the porter with a note to say that if he were there, I would
come round and hug him, as soon as I was clean. They
referred the porter to the H&ocirc;tel Brighton. He came back
and told me that the answer there was: "M. Macready's
rooms were engaged, but he had not arrived. He was
expected to-night!" If we meet to-night, I will add a
postscript. Wouldn't it be odd if we met upon the road
between this and Boulogne to-morrow?</p>

<p>I mean, as a recompense for my late sufferings, to get a
hackney-carriage if I can and post that journey, starting
from here at eight to-morrow morning, getting to Boulogne
sufficiently early next morning to cross at once, and dining
with Forster that same day&mdash;to wit, Saturday. I have
notions of taking you with me on my next journey (if you
would like to go), and arranging for Georgy to come to us
by steamer&mdash;under the protection of the English captain,
for instance&mdash;to Naples; there I would top and cap all our
walks by taking her up to the crater of Vesuvius with me.
But this is dependent on her ability to be perfectly happy
for a fortnight or so in our stately palace with the children,
and such foreign aid as the Simpsons. For I love her too<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span>
dearly to think of any project which would involve her being
uncomfortable for that space of time.</p>

<p>You can think this over, and talk it over; and I will join
you in doing so, please God, when I return to our Italian
bowers, which I shall be heartily glad to do.</p>

<p>They tell us that the landlord of this house, going to
London some week or so ago, was detained at Boulogne two
days by a high sea, in which the packet could not put out.
So I hope there is the greater chance of no such bedevilment
happening to me.</p>

<p>Paris is better than ever. Oh dear, how grand it was
when I came through it in that caravan to-night! I hope
we shall be very hearty here, and able to say with Wally,
"Han't it plassant!"</p>

<p>Love to Charley, Mamey, Katey, Wally, and Chickenstalker.
The last-named, I take it for granted, is indeed
prodigious.</p>

<p>Best love to Georgy.</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 3em;">Ever, my dearest Kate,</span><br />
Affectionately yours.<br />
</div>

<p>P.S.&mdash;I have been round to Macready's hotel; it is now
past ten, and he has not arrived, nor does it seem at all
certain that he seriously intended to arrive to-night. So I
shall not see him, I take it for granted, until my return.</p>


<div class="sidenote">Mrs.
Charles
Dickens.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span style="margin-right: 2em;"><span class="smcap">Piazza Coffee House, Covent Garden</span>,</span><br />
<i>Monday, Dec. 2nd, 1844.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dearest Kate</span>,</div>

<p>I received, with great delight, your <i>excellent</i> letter
of this morning. Do not regard this as my answer to it.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span>
It is merely to say that I have been at Bradbury and
Evans's all day, and have barely time to write more than
that I <i>will</i> write to-morrow. I arrived about seven on
Saturday evening, and rushed into the arms of Mac and
Forster. Both of them send their best love to you and
Georgy, with a heartiness not to be described.</p>

<p>The little book is now, as far as I am concerned, all
ready. One cut of Doyle's and one of Leech's I found so
unlike my ideas, that I had them both to breakfast with me
this morning, and with that winning manner which you
know of, got them with the highest good humour to do
both afresh. They are now hard at it. Stanfield's readiness,
delight, wonder at my being pleased with what he
has done is delicious. Mac's frontispiece is charming.
The book is quite splendid; the expenses will be very great,
I have no doubt.</p>

<p>Anybody who has heard it has been moved in the
most extraordinary manner. Forster read it (for dramatic
purposes) to A'Beckett. He cried so much and so painfully,
that Forster didn't know whether to go on or stop;
and he called next day to say that any expression of his
feeling was beyond his power. But that he believed it, and
felt it to be&mdash;I won't say what.</p>

<p>As the reading comes off to-morrow night, I had better
not despatch my letters to you until <i>Wednesday's</i> post. I
must close to save this (heartily tired I am, and I dine at
Gore House to-day), so with love to Georgy, Mamey, Katey,
Charley, Wally, and Chickenstalker, ever, believe me,</p>

<div class='sig'>
Yours, with true affection.<br />
</div>

<p>P.S.&mdash;If you had seen Macready last night, undisguisedly
sobbing and crying on the sofa as I read, you
would have felt, as I did, what a thing it is to have power.</p>




<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span></p>
<h2>1845.</h2>

<h3>NARRATIVE.</h3>


<div class='unindent'><span class='smcap'>At</span> the beginning of this year, Charles Dickens was still
living at the Palazzo Peschiere, Genoa, with his family. In
February, he went with his wife to Rome for the Carnival,
leaving his sister-in-law and children at Genoa; Miss Hogarth
joining them later on at Naples. They all returned to Rome
for the Holy Week, and then went to Florence, and so back
to Genoa. He continued his residence at Genoa until June
of this year, when he returned to England by Switzerland and
Belgium, the party being met at Brussels by Mr. Forster,
Mr. Maclise, and Mr. Douglas Jerrold, and arriving at
home at the end of June. The autumn months, until the
1st October, were again spent at Broadstairs. And in
this September was the first amateur play at Miss Kelly's
theatre in Dean Street, under the management of Charles
Dickens, with Messrs. Jerrold, Mark Lemon, John Leech,
Gilbert A'Beckett, Leigh, Frank Stone, Forster, and others
as his fellow-actors. The play selected was Ben Jonson's
"Every Man in his Humour," in which Charles Dickens acted
Captain Bobadil. The first performance was a private one,
merely as an entertainment for the actors and their friends,
but its success speedily led to a repetition of the same performance,
and afterwards to many other performances for
public and charitable objects. "Every Man in his Humour"
was shortly after repeated, at the same little theatre, for a
useful charity which needed help; and later in the year
Beaumont and Fletcher's play of "The Elder Brother" was
given by the same company, at the same place, for the
benefit of Miss Kelly. There was a farce played after the
comedy on each occasion&mdash;not always the same one&mdash;in
which Charles Dickens and Mark Lemon were the principal
actors.</div>

<p>The letters which we have for this year, refer, with very
few exceptions, to these theatricals, and therefore need no
explanation.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span></p>

<p>He was at work at the end of this year on another
Christmas book, "The Cricket on the Hearth," and was
also much occupied with the project of <i>The Daily News</i>
paper, of which he undertook the editorship at its starting,
which took place in the beginning of the following year,
1846.</p>


<div class="sidenote">Miss
Hogarth.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Rome</span>, <i>Tuesday, February 4th, 1845.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dearest Georgy</span>,</div>

<p>This is a very short note, but time is still shorter.
Come by the first boat by all means. If there be a good
one a day or two before it, come by that. Don't delay on
any account. I am very sorry you are not here. The
Carnival is a very remarkable and beautiful sight. I have
been regretting the having left you at home all the way
here.</p>

<p>Kate says, will you take counsel with Charlotte about
colour (I put in my word, as usual, for brightness), and have
the darlings' bonnets made at once, by the same artist as
before? Kate would have written, but is gone with Black
to a day performance at the opera, to see Cerito dance.
At two o'clock each day we sally forth in an open carriage,
with a large sack of sugar-plums and at least five hundred
little nosegays to pelt people with. I should think we
threw away, yesterday, a thousand of the latter. We had
the carriage filled with flowers three or four times. I wish
you could have seen me catch a swell brigand on the nose
with a handful of very large confetti every time we met
him. It was the best thing I have ever done. "The
Chimes" are nothing to it.</p>

<p>Anxiously expecting you, I am ever,</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 6em;">Dear Georgy,</span><br />
Yours most affectionately.<br />
</div>

<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span></p>
<div class="sidenote">Mr.
Thomas
Mitton.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Naples</span>, <i>Monday, February 17th, 1845.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Mitton</span>,</div>

<p>This will be a hasty letter, for I am as badly off in
this place as in America&mdash;beset by visitors at all times and
seasons, and forced to dine out every day. I have found,
however, an excellent man for me&mdash;an Englishman, who
has lived here many years, and is well acquainted with
<i>the people</i>, whom he doctored in the bad time of the
cholera, when the priests and everybody else fled in
terror.</p>

<p>Under his auspices, I have got to understand the low
life of Naples (among the fishermen and idlers) almost as
well as I understand the do. do. of my own country; always
excepting the language, which is very peculiar and extremely
difficult, and would require a year's constant practice at
least. It is no more like Italian than English is to Welsh.
And as they don't say half of what they mean, but make a
wink or a kick stand for a whole sentence, it's a marvel to
me how they comprehend each other. At Rome they speak
beautiful Italian (I am pretty strong at that, I believe); but
they are worse here than in Genoa, which I had previously
thought impossible.</p>

<p>It is a fine place, but nothing like so beautiful as people
make it out to be. The famous bay is, to my thinking, as
a piece of scenery, immeasurably inferior to the Bay of
Genoa, which is the most lovely thing I have ever
seen. The city, in like manner, will bear no comparison
with Genoa. But there is none in Italy that will, except
Venice. As to houses, there is no palace like the Peschiere
for architecture, situation, gardens, or rooms. It is a great
triumph to me, too, to find how cheap it is. At Rome,
the English people live in dirty little fourth, fifth, and
sixth floors, with not one room as large as your own<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span>
drawing-room, and pay, commonly, seven or eight pounds
a week.</p>

<p>I was a week in Rome on my way here, and saw the
Carnival, which is perfectly delirious, and a great scene for
a description. All the ancient part of Rome is wonderful
and impressive in the extreme. Far beyond the possibility
of exaggeration as to the modern part, it might be anywhere
or anything&mdash;Paris, Nice, Boulogne, Calais, or one of a
thousand other places.</p>

<p>The weather is so atrocious (rain, snow, wind, darkness,
hail, and cold) that I can't get over into Sicily. But I don't
care very much about it, as I have planned out ten days of
excursion into the neighbouring country. One thing of
course&mdash;the ascent of Vesuvius, Herculaneum and Pompeii,
the two cities which were covered by its melted ashes, and
dug out in the first instance accidentally, are more full of
interest and wonder than it is possible to imagine. I have
heard of some ancient tombs (quite unknown to travellers)
dug in the bowels of the earth, and extending for some
miles underground. They are near a place called Viterbo,
on the way from Rome to Florence. I shall lay in a small
stock of torches, etc., and explore them when I leave
Rome. I return there on the 1st of March, and shall stay
there nearly a month.</p>

<p>Saturday, February 22nd.&mdash;Since I left off as above,
I have been away on an excursion of three days. Yesterday
evening, at four o'clock, we began (a small party of six) the
ascent of Mount Vesuvius, with six saddle-horses, an armed
soldier for a guard, and twenty-two guides. The latter
rendered necessary by the severity of the weather, which
is greater than has been known for twenty years, and has
covered the precipitous part of the mountain with deep
snow, the surface of which is glazed with one smooth sheet<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span>
of ice from the top of the cone to the bottom. By starting
at that hour I intended to get the sunset about halfway up,
and night at the top, where the fire is raging. It was an
inexpressibly lovely night without a cloud; and when the
day was quite gone, the moon (within a few hours of the
full) came proudly up, showing the sea, and the Bay of
Naples, and the whole country, in such majesty as no words
can express. We rode to the beginning of the snow and
then dismounted. Catherine and Georgina were put into
two litters, just chairs with poles, like those in use in
England on the 5th of November; and a fat Englishman,
who was of the party, was hoisted into a third, borne by
eight men. I was accommodated with a tough stick, and we
began to plough our way up. The ascent was as steep
as this line <b><big>/</big></b>&mdash;very nearly perpendicular. We were all
tumbling at every stop; and looking up and seeing the
people in advance tumbling over one's very head, and looking
down and seeing hundreds of feet of smooth ice below, was,
I must confess, anything but agreeable. However, I knew
there was little chance of another clear night before I leave
this, and gave the word to get up, somehow or other. So
on we went, winding a little now and then, or we should not
have got on at all. By prodigious exertions we passed the
region of snow, and came into that of fire&mdash;desolate and
awful, you may well suppose. It was like working one's
way through a dry waterfall, with every mass of stone burnt
and charred into enormous cinders, and smoke and sulphur
bursting out of every chink and crevice, so that it was difficult
to breathe. High before us, bursting out of a hill at
the top of the mountain, shaped like this <img src="images/a.png" width="22" height="19" alt="Handwritten A" title="Handwritten A" />, the fire was
pouring out, reddening the night with flames, blackening it
with smoke, and spotting it with red-hot stones and cinders
that fell down again in showers. At every step everybody<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span>
fell, now into a hot chink, now into a bed of ashes, now
over a mass of cindered iron; and the confusion in the darkness
(for the smoke obscured the moon in this part), and the
quarrelling and shouting and roaring of the guides, and the
waiting every now and then for somebody who was not to
be found, and was supposed to have stumbled into some pit
or other, made such a scene of it as I can give you no idea
of. My ladies were now on foot, of course; but we dragged
them on as well as we could (they were thorough game, and
didn't make the least complaint), until we got to the foot of
that topmost hill I have drawn so beautifully. Here we all
stopped; but the head guide, an English gentleman of the
name of Le Gros&mdash;who has been here many years, and has
been up the mountain a hundred times&mdash;and your humble
servant, resolved (like jackasses) to climb that hill to the
brink, and look down into the crater itself. You may form
some notion of what is going on inside it, when I tell you
that it is a hundred feet higher than it was six weeks ago.
The sensation of struggling up it, choked with the fire and
smoke, and feeling at every step as if the crust of ground
between one's feet and the gulf of fire would crumble in
and swallow one up (which is the real danger), I shall
remember for some little time, I think. But we did it. We
looked down into the flaming bowels of the mountain and
came back again, alight in half-a-dozen places, and burnt
from head to foot. You never saw such devils. And <i>I</i>
never saw anything so awful and terrible.</p>

<p>Roche had been tearing his hair like a madman, and
crying that we should all three be killed, which made the rest
of the company very comfortable, as you may suppose. But
we had some wine in a basket, and all swallowed a little of that
and a great deal of sulphur before we began to descend. The
usual way, after the fiery part is past&mdash;you will understand<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span>
that to be all the flat top of the mountain, in the centre of
which, again, rises the little hill I have drawn&mdash;is to slide
down the ashes, which, slipping from under you, make a
gradually increasing ledge under your feet, and prevent your
going too fast. But when we came to this steep place last
night, we found nothing there but one smooth solid sheet of
ice. The only way to get down was for the guides to make
a chain, holding by each other's hands, and beat a narrow
track in it into the snow below with their sticks. My two
unfortunate ladies were taken out of their litters again, with
half-a-dozen men hanging on to each, to prevent their falling
forward; and we began to descend this way. It was like a
tremendous dream. It was impossible to stand, and the
only way to prevent oneself from going sheer down the
precipice, every time one fell, was to drive one's stick into
one of the holes the guides had made, and hold on by that.
Nobody could pick one up, or stop one, or render one the
least assistance. Now, conceive my horror, when this
Mr. Le Gros I have mentioned, being on one side of
Georgina and I on the other, suddenly staggers away from
the narrow path on to the smooth ice, gives us a jerk, lets
go, and plunges headforemost down the smooth ice into the
black night, five hundred feet below! Almost at the same
instant, a man far behind, carrying a light basket on his
head with some of our spare cloaks in it, misses his footing
and rolls down in another place; and after him, rolling over
and over like a black bundle, goes a boy, shrieking as
nobody but an Italian can shriek, until the breath is tumbled
out of him.</p>

<p>The Englishman is in bed to-day, terribly bruised but
without any broken bones. He was insensible at first and
a mere heap of rags; but we got him before the fire, in a
little hermitage there is halfway down, and he so far<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span>
recovered as to be able to take some supper, which was
waiting for us there. The boy was brought in with his head
tied up in a bloody cloth, about half an hour after the rest
of us were assembled. And the man who had had the
basket was not found when we left the mountain at midnight.
What became of the cloaks (mine was among them)
I know as little. My ladies' clothes were so torn off their
backs that they would not have been decent, if there could
have been any thought of such things at such a time. And
when we got down to the guides' house, we found a French
surgeon (one of another party who had been up before us)
lying on a bed in a stable, with God knows what horrible
breakage about him, but suffering acutely and looking like
death. A pretty unusual trip for a pleasure expedition, I
think!</p>

<p>I am rather stiff to-day but am quite unhurt, except a
slight scrape on my right hand. My clothes are burnt to
pieces. My ladies are the wonder of Naples, and everybody
is open-mouthed.</p>

<p>Address me as usual. All letters are forwarded. The
children well and happy. Best regards.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever faithfully.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. W. C.
Macready.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Albion Hotel, Broadstairs</span>, <i>Sunday, Aug. 17th, 1845.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Macready</span>,</div>

<p>I have been obliged to communicate with the <i>Punch</i>
men in reference to Saturday, the 20th, as that day of the
week is usually their business dinner day, and I was not
quite sure that it could be conveniently altered.</p>

<p>Jerrold now assures me that it can for such a purpose,
and that it shall, and therefore consider the play as being<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span>
arranged to come off on Saturday, the 20th of next
month.</p>

<p>I don't know whether I told you that we have
changed the farce; and now we are to act "Two o'clock
in the Morning," as performed by the inimitable B. at
Montreal.</p>

<p>In reference to Bruce Castle school, I think the question
set at rest most probably by the fact of there being no
vacancy (it is always full) until Christmas, when Howitt's
two boys and Jerrold's one go in and fill it up again. But
after going carefully through the school, a question would
arise in my mind whether the system&mdash;a perfectly admirable
one; the only recognition of education as a broad system of
moral and intellectual philosophy, that I have ever seen in
practice&mdash;do not require so much preparation and progress
in the mind of the boy, as that he shall have come there
younger and less advanced than Willy; or at all events
without that very different sort of school experience which
he must have acquired at Brighton. I have no warrant for
this doubt, beyond a vague uneasiness suggesting a suspicion
of its great probability. On such slight ground I
would not hint it to anyone but you, who I know will
give it its due weight, and no more and no less.</p>

<p>I have the paper setting forth the nature of the higher
classical studies, and the books they read. It is the usual
course, and includes the great books in Greek and Latin.
They have a miscellaneous library, under the management
of the boys themselves, of some five or six thousand volumes,
and every means of study and recreation, and every inducement
to self-reliance and self-exertion that can easily be
imagined. As there is no room just now, you can turn it
over in your mind again. And if you would like to see the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span>
place yourself, when you return to town, I shall be delighted
to go there with you. I come home on Wednesday. It is
our rehearsal night; and of course the active and enterprising
stage-manager must be at his post.</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 2em;">Ever, my dear Macready,</span><br />
Affectionately yours.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr.
George
Cattermole.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<i>August 27th, 1845.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear George</span>,</div>

<p>I write a line to tell you a project we have in view. A
little party of us have taken Miss Kelly's theatre for the
night of the 20th of next month, and we are going to act a
play there, with correct and pretty costume, good orchestra,
etc. etc. The affair is strictly private. The admission will
be by cards of invitation; every man will have from thirty to
thirty-five. Nobody can ask any person without the knowledge
and sanction of the rest, my objection being final;
and the expense to each (exclusive of the dress, which every
man finds for himself) will not exceed two guineas. Forster
plays, and Stone plays, and I play, and some of the <i>Punch</i>
people play. Stanfield, having the scenery and carpenters
to attend to, cannot manage his part also. It is Downright,
in "Every Man in his Humour," not at all long, but very
good; he wants you to take it. And so help me. We shall
have a brilliant audience. The uphill part of the thing is
already done, our next rehearsal is next Tuesday, and if
you will come in you will find everything to your hand, and
all very merry and pleasant.</p>

<p>Let me know what you decide, like a Kittenmolian
Trojan. And with love from all here to all there,</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 2em;">Believe me, ever,</span><br />
Heartily yours.<br />
</div>

<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span></p>
<div class="sidenote">Mr. W. C.
Macready.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Devonshire Terrace</span>, <i>Thursday, Sept. 18th, 1845.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Macready</span>,</div>

<p>We have a little supper, sir, after the farce, at No. 9,
Powis Place, Great Ormond Street, in an empty house
belonging to one of the company. There I am requested
by my fellows to beg the favour of thy company and that
of Mrs. Macready. The guests are limited to the actors
and their ladies&mdash;with the exception of yourselves, and
D'Orsay, and George Cattermole, "or so"&mdash;that sounds
like Bobadil a little.</p>

<p>I am going to adopt your reading of the fifth act with
the worst grace in the world. It seems to me that you
don't allow enough for Bobadil having been frequently
beaten before, as I have no doubt he had been. The part
goes down hideously on this construction, and the end is
mere lees. But never mind, sir, I intend bringing you up
with the farce in the most brilliant manner.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever yours affectionately.<br />
</div>

<p>N.B.&mdash;Observe. I think of changing my present mode
of life, and am open to an engagement.</p>

<p>N.B. No. 2.&mdash;I will undertake not to play tragedy,
though passion is my strength.</p>

<p>N.B. No. 3.&mdash;I consider myself a chained lion.<a name="FNanchor_5_5" id="FNanchor_5_5"></a><a href="#Footnote_5_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a></p>


<div class="sidenote">Mr.
Clarkson
Stanfield.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Devonshire Terrace</span>, <i>October 2nd, 1845.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Stanny</span>,</div>

<p>I send you the claret jug. But for a mistake, you
would have received the little remembrance almost immediately
after my return from abroad.</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span></p>
<p>I need not say how much I should value another little
sketch from your extraordinary hand in this year's small
volume, to which Mac again does the frontispiece. But I
cannot hear of it, and will not have it (though the gratification
of such aid, to me, is really beyond all expression),
unless you will so far consent to make it a matter of
business as to receive, without asking any questions,
a cheque in return from the publishers. Do not misunderstand
me&mdash;though I am not afraid there is much
danger of your doing so, for between us misunderstanding
is, I hope, not easy. I know perfectly well that nothing
can pay you for the devotion of any portion of your time
to such a use of your art. I know perfectly well that no
terms would induce you to go out of your way, in such a
regard, for perhaps anybody else. I cannot, nor do I
desire to, vanquish the friendly obligation which help from
you imposes on me. But I am not the sole proprietor of
those little books; and it would be monstrous in you if you
were to dream of putting a scratch into a second one without
some shadowy reference to the other partners, ten thousand
times more monstrous in me if any consideration on earth
could induce me to permit it, which nothing will or
shall.</p>

<p>So, see what it comes to. If you will do me a favour
on my terms it will be more acceptable to me, my dear
Stanfield, than I can possibly tell you. If you will not be
so generous, you deprive me of the satisfaction of receiving
it at your hands, and shut me out from that possibility
altogether. What a stony-hearted ruffian you must be in
such a case!</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever affectionately yours.<br />
</div>

<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span></p>
<div class="sidenote">Mr. W. C.
Macready.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Devonshire Terrace</span>, <i>Friday Evening, Oct. 17th, 1845.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Macready</span>,</div>

<p>You once&mdash;only once&mdash;gave the world assurance of a
waistcoat. You wore it, sir, I think, in "Money." It was
a remarkable and precious waistcoat, wherein certain broad
stripes of blue or purple disported themselves as by a combination
of extraordinary circumstances, too happy to occur
again. I have seen it on your manly chest in private life.
I saw it, sir, I think, the other day in the cold light of
morning&mdash;with feelings easier to be imagined than described.
Mr. Macready, sir, are you a father? If so, lend me that
waistcoat for five minutes. I am bidden to a wedding
(where fathers are made), and my artist cannot, I find (how
should he?), imagine such a waistcoat. Let me show it to
him as a sample of my tastes and wishes; and&mdash;ha, ha, ha,
ha!&mdash;eclipse the bridegroom!</p>

<p>I will send a trusty messenger at half-past nine precisely,
in the morning. He is sworn to secrecy. He durst not for
his life betray us, or swells in ambuscade would have the
waistcoat at the cost of his heart's blood.</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 10em;">Thine,</span><br />
<span class="smcap">The Unwaistcoated One.</span><br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Viscount
Morpeth.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Devonshire Terrace</span>, <i>Nov. 28th, 1845.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Lord Morpeth</span>,</div>

<p>I have delayed writing to you until now, hoping I
might have been able to tell you of our dramatic plans, and
of the day on which we purpose playing. But as these
matters are still in abeyance, I will give you that precious
information when I come into the receipt of it myself. And
let me heartily assure you, that I had at least as much pleasure<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span>
in seeing you the other day as you can possibly have
had in seeing me; and that I shall consider all opportunities
of becoming better known to you among the most fortunate
and desirable occasions of my life. And that I am with your
conviction about the probability of our liking each other,
and, as Lord Lyndhurst might say, with "something
more."</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever faithfully yours.<br />
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<h2>1846.</h2>

<h3>NARRATIVE.</h3>


<div class='unindent'><span class='smcap'>In</span> the spring of this year Charles Dickens gave up the editorship
of, and finally, all connection with <i>The Daily News</i>, and
went again abroad with his family; the house in Devonshire
Terrace being let for twelve months. He made his summer
residence at Lausanne, taking a villa (Rosemont) there, from
May till November. Here he wrote "The Battle of Life,"
and the first number of "Dombey and Son." In November
he removed to Paris, where he took a house in the Rue de
Courcelles for the winter, and where he lived and was at
work upon "Dombey" until March, 1847. Among the
English residents that summer at Lausanne he made many
friendships, in proof of which he dedicated the Christmas
book written there to his "English friends in Lausanne."
The especially intimate friendships which he formed were
with M. de Cerjat, who was always a resident of Lausanne
with his family; Mr. Haldimand, whose name is identified
with the place, and with the Hon. Richard and Mrs. Watson,
of Rockingham Castle. He maintained a constant correspondence
with them, and to Mr. and Mrs. Watson he afterwards
dedicated his own favourite of all his books, "David<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span>
Copperfield." M. de Cerjat, from the time of Charles
Dickens leaving Lausanne, began a custom, which he kept
up almost without an interval to the time of his own death,
of writing him a long letter every Christmas, to which he
returned answers, which will be given in this and the
following years.</div>

<p>In this year we have the commencement of his association
and correspondence with Mr. W. H. Wills. Their
connection began in the short term of his editorship of <i>The
Daily News</i>, when he at once fully appreciated Mr. Wills's
invaluable business qualities. And when, some time later,
he started his own periodical, "Household Words," he
thought himself very fortunate in being able to secure
Mr. Wills's co-operation as editor of that journal, and afterwards
of "All the Year Round," with which "Household
Words" was incorporated. They worked together on
terms of the most perfect mutual understanding, confidence,
and affectionate regard, until Mr. Wills's health
made it necessary for him to retire from the work in 1868.
Besides his first notes to Mr. Wills in this year, we have
our first letters to his dear friends, the Rev. James White,
Walter Savage Landor, and Miss Marion Ely, the niece of
Lady Talfourd.</p>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. W. H.
Wills.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Devonshire Terrace</span>, <i>February 18th, 1846.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Mr. Wills</span>,</div>

<p>Do look at the enclosed from Mrs. What's-her-name.
For a surprising audacity it is remarkable even to me,
who am positively bullied, and all but beaten, by these
people. I wish you would do me the favour to write to her
(in your own name and from your own address), stating that
you answered her letter as you did, because if I were
the wealthiest nobleman in England I could not keep pace
with one-twentieth part of the demands upon me, and
because you saw no internal evidence in her application to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span>
induce you to single it out for any especial notice. That
the tone of this letter renders you exceedingly glad you did
so; and that you decline, from me, holding any correspondence
with her. Something to that effect, after what flourish
your nature will.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Faithfully yours always.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Rev.
James
White.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span style="margin-right: 4em;">1, <span class="smcap">Devonshire Terrace, York Gate, Regent's Park</span>,</span><br />
<i>February 24th, 1846.</i><br />
</div>

<p>I cannot help telling you, my dear White, for I can
think of no formal use of Mister to such a writer as you,
that I have just now read your tragedy, "The Earl of
Gowrie," with a delight which I should in vain endeavour
to express to you. Considered with reference to its story,
or its characters, or its noble poetry, I honestly regard it as
a work of most remarkable genius. It has impressed me
powerfully and enduringly. I am proud to have received it
from your hand. And if I have to tell you what complete
possession it has taken of me&mdash;that is, if I <i>could</i> tell you&mdash;I
do believe you would be glad to know it.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Always faithfully yours.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. W. H.
Wills.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Devonshire Terrace</span>, <i>Monday Morning, March 2nd, 1846.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Mr. Wills</span>,</div>

<p>I really don't know what to say about the New
Brunswicker. The idea will obtrude itself on my mind, that
he had no business to come here on such an expedition; and
that it is a piece of the wild conceit for which his countrymen
are so remarkable, and that I can hardly afford to be
steward to such adventurers. On the other hand, your<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span>
description of him pleases me. Then that purse which I
could never keep shut in my life makes mouths at me,
saying, "See how empty I am." Then I fill it, and it
looks very rich indeed.</p>

<p>I think the best way is to say, that if you think you can
do him any <i>permanent</i> good with five pounds (that is, get
him home again) I will give you the money. But I should
be very much indisposed to give it him, merely to linger
on here about town for a little time and then be hard up
again.</p>

<p>As to employment, I do in my soul believe that if
I were Lord Chancellor of England, I should have been
aground long ago, for the patronage of a messenger's
place.</p>

<p>Say all that is civil for me to the proprietor of <i>The
Illustrated London News</i>, who really seems to be very
liberal. "Other engagements," etc. etc., "prevent me from
entertaining," etc. etc.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Faithfully yours ever.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. W. H.
Wills.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Devonshire Terrace</span>, <i>March 4th, 1846.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Mr. Wills</span>,</div>

<p>I assure you I am very truly and unaffectedly sensible
of your earnest friendliness, and in proof of my feeling its
worth I shall unhesitatingly trouble you sometimes, in
the fullest reliance on your meaning what you say. The
letter from Nelson Square is a very manly and touching
one. But I am more helpless in such a case as that than in
any other, having really fewer means of helping such a
gentleman to employment than I have of firing off the guns<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span>
in the Tower. Such, appeals come to me here in scores
upon scores.</p>

<p>The letter from Little White Lion Street does not
impress me favourably. It is not written in a simple or
truthful manner, I am afraid, and is <i>not</i> a good reference.
Moreover, I think it probable that the writer may have
deserted some pursuit for which he is qualified, for vague
and laborious strivings which he has no pretensions to
make. However, I will certainly act on your impression of
him, whatever it may be. And if you could explain to
the gentleman in Nelson Square, that I am not evading
his request, but that I do not know of anything to
which I can recommend him, it would be a great relief
to me.</p>

<p>I trust this new printer <i>is</i> a Tartar; and I hope to God
he will so proclaim and assert his Tartar breeding, as to
excommunicate &mdash;&mdash; from the "chapel" over which he
presides.</p>

<p>Tell Powell (with my regards) that he needn't "deal
with" the American notices of the "Cricket." I never
read one word of their abuse, and I should think it base to
read their praises. It is something to know that one is
righted so soon; and knowing that, I can afford to know no
more.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever faithfully yours.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr.
Clarkson
Stanfield.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Devonshire Terrace</span>, <i>March 6th, 1846.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Stanny</span>,</div>

<p>In reference to the damage of the candlesticks,
I beg to quote (from "The Cricket on the Hearth,"<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span>
by the highly popular and deservedly so Dick) this
reply:</p>

<p>"I'll damage you if you enquire."</p>

<div class='unindent'>
<span style="margin-left: 22em;">Ever yours,</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 24em;">My block-reeving,</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 24em;">Main-brace splicing,</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 24em;">Lead-heaving,</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 24em;">Ship-conning,</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 24em;">Stun'sail-bending,</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 24em;">Deck-swabbing</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 24em;">Son of a sea-cook,</span><br /></div>
<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 2em;"><span class="smcap">Henry Bluff</span>,</span><br />
H.M.S. <i>Timber.</i><br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr.
Charles
Knight.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Devonshire Terrace</span>, <i>Saturday, April 13th, 1846.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,</div>

<p>Do you recollect sending me your biography of
Shakespeare last autumn, and my not acknowledging its
receipt? I do, with remorse.</p>

<p>The truth is, that I took it out of town with me, read it
with great pleasure as a charming piece of honest enthusiasm
and perseverance, kept it by me, came home, meant to
say all manner of things to you, suffered the time to go by,
got ashamed, thought of speaking to you, never saw you,
felt it heavy on my mind, and now fling off the load by
thanking you heartily, and hoping you will not think it too
late.</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 2em;">Always believe me,</span><br />
Faithfully yours.<br />
</div>

<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span></p>
<div class="sidenote">Miss Ely.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Devonshire Terrace</span>, <i>Sunday, April 19th, 1846.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Miss Ely</span>,</div>

<p>A mysterious emissary brought me a note in your
always welcome handwriting at the Athen&aelig;um last night.
I enquired of the servant in attendance whether the bearer
of this letter was of my vast establishment. To which he
replied "Yezzir." "Then," said I, "tell him not to wait."</p>

<p>Maclise was with me. It was then half-past seven. We
had been walking, and were splashed to the eyes. We
debated upon the possibility of getting to Russell Square in
reasonable time&mdash;decided that it would be in the worst taste
to appear when the performance would be half over&mdash;and
very reluctantly decided not to come. You may suppose
how dirty and dismal we were when we went to the Thames
Tunnel, of all places in the world, instead!</p>

<p>When I came home here at midnight I found another
letter from you (I left off in this place to press it dutifully
to my lips). Then my mind misgave me that <i>you</i> must have
sent to the Athen&aelig;um. At the apparent rudeness of my
reply, my face, as Hadji Baba says, was turned upside down,
and fifty donkeys sat upon my father's grave&mdash;or would
have done so, but for his not being dead yet.</p>

<p>Therefore I send this humble explanation&mdash;protesting,
however, which I do most solemnly, against being invited
under such untoward circumstances; and claiming as your
old friend and no less old admirer to be instantly invited to
the next performance, if such a thing is ever contemplated.</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 2em;">Ever, my dear Miss Ely,</span><br />
Faithfully yours.<br />
</div>

<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span></p>
<div class="sidenote">Mr.
Douglas
Jerrold.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Devonshire Terrace</span>, <i>Tuesday, May 26th, 1846.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Jerrold</span>,</div>

<p>I send you herewith some books belonging to you.
A thousand thanks for the "Hermit." He took my fancy
mightily when I first saw him in the "Illuminated;" and I
have stowed him away in the left-hand breast pocket of
my travelling coat, that we may hold pleasant converse
together on the Rhine. You see what confidence I have
in him!</p>

<p>I wish you would seriously consider the expediency and
feasibility of coming to Lausanne in the summer or early
autumn. I must be at work myself during a certain part of
every day almost, and you could do twice as much there as
here. It is a wonderful place to see&mdash;and what sort of
welcome you would find I will say nothing about, for I have
vanity enough to believe that you would be willing to feel
yourself as much at home in my household as in any man's.</p>

<p>Do think it over. I could send you the minutest particular
of the journey. It is really all railroad and steamboat,
and the easiest in the world.</p>

<p>At Macready's on Thursday, we shall meet, please God!</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 2em;">Always, my dear Jerrold,</span><br />
Cordially yours.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. W. C.
Macready.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Geneva</span>, <i>Saturday, October 24th, 1846.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Macready</span>,</div>

<p>The welcome sight of your handwriting moves me
(though I have nothing to say) to show you mine, and if I
could recollect the passage in Virginius I would paraphrase
it, and say, "Does it seem to tremble, boy? Is it a loving
autograph? Does it beam with friendship and affection?"
all of which I say, as I write, with&mdash;oh Heaven!&mdash;such a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span>
splendid imitation of you, and finally give you one of those
grasps and shakes with which I have seen you make the
young Icilius stagger again.</p>

<p>Here I am, running away from a bad headache as
Tristram Shandy ran away from death, and lodging for a
week in the H&ocirc;tel de l'&Eacute;cu de Gen&egrave;ve, wherein there is a
large mirror shattered by a cannon-ball in the late revolution.
A revolution, whatever its merits, achieved by free
spirits, nobly generous and moderate, even in the first
transports of victory, elevated by a splendid popular education,
and bent on freedom from all tyrants, whether
their crowns be shaven or golden. The newspapers may
tell you what they please. I believe there is no country on
earth but Switzerland in which a violent change could have
been effected in the Christian spirit shown in this place, or
in the same proud, independent, gallant style. Not one
halfpennyworth of property was lost, stolen, or strayed.
Not one atom of party malice survived the smoke of
the last gun. Nothing is expressed in the Government
addresses to the citizens but a regard for the general happiness,
and injunctions to forget all animosities; which
they are practically obeying at every turn, though the late
Government (of whose spirit I had some previous knowledge)
did load the guns with such material as should
occasion gangrene in the wounds, and though the wounded
<i>do</i> die, consequently, every day, in the hospital, of sores
that in themselves were nothing.</p>

<p><i>You</i> a mountaineer! <i>You</i> examine (I have seen you do
it) the point of your young son's b&acirc;ton de montagne before
he went up into the snow! And <i>you</i> talk of coming to
Lausanne in March! Why, Lord love your heart, William
Tell, times are changed since you lived at Altorf. There is
not a mountain pass open until June. The snow is closing<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span>
in on all the panorama already. I was at the Great St.
Bernard two months ago, and it was bitter cold and frosty
then. Do you think I could let you hazard your life by
going up any pass worth seeing in bleak March? Never
shall it be said that Dickens sacrificed his friend upon the
altar of his hospitality! Onward! To Paris! (Cue for
band. Dickens points off with truncheon, first entrance
P.S. Page delivers gauntlets on one knee. Dickens puts
'em on and gradually falls into a fit of musing. Mrs.
Dickens lays her hand upon his shoulder. Business. Procession.
Curtain.)</p>

<p>It is a great pleasure to me, my dear Macready, to hear
from yourself, as I had previously heard from Forster, that
you are so well pleased with "Dombey," which is evidently
a great success and a great hit, thank God! I felt that
Mrs. Brown was strong, but I was not at all afraid of
giving as heavy a blow as I could to a piece of hot iron
that lay ready at my hand. For that is my principle
always, and I hope to come down with some heavier sledge-hammers
than that.</p>

<p>I know the lady of whom you write. &mdash;&mdash; left there
only yesterday. The story may arise only in her manner,
which is extraordinarily free and careless. He was visiting
her here, when I was here last, three weeks ago. I knew
her in Italy. It is not her fault if scandal ever leaves her
alone, for such a braver of all conventionalities never wore
petticoats. But I should be sorry to hear there was anything
guilty in her conduct. She is very clever, really
learned, very pretty, much neglected by her husband, and
only four-and-twenty years of age.</p>

<p>Kate and Georgy send their best loves to Mrs. and Miss
Macready and all your house.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Your most affectionate Friend.<br />
</div>

<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span></p>
<div class="sidenote">Mr.
Haldimand.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Paris</span>, <i>November, 1846.</i><br />
</div>

<div class='center'><b>*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*</b></div>

<p>Talking of which<a name="FNanchor_6_6" id="FNanchor_6_6"></a><a href="#Footnote_6_6" class="fnanchor">[6]</a> reminds me to say, that I have written
to my printers, and told them to prefix to "The Battle of
Life" a dedication that is printed in illuminated capitals on
my heart. It is only this:</p>

<div class="blockquot"><p>"This Christmas book is cordially inscribed to my English
friends in Switzerland."</p></div>

<p>I shall trouble you with a little parcel of three or four
copies to distribute to those whose names will be found
written in them, as soon as they can be made ready, and
believe me, that there is no success or approval in the great
world beyond the Jura that will be more precious and
delightful to me, than the hope that I shall be remembered
of an evening in the coming winter time, at one or two
friends' I could mention near the Lake of Geneva. It runs
with a spring tide, that will always flow and never ebb,
through my memory; and nothing less than the waters of
Lethe shall confuse the music of its running, until it loses
itself in that great sea, for which all the currents of our life
are desperately bent.</p>

<div class='center'><b>*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*</b></div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. Walter
Savage
Landor.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Paris</span>, <i>Sunday, November 22nd, 1846.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">Young Man</span>,</div>

<p>I will not go there if I can help it. I have not the
least confidence in the value of your introduction to the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span>
Devil. I can't help thinking that it would be of better use
"the other way, the other way," but I won't try it there,
either, at present, if I can help it. Your godson says is
that your duty? and he begs me to enclose a blush newly
blushed for you.</p>

<p>As to writing, I have written to you twenty times and
twenty more to that, if you only knew it. I have been
writing a little Christmas book, besides, expressly for you.
And if you don't like it, I shall go to the font of Marylebone
Church as soon as I conveniently can and renounce
you: I am not to be trifled with. I write from Paris. I am
getting up some French steam. I intend to proceed upon
the longing-for-a-lap-of-blood-at-last principle, and if you
<i>do</i> offend me, look to it.</p>

<p>We are all well and happy, and they send loves to you
by the bushel. We are in the agonies of house-hunting.
The people are frightfully civil, and grotesquely extortionate.
One man (with a house to let) told me yesterday that he
loved the Duke of Wellington like a brother. The same
gentleman wanted to hug me round the neck with one hand,
and pick my pocket with the other.</p>

<p>Don't be hard upon the Swiss. They are a thorn in the
sides of European despots, and a good wholesome people to
live near Jesuit-ridden kings on the brighter side of the
mountains. My hat shall ever be ready to be thrown up,
and my glove ever ready to be thrown down for Switzerland.
If you were the man I took you for, when I took you (as a
godfather) for better and for worse, you would come to
Paris and amaze the weak walls of the house I haven't found
yet with that steady snore of yours, which I once heard
piercing the door of your bedroom in Devonshire Terrace,
reverberating along the bell-wire in the hall, so getting<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span>
outside into the street, playing Eolian harps among the area
railings, and going down the New Road like the blast of a
trumpet.</p>

<p>I forgive you your reviling of me: there's a shovelful of
live coals for your head&mdash;does it burn? And am, with true
affection&mdash;does it burn now?&mdash;</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever yours.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">The Hon.
Richard
Watson.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span style="margin-right: 2em;"><span class="smcap">Paris, 48, Rue de Courcelles, St. Honor&eacute;</span>,</span><br />
<i>Friday, Nov. 27th, 1846.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Watson</span>,</div>

<p>We were housed only yesterday. I lose no time
in despatching this memorandum of our whereabouts, in
order that you may not fail to write me a line before you
come to Paris on your way towards England, letting me
know on what day we are to expect you to dinner.</p>

<p>We arrived here quite happily and well. I don't mean
here, but at the H&ocirc;tel Brighton, in Paris, on Friday
evening, between six and seven o'clock. The agonies of
house-hunting were frightfully severe. It was one paroxysm
for four mortal days. I am proud to express my belief,
that we are lodged at last in the most preposterous house in
the world. The like of it cannot, and so far as my knowledge
goes does not, exist in any other part of the globe.
The bedrooms are like opera-boxes. The dining-rooms,
staircases, and passages, quite inexplicable. The dining-room
is a sort of cavern, painted (ceiling and all) to represent
a grove, with unaccountable bits of looking-glass sticking
in among the branches of the trees. There is a gleam of
reason in the drawing-room. But it is approached through
a series of small chambers, like the joints in a telescope,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span>
which are hung with inscrutable drapery. The maddest
man in Bedlam, having the materials given him, would be
likely to devise such a suite, supposing his case to be
hopeless and quite incurable.</p>

<p>Pray tell Mrs. Watson, with my best regards, that the
dance of the two sisters in the little Christmas book is being
done as an illustration by Maclise; and that Stanfield is
doing the battle-ground and the outside of the Nutmeg
Grater Inn. Maclise is also drawing some smaller subjects
for the little story, and they write me that they hope it will
be very pretty, and they think that I shall like it. I shall
have been in London before I see you, probably, and I hope
the book itself will then be on its road to Lausanne to speak
for itself, and to speak a word for me too. I have never
left so many friendly and cheerful recollections in any place;
and to represent me in my absence, its tone should be
very eloquent and affectionate indeed.</p>

<p>Well, if I don't turn up again next summer it shall not
be my fault. In the meanwhile, I shall often and often look
that way with my mind's eye, and hear the sweet, clear,
bell-like voice of &mdash;&mdash; with the ear of my imagination.
In the event of there being any change&mdash;but it is not likely&mdash;in
the appearance of his cravat behind, where it goes up
into his head, I mean, and frets against his wig&mdash;I hope
some one of my English friends will apprise me of it, for the
love of the great Saint Bernard.</p>

<p>I have not seen Lord Normanby yet. I have not seen
anything up to this time but houses and lodgings. There
seems to be immense excitement here on the subject of &mdash;&mdash;
however, and a perfectly stupendous sensation getting up.
I saw the king the other day coming into Paris. His
carriage was surrounded by guards on horseback, and he
sat very far back in it, I thought, and drove at a great pace.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span>
It was strange to see the pr&eacute;fet of police on horseback some
hundreds of yards in advance, looking to the right and left
as he rode, like a man who suspected every twig in every
tree in the long avenue.</p>

<p>The English relations look anything but promising,
though I understand that the Count St. Aulaire is to
remain in London, notwithstanding the newspaper alarms
to the contrary. If there be anything like the sensation in
England about &mdash;&mdash; that there is here, there will be a
bitter resentment indeed. The democratic society of Paris
have announced, this morning, their intention of printing
and circulating fifty thousand copies of an appeal in every
European language. It is a base business beyond question,
and comes at an ill time.</p>

<p>Mrs. Dickens and her sister desire their best regards to
be sent to you and their best loves to Mrs. Watson, in
which I join, as nearly as I may. Believe me, with great
truth,</p>

<div class='sig'>
Very sincerely yours.<br />
</div>

<p>P.S.&mdash;Mrs. Dickens is going to write to Mrs. Watson
next week, she says.</p>


<div class="sidenote">M. Cerjat.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span style="margin-right: 2em;"><span class="smcap">Paris, 48, Rue de Courcelles, St. Honor&eacute;</span>,</span><br />
<i>Friday, Nov. 27th, 1846.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My Dear Cerjat</span>,</div>

<p>When we turned out of your view on that disconsolate
Monday, when you so kindly took horse and rode
forth to say good-bye, we went on in a very dull and
drowsy manner, I can assure you. I could have borne a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span>
world of punch in the rumble and been none the worse for
it. There was an uncommonly cool inn that night, and
quite a monstrous establishment at Auxonne the next
night, full of flatulent passages and banging doors. The
next night we passed at Montbard, where there is one of
the very best little inns in all France. The next at Sens,
and so we got here. The roads were bad, but not very
for French roads. There was no deficiency of horses anywhere;
and after Pontarlier the weather was really not too
cold for comfort. They weighed our plate at the frontier
custom-house, spoon by spoon, and fork by fork, and we
lingered about there, in a thick fog and a hard frost, for
three long hours and a half, during which the officials committed
all manner of absurdities, and got into all sorts of
disputes with my brave courier. This was the only misery
we encountered&mdash;except leaving Lausanne, and that was
enough to last us and <i>did</i> last us all the way here. We are
living on it now. I felt, myself, much as I should think
the murderer felt on that fair morning when, with his gray-haired
victim (those unconscious gray hairs, soon to be
bedabbled with blood), he went so far towards heaven as
the top of that mountain of St. Bernard without one touch
of remorse. A weight is on my breast. The only difference
between me and the murderer is, that his weight
was guilt and mine is regret.</p>

<p>I haven't a word of news to tell you. I shouldn't write
at all if I were not the vainest man in the world, impelled
by a belief that you will be glad to hear from me, even
though you hear no more than that I have nothing to say.
"Dombey" is doing wonders. It went up, after the publication
of the second number, over the thirty thousand.
This is such a very large sale, so early in the story, that I
begin to think it will beat all the rest. Keeley and his wife<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span>
are making great preparations for producing the Christmas
story, and I have made them (as an old stage manager)
carry out one or two expensive notions of mine about
scenery and so forth&mdash;in particular a sudden change from
the inside of the doctor's house in the midst of the ball to
the orchard in the snow&mdash;which ought to tell very well.
But actors are so bad, in general, and the best are spread
over so many theatres, that the "cast" is black despair and
moody madness. There is no one to be got for Marion but a
certain Miss &mdash;&mdash;, I am afraid&mdash;a pupil of Miss Kelly's,
who acted in the private theatricals I got up a year ago.
Macready took her afterwards to play Virginia to his
Virginius, but she made nothing of it, great as the
chance was. I have promised to show her what I mean, as
near as I can, and if you will look into the English Opera
House on the morning of the 17th, 18th, or 19th of next
month, between the hours of eleven and four, you will find
me in a very hot and dusty condition, playing all the parts
of the piece, to the immense diversion of all the actors,
actresses, scene-shifters, carpenters, musicians, chorus
people, tailors, dressmakers, scene-painters, and general
ragamuffins of the theatre.</p>

<p>Moore, the poet, is very ill&mdash;I fear dying. The last
time I saw him was immediately before I left London, and
I thought him sadly changed and tamed, but not much
more so than such a man might be under the heavy hand
of time. I believe he suffered severe grief in the death of
a son some time ago. The first man I met in Paris was
&mdash;&mdash;, who took hold of me as I was getting into a
coach at the door of the hotel. He hadn't a button on his
shirt (but I don't think he ever has), and you might
have sown what boys call "mustard and cress" in the
<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span>dust on his coat. I have not seen Lord Normanby yet,
as we have only just got a house (the queerest house in
Europe!) to lay our heads in; but there seems reason to
fear that the growing dissensions between England and
France, and the irritation of the French king, may lead
to the withdrawal of the minister on each side of the
Channel.</p>

<p>Have you cut down any more trees, played any more
rubbers, propounded any more teasers to the players at the
game of Yes and No? How is the old horse? How is the
gray mare? How is Crab (to whom my respectful compliments)?
Have you tried the punch yet; if yes,
did it succeed; if no, why not? Is Mrs. Cerjat as happy
and as well as I would have her, and all your house
ditto ditto? Does Haldimand play whist with any science
yet? Ha, ha, ha! the idea of his saying <i>I</i> hadn't any!
And are those damask-cheeked virgins, the Miss &mdash;&mdash;,
still sleeping on dewy rose leaves near the English
church?</p>

<p>Remember me to all your house, and most of all to its
other head, with all the regard and earnestness that a
"numble individual" (as they always call it in the House
of Commons) who once travelled with her in a car over a
smooth country may charge you with. I have added two
lines to the little Christmas book, that I hope both you and
she may not dislike. Haldimand will tell you what they
are. Kate and Georgy send their kindest loves, and Kate
is "going" to write "next week." Believe me always, my
dear Cerjat, full of cordial and hearty recollections of this
past summer and autumn, and your part in my part of
them,</p>

<div class='sig'>
Very faithfully your Friend.<br />
</div>

<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span></p>
<div class="sidenote">Mrs.
Charles
Dickens.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
58, <span class="smcap">Lincoln's Inn Fields</span>, <i>Saturday, Dec. 19th, 1846.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dearest Kate</span>,</div>

<p>I really am bothered to death by this confounded
<i>dramatization</i> of the Christmas book. They were in a state
so horrible at Keeley's yesterday (as perhaps Forster told
you when he wrote), that I was obliged to engage to
read the book to them this morning. It struck me that
Mrs. Leigh Murray, Miss Daly, and Vining seemed to
understand it best. Certainly Miss Daly knew best what
she was about yesterday. At eight to-night we have
a rehearsal with scenery and band, and everything but
dresses. I see no possibility of escaping from it before
one or two o'clock in the morning. And I was at the
theatre all day yesterday. Unless I had come to London,
I do not think there would have been much hope of
the version being more than just tolerated, even that
doubtful. All the actors bad, all the business frightfully
behindhand. The very words of the book confused in the
copying into the densest and most insufferable nonsense.
I must exempt, however, from the general slackness both
the Keeleys. I hope they will be very good. I have
never seen anything of its kind better than the manner
in which they played the little supper scene between
Clemency and Britain, yesterday. It was quite perfect,
even to me.</p>

<p>The small manager, Forster, Talfourd, Stanny, and
Mac dine with me at the Piazza to-day, before the rehearsal.
I have already one or two uncommonly good stories of Mac.
I reserve them for narration. I have also a dreadful cold,
which I would not reserve if I could help it. I can hardly
hold up my head, and fight through from hour to hour, but
had serious thoughts just now of walking off to bed.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span></p>

<p>Christmas book published to-day&mdash;twenty-three thousand
copies already gone!!! Browne's plates for next "Dombey"
much better than usual.</p>

<p>I have seen nobody yet, of course. But I sent Roche
up to your mother this morning, to say I am in town and
will come shortly. There is a great thaw here to-day, and
it is raining hard. I hope you have the advantage (if it be
one, which I am not sure of) of a similar change in Paris.
Of course I start again on Thursday. We are expecting
(Roche and I) a letter from the malle poste people, to whom
we have applied for places. The journey here was long and
cold&mdash;twenty-four hours from Paris to Boulogne. Passage
not very bad, and made in two hours.</p>

<p>I find I can't write at all, so I had best leave off. I am
looking impatiently for your letter on Monday morning.
Give my best love to Georgy, and kisses to all the dear
children. And believe me, my love,</p>

<div class='sig'>
Most affectionately.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mrs.
Charles
Dickens.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span style="margin-right: 2em;"><span class="smcap">Piazza Coffee-house, Covent Garden</span>,</span><br />
<i>Monday, Dec. 21st, 1846.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dearest Kate</span>,</div>

<p>In a quiet interval of half an hour before going to
dine at Macready's, I sit down to write you a few words.
But I shall reserve my letter for to-morrow's post, in order
that you may hear what <i>I</i> hear of the "going" of the play
to-night. Think of my being there on Saturday, with a
really frightful cold, and working harder than ever I did at
the amateur plays, until two in the morning. There was
no supper to be got, either here or anywhere else, after<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span>
coming out; and I was as hungry and thirsty as need be.
The scenery and dresses are very good indeed, and they
have spent money on it <i>liberally</i>. The great change from
the ball-room to the snowy night is most effective, and both
the departure and the return will tell, I think, strongly on
an audience. I have made them very quick and excited in
the passionate scenes, and so have infused some appearance
of life into those parts of the play. But I can't make a
Marion, and Miss &mdash;&mdash; is awfully bad. She is a mere
nothing all through. I put Mr. Leigh Murray into such
a state, by making him tear about, that the perspiration
ran streaming down his face. They have a great let.
I believe every place in the house is taken. Roche is
going.</p>

<p><i>Tuesday Morning.</i>&mdash;The play went, as well as I can
make out&mdash;I hoped to have had Stanny's report of it, but
he is ill&mdash;with great effect. There was immense enthusiasm
at its close, and great uproar and shouting for me. Forster
will go on Wednesday, and write you his account of it. I
saw the Keeleys on the stage at eleven o'clock or so, and
they were in prodigious spirits and delight.</p>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. John
Forster.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span style="margin-right: 2em;">48, <span class="smcap">Rue de Courcelles, Paris</span>,</span><br />
<i>Sunday Night, Dec. 27th, 1846.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My very dear Forster</span>,</div>

<p>Amen, amen. Many merry Christmases, many
happy new years, unbroken friendship, great accumulation
of cheerful recollections, affection on earth, and heaven at
last, for all of us.</p>

<p>I enclose you a letter from Jeffrey, which you may like
to read. <i>Bring it to me back when you come over.</i> I have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span>
told him all he wants to know. Is it not a strange example
of the hazards of writing in numbers that a man like him
should form his notion of Dombey and Miss Tox on
three months' knowledge? I have asked him the same
question, and advised him to keep his eye on both of them
as time rolls on.</p>

<p>We had a cold journey here from Boulogne, but the
roads were not very bad. The malle poste, however, now
takes the trains at Amiens. We missed it by ten minutes,
and had to wait three hours&mdash;from twelve o'clock until
three, in which interval I drank brandy and water, and
slept like a top. It is delightful travelling for its speed,
that malle poste, and really for its comfort too. But on
this occasion it was not remarkable for the last-named
quality. The director of the post at Boulogne told me a
lamentable story of his son at Paris being ill, and implored
me to bring him on. The brave doubted the representations
altogether, but I couldn't find it in my heart to say no; so
we brought the director, bodkinwise, and being a large
man, in a great number of greatcoats, he crushed us
dismally until we got to the railroad. For two passengers
(and it never carries more) it is capital. For three,
excruciating.</p>

<p>Write to &mdash;&mdash; what you have said to me. You need
write no more. He is full of vicious fancies and wrong suspicions,
even of Hardwick, and I would rather he heard it
from you than from me, whom he is not likely to love much
in his heart. I doubt it may be but a rusty instrument for
want of use, the &mdash;&mdash;ish heart.</p>

<p>My most important present news is that I am going to
take a jorum of hot rum and egg in bed immediately,
and to cover myself up with all the blankets in the
house. Love from all. I have a sensation in my head,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span>
as if it were "on edge." It is still very cold here,
but the snow had disappeared on my return, both here
and on the road, except within ten miles or so of
Boulogne.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever affectionately.<br />
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<h2>1847.</h2>

<h3>NARRATIVE.</h3>


<div class='unindent'><span class='smcap'>At</span> the beginning of the year Charles Dickens was still
living in Paris&mdash;Rue de Courcelles. His stay was cut
shorter than he intended it to have been, by the illness
from scarlet fever of his eldest son, who was at school
in London. Consequent upon this, he and his wife went
to London at the end of February, taking up their abode
at the Victoria Hotel, Euston Square, the Devonshire
Terrace house being still occupied by its tenant, Sir
James Duke, and the sick boy under the care of his
grandmother, Mrs. Hogarth, in Albany Street. The
children, with their aunt, remained in Paris, until a
temporary house had been taken for the family in
Chester Place, Regent's Park; and Roche was then
sent back to take <i>all</i> home. In Chester Place another
son was born&mdash;Sydney Smith Haldimand&mdash;his godfathers
being Mr. Haldimand, of Lausanne, and Mr. H. P. Smith,
of the Eagle Life Assurance office. He was christened
at the same time as a daughter of Mr. Macready's, and
the letters to Mr. Smith have reference to the postponement
of the christening on Mr. Smith's account.
In May, Charles Dickens had lodgings in Brighton for
some weeks, for the recovery of Mrs. Dickens's health;
going there first with his wife and sister-in-law and the
eldest boy&mdash;now recovered from his fever&mdash;and being joined
at the latter part of the time by his two little daughters,
to whom there are some letters among those which follow<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span>
here. He removed earlier than usual this summer to Broadstairs,
which remained his head-quarters until October, with
intervals of absence for amateur theatrical tours (which
Mr. Forster calls "splendid strolling"), in which he was
usually accompanied by his wife and sister-in-law. Several
new recruits had been added to the theatrical company,
from among distinguished literary men and artists, and it
now included, besides those previously named, Mr. George
Cruikshank, Mr. George Henry Lewes, and Mr. Augustus
Egg; the supreme management and arrangement of everything
being always left to Charles Dickens. "Every Man
in his Humour" and farces were again played at Manchester
and Liverpool, for the benefit of Mr. Leigh Hunt, and the
dramatic author, Mr. John Poole.</div>

<p>By the end of the Broadstairs holiday, the house in
Devonshire Terrace was vacant, and the family returned
to it in October. All this year Charles Dickens had been
at work upon the monthly numbers of "Dombey and Son,"
in spite of these many interruptions. He began at Broadstairs
a Christmas book. But he found that the engrossing
interest of his novel approaching completion made it impossible
for him to finish the other work in time. So he
decided to let this Christmas pass without a story, and
postponed the publication of "The Haunted Man" until
the following year.</p>

<p>At the close of the year he went to Leeds, to take
the chair at a meeting of the Mechanics' Institute, and
on the 28th December he presided at the opening of the
Glasgow Athen&aelig;um; he and his wife being the guests of
the historian&mdash;<i>then</i> Mr. Sheriff, afterwards Sir Archibald
Alison. From a letter to his sister-in-law, written from
Edinburgh, it will be seen that Mrs. Dickens was prevented
by sudden illness from being present at the "demonstration."
At the end of that letter there is another illustration
of the odd names he was in the habit of giving to his
children, the last of the three, the "Hoshen Peck," being
a corruption of "Ocean Spectre"&mdash;a name which had, afterwards,
a sad significance, as the boy (Sydney Smith)<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span>
became a sailor, and died and was buried at sea two years
after his father's death.</p>

<p>The letters in this year need very little explanation. In
the first letter to Mrs. Watson, he alludes to a sketch which
she had made from "The Battle of Life," and had sent to
Charles Dickens, as a remembrance, when her husband paid
a short visit to Paris in this winter.</p>

<p>And there are two letters to Miss Marguerite Power,
the niece of the Countess of Blessington&mdash;a lady for whom
he had then, and until her death, a most affectionate friendship
and respect, for the sake of her own admirable
qualities, and in remembrance of her delightful association
with Gore House, where he was a frequent visitor. For
Lady Blessington he had a high admiration and great
regard, and she was one of his earliest appreciators; and
Alfred, Comte D'Orsay, was also a much-loved friend. His
"own marchioness," alluded to in the second letter to Miss
Power, was the younger and very charming sister of his
correspondent.</p>

<p>We much regret having been unable to procure any
letters addressed to Mr. Egg. His intimacy with him
began first in the plays of this year; but he became,
almost immediately, one of the friends for whom he had
an especial affection; and Mr. Egg was a regular visitor
at his house and at his seaside places of resort for many
years after this date.</p>

<p>The letter to Mr. William Sandys has reference to an
intention which Charles Dickens <i>had</i> entertained, of laying
the scene of a story in Cornwall; Mr. Sandys, himself a
Cornishman, having proposed to send him some books to
help him as to the dialect.</p>


<div class="sidenote">The Hon.
Mrs.
Watson.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Paris, 48, Rue de Courcelles</span>, <i>Jan. 25th, 1847.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Mrs. Watson</span>,</div>

<p>I cannot allow your wandering lord to return to
your&mdash;I suppose "arms" is not improper&mdash;arms, then,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span>
without thanking you in half-a-dozen words for your letter,
and assuring you that I had great interest and pleasure in
its receipt, and that I say Amen to all <i>you</i> say of our happy
past and hopeful future. There is a picture of Lausanne&mdash;St.
Bernard&mdash;the tavern by the little lake between
Lausanne and Vevay, which is kept by that drunken dog
whom Haldimand believes to be so sober&mdash;and of many
other such scenes, within doors and without&mdash;that rises up
to my mind very often, and in the quiet pleasure of its
aspect rather daunts me, as compared with the reality of a
stirring life; but, please God, we will have some more
pleasant days, and go up some more mountains, somewhere,
and laugh together, at somebody, and form the
same delightful little circle again, somehow.</p>

<p>I quite agree with you about the illustrations to the
little Christmas book. I was delighted with yours. Your
good lord before-mentioned will inform you that it hangs
up over my chair in the drawing-room here; and when you
come to England (after I have seen you again in Lausanne)
I will show it you in my little study at home, quietly
thanking you on the bookcase. Then we will go and see
some of Turner's recent pictures, and decide that question
to Haldimand's utmost confusion.</p>

<p>You will find Watson looking wonderfully well, I think.
When he was first here, on his way to England, he took an
extraordinary bath, in which he was rubbed all over with
chemical compounds, and had everything done to him that
could be invented for seven francs. It <i>may</i> be the influence
of this treatment that I see in his face, but I think it's the
prospect of coming back to Elys&eacute;e. All I can say is, that
when <i>I</i> come that way, and find myself among those
friends again, I expect to be perfectly lovely&mdash;a kind of
Glorious Apollo, radiant and shining with joy.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span></p>

<p>Kate and her sister send all kinds of love in this hasty
packet, and I am always, my dear Mrs. Watson,</p>

<div class='sig'>
Faithfully yours.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Rev.
Edward
Tagart.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span style="margin-right: 2em;"><span class="smcap">Paris, 48, Rue de Courcelles, St. Honor&eacute;</span>,</span><br />
<i>Thursday, Jan. 28th, 1847.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,</div>

<p>Before you read any more, I wish you would take
those tablets out of your drawer, in which you have put a
black mark against my name, and erase it neatly. I don't
deserve it, on my word I don't, though appearances are
against me, I unwillingly confess.</p>

<p>I had gone to Geneva, to recover from an uncommon
depression of spirits consequent on too much sitting over
"Dombey" and the little Christmas book, when I received
your letter as I was going out walking, one sunshiny, windy
day. I read it on the banks of the Rhone, where it runs,
very blue and swift, between two high green hills, with
ranges of snowy mountains filling up the distance. Its
cordial and unaffected tone gave me the greatest pleasure&mdash;did
me a world of good&mdash;set me up for the afternoon, and
gave me an evening's subject of discourse. For I talked to
"them" (that is, Kate and Georgy) about those bright
mornings at the Peschiere, until bedtime, and threatened to
write you such a letter next day as would&mdash;I don't exactly
know what it was to do, but it was to be a great letter,
expressive of all kinds of pleasant things, and, perhaps the
most genial letter that ever was written.</p>

<p>From that hour to this, I have again and again and
again said, "I'll write to-morrow," and here I am to-day
full of penitence&mdash;really sorry and ashamed, and with no
excuse but my writing-life, which makes me get up and go<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span>
out, when my morning work is done, and look at pen and
ink no more until I begin again.</p>

<p>Besides which, I have been seeing Paris&mdash;wandering
into hospitals, prisons, dead-houses, operas, theatres, concert-rooms,
burial-grounds, palaces, and wine-shops. In my
unoccupied fortnight of each month, every description of
gaudy and ghastly sight has been passing before me in a
rapid panorama. Before that, I had to come here from
Switzerland, over frosty mountains in dense fogs, and
through towns with walls and drawbridges, and without
population, or anything else in particular but soldiers and
mud. I took a flight to London for four days, and went
and came back over one sheet of snow, sea excepted; and I
wish that had been snow too. Then Forster (who is here
now, and begs me to send his kindest regards) came to see
Paris for himself, and in showing it to him, away I was
borne again, like an enchanted rider. In short, I have had
no rest in my play; and on Monday I am going to work
again. A fortnight hence the play will begin once more; a
fortnight after that the work will follow round, and so the
letters that I care for go unwritten.</p>

<p>Do you care for French news? I hope not, because I
don't know any. There is a melodrama, called "The
French Revolution," now playing at the Cirque, in the first
act of which there is the most tremendous representation of
<i>a people</i> that can well be imagined. There are wonderful
battles and so forth in the piece, but there is a power and
massiveness in the mob which is positively awful. At
another theatre, "Clarissa Harlowe" is still the rage.
There are some things in it rather calculated to astonish
the ghost of Richardson, but Clarissa is very admirably
played, and dies better than the original to my thinking;
but Richardson is no great favourite of mine, and never<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span>
seems to me to take his top-boots off, whatever he does.
Several pieces are in course of representation, involving
rare portraits of the English. In one, a servant, called
"Tom Bob," who wears a particularly English waistcoat,
trimmed with gold lace and concealing his ankles, does very
good things indeed. In another, a Prime Minister of
England, who has ruined himself by railway speculations,
hits off some of our national characteristics very happily,
frequently making incidental mention of "Vishmingster,"
"Regeenstreet," and other places with which you are well
acquainted. "Sir Fakson" is one of the characters in
another play&mdash;"English to the Core;" and I saw a Lord
Mayor of London at one of the small theatres the other
night, looking uncommonly well in a stage-coachman's
waistcoat, the order of the Garter, and a very low-crowned
broad-brimmed hat, not unlike a dustman.</p>

<p>I was at Geneva at the time of the revolution. The
moderation and mildness of the successful party were beyond
all praise. Their appeals to the people of all parties&mdash;printed
and pasted on the walls&mdash;have no parallel that I
know of, in history, for their real good sterling Christianity
and tendency to promote the happiness of mankind. My
sympathy is strongly with the Swiss radicals. They know
what Catholicity is; they see, in some of their own valleys,
the poverty, ignorance, misery, and bigotry it always
brings in its train wherever it is triumphant; and they
would root it out of their children's way at any price. I
fear the end of the struggle will be, that some Catholic
power will step in to crush the dangerously well-educated
republics (very dangerous to such neighbours); but there is
a spirit in the people, or I very much mistake them, that
will trouble the Jesuits there many years, and shake their
altar steps for them.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span></p>

<p>This is a poor return (I look down and see the end of
the paper) for your letter, but in its cordial spirit of
reciprocal friendship, it is not so bad a one if you could
read it as I do, and it eases my mind and discharges my
conscience. We are coming home, please God, at the end
of March. Kate and Georgy send their best regards to you,
and their loves to Mrs. and Miss Tagart and the children.
<i>Our</i> children wish to live too in <i>your</i> children's remembrance.
You will be glad, I know, to hear that "Dombey"
is doing wonders, and that the Christmas book shot far
ahead of its predecessors. I hope you will like <i>the last
chapter of No. 5</i>. If you can spare me a scrap of your handwriting
in token of forgiveness, do; if not, I'll come and
beg your pardon on the 31st of March.</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 4em;">Ever believe me,</span><br />
Cordially and truly yours.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Miss
Dickens.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span style="margin-right: 2em;"><span class="smcap">Victoria Hotel, Euston Square</span>,</span><br />
<i>Thursday, March 4th, 1847.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dearest Mamey</span>,</div>

<p>I have not got much to say, and that's the truth;
but I cannot let this letter go into the post without wishing
you many many happy returns of your birthday, and sending
my love to Auntey and to Katey, and to all of them.
We were at Mrs. Macready's last night, where there was a
little party in honour of Mr. Macready's birthday. We
had some dancing, and they wished very much that you
and Katey had been there; so did I and your mamma. We
have not got back to Devonshire Terrace yet, but are living
at an hotel until Sir James Duke returns from Scotland,
which will be on Saturday or Monday. I hope when he
comes home and finds us here he will go out of Devonshire<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span>
Terrace, and let us get it ready for you. Roche is coming
back to you very soon. He will leave here on Saturday
morning. He says he hopes you will have a very happy
birthday, and he means to drink your health on the road to
Paris.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Always your affectionate.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Miss
Hogarth.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Chester Place</span>, <i>Tuesday Night.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dearest Georgy</span>,</div>

<div class='center'><b>*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*</b></div>

<p>So far from having "got through my agonies," as
you benevolently hope, I have not yet begun them. No,
on this <i>ninth of the month</i> I have not yet written a single
slip. What could I do; house-hunting at first, and beleaguered
all day to-day and yesterday by furniture that
must be altered, and things that must be put away? My
wretchedness, just now, is inconceivable. Tell Anne, by-the-bye
(not with reference to my wretchedness, but in
connection with the arrangements generally), that I can't
get on at all without her.</p>

<p>If Kate has not mentioned it, get Katey and Mamey to
write and send a letter to Charley; of course not hinting at
our being here. He wants to hear from them.</p>

<p>Poor little Hall is dead, as you will have seen, I dare
say, in the paper. This house is very cheerful on the
drawing-room floor and above, looking into the park on
one side and Albany Street on the other. Forster is mild.
Maclise, exceedingly bald on the crown of his head. Roche
has just come in to know if he may "blow datter light."
Love to all the darlings. Regards to everybody else.
Love to yourself.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever affectionately.<br />
</div>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span></p>

<div class="sidenote">Miss
Dickens
and Miss
Katey
Dickens.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
148, <span class="smcap">King's Road, Brighton</span>, <i>Monday, May 24, 1847.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Mamey and Katey</span>,</div>

<p>I was very glad to receive your nice letter. I am
going to tell you something that I hope will please you.
It is this: I am coming to London Thursday, and I mean to
bring you both back here with me, to stay until we all come
home together on the Saturday. I hope you like this.</p>

<p>Tell John to come with the carriage to the London
Bridge Station, on Thursday morning at ten o'clock, and to
wait there for me. I will then come home and fetch you.</p>

<p>Mamma and Auntey and Charley send their loves. I
send mine too, to Walley, Spim, and Alfred, and Sydney.</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 4em;">Always, my dears,</span><br />
Your affectionate Papa.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr.
William
Sandys.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
1, <span class="smcap">Devonshire Terrace</span>, <i>June 13th, 1847.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">Dear Sir</span>,</div>

<p>Many thanks for your kind note. I shall hope to see
you when we return to town, from which we shall now be
absent (with a short interval in next month) until October.
Your account of the Cornishmen gave me great pleasure;
and if I were not sunk in engagements so far, that the
crown of my head is invisible to my nearest friends, I
should have asked you to make me known to them. The
new dialogue I will ask you by-and-by to let me see. I
have, for the present, abandoned the idea of sinking a shaft
in Cornwall.</p>

<p>I have sent your Shakesperian extracts to Collier. It is
a great comfort, to my thinking, that so little is known concerning
the poet. It is a fine mystery; and I tremble every
day lest something should come out. If he had had a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span>
Boswell, society wouldn't have respected his grave, but
would calmly have had his skull in the phrenological shop-windows.</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 4em;">Believe me,</span><br />
Faithfully yours.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. H. P.
Smith.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Chester Place</span>, <i>June 14th, 1847.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Smith</span>,</div>

<p>Haldimand stayed at No. 7, Connaught Place, Hyde
Park, when I saw him yesterday. But he was going to cross
to Boulogne to-day.</p>

<p>The young Pariah seems pretty comfortable. He is of
a cosmopolitan spirit I hope, and stares with a kind of
leaden satisfaction at his spoons, without afflicting himself
much about the established church.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Affectionately yours.<br />
</div>

<p>P.S.&mdash;I think of bringing an action against you for a
new sort of breach of promise, and calling all the bishops to
estimate the damage of having our christening postponed
for a fortnight. It appears to me that I shall get a good
deal of money in this way. If you have any compromise to
offer, my solicitors are Dodson and Fogg.</p>


<div class="sidenote">Miss
Power.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Broadstairs, Kent</span>, <i>July 2nd, 1847.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Miss Power</span>,</div>

<p>Let me thank you, very sincerely, for your kind
note and for the little book. I read the latter on my way
down here with the greatest pleasure. It is a charming
story gracefully told, and very gracefully and worthily
translated. I have not been better pleased with a book for
a long time.</p>

<p>I cannot say I take very kindly to the illustrations.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span>
They are a long way behind the tale to my thinking. The
artist understands it very well, I dare say, but does not
express his understanding of it, in the least degree, to any
sense of mine.</p>

<p>Ah Rosherville! That fated Rosherville, when shall we
see it! Perhaps in one of those intervals when I am up
to town from here, and suddenly appear at Gore House,
somebody will propose an excursion there, next day. If
anybody does, somebody else will be ready to go. So this
deponent maketh oath and saith.</p>

<p>I am looking out upon a dark gray sea, with a keen
north-east wind blowing it in shore. It is more like late
autumn than midsummer, and there is a howling in the
air as if the latter were in a very hopeless state indeed.
The very Banshee of Midsummer is rattling the windows
drearily while I write. There are no visitors in the place
but children, and they (my own included) have all got the
hooping-cough, and go about the beach choking incessantly.
A miserable wanderer lectured in a library last night about
astronomy; but being in utter solitude he snuffed out the
transparent planets he had brought with him in a box and
fled in disgust. A white mouse and a little tinkling box of
music that stops at "come," in the melody of the Buffalo
Gals, and can't play "out to-night," are the only amusements
left.</p>

<p>I beg from my solitude to send my love to Lady
Blessington, and your sister, and Count D'Orsay. I think
of taming spiders, as Baron Trenck did. There is one in
my cell (with a speckled body and twenty-two very decided
knees) who seems to know me.</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 4em;">Dear Miss Power,</span><br />
Faithfully yours ever.<br />
</div>

<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span></p>
<div class="sidenote">Mr. H. P.
Smith.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Broadstairs</span>, <i>July 9th, 1847.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Smith</span>,</div>

<p>I am really more obliged to you for your kindness
about "The Eagle" (as I always call your house) than I
can say. But when I come to town to-morrow week, for
the Liverpool and Manchester plays, I shall have Kate and
Georgy with me. Moreover I shall be continually going
out and coming in at unholy hours. Item, the timid will
come at impossible seasons to "go over" their parts with
the manager. Item, two Jews with musty sacks of dresses
will be constantly coming backwards and forwards. Item,
sounds as of "groans" will be heard while the inimitable
Boz is "getting" his words&mdash;which happens all day.
Item, Forster will incessantly deliver an address by Bulwer.
Item, one hundred letters per diem will arrive from
Manchester and Liverpool; and five actresses, in very limp
bonnets, with extraordinary veils attached to them, will be
always calling, protected by five mothers.</p>

<p>No, no, my actuary. Some congenial tavern is the
fitting scene for these things, if I don't get into Devonshire
Terrace, whereof I have some spark of hope. Eagles
couldn't look the sun in the face and have such enormities
going on in their nests.</p>

<p>I am, for the time, that obscene thing, in short, now
chronicled in the Marylebone Register of Births&mdash;</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 3em;">A <span class="smcap">Player</span>,</span><br />
Though still yours.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Miss
Power.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Broadstairs, Kent</span>, <i>Tuesday, July 14th, 1847.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Miss Power</span>,</div>

<p>Though I am hopeless of Rosherville until after the
28th&mdash;for am I not beckoned, by angels of charity and by
local committees, to Manchester and Liverpool, and to all
sorts of bedevilments (if I may be allowed the expression)<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span>
in the way of managerial miseries in the meantime&mdash;here I
find myself falling into parenthesis within parenthesis, like
Lord Brougham&mdash;yet will I joyfully come up to London on
Friday, to dine at your house and meet the Dane, whose
Books I honour, and whose&mdash;to make the sentiment complete,
I want something that would sound like "Bones, I love!"
but I can't get anything that unites reason with beauty.
You, who have genius and beauty in your own person, will
supply the gap in your kindness.</p>

<p>An advertisement in the newspapers mentioning the
dinner-time, will be esteemed a favour.</p>

<p>Some wild beasts (in cages) have come down here, and
involved us in a whirl of dissipation. A young lady in
complete armour&mdash;at least, in something that shines very
much, and is exceedingly scaley&mdash;goes into the den of
ferocious lions, tigers, leopards, etc., and pretends to go to
sleep upon the principal lion, upon which a rustic keeper,
who speaks through his nose, exclaims, "Behold the abazid
power of woobad!" and we all applaud tumultuously.</p>

<p>Seriously, she beats Van Amburgh. And I think the
Duke of Wellington must have her painted by Landseer.</p>

<p>My penitent regards to Lady Blessington, Count
D'Orsay, and my own Marchioness.</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 2em;">Ever, dear Miss Power,</span><br />
Very faithfully yours.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Miss
Dickens.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Broadstairs</span>, <i>Wednesday, August 4th, 1847.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dearest Mamey</span>,</div>

<p>I am delighted to hear that you are going to improve
in your spelling, because nobody can write properly without
spelling well. But I know you will learn whatever you
are taught, because you are always good, industrious, and
attentive. That is what I always say of my Mamey.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span></p>

<p>The note you sent me this morning is a very nice one,
and the spelling is beautiful.</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 2em;">Always, my dear Mamey,</span><br />
Your affectionate Papa.<br />
</div>



<div class="sidenote">Mr. W. C.
Macready.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Devonshire Terrace</span>, <i>Tuesday Morning, Nov. 23rd, 1847.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Macready</span>,</div>

<p>I am in the whirlwind of finishing a number with a
crisis in it; but I can't fall to work without saying, in so
many words, that I feel all words insufficient to tell you
what I think of you after a night like last night. The
multitudes of new tokens by which I know you for a great
man, the swelling within me of my love for you, the pride I
have in you, the majestic reflection I see in you of all the
passions and affections that make up our mystery, throw
me into a strange kind of transport that has no expression
but in a mute sense of an attachment, which, in truth and
fervency, is worthy of its subject.</p>

<p>What is this to say! Nothing, God knows, and yet I
cannot leave it unsaid.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever affectionately yours.<br />
</div>

<p>P.S.&mdash;I never saw you more gallant and free than
in the gallant and free scenes last night. It was perfectly
captivating to behold you. However, it shall not interfere
with my determination to address you as Old Parr in
all future time.</p>


<div class="sidenote">Miss
Hogarth.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Edinburgh</span>, <i>Thursday, December 13th, 1847.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Georgy</span>,</div>

<p>I "take up my pen," as the young ladies write, to
let you know how we are getting on; and as I shall be
obliged to put it down again very soon, here goes. We
lived with very hospitable people in a very splendid house<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span>
near Glasgow, and were perfectly comfortable. The meeting
was the most stupendous thing as to numbers, and the most
beautiful as to colours and decorations I ever saw. The
inimitable did wonders. His grace, elegance, and eloquence,
enchanted all beholders. <i>Kate didn't go!</i> having been
taken ill on the railroad between here and Glasgow.</p>

<p>It has been snowing, sleeting, thawing, and freezing,
sometimes by turns and sometimes all together, since the
night before last. Lord Jeffrey's household are in town
here, not at Craigcrook, and jogging on in a cosy, old-fashioned,
comfortable sort of way. We have some idea of
going to York on Sunday, passing that night at Alfred's,
and coming home on Monday; but of this, Kate will advise
you when she writes, which she will do to-morrow, after I
shall have seen the list of railway trains.</p>

<p>She sends her best love. She is a little poorly still, but
nothing to speak of. She is frightfully anxious that her
not having been to the great demonstration should be kept
a secret. But I say that, like murder, it will out, and that
to hope to veil such a tremendous disgrace from the general
intelligence is out of the question. In one of the Glasgow
papers she is elaborately described. I rather think Miss
Alison, who is seventeen, was taken for her, and sat for the
portrait.</p>

<p>Best love from both of us, to Charley, Mamey, Katey,
Wally, Chickenstalker, Skittles, and the Hoshen Peck; last,
and not least, to you. We talked of you at the Macreadys'
party on Monday night. I hope &mdash;&mdash; came out lively, also
that &mdash;&mdash; was truly amiable. Finally, that &mdash;&mdash; took everybody
to their carriages, and that &mdash;&mdash; wept a good deal
during the festivities? God bless you. Take care of
yourself, for the sake of mankind in general.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever affectionately, dear Georgy.<br />
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span></p>
<h2>>1848.</h2>

<h3>NARRATIVE.</h3>


<div class='unindent'><span class='smcap'>In</span> March of this year Charles Dickens went with his wife
for two or three weeks to Brighton, accompanied by
Mrs. Macready, who was in delicate health, and we give
a letter to Mr. Macready from Brighton. Early in the
year, "Dombey and Son" was finished, and he was again
busy with an amateur play, with the same associates and
some new adherents; the proceeds being, at first, intended
to go towards the curatorship of Shakespeare's house,
which post was to be given to Mr. Sheridan Knowles. The
endowment was abandoned, upon the town and council
of Stratford-on-Avon taking charge of the house; the
large sum realised by the performances being handed over
to Mr. Sheridan Knowles. The play selected was "The
Merry Wives of Windsor;" the farce, "Love, Law, and
Physic." There were two performances at the Haymarket
in April, at one of which her Majesty and the Prince
Consort were present; and in July there were performances
at Manchester, Liverpool, Birmingham, Edinburgh, and
Glasgow. Some ladies accompanied the "strollers" on
this theatrical provincial tour, and Mrs. Dickens and her
sister were of the party. Many of the following letters bear
reference to these plays.</div>

<p>In this summer, his eldest sister Fanny (Mrs. Burnett)
died, and there are sorrowful allusions to her illness in
several of the letters.</p>

<p>The autumn months were again spent at Broadstairs,
where he wrote "The Haunted Man," which was illustrated
by Mr. Frank Stone, Mr. Leech, and others. At the end of
the year and at the end of his work, he took another short
holiday at Brighton with his wife and sister-in-law; and the
letters to Mr. Stone on the subject of his illustrations to
"The Haunted Man" are written from Brighton. The<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span>
first letters which we have to Mr. Mark Lemon come here.
We regret to have been unable to procure any letters
addressed to Mr. Leech, with whom, as with Mr. Lemon,
Charles Dickens was very intimately associated for many
years.</p>

<p>Also, we have the beginning of his correspondence with
Mr. Charles Kent. He wrote (an unusual thing for him to
do) to the editor of <i>The Sun</i> newspaper, begging him to
thank the writer of a particularly sympathetic and earnest
review of "Dombey and Son," which appeared in <i>The Sun</i>
at the close of the book. Mr. Charles Kent replied in his
proper person, and from that time dates a close friendship
and constant correspondence.</p>

<p>With the letter to Mr. Forster we give, as a note, a
letter which Baron Ta&uuml;chnitz published in his edition of
Mr. Forster's "Life of Oliver Goldsmith."</p>

<p>Mr. Peter Cunningham, as an important member of
the "Shakespeare's House" committee, managed the <i>un</i>-theatrical
part of this Amateur Provincial Tour, and was
always pleasantly connected with the plays.</p>

<p>The book alluded to in the last letter for this year, to be
dedicated to Charles Dickens's daughters by Mr. Mark
Lemon, was called "The Enchanted Doll."</p>


<div class="sidenote">Mr.
Charles
Babbage.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Devonshire Terrace</span>, <i>February 26th, 1848.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,</div>

<p>Pray let me thank you for your pamphlet.</p>

<p>I confess that I am one of the unconvinced grumblers,
and that I doubt the present or future existence of any
government in England, strong enough to convert the
people to your income-tax principles. But I do not the
less appreciate the ability with which you advocate them,
nor am I the less gratified by any mark of your remembrance.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Faithfully yours always.<br />
</div>


<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span></p>
<div class="sidenote">Mr. W. C.
Macready.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Junction House, Brighton</span>, <i>March 2nd, 1848.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Macready</span>,</div>

<p>We have migrated from the Bedford and come here,
where we are very comfortably (not to say gorgeously)
accommodated. Mrs. Macready is certainly better already,
and I really have very great hopes that she will come back
in a condition so blooming, as to necessitate the presentation
of a piece of plate to the undersigned trainer.</p>

<p>You mean to come down on Sunday and on Sunday
week. If you don't, I shall immediately take the Victoria,
and start Mr. &mdash;&mdash;, of the Theatre Royal, Haymarket, as a
smashing tragedian. Pray don't impose upon me this cruel
necessity.</p>

<p>I think Lamartine, so far, one of the best fellows in the
world; and I have lively hopes of that great people establishing
a noble republic. Our court had best be careful not
to overdo it in respect of sympathy with ex-royalty and
ex-nobility. Those are not times for such displays, as, it
strikes me, the people in some of our great towns would be
apt to express pretty plainly.</p>

<p>However, we'll talk of all this on these Sundays, and
Mr. &mdash;&mdash; shall <i>not</i> be raised to the pinnacle of fame.</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 2em;">Ever affectionately yours,</span><br />
My dear Macready.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Editor of
<i>The Sun</i>.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span style="margin-right: 2em;"><span class="smcap">Devonshire Terrace, York Gate, Regent's Park</span>,</span><br />
<i>Friday, April 14th, 1848.</i><br /></div>
<div class='center'>
<i>Private.</i><br />
</div>

<p>Mr. Charles Dickens presents his compliments to the
Editor of <i>The Sun</i>, and begs that gentleman will have the
goodness to convey to the writer of the notice of "Dombey
and Son," in last evening's paper, Mr. Dickens's warmest<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span>
acknowledgments and thanks. The sympathy expressed in
it is so very earnestly and unaffectedly stated, that it is
particularly welcome and gratifying to Mr. Dickens, and he
feels very desirous indeed to convey that assurance to the
writer of that frank and genial farewell.</p>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. W.
Charles M.
Kent.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span style="margin-right: 4em;">1, <span class="smcap">Devonshire Terrace, York Gate, Regent's Park</span>,</span><br />
<i>April 18th, 1848.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">Dear Sir</span>,</div>

<p>Pray let me repeat to you personally what I expressed
in my former note, and allow me to assure you, as an illustration
of my sincerity, that I have never addressed a similar
communication to anybody except on one occasion.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Faithfully yours.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. John
Forster.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Devonshire Terrace</span>, <i>Saturday, April 22nd, 1848.</i><br />
</div>

<div class='unindent'><span class="smcap">My dear Forster</span>,<a name="FNanchor_7_7" id="FNanchor_7_7"></a><a href="#Footnote_7_7" class="fnanchor">[7]</a></div>

<p>I finished Goldsmith yesterday, after dinner, having
read it from the first page to the last with the greatest care
and attention.</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span></p>
<p>As a picture of the time, I really think it impossible to
give it too much praise. It seems to me to be the very
essence of all about the time that I have ever seen in
biography or fiction, presented in most wise and humane
lights, and in a thousand new and just aspects. I have
never liked Johnson half so well. Nobody's contempt for
Boswell ought to be capable of increase, but I have never
seen him in my mind's eye half so plainly. The introduction
of him is quite a masterpiece. I should point to that,
if I didn't know the author, as being done by somebody
with a remarkably vivid conception of what he narrated,
and a most admirable and fanciful power of communicating
it to another. All about Reynolds is charming; and the
first account of the Literary Club and of Beauclerc as
excellent a piece of description as ever I read in my life.
But to read the book is to be in the time. It lives again in
as fresh and lively a manner as if it were presented on an
impossibly good stage by the very best actors that ever lived,
or by the real actors come out of their graves on purpose.</p>

<p>And as to Goldsmith himself, and <i>his</i> life, and the
tracing of it out in his own writings, and the manful and
dignified assertion of him without any sobs, whines, or
convulsions of any sort, it is throughout a noble achievement,
of which, apart from any private and personal affection
for you, I think (and really believe) I should feel
proud, as one who had no indifferent perception of these
books of his&mdash;to the best of my remembrance&mdash;when little
more than a child. I was a little afraid in the beginning,
when he committed those very discouraging imprudences,
that you were going to champion him somewhat indiscriminately;
but I very soon got over that fear, and found
reason in every page to admire the sense, calmness, and
moderation with which you make the love and admiration<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span>
of the reader cluster about him from his youth, and
strengthen with his strength&mdash;and weakness too, which is
better still.</p>

<p>I don't quite agree with you in two small respects.
First, I question very much whether it would have been a
good thing for every great man to have had his Boswell,
inasmuch as I think that two Boswells, or three at most,
would have made great men extraordinarily false, and would
have set them on always playing a part, and would have
made distinguished people about them for ever restless
and distrustful. I can imagine a succession of Boswells
bringing about a tremendous state of falsehood in society,
and playing the very devil with confidence and friendship.
Secondly, I cannot help objecting to that practice (begun,
I think, or greatly enlarged by Hunt) of italicising lines
and words and whole passages in extracts, without some
very special reason indeed. It does appear to be a kind of
assertion of the editor over the reader&mdash;almost over the
author himself&mdash;which grates upon me. The author might
almost as well do it himself to my thinking, as a disagreeable
thing; and it is such a strong contrast to the modest,
quiet, tranquil beauty of "The Deserted Village," for
instance, that I would almost as soon hear "the town crier"
speak the lines. The practice always reminds me of a man
seeing a beautiful view, and not thinking how beautiful it is
half so much as what he shall say about it.</p>

<p>In that picture at the close of the third book (a most
beautiful one) of Goldsmith sitting looking out of window
at the Temple trees, you speak of the "gray-eyed" rooks.
Are you sure they are "gray-eyed"? The raven's eye is
a deep lustrous black, and so, I suspect, is the rook's,
except when the light shines full into it.</p>

<p>I have reserved for a closing word&mdash;though I <i>don't</i><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span>
mean to be eloquent about it, being far too much in earnest&mdash;the
admirable manner in which the case of the literary
man is stated throughout this book. It is splendid. I
don't believe that any book was ever written, or anything
ever done or said, half so conducive to the dignity and
honour of literature as "The Life and Adventures of Oliver
Goldsmith," by J. F., of the Inner Temple. The gratitude
of every man who is content to rest his station and claims
quietly on literature, and to make no feint of living by anything
else, is your due for evermore. I have often said,
here and there, when you have been at work upon the
book, that I was sure it would be; and I shall insist on
that debt being due to you (though there will be no need
for insisting about it) as long as I have any tediousness
and obstinacy to bestow on anybody. Lastly, I never will
hear the biography compared with Boswell's except under
vigorous protest. For I do say that it is mere folly to put
into opposite scales a book, however amusing and curious,
written by an unconscious coxcomb like that, and one
which surveys and grandly understands the characters of
all the illustrious company that move in it.</p>

<p>My dear Forster, I cannot sufficiently say how proud I
am of what you have done, or how sensible I am of being
so tenderly connected with it. When I look over this note,
I feel as if I had said no part of what I think; and yet if I
were to write another I should say no more, for I can't get
it out. I desire no better for my fame, when my personal
dustiness shall be past the control of my love of order,
than such a biographer and such a critic. And again I say,
most solemnly, that literature in England has never had,
and probably never will have, such a champion as you are,
in right of this book.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever affectionately.<br />
</div>


<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span></p>
<div class="sidenote">Mr. Mark
Lemon.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<i>Wednesday, May 3rd, 1848.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Lemon</span>,</div>

<p>Do you think you could manage, before we meet to-morrow,
to get from the musical director of the Haymarket
(whom I don't know) a note of the overtures he purposes
playing on our two nights? I am obliged to correct and
send back the bill proofs to-morrow (they are to be
brought to Miss Kelly's)&mdash;and should like, for completeness'
sake, to put the music in. Before "The Merry Wives,"
it must be something Shakespearian. Before "Animal
Magnetism," something very telling and light&mdash;like "Fra
Diavolo."</p>

<p>Wednesday night's music in a concatenation accordingly,
and jolly little polkas and quadrilles between the pieces,
always beginning the moment the act-drop is down. If any
little additional strength should be really required in the
orchestra, so be it.</p>

<p>Can you come to Miss Kelly's by <i>three</i>? I should like
to show you bills, tickets, and so forth, before they are
worked. In order that they may not interfere with or
confuse the rehearsal, I have appointed Peter Cunningham
to meet me there at three, instead of half-past.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Faithfully ever.<br />
</div>

<p>P.S.&mdash;If you should be disposed to chop together early,
send me a line to the Athen&aelig;um. I have engaged to be
with Barry at ten, to go over the Houses of Parliament.
When I have done so, I will go to the club on the chance of
a note from you, and would meet you where you chose.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span></p>


<div class="sidenote">Rev.
James
White.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Athen&aelig;um</span>, <i>Thursday, May 4th, 1848.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear White</span>,</div>

<p>I have not been able to write to you until now. I
have lived in hope that Kate and I might be able to run
down to see you and yours for a day, before our design for
enforcing the Government to make Knowles the first custodian
of the Shakespeare house should come off. But I
am so perpetually engaged in drilling the forces, that I see
no hope of making a pleasant expedition to the Isle of
Wight until about the twentieth. Then I shall hope to do
so for one day. But of this I will advise you further, in
due course.</p>

<p>My doubts about the house you speak of are twofold,
First, I could not leave town so soon as May, having affairs
to arrange for a sick sister. And secondly, I fear Bonchurch
is not sufficiently bracing for my chickens, who thrive best
in breezy and cool places. This has set me thinking, sometimes
of the Yorkshire coast, sometimes of Dover. I would
not have the house at Bonchurch reserved for me, therefore.
But if it should be empty, we will go and look at it in a
body. I reserve the more serious part of my letter until the
last, my dear White, because it comes from the bottom of
my heart. None of your friends have thought and spoken
oftener of you and Mrs. White than we have these many
weeks past. I should have written to you, but was timid of
intruding on your sorrow. What you say, and the manner
in which you tell me I am connected with it in your recollection
of your dear child, now among the angels of God,
gives me courage to approach your grief&mdash;to say what
sympathy we have felt with it, and how we have not been
unimaginative of these deep sources of consolation to which<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span>
you have had recourse. The traveller who journeyed in
fancy from this world to the next was struck to the heart
to find the child he had lost, many years before, building
him a tower in heaven. Our blessed Christian hopes do
not shut out the belief of love and remembrance still
enduring there, but irradiate it and make it sacred. Who
should know that better than you, or who more deeply
feel the touching truths and comfort of that story in
the older book, where, when the bereaved mother is
asked, "Is it well with the child?" she answers, "It <i>is</i>
well."</p>

<p>God be with you. Kate and her sister desire their
kindest love to yourself and Mrs. White, in which I heartily
join.</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 2em;">Being ever, my dear White,</span><br />
Your affectionate Friend.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. W. C.
Macready.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Devonshire Terrace</span>, <i>Wednesday, May 10th, 1848.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Macready</span>,</div>

<p>We are rehearsing at the Haymarket now, and Lemon
mentioned to me yesterday that Webster had asked him if
he would sound Forster or me as to your intention of having
a farewell benefit before going to America, and whether
you would like to have it at the Haymarket, and also as to
its being preceded by a short engagement there. I don't
know what your feelings may be on this latter head, but
thinking it well that you may know how the land lies in
these seas, send you this; the rather (excuse Elizabethan
phrase, but you know how indispensable it is to me under
existing circumstances)&mdash;the rather that I am thereto
encouraged by thy consort, who has just come a-visiting<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span>
here, with thy fair daughters, Mistress Nina and the little
Kate. Wherefore, most selected friend, perpend at thy
leisure, and so God speed thee!</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 2em;">And no more at present from,</span><br />
Thine ever.<br />
</div>

<p>From my tent in my garden.</p>


<div class='center'><br />ANOTHER "BOBADIL" NOTE.</div>

<p>I must tell you this, sir, I am no general man; but for
William Shakespeare's sake (you may embrace it at what
height of favour you please) I will communicate with you
on the twenty-first, and do esteem you to be a gentleman of
some parts&mdash;of a good many parts in truth. I love few
words.</p>

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;">
<img src="images/4signature.png" width="400" height="197" alt="Signature: Bobadil" title="Signature: Bobadil" />
</div>

<div class='unindent'><br /><br />
At Cobb's, a water-bearer,<br />
<span style="margin-left: 3em;"><i>October 11th.</i></span><br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. Peter
Cunningham.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Devonshire Terrace</span>, <i>Thursday Morning, June 22nd, 1848.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Cunningham</span>,</div>

<p>I will be at Miss Kelly's to-morrow evening, from
seven to eight, and shall hope to see you there, for a little
conversation, touching the railroad arrangements.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span></p>

<p>All preparations completed in Edinburgh and Glasgow.
There will be a great deal of money taken, especially at the
latter place.</p>

<p>I wish I could persuade you, seriously, to come into
training for Nym, in "The Merry Wives." He is never
on by himself, and all he has to do is good, without being
difficult. If you could screw yourself up to the doing of
that part in Scotland, it would prevent our taking some
new man, and would cover you (all over) with glory.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Faithfully yours always.<br />
</div>

<p>P.S.&mdash;I am fully persuaded that an amateur manager
has more correspondence than the Home Secretary.</p>


<div class="sidenote">The Hon.
Mrs.
Watson.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span style="margin-right: 4em;">1, <span class="smcap">Devonshire Terrace, Regent's Park</span>,</span><br />
<i>July 27th, 1848.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Mrs. Watson</span>,</div>

<p>I thought to have been at Rockingham long ago!
It seems a century since I, standing in big boots on the
Haymarket stage, saw you come into a box upstairs and
look down on the humbled Bobadil, since then I have
had the kindest of notes from you, since then the finest
of venison, and yet I have not seen the Rockingham flowers,
and they are withering I daresay.</p>

<p>But we have acted at Manchester, Liverpool, Birmingham,
Edinburgh, and Glasgow; and the business of all this&mdash;and
graver and heavier daily occupation in going to see a
dying sister at Hornsey&mdash;has so worried me that I have
hardly had an hour, far less a week. I shall never be
quite happy, in a theatrical point of view, until you have
seen me play in an English version of the French piece,
"L'Homme Blas&eacute;," which fairly turned the head of Glasgow<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span>
last Thursday night as ever was; neither shall I be quite
happy, in a social point of view, until I have been to
Rockingham again. When the first event will come about
Heaven knows. The latter will happen about the end of
the November fogs and wet weather. For am I not going
to Broadstairs now, to walk about on the sea-shore (why
don't you bring your rosy children there?) and think what
is to be done for Christmas! An idea occurs to me all at once.
I must come down and read you that book before it's published.
Shall it be a bargain? Were you all in Switzerland?
I don't believe <i>I</i> ever was. It is such a dream
now. I wonder sometimes whether I ever disputed with a
Haldimand; whether I ever drank mulled wine on the top
of the Great St. Bernard, or was jovial at the bottom with
company that have stolen into my affection; whether I
ever was merry and happy in that valley on the Lake of
Geneva, or saw you one evening (when I didn't know you)
walking down among the green trees outside Elys&eacute;e, arm-in-arm
with a gentleman in a white hat. I am quite clear
that there is no foundation for these visions. But I should
like to go somewhere, too, and try it all over again. I
don't know how it is, but the ideal world in which my lot is
cast has an odd effect on the real one, and makes it chiefly
precious for such remembrances. I get quite melancholy
over them sometimes, especially when, as now, those great
piled-up semicircles of bright faces, at which I have lately
been looking&mdash;all laughing, earnest and intent&mdash;have faded
away like dead people. They seem a ghostly moral of
everything in life to me.</p>

<p>Kate sends her best love, in which Georgy would as
heartily unite, I know, but that she is already gone to
Broadstairs with the children. We think of following on
Saturday morning, but that depends on my poor sister.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span>
Pray give my most cordial remembrances to Watson, and
tell him they include a great deal. I meant to have written
you a letter. I don't know what this is. There is no word
for it. So, if you will still let me owe you one, I will pay
my debt, on the smallest encouragement, from the seaside.
Here, there, and elsewhere, I am, with perfect truth,
believe me,</p>

<div class='sig'>
Very faithfully yours.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. W. C.
Macready.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Broadstairs, Kent</span>, <i>Saturday, August 26th, 1848.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Macready</span>,</div>

<p>I was about to write to you when I received your
welcome letter. You knew I should come from a somewhat
longer distance than this to give you a hearty God-speed
and farewell on the eve of your journey. What do you say
to Monday, the fourth, or Saturday, the second? Fix either
day, let me know which suits you best&mdash;at what hour you
expect the Inimitable, and the Inimitable will come up
to the scratch like a man and a brother.</p>

<p>Permit me, in conclusion, to nail my colours to the
mast. Stars and stripes are so-so&mdash;showy, perhaps; but my
colours is <span class="smcap">the union jack</span>, which I am told has the remarkable
property of having braved a thousand years the battle
<span class="smcap">and</span> the breeze. Likewise, it is the flag of Albion&mdash;the
standard of Britain; and Britons, as I am informed, never,
never, never&mdash;will&mdash;be&mdash;slaves!</p>

<p>My sentiment is: Success to the United States as a
golden campaigning ground, but blow the United States
to 'tarnal smash as an Englishman's place of residence.
Gentlemen, are you all charged?</p>

<div class='sig'>
Affectionately ever.<br />
</div>

<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span></p>
<div class="sidenote">Miss
Dickens.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Devonshire Terrace</span>, <i>Friday, Sept. 8th, 1848.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dearest Mamey</span>,</div>

<p>We shall be very glad to see you all again, and we
hope you will be very glad to see us. Give my best love to
dear Katey, also to Frankey, Alley, and the Peck.</p>

<p>I have had a nice note from Charley just now. He says
it is expected at school that when Walter puts on his jacket,
all the Miss Kings will fall in love with him to desperation
and faint away.</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 4em;">Ever, my dear Mamey,</span><br />
Most affectionately yours.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr.
Effingham
William
Wilson.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span style="margin-right: 4em;">1, <span class="smcap">Devonshire Terrace, York Gate, Regent's Park</span>,</span><br />
<i>Nov. 7th, 1848.</i><br />
</div>

<div class='center'>
"A NATIONAL THEATRE."<br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">Sir</span>,</div>

<p>I beg you to accept my best thanks for your pamphlet
and your obliging note. That such a theatre as you
describe would be but worthy of this nation, and would not
stand low upon the list of its instructors, I have no kind of
doubt. I wish I could cherish a stronger faith than I have
in the probability of its establishment on a rational footing
within fifty years.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Faithfully yours.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. Frank
Stone.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Devonshire Terrace</span>, <i>Tuesday, Nov. 21st, 1848.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Stone</span>,</div>

<p>I send you herewith the second part of the book,
which I hope may interest you. If you should prefer to
have it read to you by the Inimitable rather than to read it,
I shall be at home this evening (loin of mutton at half-past<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span>
five), and happy to do it. The proofs are full of printers'
errors, but with the few corrections I have scrawled upon it,
you will be able to make out what they mean.</p>

<p>I send you, on the opposite side, a list of the subjects
already in hand from this second part. If you should see
no other in it that you like (I think it important that you
should keep Milly, as you have begun with her), I will, in a
day or two, describe you an unwritten subject for the third
part of the book.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever faithfully.<br />
</div>


<div class='center'><br />SUBJECTS IN HAND FOR THE SECOND PART.</div>

<p>1. Illuminated page. Tenniel. Representing Redlaw
going upstairs, and the Tetterby family below.</p>

<p>2. The Tetterby supper. Leech.</p>

<p>3. The boy in Redlaw's room, munching his food and
staring at the fire.</p>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. Frank
Stone.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Brighton</span>, <i>Thursday Night, Nov. 23rd, 1848.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Stone</span>,</div>

<p>We are unanimous.</p>

<p>The drawing of Milly on the chair is <span class="smcap">charming</span>. I
cannot tell you how much the little composition and expression
please me. Do that, by all means.</p>

<p>I fear she must have a little cap on. There is something
coming in the last part, about her having had a dead child,
which makes it yet more desirable than the existing text
does that she should have that little matronly sign about
her. Unless the artist is obdurate indeed, and then he'll do
as he likes.</p>

<p>I am delighted to hear that you have your eye on her in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span>
the students' room. You will really, pictorially, make the
little woman whom I love.</p>

<p>Kate and Georgy send their kindest remembrances. I
write hastily to save the post.</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 2em;">Ever, my dear Stone,</span><br />
Faithfully yours.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. Frank
Stone.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Bedford Hotel, Brighton</span>, <i>Monday Night, Nov. 27th, 1848.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Stone</span>,</div>

<p>You are a <span class="smcap">trump</span>, emphatically a TRUMP, and such
are my feelings towards you at this moment that I think
(but I am not sure) that if I saw you about to place a card
on a wrong pack at Bibeck (?), I wouldn't breathe a word
of objection.</p>

<p>Sir, there is a subject I have written to-day for the
third part, that I think and hope will just suit you. Scene,
Tetterby's. Time, morning. The power of bringing back
people's memories of sorrow, wrong and trouble, has been
given by the ghost to Milly, though she don't know it herself.
As she comes along the street, Mr. and Mrs. Tetterby
recover themselves, and are mutually affectionate again,
and embrace, closing <i>rather</i> a good scene of quarrel and
discontent. The moment they do so, Johnny (who has seen
her in the distance and announced her before, from which
moment they begin to recover) cries "Here she is!" and
she comes in, surrounded by the little Tetterbys, the very
spirit of morning, gladness, innocence, hope, love, domesticity,
etc. etc. etc. etc.</p>

<p>I would limit the illustration to her and the children,
which will make a fitness between it and your other illustrations,
and give them all a character of their own. The
exact words of the passage I endorsed on another slip of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span>
paper. Note. There are six boy Tetterbys present (young
'Dolphus is not there), including Johnny; and in Johnny's
arms is Moloch, the baby, who is a girl. I hope to be back
in town next Monday, and will lose no time in reporting
myself to you. Don't wait to send me the drawing of this.
I know how pretty she will be with the children in your
hands, and should be a stupendous jackass if I had any
distrust of it.</p>

<p>The Duke of Cambridge is staying in this house, and
they are driving me mad by having Life Guards bands
under our windows, playing <i>our</i> overtures! I have been
at work all day, and am going to wander into the theatre,
where (for the comic man's benefit) "two gentlemen of
Brighton" are performing two counts in a melodrama. I
was quite addle-headed for the time being, and think an
amateur or so would revive me. No 'Tone! I don't in the
abstract approve of Brighton. I couldn't pass an autumn
here; but it is a gay place for a week or so; and when
one laughs and cries, and suffers the agitation that some
men experience over their books, it's a bright change to
look out of window, and see the gilt little toys on horseback
going up and down before the mighty sea, and thinking
nothing of it.</p>

<p>Kate's love and Georgy's. They say you'll contradict
every word of this letter.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Faithfully ever.<br />
</div>


<div class='center'><br />[<small>SLIP OF PAPER ENCLOSED.</small>]</div>

<p>"Hurrah! here's Mrs. Williams!" cried Johnny.</p>

<p>So she was, and all the Tetterby children with her; and
as she came in, they kissed her and kissed one another, and
kissed the baby and kissed their father and mother, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span>
then ran back and flocked and danced about her, trooping
on with her in triumph.</p>

<p>(After which, she is going to say: "What, are <i>you</i> all
glad to see me too! Oh, how happy it makes me to find
everyone so glad to see me this bright morning!")</p>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. Mark
Lemon.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Bedford Hotel, Brighton</span>, <i>Nov. 28th, 1848.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Mark</span>,</div>

<p>I assure you, most unaffectedly and cordially, that
the dedication of that book to Mary and <i>Kate</i> (not Catherine)
will be a real delight to me, and to all of us. I know well
that you propose it in "affectionate regard," and value
and esteem it, therefore, in a way not easy of expression.</p>

<p>You were talking of "coming" down, and now, in a
mean and dodging way, you write about "sending" the
second act! I have a propogician to make. Come down
on Friday. There is a train leaves London Bridge at two&mdash;gets
here at four. By that time I shall be ready to
strike work. We can take a little walk, dine, discuss, and
you can go back in good time next morning. I really
think this ought to be done, and indeed <span class="smcap">must</span> be done.
Write and say it shall be done.</p>

<p>A little management will be required in dramatising the
third part, where there are some things I <i>describe</i> (for
effect's sake, and as a matter of art) which must be <i>said</i> on
the stage. Redlaw is in a new condition of mind, which
fact must be shot point-blank at the audience, I suppose,
"as from the deadly level of a gun." By anybody who
knew how to play Milly, I think it might be made very
good. Its effect is very pleasant upon me. I have also
given Mr. and Mrs. Tetterby another innings.</p>

<p>I went to the play last night&mdash;fifth act of Richard the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span>
Third. Richmond by a stout <i>lady</i>, with a particularly well-developed
bust, who finished all the speeches with the
soubrette simper. Also, at the end of the tragedy she
came forward (still being Richmond) and said, "Ladies and
gentlemen, on Wednesday next the entertainments will be
for <i>My</i> benefit, when I hope to meet your approbation and
support." Then, having bowed herself into the stage-door,
she looked out of it, and said, winningly, "Won't you
come?" which was enormously applauded.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever affectionately.<br />
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<h2>1849.</h2>

<h3>NARRATIVE.</h3>


<div class='unindent'><span class='smcap'>This</span>, as far as correspondence is concerned, was an uneventful
year. In the spring Charles Dickens took one
of his holidays at Brighton, accompanied by his wife and
sister-in-law and two daughters, and they were joined in
their lodgings by Mr. and Mrs. Leech. From Brighton he
writes the letter&mdash;as a song&mdash;which we give, to Mr. Mark
Lemon, who had been ill, asking him to pay them a visit.</div>

<p>In the summer, Charles Dickens went with his family,
for the first time, to Bonchurch, Isle of Wight, having
hired for six months the charming villa, Winterbourne,
belonging to the Rev. James White. And now began that
close and loving intimacy which for the future was to exist
between these two families. Mr. Leech also took a house
at Bonchurch. All through this year Charles Dickens was
at work upon "David Copperfield."</p>

<p>As well as giving eccentric names to his children and
friends, he was also in the habit of giving such names to himself&mdash;that
of "Sparkler" being one frequently used by him.</p>

<p>Miss Joll herself gives us the explanation of the letter
to her on capital punishment: "Soon after the appearance
of his 'Household Words,' some friends were discussing an
article in it on 'Private Executions.' They contended that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span>
it went to prove Mr. Dickens was an advocate of capital
punishment. I, however, took a different view of the
matter, and ventured to write and inquire his views on
the subject, and to my letter he sent me a courteous reply."</p>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. Dudley
Costello.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Devonshire Terrace</span>, <i>Friday Night, Jan. 26th, 1849.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Costello</span>,</div>

<p>I am desperate! Engaged in links of adamant to a
"monster in human form"&mdash;a remarkable expression I
think I remember to have once met with in a newspaper&mdash;whom
I encountered at Franconi's, whence I have just
returned, otherwise I would have done all three things
right heartily and with my accustomed sweetness. Think
of me another time when chops are on the carpet (figuratively
speaking), and see if I won't come and eat 'em!</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever faithfully yours.<br />
</div>

<p>P.S.&mdash;I find myself too despondent for the flourish.</p>


<div class="sidenote">Miss
Dickens.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Devonshire Terrace</span>, <i>Tuesday Night, Feb. 27th, 1849.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dearest Mamey</span>,</div>

<p>I am not engaged on the evening of your birthday.
But even if I had an engagement of the most particular
kind, I should excuse myself from keeping it, so that I
might have the pleasure of celebrating at home, and among
my children, the day that gave me such a dear and good
daughter as you.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever affectionately yours.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr.
Clarkson
Stanfield.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Devonshire Terrace</span>, <i>May 25th, 1849.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Stanfield</span>,</div>

<p>No&mdash;no&mdash;no! Murder, murder! Madness and misconception!
Any <i>one</i> of the subjects&mdash;not the whole. Oh,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span>
blessed star of early morning, what do you think I am
made of, that I should, on the part of any man, prefer such
a pig-headed, calf-eyed, donkey-eared, imp-hoofed request!</p>

<p>Says my friend to me, "Will you ask <i>your</i> friend,
Mr. Stanfield, what the damage of a little picture of that
size would be, that I may treat myself with the same, if I
can afford it?" Says I, "I will." Says he, "Will you
suggest that I should like it to be <i>one</i> of those subjects?"
Says I, "I will."</p>

<p>I am beating my head against the door with grief and
frenzy, and I shall continue to do so, until I receive your
answer.</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 2em;">Ever heartily yours,</span><br />
<span class="smcap">The Misconceived One</span>.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. Frank
Stone.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Devonshire Terrace</span>, <i>Monday, June 4th, 1849.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Stone</span>,</div>

<p>Leech and Sparkler having promised their ladies to
take them to Ascot, and having failed in their truths,
propoge to take them to Greenwich instead, next Wednesday.
Will that alteration in the usual arrangements be
agreeable to Gaffin, S.? If so, the place of meeting is the
Sparkler's Bower, and the hour, one exactly.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever yours.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mrs.
Charles
Dickens.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Shanklin, Isle of Wight</span>, <i>Monday Night, June 16th, 1849.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Kate</span>,</div>

<p>I have but a moment. Just got back and post going
out. I have taken a most delightful and beautiful house,
belonging to White, at Bonchurch; cool, airy, private
bathing, everything delicious. I think it is the prettiest
place I ever saw in my life, at home or abroad. Anne may<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span>
begin to dismantle Devonshire Terrace. I have arranged
for carriages, luggage, and everything.</p>

<p>The man with the post-bag is swearing in the passage.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever affectionately.<br />
</div>

<p>P.S.&mdash;A waterfall on the grounds, which I have arranged
with a carpenter to convert into a perpetual shower-bath.</p>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. Mark
Lemon.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Devonshire Terrace</span>, <i>Monday, June 25th, 1849.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Lemon</span>,</div>

<p>I am very unwilling to deny Charley the pleasure
you so kindly offer him. But as it is just the close of the
half-year when they are getting together all the half-year's
work&mdash;and as that day's pleasure would weaken the next
day's duty, I think I must be "more like an ancient Roman
than a &mdash;&mdash;" Sparkler, and that it will be wisest in me to
say nothing about it.</p>

<p>Get a clean pocket-handkerchief ready for the close of
"Copperfield" No. 3; "simple and quiet, but very natural
and touching."&mdash;<i>Evening Bore.</i></p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever affectionately.<br />
</div>


<div class='center'>NEW SONG.<br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Tune</span>&mdash;"Lesbia hath a beaming eye."<br />

<br />1.</div>

<div class='poem'>
Lemon is a little hipped,<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And this is Lemon's true position;</span><br />
He is not pale, he's not white-lipped,<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Yet wants a little fresh condition.</span><br />
Sweeter 'tis to gaze upon<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Old ocean's rising, falling billows,</span><br />
Than on the houses every one,<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That form the street called Saint Anne's Willers.</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Oh, my Lemon, round and fat,</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Oh, my bright, my right, my tight 'un,</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Think a little what you're at&mdash;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Don't stay at home, but come to Brighton!</span><br />
</div>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span></p>

<div class='center'><br />2.</div>

<div class='poem'>
Lemon has a coat of frieze,<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">But all so seldom Lemon wears it,</span><br />
That it is a prey to fleas,<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And ev'ry moth that's hungry tears it.</span><br />
Oh, that coat's the coat for me,<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That braves the railway sparks and breezes,</span><br />
Leaving every engine free<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To smoke it, till its owner sneezes!</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Then my Lemon, round and fat,</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 5em;">L., my bright, my right, my tight 'un,</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Think a little what you're at&mdash;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 5em;">On Tuesday first, come down to Brighton!</span><br />
</div>

<div class='sig'>
<span class="smcap">T. Sparkler.</span><br />
</div>

<div class='unindent'>Also signed,<br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><span class="smcap">Catherine Dickens</span>,</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><span class="smcap">Annie Leech</span>,</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><span class="smcap">Georgina Hogarth</span>,</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><span class="smcap">Mary Dickens</span>,</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><span class="smcap">Katie Dickens</span>,</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><span class="smcap">John Leech</span>.</span><br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Rev.
James
White.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Winterbourne</span>, <i>Sunday Evening, Sept. 23rd, 1849.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear White</span>,</div>

<p>I have a hundred times at least wanted to say to you
how good I thought those papers in "Blackwood"&mdash;how
excellent their purpose, and how delicately and charmingly
worked out. Their subtle and delightful humour, and their
grasp of the whole question, were something more pleasant
to me than I can possibly express.</p>

<p>"How comes this lumbering Inimitable to say this, on
this Sunday night of all nights in the year?" you naturally
ask. Now hear the Inimitable's honest avowal! I make
so bold because I heard that Morning Service better read
this morning than ever I have heard it read in my life.
And because&mdash;for the soul of me&mdash;I cannot separate the
two things, or help identifying the wise and genial man
out of church with the earnest and unaffected man in it.
Midsummer madness, perhaps, but a madness I hope that
will hold us true friends for many and many a year to come.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span>
The madness is over as soon as you have burned this letter
(see the history of the Gunpowder Plot), but let us be
friends much longer for these reasons and many included
in them not herein expressed.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Affectionately always.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Miss Joll.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span style="margin-right: 2em;"><span class="smcap">Rockingham Castle, Northamptonshire</span>,</span><br />
<i>Nov. 27th, 1849.</i><br />
</div>

<p>Mr. Charles Dickens presents his compliments to Miss
Joll. He is, on principle, opposed to capital punishment,
but believing that many earnest and sincere people who are
favourable to its retention in extreme cases would unite in
any temperate effort to abolish the evils of public executions,
and that the consequences of public executions are
disgraceful and horrible, he has taken the course with
which Miss Joll is acquainted as the most hopeful, and as
one undoubtedly calculated to benefit society at large.</p>


<div class="sidenote">The Hon.
Mrs.
Watson.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Devonshire Terrace</span>, <i>Friday Night, Nov. 30th, 1849.</i><br />
<span style="margin-right: 2em;"><i>A Quarter-past Ten.</i></span><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Mrs. Watson</span>,</div>

<p>Plunged in the deepest gloom, I write these few
words to let you know that, just now, when the bell was
striking ten, I drank to</p>

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 350px;"><span class="caption">H. E. R.!</span>
<img src="images/5valentine.png" width="350" height="176" alt="H. E. R.!" title="H. E. R.!" />
</div>

<div class='unindent'>and to all the rest of Rockingham; as the wine went down<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span>
my throat, I felt distinctly that it was "changing those
thoughts to madness."</div>

<p>On the way here I was a terror to my companions, and
I am at present a blight and mildew on my home.</p>

<p>Think of me sometimes, as I shall long think of our
glorious dance last night. Give my most affectionate
regards to Watson, and my kind remembrances to all who
remember me, and believe me,</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever faithfully yours.<br />
</div>

<p>P.S.&mdash;I am in such an incapable state, that after executing
the foregoing usual flourish I swooned, and remained
for some time insensible. Ha, ha, ha! Why was I ever
restored to consciousness!!!</p>

<p>P.P.S.&mdash;"Changing" those thoughts ought to be
"driving." But my recollection is incoherent and my
mind wanders.</p>


<div class="sidenote">M. Cerjat.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Devonshire Terrace</span>, <i>Saturday, Dec. 29th, 1849.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Cerjat</span>,</div>

<p>I received your letter at breakfast-time this morning
with a pleasure my eloquence is unable to express and your
modesty unable to conceive. It is so delightful to be remembered
at this time of the year in your house where we
have been so happy, and in dear old Lausanne, that we
always hope to see again, that I can't help pushing away
the first page of "Copperfield" No. 10, now staring at me
with what I may literally call a blank aspect, and plunging
energetically into this reply.</p>

<p>What a strange coincidence that is about Blunderstone<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span>
House! Of all the odd things I have ever heard (and their
name is Legion), I think it is the oddest. I went down
into that part of the country on the 7th of January last
year, when I was meditating the story, and chose Blunderstone
for the sound of its name. I had previously observed
much of what you say about the poor girls. In all you
suggest with so much feeling about their return to virtue
being cruelly cut off, I concur with a sore heart. I have been
turning it over in my mind for some time, and hope, in the
history of Little Em'ly (who <i>must</i> fall&mdash;there is no hope for
her), to put it before the thoughts of people in a new and
pathetic way, and perhaps to do some good. You will be
glad to hear, I know, that "Copperfield" is a great success.
I think it is better liked than any of my other books.</p>

<p>We had a most delightful time at Watsons' (for both of
them we have preserved and strengthened a real affection),
and were the gayest of the gay. There was a Miss Boyle
staying in the house, who is an excellent amateur actress,
and she and I got up some scenes from "The School for
Scandal" and from "Nickleby," with immense success.
We played in the old hall, with the audience filled up and
running over with servants. The entertainments concluded
with feats of legerdemain (for the performance of which I
have a pretty good apparatus, collected at divers times and
in divers places), and we then fell to country dances of a
most frantic description, and danced all night. We often
spoke of you and Mrs. Cerjat and of Haldimand, and wished
you were all there. Watson and I have some fifty times
"registered a vow" (like O'Connell) to come to Lausanne
together, and have even settled in what month and week.
Something or other has always interposed to prevent us;
but I hope, please God, most certainly to see it again, when
my labours-Copperfieldian shall have terminated.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span></p>

<p>You have no idea what that hanging of the Mannings
really was. The conduct of the people was so indescribably
frightful, that I felt for some time afterwards almost as if I
were living in a city of devils. I feel, at this hour, as if I
never could go near the place again. My letters have made
a great to-do, and led to a great agitation of the subject;
but I have not a confident belief in any change being made,
mainly because the total abolitionists are utterly reckless
and dishonest (generally speaking), and would play the
deuce with any such proposition in Parliament, unless it
were strongly supported by the Government, which it would
certainly not be, the Whig motto (in office) being "<i>laissez
aller</i>." I think Peel might do it if he came in. Two
points have occurred to me as being a good commentary to
the objections to my idea. The first is that a most terrific
uproar was made when the hanging processions were
abolished, and the ceremony shrunk from Tyburn to the
prison door. The second is that, at this very time, under
the British Government in New South Wales, executions
take place <i>within the prison walls</i>, with decidedly improved
results. (I am waiting to explode this fact on the first
man of mark who gives me the opportunity.)</p>

<p>Unlike you, we have had no marriages or giving in
marriage here. We might have had, but a certain young
lady, whom you know, is hard to please. The children are
all well, thank God! Charley is going to Eton the week
after next, and has passed a first-rate examination. Kate
is quite well, and unites with me and Georgina in love to
you and Mrs. Cerjat and Haldimand, whom I would give
a good deal (tell him) to have several hours' contradiction
of at his own table. Good heavens, how obstinate
we would both be! I see him leaning back in his
chair, with his right forefinger out, and saying, "Good<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span>
God!" in reply to some proposition of mine, and then
laughing.</p>

<p>All in a moment a feeling comes over me, as if you and
I have been still talking, smoking cigars outside the inn at
Martigny, the piano sounding inside, and Lady Mary Taylour
singing. I look into my garden (which is covered with
snow) rather dolefully, but take heart again, and look
brightly forward to another expedition to the Great St.
Bernard, when Mrs. Cerjat and I shall laugh as I fancy I
have never laughed since, in one of those one-sided cars;
and when we shall again learn from Haldimand, in a little
dingy cabaret, at lunch-time, how to secure a door in
travelling (do you remember?) by balancing a chair against
it on its two hind-legs.</p>

<p>I do hope that we may all come together again once
more, while there is a head of hair left among us; and in
this hope remain, my dear Cerjat,</p>

<div class='sig'>
Your faithful Friend.<br />
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<h2>1850.</h2>

<h3>NARRATIVE.</h3>


<div class='unindent'><span class='smcap'>In</span> the spring Charles Dickens took a short holiday again,
with his wife and sister-in-law, at Brighton, from whence he
wrote to Mr. Wills, on "Household Words" business. The
first number of this journal appeared on the 30th March.</div>

<p>This autumn he succeeded, for the first time, in getting
possession of the "Fort House," Broadstairs, on which he
had always set his affections. He was hard at work on the
closing numbers of "David Copperfield" during all the
summer and autumn. The family moved to Broadstairs
in July, but as a third daughter was born in August, they
were not joined by Mrs. Dickens until the end of September.
"David Copperfield" was finished in October.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span></p>

<p>The beginning of his correspondence with Mrs. Gaskell is
in his asking her to contribute to "Household Words," which
she did from the first number, and very frequently afterwards
both to "Household Words" and "All the Year Round."</p>

<p>The letter to Mr. David Roberts, R.A., is one thanking
him for a remembrance of his (Mr. Roberts's) travels in the
East&mdash;a picture of a "Simoom in the Desert," which was
one of Charles Dickens's most highly prized possessions.</p>

<p>A letter to Mr. Sheridan Knowles contains allusions
which we have no means of explaining, but we publish it,
as it is characteristic, and addressed to a literary celebrity.
Its being inscribed to "Daddy" Knowles illustrates a habit
of Charles Dickens&mdash;as does a letter later in this year to Mr.
Stone, beginning, "My dear P."&mdash;of giving nicknames to
the friends with whom he was on the most affectionate and
intimate terms. Mr. Stone&mdash;especially included in this category&mdash;was
the subject of many such names; "Pump," or
"Pumpion," being one by which he was frequently addressed&mdash;a
joke as good-humouredly and gladly received as
it was kindly and pleasantly intended.</p>

<p>There were no public amateur theatricals this year; but
in November, the greater part of the amateur company
played for three nights at Knebworth Park, as the guests of
Sir Edward Bulwer Lytton (afterwards Lord Lytton), who
entertained all his county neighbours to witness the performances.
The play was "Every Man in his Humour,"
and farces, varied each night.</p>

<p>This year we have our first letter to Miss Mary Boyle, a
cousin of Mrs. Watson, well known as an amateur actress and
an accomplished lady. Miss Boyle was to have acted with
the amateur company at Knebworth, but was prevented by
domestic affliction. Early in the following year there was a
private play at Rockingham Castle, when Miss Boyle acted
with Charles Dickens, the play being "Used Up," in which
Mrs. Dickens also acted; and the farce, "Animal Magnetism,"
in which Miss Boyle and Miss Hogarth played.
The letters to Mrs. Watson in this year refer chiefly to the
preparations for the play in her house.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span></p>

<p>The accident mentioned in the letter addressed to Mr.
Henry Bicknell (son-in-law of Mr. David Roberts, R.A.,
and a much-esteemed friend of Charles Dickens) was an
accident which happened to Mrs. Dickens, while rehearsing
at a theatre. She fell through a trap-door, spraining her
ankle so badly as to be incapacitated from taking her part
in the theatricals at Knebworth.</p>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. David
Roberts,
R.A.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Devonshire Terrace</span>, <i>January 3rd, 1850.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Roberts</span>,</div>

<p>I am more obliged to you than I can tell you for
the beautiful mark of your friendly remembrance which
you have sent me this morning. I shall set it up among
my household gods with pride. It gives me the highest
gratification, and I beg you to accept my most cordial and
sincere thanks. A little bit of the tissue paper was sticking
to the surface of the picture, and has slightly marked it. It
requires but a touch, as one would dot an "i" or cross a "t,"
to remove the blemish; but as I cannot think of a recollection
so full of poetry being touched by any hand but
yours, I have told Green the framer, whenever he shall be
on his way with it, to call on you by the road. I enclose a
note from Mrs. Dickens, which I hope will impress you into
a country dance, with which we hope to dismiss Christmas
merrily.</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 2em;">Ever, my dear Roberts,</span><br />
Faithfully yours.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. James
Sheridan
Knowles.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Devonshire Terrace</span>, <i>January 3rd, 1850.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear good Knowles</span>,</div>

<p>Many happy New Years to you, and to all who are
near and dear to you. Your generous heart unconsciously
exaggerates, I am sure, my merit in respect of that most
honourable gentleman who has been the occasion of our<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span>
recent correspondence. I cannot sufficiently admire the
dignity of his conduct, and I really feel indebted to you for
giving me the gratification of observing it.</p>

<p>As to that "cross note," which, rightly considered, was
nothing of the sort, if ever you refer to it again, I'll do&mdash;I
don't exactly know what, but something perfectly desperate
and ferocious. If I have ever thought of it, it has only
been to remember with delight how soon we came to a
better understanding, and how heartily we confirmed it
with a most expressive shake of the hand, one evening
down in that mouldy little den of Miss Kelly's.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Heartily and faithfully yours.<br /></div>
<p><span style="margin-left: 2em;">"Daddy" Knowles.</span><br />
</p>


<div class="sidenote">Mrs.
Gaskell.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Devonshire Terrace</span>, <i>January 31st, 1850.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Mrs. Gaskell</span>,</div>

<p>You may perhaps have seen an announcement in the
papers of my intention to start a new cheap weekly journal
of general literature.</p>

<p>I do not know what your literary vows of temperance or
abstinence may be, but as I do honestly know that there is
no living English writer whose aid I would desire to enlist
in preference to the authoress of "Mary Barton" (a book
that most profoundly affected and impressed me), I venture
to ask you whether you can give me any hope that you will
write a short tale, or any number of tales, for the projected
pages.</p>

<p>No writer's name will be used, neither my own nor any
other; every paper will be published without any signature,
and all will seem to express the general mind and purpose
of the journal, which is the raising up of those that are
down, and the general improvement of our social condition.
I should set a value on your help which your modesty can<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span>
hardly imagine; and I am perfectly sure that the least
result of your reflection or observation in respect of the life
around you, would attract attention and do good.</p>

<p>Of course I regard your time as valuable, and consider it
so when I ask you if you could devote any of it to this
purpose.</p>

<p>If you could and would prefer to speak to me on the
subject, I should be very glad indeed to come to Manchester
for a few hours and explain anything you might wish to
know. My unaffected and great admiration of your book
makes me very earnest in all relating to you. Forgive my
troubling you for this reason, and believe me ever,</p>

<div class='sig'>
Faithfully yours.<br />
</div>

<p>P.S.&mdash;Mrs. Dickens and her sister send their love.</p>


<div class="sidenote">Rev.
James
White.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Devonshire Terrace</span>, <i>Tuesday, Feb. 5th, 1850.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear White</span>,</div>

<p>I have been going to write to you for a long time,
but have always had in my mind that you might come here
with Lotty any day. As Lotty has come without you, however
(witness a tremendous rampaging and ravaging now
going on upstairs!), I despatch this note to say that I
suppose you have seen the announcement of "the" new
weekly thing, and that if you would ever write anything
for it, you would please me better than I can tell you. We
hope to do some solid good, and we mean to be as cheery
and pleasant as we can. (And, putting our hands in our
breeches pockets, we say complacently, that our money is
as good as Blackwood's any day in the week.)</p>

<p>Now the murder's out!</p>

<p>Are you never coming to town any more? Must I come<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span>
to Bonchurch? Am I born (for the eight-and-thirtieth
time) next Thursday, at half-past five, and do you mean
to say you are <i>not</i> coming to dinner? Well, well, I can
always go over to Puseyism to spite my friends, and that's
some comfort.</p>

<p>Poor dear Jeffrey! I had heard from him but a few
days, and the unopened proof of No. 10 was lying on his
table when he died. I believe I have lost as affectionate a
friend as I ever had, or ever shall have, in this world.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever heartily yours, my dear White.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr.
Charles
Knight.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Devonshire Terrace</span>, <i>February 8th, 1850.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Knight</span>,</div>

<p>Let me thank you in the heartiest manner for your
most kind and gratifying mention of me in your able
pamphlet. It gives me great pleasure, and I sincerely
feel it.</p>

<p>I quite agree with you in all you say so well of the
injustice and impolicy of this excessive taxation. But when
I think of the condition of the great mass of the people, I
fear that I could hardly find the heart to press for justice in
this respect, before the window-duty is removed. They
cannot read without light. They cannot have an average
chance of life and health without it. Much as we feel our
wrong, I fear that they feel their wrong more, and that the
things just done in this wise must bear a new physical
existence.</p>

<p>I never see you, and begin to think we must have
another play&mdash;say in Cornwall&mdash;expressly to bring us
together.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Very faithfully yours.<br />
</div>


<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span></p>

<div class='center'>SUGGESTIONS FOR TITLES OF "HOUSEHOLD WORDS."<br /><br />

THE FORGE:<br />
<br />
A Weekly Journal,<br />
<br />
Conducted by <span class="smcap">Charles Dickens.</span><br /><br /></div>


<div class='poem2'>
"Thus at the glowing Forge of Life our actions must be wrought,<br />
<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Thus on its sounding anvil shaped</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 0.5em;">Each burning deed and thought."&mdash;<i>Longfellow.</i></span><br /><br />
</div>



<div class='center'>
<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Titles">
<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Hearth.</span></td><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Home-Music.</span></td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Forge.</span></td><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Change.</span></td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Crucible.</span></td><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Time and Tide.</span></td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Anvil of the Time.</span>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</td><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Twopence.</span></td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Charles Dickens's Own.</span></td><td align='left'><span class="smcap">English Bells.</span></td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Seasonable Leaves.</span></td><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Weekly Bells.</span></td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Evergreen Leaves.</span></td><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Rocket.</span></td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Home.</span></td><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Good Humour.</span></td></tr>
</table></div>



<div class="sidenote">Mr. W. H.
Wills.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span style="margin-right: 2em;">148, <span class="smcap">King's Road, Brighton</span>,</span><br />
<i>Tuesday Night, March 12th, 1850.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Wills</span>,</div>

<p>I have made a correction or two in my part of the
post-office article. I still observe the top-heavy "Household
Words" in the title. The title of "The Amusements of the
People" has to be altered as I have marked it. I would
as soon have my hair cut off as an intolerable Scotch shortness
put into my titles by the elision of little words.
"The Seasons" wants a little punctuation. Will the
"Incident in the Life of Mademoiselle Clairon" go into
those two pages? I fear not, but one article would be
infinitely better, I am quite certain, than two or three short
ones. If it will go in, in with it.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span></p>

<p>I shall be back, please God, by dinner-time to-morrow
week. I will be ready for Smithfield either on the following
Monday morning at four, or any other morning you
may arrange for.</p>

<p>Would it do to make up No. 2 on Wednesday, the 20th,
instead of Saturday? If so, it would be an immense convenience
to me. But if it be distinctly necessary to make
it up on Saturday, say by return, and I am to be relied
upon. Don't fail in this.</p>

<p>I really <i>can't</i> promise to be comic. Indeed, your
note put me out a little, for I had just sat down to begin,
"It will last my time." I will shake my head a little, and
see if I can shake a more comic substitute out of it.</p>

<p>As to <i>two</i> comic articles, or two any sort of articles, out
of me, that's the intensest extreme of no-goism.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever faithfully.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Rev.
James
White.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Devonshire Terrace</span>, <i>July 13th, 1850.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear White</span>,</div>

<p>Being obliged (sorely against my will) to leave my
work this morning and go out, and having a few spare
minutes before I go, I write a hasty note, to hint how glad
I am to have received yours, and how happy and tranquil
we feel it to be for you all, that the end of that long illness
has come.<a name="FNanchor_8_8" id="FNanchor_8_8"></a><a href="#Footnote_8_8" class="fnanchor">[8]</a> Kate and Georgy send best loves to Mrs. White,
and we hope she will take all needful rest and relief after
those arduous, sad, and weary weeks. I have taken a house
at Broadstairs, from early in August until the end of
October, as I don't want to come back to London until I
shall have finished "Copperfield." I am rejoiced at the
idea of your going there. You will find it the healthiest
and freshest of places; and there are Canterbury, and all<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span>
varieties of what Leigh Hunt calls "greenery," within a few
minutes' railroad ride. It is not very picturesque ashore,
but extremely so seaward; all manner of ships continually
passing close inshore. So come, and we'll have no end of
sports, please God.</p>

<p>I am glad to say, as I know you will be to hear, that
there seems a bright unanimity about "Copperfield." I
am very much interested in it and pleased with it myself. I
have carefully planned out the story, for some time past, to
the end, and am making out my purposes with great care.
I should like to know what you see from that tower of
yours. I have little doubt you see the real objects in the
prospect.</p>

<p>"Household Words" goes on <i>thoroughly well</i>. It is
expensive, of course, and demands a large circulation; but
it is taking a great and steady stand, and I have no doubt
already yields a good round profit.</p>

<p>To-morrow week I shall expect you. You shall have a
bottle of the "Twenty." I have kept a few last lingering
caskets with the gem enshrined therein, expressly for you.</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 2em;">Ever, my dear White,</span><br />
Cordially yours.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. W. H.
Wills.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">H&ocirc;tel Windsor, Paris</span>, <i>Thursday, July 27th, 1850.</i><br />
<span style="margin-right: 4em;"><i>After post-time.</i></span><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Wills</span>,</div>

<p>I have had much ado to get to work; the heat here
being so intense that I can do nothing but lie on the bare
floor all day. I never felt it anything like so hot in Italy.</p>

<p>There is nothing doing in the theatres, and the atmosphere
is so horribly oppressive there that one can hardly
endure it. I came out of the Fran&ccedil;ais last night half
dead. I am writing at this moment with nothing on but a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span>
shirt and pair of white trousers, and have been sitting four
hours at this paper, but am as faint with the heat as if I
had been at some tremendous gymnastics; and yet we had
a thunderstorm last night.</p>

<p>I hope we are doing pretty well in Wellington Street.
My anxiety makes me feel as if I had been away a year. I
hope to be home on Tuesday evening, or night at latest. I
have picked up a very curious book of French statistics
that will suit us, and an odd proposal for a company connected
with the gambling in California, of which you will
also be able to make something.</p>

<p>I saw a certain "Lord Spleen" mentioned in a playbill
yesterday, and will look after that distinguished English
nobleman to-night, if possible. Rachel played last night
for the last time before going to London, and has not so
much in her as some of our friends suppose.</p>

<p>The English people are perpetually squeezing themselves
into courtyards, blind alleys, closed edifices, and other
places where they have no sort of business. The French
people, as usual, are making as much noise as possible
about everything that is of no importance, but seem (as far as
one can judge) pretty quiet and good-humoured. They made
a mighty hullabaloo at the theatre last night, when Brutus
(the play was "Lucretia") declaimed about liberty.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever faithfully.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. W. H.
Wills.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Devonshire Terrace</span>, <i>August 9th, 1850.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Wills</span>,</div>

<p>I shall be obliged to you if you will write to this
man, and tell him that what he asks I never do&mdash;firstly,
because I have no kind of connection with any manager or
theatre; secondly, because I am asked to read so many<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span>
manuscripts, that compliance is impossible, or I should have
no other occupation or relaxation in the world.</p>


<p><img src="images/rightindex.png" width="78" height="39" alt="left hand" title="left hand" />
 A foreign gentleman, with a beard, name unknown,
but signing himself "A Fellow Man," and dating from
nowhere, declined, twice yesterday, to leave this house for
any less consideration than the insignificant one of "twenty
pounds." I have had a policeman waiting for him all day.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Faithfully yours.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mrs.
Charles
Dickens.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Broadstairs</span>, <i>Tuesday, Sept. 3rd, 1850.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dearest Kate</span>,</div>

<p>I enclose a few lines from Georgy, and write these
to say that I purpose going home at some time on Thursday,
but I cannot say precisely when, as it depends on what
work I do to-morrow. Yesterday Charles Knight, White,
Forster, Charley, and I walked to Richborough Castle and
back. Knight dined with us afterwards; and the Whites,
the Bicknells, and Mrs. Gibson came in in the evening and
played vingt-et-un.</p>

<p>Having no news I must tell you a story of Sydney.
The children, Georgy, and I were out in the garden on
Sunday evening (by-the-bye, I made a beautiful passage
down, and got to Margate a few minutes after one), when I
asked Sydney if he would go to the railroad and see if Forster
was coming. As he answered very boldly "Yes," I opened
the garden-gate, upon which he set off alone as fast as his
legs would carry him; and being pursued, was not overtaken
until he was through the Lawn House Archway, when he
was still going on at full speed&mdash;I can't conceive where.
Being brought back in triumph, he made a number of
fictitious starts, for the sake of being overtaken again, and
we made a regular game of it. At last, when he and Ally<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span>
had run away, instead of running after them, we came into
the garden, shut the gate, and crouched down on the ground.
Presently we heard them come back and say to each other
with some alarm, "Why, the gate's shut, and they're all
gone!" Ally began in a dismayed way to cry out, but the
Phenomenon shouting, "Open the gate!" sent an enormous
stone flying into the garden (among our heads) by way of
alarming the establishment. I thought it a wonderful piece
of character, showing great readiness of resource. He would
have fired a perfect battery of stones, or very likely have
broken the pantry window, I think, if we hadn't let him in.</p>

<p>They are all in great force, and send their loves. They
are all much excited with the expectation of receiving you
on Friday, and would start me off to fetch you now if I
would go.</p>

<p>Our train on Friday will be half-past twelve. I have
spoken to Georgy about the partridges, and hope we may
find some.</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 2em;">Ever, my dearest Kate,</span><br />
Most affectionately.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Miss Mary
Boyle.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Broadstairs, Kent</span>, <i>Monday Night, Sept. 16th, 1850.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Miss Boyle</span>,</div>

<p>Your letter having arrived in time for me to write a
line by the evening post, I came out of a paroxysm of
"Copperfield," to say that I am <i>perfectly delighted</i> to read
it, and to know that we are going to act together in that
merry party. We dress "Every Man" in Queen Elizabeth's
time. The acting copy is much altered from the old play,
but we still smooth down phrases when needful. I don't
remember anyone that is changed. Georgina says she can't
describe the dress Mrs. Kitely used to wear. I shall be in
town on Saturday, and will then get Maclise to make me a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span>
little sketch, of it, carefully explained, which I will post to
you. At the same time I will send you the book. After
consideration of forces, it has occurred to me (old Ben being,
I daresay, rare; but I <i>do</i> know rather heavy here and there)
that Mrs. Inchbald's "Animal Magnetism," which we have
often played, will "go" with a greater laugh than anything
else. That book I will send you on Saturday too. You
will find your part (Lisette, I think it is called, but it is
a waiting-maid) a most admirable one; and I have seen
people laugh at the piece until they have hung over the
front of the boxes like ripe fruit. You may dress the part
to please yourself after reading it. We wear powder. I will
take care (bringing a theatrical hairdresser for the company)
of your wig! We will rehearse the two pieces when we go
down, or at least anything with which you have to do, over
and over again. You will find my company so well used to
it, and so accustomed to consider it a grave matter of business,
as to make it easy. I am now awaiting the French
books with a view to "Rockingham," and I hope to report
of that too, when I write to you on Saturday.</p>

<div class='sig'>
My dear Miss Boyle, very faithfully yours.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Miss Mary
Boyle.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Devonshire Terrace</span>, <i>Friday, Sept. 20th, 1850.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Miss Boyle</span>,</div>

<p>I enclose you the book of "Animal Magnetism,"
and the book of "Every Man in his Humour;" also a
sketch by Mr. Maclise of a correct and picturesque Mrs.
Kitely. Mr. Forster is Kitely; Mr. Lemon, Brainworm;
Mr. Leech, Master Matthew; Mr. Jerrold, Master Stephen;
Mr. Stone, Downright. Kitely's dress is a very plain
purple gown, like a Bluecoat-boy's. Downright's dress is
also very sober, chiefly brown and gray. All the rest of us
are very bright. I am flaming red. Georgina will write<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span>
you about your colour and hers in "Animal Magnetism;"
the gayer the better. I am the Doctor, in black, with red
stockings. Mr. Lemon (an excellent actor), the valet, as
far as I can remember, in blue and yellow, and a chintz
waistcoat. Mr. Leech is the Marquis, and Mr. Egg the
one-eyed servant.</p>

<p>What do you think of doing "Animal Magnetism" as
the last piece (we may play three in all, I think) at
Rockingham? If so, we might make Quin the one-eyed
servant, and beat up with Mrs. Watson for a Marquis. Will
you tell me what you think of this, addressed to Broadstairs?
I have not heard from Bulwer again. I daresay I have crossed
a letter from him by coming up to-day; but I have every
reason to believe that the last week in October is the time.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever very faithfully yours.<br />
</div>

<p>P.S.&mdash;This is quite a managerial letter, which I write
with all manner of appointments and business discussions
going on about me, having my pen on the paper and my
eye on "Household Words," my head on "Copperfield"
and my ear nowhere particularly.</p>

<p>I will let you know about "A Day after the Wedding."
I have sent for the book on Monday.</p>


<div class="sidenote">The Hon.
Mrs.
Watson.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Broadstairs, Kent</span>, <i>September 24th, 1850.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Mrs. Watson</span>,</div>

<p>Coming out of "Copperfield" into a condition of
temporary and partial consciousness, I plunge into histrionic
duties, and hold enormous correspondence with Miss Boyle,
between whom and myself the most portentous packets are
continually passing. I send you a piece we purpose playing
last at Rockingham, which "my company" played in
London, Scotland, Manchester, Liverpool, and I don't know
where else. It is one of the most ridiculous things ever<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span>
done. We purpose, as I have said, playing it last. Why
do I send it to you? Because there is an excellent part
(played in my troupe by George Cruikshank) for your
brother in it&mdash;Jeffrey; with a black patch on his eye, and
a lame leg, he would be charming&mdash;noble! If he is come
home, give him my love and tell him so. If he is not come
home, do me that favour when he does come. And add
that I have a wig for him belonging to the part, which I
have an idea of sending to the Exposition of '51, as a
triumph of human ingenuity.</p>

<p>I am the Doctor; Miss Boyle, Lisette; Georgy, the other
little woman. We have nearly arranged our "bill" for
Rockingham. We shall want one more reasonably good
actor, besides your brother and Miss Boyle's, to play the
Marquis in this piece. Do you know a being endowed by
nature with the requisite qualities?</p>

<p>There are some things in the next "Copperfield" that I
think better than any that have gone before. After I have
been believing such things with all my heart and soul, two
results always ensue: first, I can't write plainly to the eye;
secondly, I can't write sensibly to the mind. So "Copperfield"
is to blame, and I am not, for this wandering note;
and if you like it, you'll forgive me. With my affectionate
remembrances to Watson,</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 2em;">Ever, my dear Mrs. Watson,</span><br />
Very faithfully yours.<br />
</div>

<p>P.S.&mdash;I find I am not equal to the flourish.</p>


<div class="sidenote">Miss Mary
Boyle.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Devonshire Terrace</span>, <i>Wednesday, Oct 30th, 1850.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Miss Boyle</span>,</div>

<p>We are all extremely concerned and distressed to
lose you. But we feel that it cannot be otherwise, and we<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[228]</a></span>
do not, in our own expectation of amusement, forget the
sad cause of your absence.</p>

<p>Bulwer was here yesterday; and if I were to tell you
how earnestly he and all the other friends whom you don't
know have looked forward to the projected association with
you, and in what a friendly spirit they all express their
disappointment, you would be quite moved by it, I think.
Pray don't give yourself the least uneasiness on account of
the blank in our arrangements. I did not write to you
yesterday, in the hope that I might be able to tell you
to-day that I had replaced you, in however poor a way. I
cannot do that yet, but I am busily making out some means
of filling the parts before we rehearse to-morrow night,
and I trust to be able to do so in some out-of-the-way
manner.</p>

<p>Mrs. Dickens and Bridget send you their kindest remembrances.
They are bitterly disappointed at not seeing
you to-day, but we all hope for a better time.</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 4em;">Dear Miss Boyle,</span><br />
Faithfully yours always.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">The Hon.
Mrs.
Watson.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Devonshire Terrace</span>, <i>Saturday Evening, Nov. 23rd, 1850.</i><br />
</div>
<div class='unindent'><span class='smcap'>My dear Mrs. Watson</span>,<br />
</div>

<p>Being well home from Knebworth, where everything
has gone off in a whirl of triumph and fired the whole
length and breadth of the county of Hertfordshire, I write
a short note to say that we are yours any time after Twelfth-night,
and that we look forward to seeing you with the
greatest pleasure. I should have made this reply to your
last note sooner, but that I have been waiting to send you
"Copperfield" in a new waistcoat. His tailor is so slow
that it has not yet appeared; but when the resplendent
garment comes home it shall be forwarded.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></span></p>

<p>I have not your note at hand, but I think you said "any
time after Christmas." At all events, and whatever you
said, we will conclude a treaty on any terms you may
propose. And if it should include any of Charley's holidays,
perhaps you would allow us to put a brass collar round
his neck, and chain him up in the stable.</p>

<p>Kate and Georgina (who has covered herself with glory)
join me in best remembrances and regards to Watson and
you and all the house. I have stupendous proposals to make
concerning Switzerland in the spring.</p>

<p>I promised Bulwer to make enquiry of you about "Miss
Watson," whom he once knew and greatly wished to hear
of. He associated her (but was not clear how) with Lady
Palmer.</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 3em;">My dear Mrs. Watson,</span><br />
Ever faithfully yours.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. Henry
Bicknell.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Devonshire Terrace</span>, <i>November 28th, 1850.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Mr. Bicknell</span>,</div>

<p>If I ever did such a thing, believe me I would do it
at your request. But I don't, and if you could see the
ramparts of letters from similar institutions with which my
desk bristles every now and then, you would feel that nothing
lies between total abstinence (in this regard) and utter
bewilderment and lecturation.</p>

<p>Mrs. Dickens and her sister unite with me in kind
regards to you and Mrs. Bicknell. The consequences of the
accident are fast fading, I am happy to say. We all hope
to hear shortly that Mrs. Bicknell has recovered that other
little accident, which (as you and I know) will occasionally
happen in well-regulated families.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Very faithfully yours.<br />
</div>

<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</a></span></p>
<div class="sidenote">Mr. Walter
Savage
Landor.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span style="margin-right: 2em;"><span class="smcap">Office of "Household Words</span>,"</span><br />
<br />
<i>Wednesday, Dec. 4th, 1850.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Landor</span>,</div>

<p>I have been (a strange thing for me) so very unwell
since Sunday, that I have hardly been able to hold up my
head&mdash;a bilious attack, I believe, and a very miserable sort
of business. This, my dear friend, is the reason why I have
not sooner written to you in reference to your noble letter,
which I read in <i>The Examiner</i>, and for which&mdash;as it exalts
me&mdash;I cannot, cannot thank you in words.</p>

<p>We had been following up the blow in Kinkel's<a name="FNanchor_9_9" id="FNanchor_9_9"></a><a href="#Footnote_9_9" class="fnanchor">[9]</a> favour,
and I was growing sanguine, in the hope of getting him out
(having enlisted strong and active sympathy in his behalf),
when the news came of his escape. Since then we have
heard nothing of him. I rather incline to the opinion that
the damnable powers that be connived at his escape, but
know nothing. Whether he be retaken or whether he
appear (as I am not without hope he may) in the streets of
London, I shall be a party to no step whatever without
consulting you; and if any scrap of intelligence concerning
him shall reach me, it shall be yours immediately.</p>

<p>Horne wrote the article. I shall see him here to-night,
and know how he will feel your sympathy and support.
But I do not wait to see him before writing, lest you should
think me slow to feel your generosity. We said at home
when we read your letter, that it was like the opening of
your whole munificent and bare heart.</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 2em;">Ever most affectionately yours,</span><br />
My dear Landor.<br />
</div>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</a></span></p>

<div class="sidenote">The Hon.
Mrs.
Watson.</div>
<div class="figleft" style="width: 78px;">
<img src="images/rightindex.png" width="78" height="39" alt="left hand" title="left hand" />
</div>
<div class='center'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">This is No. 2</span>.<br /></div>
<div class='date'>
<span class="smcap">Devonshire Terrace</span>, <i>Monday Morning, Dec. 9th, 1850.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Mrs. Watson</span>,</div>

<p>Your note to me of Saturday has crossed mine to
you, I find. If you open both of mine together, please to
observe <i>this is No. 2</i>.</p>

<p>You may rely on Mr. Tucker's doing his work thoroughly
well and charging a fair price. It is not possible for him to
say aforehand, in such a case, what it will cost, I imagine,
as he will have to adapt his work to the place. Nathan's
stage knowledge may be stated in the following figures:
00000000000. Therefore, I think you had best refer
Mr. Tucker to <i>me</i>, and I will apply all needful screws and
tortures to him.</p>

<p>I have thought of one or two very ingenious (hem!)
little contrivances for adapting the difficulties of "Used Up"
to the small stage. They will require to be so exactly
explained to your carpenter (though very easy little things
in themselves), that I think I had better, before Christmas,
send my servant down for an hour&mdash;he is quite an old stager
now&mdash;to show him precisely what I mean. It is not a day's
work, but it would be extremely difficult to explain in
writing. I developed these wonderful ideas to the master
carpenter at one of the theatres, and he shook his head
with an intensely mournful air, and said, "Ah, sir, it's a
universal observation in the profession, sir, that it was a
great loss to the public when you took to writing books!"
which I thought complimentary to "Copperfield."</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever faithfully yours.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">The same.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Devonshire Terrace</span>, <i>Saturday, Dec. 14th, 1850.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Mrs. Watson</span>,</div>

<p>I shall be delighted to come on the seventh instead of
the eighth. We consider it an engagement. Over and above<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</a></span>
the pleasure of a quiet day with you, I think I can greatly
facilitate the preparations (that's the way, you see, in which
we cheat ourselves into making duties of pleasures) by
being at Rockingham a day earlier. So that's settled.</p>

<p>I was quite certain when that Child of Israel mentioned
those dimensions, that he must be wrong. For which
wooden-headedness the Child shall be taken to task on
Monday morning, when I am going to look at his preparations,
by appointment, about the door. Don't you
observe, that the scenery not being made expressly for the
room, it may be impossible to use it as you propose? There
is a scene before that wall, and unless the door in the scene
(supposing there to be one, which I am not sure of) should
come exactly into the place of the door of the room, the
door of the room might as well be in Africa. If it could be
used it would still require to be backed (excuse professional
technicality) by another scene in the passage. And if it be
rather in the side of the bottom of the room (as I seem to
remember it), it would be shut out of sight, or partially, by
the side scenes. Do you comprehend these stage managerial
sagacities? That piece of additional room in so
small a stage would be of immense service, if we could
avail ourselves of it. If we can't, I have another means (I
think) of discovering Leech, Saville, and Coldstream at
table. I am constantly turning over in my mind the
capacities of the place, and hope by one means or other to
make something more than the best of it. As to the fireplace,
you will never be able to use that. The heat of the
lamp will be very great, and ventilation will be the thing
wanted. Thirteen feet and a half of depth, diminished by
stage fittings and furniture, is a small space. I think the
doorway could be used in the last scene, with the castle
steps and platform for the staircase running straight<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</a></span>
through it toward the hall. <i>Nous verrons.</i> I will write
again about my visit of inspection, probably on Monday.</p>

<p>Will you let them know that Messrs. Nathan, of Titchborne
Street, Haymarket, will dress them, please, and that
I will engage for their doing it thoroughly well; also that
Mr. Wilson, theatrical hairdresser, Strand, near St. Clement's
Churchyard, will come down with wigs, etc., to "make up"
everybody; that he has a list of the pieces from me, and
that he will be glad to measure the heads and consult the
tastes of all concerned, if they will give him the opportunity
beforehand? I should like to see Sir Adonis Leech and the
Hon. T. Saville if I can. For they ought to be wonderfully
made up, and to be as unlike themselves as possible,
and to contrast well with each other and with me. I rather
grudge <i>caro sposo</i> coming into the company. I should like
him so much to see the play. If we do it all well together it
ought to be so very pleasant. I never saw a great mass of
people so charmed with a little story as when we acted it
at the Glasgow Theatre. But I have no other reason for
faltering when I take him to my arms. I feel that he is the
man for the part.<a name="FNanchor_10_10" id="FNanchor_10_10"></a><a href="#Footnote_10_10" class="fnanchor">[10]</a> I see him with a blue bag, a flaxen wig,
and green spectacles. I know what it will be. I foresee
how all that sessional experience will come out. I reconcile
myself to it, in spite of the selfish consideration of wanting
him elsewhere; and while I have a heavy sense of a light
being snuffed out in the audience, perceive a new luminary
shining on the stage!</p>

<p>Your brother<a name="FNanchor_11_11" id="FNanchor_11_11"></a><a href="#Footnote_11_11" class="fnanchor">[11]</a> would make a capital tiger, too! Very
short tight surtout, doeskins, bright top-boots, white cravat,
bouquet in button-hole, close wig&mdash;very good, ve&mdash;ry good.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</a></span>
It clearly must be so. The thing is done. I told you we
were opening a tremendous correspondence when we first
began to write on such a long subject. But do let me tell
you, once and for all, that I am in the business heart and
soul, and that you cannot trouble me respecting it, and that
I wouldn't willingly or knowingly leave the minutest detail
unprovided for. It cannot possibly be a success if the
smallest peppercorn of arrangement be omitted. And
a success it must be! I couldn't go into such a thing,
or help to bring you poorly out of it, for any earthly consideration.
Talking of forgetting, isn't it odd? I doubt
if I could forget words I had learned, so long as I wanted
them. But the moment the necessity goes, they go. I
know my place and everybody's place in this identical piece
of "Used Up" perfectly, and could put every little object
on its own square inches of room exactly where it ought to
be. But I have no more recollection of my words now (I
took the book up yesterday) than if I had only seen the play
as one of the audience at a theatre. Perhaps not so much.
With cordial remembrances,</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 2em;">Ever, dear Mrs. Watson,</span><br />
Faithfully yours.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">The Hon.
Mrs.
Watson.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Devonshire Terrace</span>, <i>December 19th, 1850.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Mrs. Watson</span>,</div>

<p>I am sorry to say that business ("Household Words"
business) will keep me in town to-morrow. But on Monday
I propose coming down and returning the same day. The
train for my money appears to be the half-past six <span class="smcap">a.m.</span>
(horrible initials!), and to that invention for promoting early
rising I design to commit myself.</p>

<p>I am shocked if I also made the mistake of confounding
those two (and too) similar names.<a name="FNanchor_12_12" id="FNanchor_12_12"></a><a href="#Footnote_12_12" class="fnanchor">[12]</a> But I think Mr.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</a></span>
<span class="smcap">S-t-a-f-f-o-r-d</span> had better do the Marquis. I am glad to
find that we agree, but we always do.</p>

<p>I have closely overhauled the little theatre, and the
carpenter and painter. The whole has been entirely
repainted (I mean the proscenium and scenery) for this
especial purpose, and is extremely pretty. I don't think,
the scale considered, that anything better <i>could</i> be done. It
is very elegant. I have brought "the Child" to this. For the
hire of the theatre, fifteen pounds. The carriage to be extra.
The Child's fares and expenses (which will be very moderate)
to be extra. The stage carpenter's wages to be extra&mdash;seven
shillings a day. I don't think, when you see the
things, that you will consider this too much. It is as good
as the Queen's little theatre at Windsor, raised stage
excepted. I have had an extraction made, which will enable
us to use the door. I am at present breaking my man's
heart, by teaching him how to imitate the sounds of the
smashing of the windows and the breaking of the balcony
in "Used Up." In the event of his death from grief, I
have promised to do something for his mother. Thinking
it possible that you might not see the enclosed until next
month, and hoping that it is seasonable for Christmas, I
send it. Being, with cordial regards and all seasonable
good wishes,</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 2em;">Ever, dear Mrs. Watson,</span><br />
Faithfully yours.<br />
</div>

<p>P.S.&mdash;This [blot] is a tear over the devotion of Captain
Boyle, who (as I learned from the Child of Israel this
morning) would not decide upon Farmer Wurzel's coat,
without referring the question of buttons to managerial
approval.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</a></span></p>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. John
Poole.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Devonshire Terrace</span>, <i>Tuesday Night, Christmas Eve, 1850.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Poole</span>,</div>

<p>On the Sunday when I last saw you, I went straight
to Lord John's with the letter you read. He was out of
town, and I left it with my card.</p>

<p>On the following Wednesday I received a note from him,
saying that he did not bear in mind exactly what I had told
him of you before, and asking me to tell it again. I immediately
replied, of course, and gave him an exact description
of you and your condition, and your way of life in Paris
and everything else; a perfect diorama in little, with you
pervading it. To-day I got a letter from him, announcing
that you have a pension of <i>a hundred a year</i>! of which I
heartily wish you joy.</p>

<p>He says: "I am happy to say that the Queen has
approved of a pension of one hundred pounds a year to
Mr. Poole.</p>

<p>"The Queen, in her gracious answer, informs me that
she meant to have mentioned Mr. Poole to me, and that she
had wished to place him in the Charter House, but found
the society there was not such as he could associate with.</p>

<p>"Be so good as to inform Mr. Poole that directions are
given for his pension, which will date from the end of June
last."</p>

<p>I have lost no time in answering this, but you must
brace up your energies to write him a short note too, and
another for the Queen.</p>

<p>If you are in Paris, shall I ascertain what authority I
shall need from you to receive the half-year, which I suppose
will be shortly due? I can receive it as usual.</p>

<p>With all good wishes and congratulations, seasonable
and unseasonable,</p>

<div class='sig'>
Always faithfully yours.<br />
</div>

<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[237]</a></span></p>
<div class="sidenote">The Hon.
Mrs.
Watson.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Devonshire Terrace</span>, <i>Monday Morning, Dec. 30th, 1850.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Mrs. Watson</span>,</div>

<p>As your letter is <i>decided</i>, the scaffolding shall be re-erected
round Charley's boots (it has been taken down, and
the workmen had retired to their respective homes in various
parts of England and Wales) and his dressing proceeded
with. I have been very much pleased with him in the
matter, as he has never made the least demonstration of
disappointment or mortification, and was perfectly contented
to give in. (<i>Here I break off to go to Boxall.</i>) (<i>Here I
return much exhausted.</i>)</p>

<p>Your time shall be stated in the bills for both nights. I
propose to rehearse on the day, on Thursday and Friday,
and in the evening on Saturday, that we may try our lights.
Therefore:</p>



<div class='center'>
<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="workers schedule on stage">
<tr><td align='center'><span class="smcap">Nathan<br />and<br />Stage Carpenter</span></td><td align='left'><div class="figcenter" style="width: 10px;">
<img src="images/largebracketpointleft.png" width="10" height="100" alt="Bracket" title="Bracket" />
</div></td><td align='left'>will come on Tuesday, 7th January, as there must be a responsible person to anathematise, and as the company seem so slow about their dresses, that I foresee the strong probability of Nathan having a good deal to do at Rockingham without respect.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Wilson</span></td><td align='left'>&nbsp;</td><td align='left'>will come on Saturday, 11th January.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">Tucker</span></td><td align='left'>&nbsp;</td><td align='left'>will come on Saturday, 11th January.</td></tr>
</table></div>

<p>I shall be delighted to see your brother, and so no more
at present from</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 5em;">Yours ever,</span><br />
<span class="smcap">Coldstream Freelove Doctor Dickens</span>.<br />
</div>

<p>P.S.&mdash;As Boxall (with his head very much on one side
and his spectacles on) danced backward from the canvas
incessantly with great nimbleness, and returned, and made
little digs at it with his pencil, with a horrible grin on his
countenance, I augur that he pleased himself this morning.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[238]</a></span></p>

<p>"Tag" added by Mr. Dickens to "Animal Magnetism,"
played at Rockingham Castle.</p>

<div class='center'>
ANIMAL MAGNETISM.&mdash;TAG.<br />
<br />
[After <span class="smcap">La Fleur</span> says to the Marquis: "Sir, return him the wand; and<br />
the ladies, I daresay, will fall in love with him again."]<br /><br />
</div>

<div class='hang1'>
<span class="smcap">Doctor</span>. I'm cheated, robbed! I don't believe! I hate<br />
Wand, Marquis, Doctor, Ward, Lisette, and Fate!</div>
<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">La Fleur</span>. Not me?</div>
<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Doctor</span>. <i>You</i> worse, you rascal, than the rest.</div>
<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">La Fleur</span>. (<i>bowing</i>). To merit it, good sir, I've done my best.</div>
<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Lisette</span>. (<i>sharply</i>). And I.</div>
<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Constance</span>. <span style="margin-left: 2em;">I fear that I too have a claim</span><br />
Upon your anger.</div>
<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Lisette</span>.        <span style="margin-left: 6em;">Anger, madam? Shame!</span><br />
He's justly treated, as he might have known.<br />
And if the wand were a divining one<br />
It would have turn'd, within his very hands,<br />
Point-blank to where your handsome husband stands.</div>
<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Constance</span> (<i>glancing at</i> <span class="smcap">Doctor</span>). I would it were the wand of Harlequin,<br />
To change his temper and his favour win.</div>
<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Jeffrey</span> (<i>peeping in</i>). In that case, mistress, you might be so kind<br />
As wave me back the eye of which I'm blind.</div>
<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Marquis</span> (<i>laughing and examining it</i>). 'Tis nothing but a piece of senseless wood,<br />
And has no influence for harm or good.<br />
Yet stay! It surely draws me towards those<br />
Indulgent, pleasant, smiling, beaming rows!<br />
It surely charms me.</div>
<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">All</span>.        <span style="margin-left: 8em;">And us too.</span></div>
<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Marquis</span>.          <span style="margin-left: 10em;">To bend</span><br />
Before their gen'rous efforts to commend;<br />
To cheer us on, through these few happy hours,<br />
And strew our mimic way with real flowers.<br />
<span style="margin-left: 14em;">[<i>All make obeisance.</i></span><br />
Stay yet again. Among us all, I feel<br />
One subtle, all-pervading influence steal,<br />
Stirring one wish within one heart and head,<br />
Bright be the path our host and hostess tread!<br />
Blest be their children, happy be their race,<br />
Long may they live, this ancient hall to grace<br />
Long bear of English virtues noble fruit&mdash;<br />
Green-hearted <span class="smcap">Rockingham</span>! strike deep thy root<br />
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[239]</a></span></p>
<h2>1851.</h2>

<h3>NARRATIVE.</h3>


<div class='unindent'><span class='smcap'>In</span> February this year, Charles Dickens made a short bachelor
excursion with Mr. Leech and the Hon. Spencer Lyttelton
to Paris, from whence we give a letter to his wife. She
was at this time in very bad health, and the little infant
Dora had a serious illness during the winter. The child
rallied for the time, but Mrs. Dickens continued so ill that
she was advised to try the air&mdash;and water&mdash;of Malvern.
And early in March, she and her sister were established in
lodgings there, the children being left in London, and
Charles Dickens dividing his time between Devonshire
Terrace and Malvern. He was busily occupied before this
time in superintending the arrangements for Mr. Macready's
last appearance on the stage at Drury Lane, and for a great
dinner which was given to Mr. Macready after it on the 1st
March, at which the chair was taken by Sir Edward Bulwer
Lytton. With him Charles Dickens was then engaged in
maturing a scheme, which had been projected at the time
of the amateur play at Knebworth, of a Guild of Literature
and Art, which was to found a provident fund for literary
men and artists; and to start which, a series of dramatic
performances by the amateur company was proposed. Sir
E. B. Lytton wrote a comedy, "Not so Bad as We Seem,"
for the purpose, to be played in London and the provinces;
and the Duke of Devonshire turned one of the splendid
rooms in Devonshire House into a theatre, for the first
occasion of its performance. It was played early in May
before her Majesty and the Prince Consort, and a large
audience. Later in the season, there were several representations
of the comedy (with a farce, "Mr. Nightingale's
Diary," written by Charles Dickens for himself and Mr.
Mark Lemon) in the Hanover Square Rooms.</div>

<p>But in the interval between the Macready banquet and
the play at Devonshire House, Charles Dickens underwent
great family trouble and sorrow. His father, whose health
had been declining for some time, became seriously ill, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[240]</a></span>
Charles Dickens was summoned from Malvern to attend upon
him. Mr. John Dickens died on the 31st March. On the 14th
April, Charles Dickens had gone from Malvern to preside
at the annual dinner of the General Theatrical Fund, and
found his children all well at Devonshire Terrace. He was
playing with his baby, Dora, before he went to the dinner;
soon after he left the house the child died suddenly in her
nurse's arms. The sad news was communicated to the
father after his duties at the dinner were over. The next
day, Mr. Forster went to Malvern to break the news to
Mrs. Dickens, and she and her sister returned with him
to London, and the Malvern lodgings were given up. But
Mrs. Dickens being still out of health, and London being
more than usually full (this being the year of the Great
Exhibition), Charles Dickens decided to let the town house
again for a few months, and engaged the Fort House,
Broadstairs, from the beginning of May until November.
This, which was his longest sojourn at Broadstairs, was also
the last, as the following summer he changed his seaside resort,
and never returned to that pretty little watering-place,
although he always retained an affectionate interest in it.</p>

<p>The lease of the Devonshire Terrace house was to expire
this year. It was now too small for his family, so he could
not renew it, although he left it with regret. From the
beginning of the year, he had been in negotiation for a house
in Tavistock Square, in which his friend Mr. Frank Stone had
lived for some years. Many letters which follow are on
the subject of this house and the improvements Charles
Dickens made in it. His brother-in-law, Henry Austin&mdash;himself
an architect&mdash;superintended the "works" at Tavistock
House, as he did afterwards those at Gad's Hill&mdash;and
there are many characteristic letters to Mr. Austin while these
works were in progress. In the autumn, as a letter written
in August to Mr. Stone will show, an exchange of houses
was made&mdash;Mr. Stone removing with his family to Devonshire
Terrace until his own new house was ready&mdash;while
the alterations in Tavistock House went on, and Charles
Dickens removed into it from Broadstairs, in November.</p>

<p>His eldest son was now an Eton boy. He had been one<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[241]</a></span>
of the party and had played a small part in the play at
Rockingham Castle, in the Christmas holidays, and his
father's letters to Mrs. Watson at the beginning of this year
have reference to this play.</p>

<p>This year he wrote and published the "Haunted Man,"
which he had found himself unable to finish for the previous
Christmas. It was the last of the Christmas <i>books</i>. He
abandoned them in favour of a Christmas number of "Household
Words," which he continued annually for many years
in "Household Words" and "All the Year Round," and
in which he had the collaboration of other writers. The
"Haunted Man" was dramatised and produced at the
Adelphi Theatre, under the management of Mr. Benjamin
Webster. Charles Dickens read the book himself, at
Tavistock House, to a party of actors and actresses.</p>

<p>At the end of the year he wrote the first number of
"Bleak House," although it was not published until March
of the following year. With the close attention and the
hard work he gave, from the time of its starting, to his
weekly periodical, he found it to be most desirable, now, in
beginning a new monthly serial, that he should be ready
with some numbers in advance before the appearance of the
first number.</p>

<p>A provincial tour for the "Guild" took place at the end
of the year. A letter to his wife, from Clifton, in November,
gives a notion of the general success and enthusiasm with
which the plays were attended. The "new Hardman," to
whom he alludes as taking that part in Sir E. B. Lytton's
comedy in the place of Mr. Forster, was Mr. John Tenniel,
who was a new addition, and a very valuable and pleasant
one, to the company. Mr. Topham, the delightful water-colour
painter, Mr. Dudley Costello, and Mr. Wilkie Collins
were also new recruits to the company of "splendid strollers"
about this time. A letter to Mr. Wills, asking him to take
a part in the comedy, is given here. He never did <i>act</i> with
the company, but he complied with Charles Dickens's desire
that he should be "in the scheme" by giving it all sorts of
assistance, and almost invariably being one of the party in
the provincial tours.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[242]</a></span></p>


<div class="sidenote">The Hon.
Mrs.
Watson.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Devonshire Terrace</span>, <i>January 24th, 1851.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Mrs. Watson</span>,</div>

<p>Kate will have told you, I daresay, that my despondency
on coming to town was relieved by a talk with Lady
John Russell, of which you were the subject, and in which she
spoke of you with an earnestness of old affection and regard
that did me good. I date my recovery (which has been
slow) from that hour. I am still feeble, and liable to sudden
outbursts of causeless rage and demoniacal gloom, but I
shall be better presently. What a thing it is, that we can't
be always innocently merry and happy with those we like
best without looking out at the back windows of life!
Well, one day perhaps&mdash;after a long night&mdash;the blinds on
that side of the house will be down for ever, and nothing
left but the bright prospect in front.</p>

<p>Concerning supper-toast (of which I feel bound to make
some mention), you did, as you always do, right, and exactly
what was most agreeable to me.</p>

<p>My love to your excellent husband (I wonder whether
he and the dining-room have got to rights yet!), and to the
jolly little boys and the calm little girl. Somehow, I shall
always think of Lord Spencer as eternally walking up and
down the platform at Rugby, in a high chill wind, with no
apparent hope of a train&mdash;as I left him; and somehow I
always think of Rockingham, after coming away, as if I
belonged to it and had left a bit of my heart behind, which
it is so very odd to find wanting twenty times a day.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever, dear Mrs. Watson, faithfully yours, and his.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">The same.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Devonshire Terrace</span>, <i>Tuesday Night, Jan. 28th, 1851.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear, dear Mrs. Watson</span>,</div>

<p>I presume you mean Mr. Stafford and Mr. Stopford
to pay Wilson (as I have instructed him) a guinea each?
Am I right? In that just case I still owe you a guinea for<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[243]</a></span>
<i>my</i> part. I was going to send you a post-office order for
that amount, when a faint sense of absurdity mantled my
ingenuous visage with a blush, and I thought it better to
owe you the money until we met. I hope it may be soon!</p>

<p>I believe I may lay claim to the mysterious inkstand,
also to a volume lettered on the back, "Shipwrecks and
Disasters at Sea, II.," which I left when I came down at
Christmas. Will you take care of them as hostages until
we effect an exchange?</p>

<p>Charley went back in great spirits, threatening to write
to George. It was a very wet night, and John took him to
the railway. He said, on his return: "Mas'r Charles went
off very gay, sir. He found some young gen'lemen as was
his friends in the train, sir." "Come," said I, "I am glad
of that. How many were there? Two or three?" "Oh
dear, sir, there was a matter of forty, sir! All with their
heads out o' the coach-windows, sir, a-hallooing 'Dickens!'
all over the station!"</p>

<p>Her ladyship and the ward of the <span class="smcap">Fiz-zish-un</span> send their
best loves, in which I heartily join. If you and your dear
husband come to town before we bring out Bulwer's comedy,
I think we must have a snug reading of it.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever, dear Mrs. Watson, faithfully yours.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. Mark
Lemon.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Devonshire Terrace</span>, <i>Friday, Jan. 31st, 1851.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Lemon</span>,</div>

<p>We are deeply sorry to receive the mournful intelligence
of your calamity. But we know you will both
have found comfort in that blessed belief, from which the
sacred figure with the child upon His knee is, in all stages
of our lives, inseparable, for of such is the kingdom of God!</p>

<p>We join in affectionate loves to you and your dear wife.
She well deserves your praise, I am sure.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever affectionately yours.<br />
</div>

<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[244]</a></span></p>
<div class="sidenote">Mr. W. H.
Wills.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Devonshire Terrace</span>, <i>Monday, Feb. 10th, 1851.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Wills</span>,</div>

<p>There is a small part in Bulwer's comedy, but very
good what there is&mdash;not much&mdash;my servant, who opens the
play, which I should be very glad if you would like to do.</p>

<p>Pray understand that there is no end of men who would
do it, and that if you have the least objection to the trouble,
I don't make this the expression of a wish even. Otherwise,
I would like you to be in the scheme, which is a very great
and important one, and which cannot have too many men
who are steadily&mdash;not flightily, like some of our friends&mdash;in
earnest, and who are not to be lightly discouraged.</p>

<p>If you do the part, I would like to have a talk with you
about the secretarial duties. They must be performed by
someone I clearly see, and will require good business
direction. I should like to put some young fellow, to whom
such work and its remuneration would be an object, under
your eye, if we could find one entire and perfect chrysolite
anywhere. Let me know whether I am to rate you on the
ship's books or not. If yes, consider yourself "called" to
the reading (by Macready) at Forster's rooms, on Wednesday,
the 19th, at three.</p>

<p>And in the meantime you shall have a proof of the plan.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever yours.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mrs.
Charles
Dickens.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">H&ocirc;tel Wagram, Paris</span>, <i>Thursday, Feb. 12th, 1851.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dearest Kate</span>,</div>

<p>I received your letter this morning (on returning
from an expedition to a market thirteen miles away, which
involved the necessity of getting up at five), and am
delighted to have such good accounts of all at home.</p>

<p>We had D'Orsay to dinner yesterday, and I am hurried
to dress now, in order to pay a promised visit to his<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[245]</a></span>
<i>atelier</i>. He was very happy with us, and is much improved
both in spirits and looks. Lord and Lady Castlereagh live
downstairs here, and we went to them in the evening, and
afterwards brought him upstairs to smoke. To-night we
are going to see Lema&icirc;tre in the renowned "Belph&eacute;gor"
piece. To-morrow at noon we leave Paris for Calais (the
Boulogne boat does not serve our turn), and unless the
weather for crossing should be absurd, I shall be at home,
please God, early on the evening of Saturday. It continues
to be delightful weather here&mdash;gusty, but very clear and
fine. Leech and I had a charming country walk before
breakfast this morning at Poissy and enjoyed it very much.
The rime was on the grass and trees, and the country
most delicious.</p>

<p>Spencer Lyttelton is a capital companion on a trip, and
a great addition to the party. We have got on famously
and been very facetious. With best love to Georgina and
the darlings,</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever most affectionately.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Miss Mary
Boyle.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Devonshire Terrace</span>, <i>Friday Night, late, Feb. 21st, 1851.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Miss Boyle</span>,</div>

<p>I have devoted a couple of hours this evening to
going very carefully over your paper (which I had read
before) and to endeavouring to bring it closer, and to
lighten it, and to give it that sort of compactness which a
habit of composition, and of disciplining one's thoughts like
a regiment, and of studying the art of putting each soldier
into his right place, may have gradually taught me to think
necessary. I hope, when you see it in print, you will not be
alarmed by my use of the pruning-knife. I have tried to
exercise it with the utmost delicacy and discretion, and to
suggest to you, especially towards the end, how this sort of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[246]</a></span>
writing (regard being had to the size of the journal in which
it appears) requires to be compressed, and is made pleasanter
by compression. This all reads very solemnly, but only
because I want you to read it (I mean the article) with as
loving an eye as I have truly tried to touch it with a loving
and gentle hand. I propose to call it "My Mahogany Friend."
The other name is too long, and I think not attractive.
Until I go to the office to-morrow and see what is actually
in hand, I am not certain of the number in which it will
appear, but Georgy shall write on Monday and tell you. We
are always a fortnight in advance of the public or the
mechanical work could not be done. I think there are many
things in it that are <i>very pretty</i>. The Katie part is particularly
well done. If I don't say more, it is because I have a
heavy sense, in all cases, of the responsibility of encouraging
anyone to enter on that thorny track, where the prizes are
so few and the blanks so many; where&mdash;&mdash;</p>

<p>But I won't write you a sermon. With the fire going
out, and the first shadows of a new story hovering in a
ghostly way about me (as they usually begin to do, when I
have finished an old one), I am in danger of doing the heavy
business, and becoming a heavy guardian, or something of
that sort, instead of the light and airy Joe.</p>

<p>So good-night, and believe that you may always trust
me, and never find a grim expression (towards you) in any
that I wear.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever yours.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. David
Roberts,
R.A.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<i>February 21st, 1851.</i><br />
</div>

<p>Oh my dear Roberts, if you knew the trouble we have
had and the money we pay for Drury Lane for one night
for the benefit, you would never dream of it for the dinner.
<i>There isn't possibility of getting a theatre.</i><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[247]</a></span></p>

<p>I will do all I can for your charming little daughter, and
hope to squeeze in half-a-dozen ladies at the last; but we
must not breathe the idea or we shall not dare to execute
it, there will be such an outcry.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Faithfully yours.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. W. C.
Macready.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Devonshire Terrace</span>, <i>February 27th, 1851.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Macready</span>,</div>

<p>Forster told me to-day that you wish Tennyson's
sonnet to be read after your health is given on Saturday.
I am perfectly certain that it would not do at that time. I
am quite convinced that the audience would not receive
it, under these exciting circumstances, as it ought to be
received. If I had to read it, I would on no account undertake
to do so at that period, in a great room crowded with
a dense company. I have an instinctive assurance that it
would fail. Being with Bulwer this morning, I communicated
your wish to him, and he immediately felt as I do. I
could enter into many reasons which induce me to form this
opinion. But I believe that you have that confidence in me
that I may spare you the statement of them.</p>

<p>I want to know one thing from you. As I shall be
obliged to be at the London Tavern in the afternoon of
to-morrow, Friday (I write, observe, on Thursday night), I
shall be much helped in the arrangements if you will send
me your answer by a messenger (addressed here) on the
receipt of this. Which would you prefer&mdash;that "Auld
Lang Syne" should be sung after your health is given and
before you return thanks, or after you have spoken?</p>

<p>I cannot forbear a word about last night. I think I
have told you sometimes, my much-loved friend, how, when
I was a mere boy, I was one of your faithful and devoted
adherents in the pit; I believe as true a member of that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[248]</a></span>
true host of followers as it has ever boasted. As I improved
myself and was improved by favouring circumstances in
mind and fortune, I only became the more earnest (if it
were possible) in my study of you. No light portion of my
life arose before me when the quiet vision to which I am
beholden, in I don't know how great a decree, or for how
much&mdash;who does?&mdash;faded so nobly from my bodily eyes
last night. And if I were to try to tell you what I felt&mdash;of
regret for its being past for ever, and of joy in the thought
that you could have taken your leave of <i>me</i> but in God's
own time&mdash;I should only blot this paper with some drops
that would certainly not be of ink, and give very faint
expression to very strong emotions.</p>

<p>What is all this in writing! It is only some sort of
relief to my full heart, and shows very little of it to you;
but that's something, so I let it go.</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 4em;">Ever, my dearest Macready,</span><br />
Your most affectionate Friend.<br />
</div>

<p>P.S.&mdash;My very flourish departs from me for the moment.</p>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. David
Roberts,
R.A.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Knutsford Lodge, Great Malvern</span>, <i>March 20th, 1851.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Roberts</span>,</div>

<p>Mrs. Dickens has been unwell, and I am here with
her. I want you to give a quarter of an hour to the
perusal of the enclosed prospectus; to consider the immense
value of the design, if it be successful, to artists young and
old; and then to bestow your favourable consideration on
the assistance I am going to ask of you for the sake and in
the name of the cause.</p>

<p>For the representation of the new comedy Bulwer has
written for us, to start this scheme, I am having an ingenious
theatre made by Webster's people, for erection on
certain nights in the Hanover Square Rooms. But it will<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[249]</a></span>
first be put up in the Duke of Devonshire's house, where
the first representation will take place before a brilliant
company, including (I believe) the Queen.</p>

<p>Now, will you paint us a scene&mdash;the scene of which I
enclose Bulwer's description from the prompter's book? It
will be a cloth with a set-piece. It should be sent to your
studio or put up in a theatre painting-room, as you would
prefer. I have asked Stanny to do another scene, Edwin
Landseer, and Louis Haghe. The Devonshire House performance
will probably be on Monday, the 28th of April.
I should want to have the scenery complete by the 20th, as
it would require to be elaborately worked and rehearsed.
<i>You</i> could do it in no time after sending in your pictures,
and will you?</p>

<p>What the value of such aid would be I need not say.
I say no more of the reasons that induce me to ask it,
because if they are not in the prospectus they are nowhere.</p>

<p>On Monday and Tuesday nights I shall be in town for
rehearsal, but until then I shall be here. Will you let me
have a line from you in reply?</p>

<div class='sig'>
My dear Roberts, ever faithfully yours.<br />
</div>

<div class="blockquot">
<div class='center'><br />
<i>Description of the Scene proposed:</i><br />
<br />
<span class="smcap">Streets of London in the time of George I</span>.<br />
</div>

<p>In perspective, an alley inscribed <span class="smcap">Deadman's Lane</span>; a large, old-fashioned,
gloomy, mysterious house in the corner, marked No. 1. (<i>This
No. 1, Deadman's Lane, has been constantly referred to in the play as the abode
of a mysterious female figure, who enters masked, and passes into this house
on the scene being disclosed.</i>) It is night, and there are moonlight mediums.</p></div>


<div class="sidenote">Mrs.
Charles
Dickens.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">H. W. Office</span>, <i>Monday, March 26th, 1851.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dearest Kate</span>,</div>

<p>I reserve all news of the play until I come down.
The Queen appoints the 30th of April. There is no end of
trouble.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[250]</a></span></p>

<p>My father slept well last night, and is as well this
morning (they send word) as anyone in such a state, so cut
and slashed, can be. I have been waiting at home for
Bulwer all the morning (it is now two), and am now waiting
for Lemon before I go up there. I will not close this note
until I have been.</p>

<p>It is raining here incessantly. The streets are in a most
miserable state. A van, containing the goods of some
unfortunate family moving, has broken down close outside,
and the whole scene is a picture of dreariness.</p>

<p>The children are quite well and very happy. I had
Dora down this morning, who was quite charmed to see me.
That Miss Ketteridge appointed two to-day for seeing the
house, and probably she is at this moment disparaging it.</p>

<p>My father is very weak and low, but not worse, I hope,
than might be expected. I am going home to dine with the
children. By working here late to-night (coming back
after dinner) I can finish what I have to do for the play.
Therefore I hope to be with you to-morrow, in good time
for dinner.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever affectionately.<br />
</div>

<p>P.S.&mdash;Love to Georgy.</p>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. W. H.
Wills.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Devonshire Terrace</span>, <i>Thursday Morning, April 3rd, 1851.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Wills</span>,</div>

<p>I took my threatened walk last night, but it yielded
little but generalities.</p>

<p>However, I thought of something for <i>to-night</i>, that I
think will make a splendid paper. I have an idea that it
might be connected with the gas paper (making gas a great
agent in an effective police), and made one of the articles.
This is it: "A Night in a Station-house." If you would
go down to our friend Mr. Yardley, at Scotland Yard, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[251]</a></span>
get a letter or order to the acting chief authority at that
station-house in Bow Street, to enable us to hear the
charges, observe the internal economy of the station-house
all night, go round to the cells with the visiting policeman,
etc., I would stay there, say from twelve to-night to four or
five in the morning. We might have a "night-cap," a fire,
and some tea at the office hard by. If you could conveniently
borrow an hour or two from the night we could
both go. If not, I would go alone. It would make a wonderful
good paper at a most appropriate time, when the
back slums of London are going to be invaded by all sorts
of strangers.</p>

<p>You needn't exactly say that <i>I</i> was going <i>in propri&acirc;</i>
(unless it were necessary), and, of course, you wouldn't say
that I propose to-night, because I am so worn by the sad
arrangements in which I am engaged, and by what led to
them, that I cannot take my natural rest. But to-morrow
night we go to the gas-works. I might not be so disposed
for this station-house observation as I shall be to-night for
a long time, and I see a most singular and admirable chance
for us in the descriptive way, not to be lost.</p>

<p>Therefore, if you will arrange the thing before I come
down at four this afternoon, any of the Scotland Yard people
will do it, I should think; if our friend by any accident
should not be there, I will go into it.</p>

<p>If they should recommend any other station-house as
better for the purpose, or would think it better for us to go
to more than one under the guidance of some trustworthy
man, of course we will pay any man and do as they
recommend. But I think one topping station-house would
be best.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Faithfully ever.<br />
</div>

<p>P.S.&mdash;I write from my bed.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[252]</a></span></p>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. W. C.
Macready.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<i>Saturday, May 24th, 1851.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Macready</span>,</div>

<p>We are getting in a good heap of money for the
Guild. The comedy has been very much improved, in many
respects, since you read it. The scene to which you refer is
certainly one of the most telling in the play. And there <i>is</i>
a farce to be produced on Tuesday next, wherein a distinguished
amateur will sustain a variety of assumption-parts,
and in particular, Samuel Weller and Mrs. Gamp, of
which I say no more. I am pining for Broadstairs, where
the children are at present. I lurk from the sun, during
the best part of the day, in a villainous compound of darkness,
canvas, sawdust, general dust, stale gas (involving a
vague smell of pepper), and disenchanted properties. But
I hope to get down on Wednesday or Thursday.</p>

<p>Ah! you country gentlemen, who live at home at ease,
how little do you think of us among the London fleas! But
they tell me you are coming in for Dorsetshire. You must
be very careful, when you come to town to attend to your
parliamentary duties, never to ask your way of people in the
streets. They will misdirect you for what the vulgar call
"a lark," meaning, in this connection, a jest at your expense.
Always go into some respectable shop or apply to a policeman.
You will know him by his being dressed in blue, with
very dull silver buttons, and by the top of his hat being
made of sticking-plaster. You may perhaps see in some
odd place an intelligent-looking man, with a curious little
wooden table before him and three thimbles on it. He will
want you to bet, but don't do it. He really desires to cheat
you. And don't buy at auctions where the best plated
goods are being knocked down for next to nothing. These,
too, are delusions. If you wish to go to the play to see real
good acting (though a little more subdued than perfect<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[253]</a></span>
tragedy should be), I would recommend you to see &mdash;&mdash;
at the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane. Anybody will show
it to you. It is near the Strand, and you may know it
by seeing no company whatever at any of the doors. Cab
fares are eightpence a mile. A mile London measure is
half a Dorsetshire mile, recollect. Porter is twopence per
pint; what is called stout is fourpence. The Zoological
Gardens are in the Regent's Park, and the price of admission
is one shilling. Of the streets, I would recommend you to
see Regent Street and the Quadrant, Bond Street, Piccadilly,
Oxford Street, and Cheapside. I think these will please
you after a time, though the tumult and bustle will at first
bewilder you. If I can serve you in any way, pray command
me. And with my best regards to your happy family, so
remote from this Babel,</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 2em;">Believe me, my dear Friend,</span><br />
Ever affectionately yours.<br />
</div>

<p>P.S.&mdash;I forgot to mention just now that the black
equestrian figure you will see at Charing Cross, as you go
down to the House, is a statue of <i>King Charles the First</i>.</p>


<div class="sidenote">The Earl of
Carlisle.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Broadstairs</span>, <i>July 8th, 1851.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Lord Carlisle</span>,</div>

<p>We shall be delighted to see you, if you will come
down on Saturday. Mr. Lemon may perhaps be here, with
his wife, but no one else. And we can give you a bed that
may be surpassed, with a welcome that certainly cannot be.</p>

<p>The general character of Broadstairs as to size and
accommodation was happily expressed by Miss Eden, when
she wrote to the Duke of Devonshire (as he told me), saying
how grateful she felt to a certain sailor, who asked leave to
see her garden, for not plucking it bodily up, and sticking
it in his button-hole.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[254]</a></span></p>

<p>As we think of putting mignonette-boxes outside the
windows, for the younger children to sleep in by-and-by, I
am afraid we should give your servant the cramp if we
hardily undertook to lodge him. But in case you should
decide to bring one, he is easily disposable hard by.</p>

<p>Don't come by the boat. It is rather tedious, and both
departs and arrives at inconvenient hours. There is a railway
train from the Dover terminus to Ramsgate, at half-past
twelve in the day, which will bring you in three hours.
Another at half-past four in the afternoon. If you will tell
me by which you come (I hope the former), I will await you
at the terminus with my little brougham.</p>

<p>You will have for a night-light in the room we shall
give you, the North Foreland lighthouse. That and the sea
and air are our only lions. It is a very rough little place,
but a very pleasant one, and you will make it pleasanter
than ever to me.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Faithfully yours always.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">The Hon.
Mrs.
Watson.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Broadstairs, Kent</span>, <i>July 11th, 1851.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Mrs. Watson</span>,</div>

<p>I am so desperately indignant with you for writing
me that short apology for a note, and pretending to suppose
that under any circumstances I could fail to read with
interest anything <i>you</i> wrote to me, that I have more than
half a mind to inflict a regular letter upon you. If I were
not the gentlest of men I should do it!</p>

<p>Poor dear Haldimand, I have thought of him so often.
That kind of decay is so inexpressibly affecting and piteous
to me, that I have no words to express my compassion and
sorrow. When I was at Abbotsford, I saw in a vile glass case
the last clothes Scott wore. Among them an old white hat,
which seemed to be tumbled and bent and broken by the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[255]</a></span>
uneasy, purposeless wandering, hither and thither, of his
heavy head. It so embodied Lockhart's pathetic description
of him when he tried to write, and laid down his pen and
cried, that it associated itself in my mind with broken
powers and mental weakness from that hour. I fancy
Haldimand in such another, going listlessly about that
beautiful place, and remembering the happy hours we have
passed with him, and his goodness and truth. I think what
a dream we live in, until it seems for the moment the saddest
dream that ever was dreamed. Pray tell us if you hear
more of him. We really loved him.</p>

<p>To go to the opposite side of life, let me tell you that a
week or so ago I took Charley and three of his schoolfellows
down the river gipsying. I secured the services of Charley's
godfather (an old friend of mine, and a noble fellow with
boys), and went down to Slough, accompanied by two
immense hampers from Fortnum and Mason, on (I believe)
the wettest morning ever seen out of the tropics.</p>

<p>It cleared before we got to Slough; but the boys, who
had got up at four (we being due at eleven), had horrible
misgivings that we might not come, in consequence of which
we saw them looking into the carriages before us, all face.
They seemed to have no bodies whatever, but to be all face;
their countenances lengthened to that surprising extent.
When they saw us, the faces shut up as if they were upon
strong springs, and their waistcoats developed themselves
in the usual places. When the first hamper came out of the
luggage-van, I was conscious of their dancing behind the
guard; when the second came out with bottles in it, they all
stood wildly on one leg. We then got a couple of flys to
drive to the boat-house. I put them in the first, but they
couldn't sit still a moment, and were perpetually flying up
and down like the toy figures in the sham snuff-boxes. In<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[256]</a></span>
this order we went on to "Tom Brown's, the tailor's," where
they all dressed in aquatic costume, and then to the boat-house,
where they all cried in shrill chorus for "Mahogany"&mdash;a
gentleman, so called by reason of his sunburnt complexion,
a waterman by profession. (He was likewise
called during the day "Hog" and "Hogany," and seemed
to be unconscious of any proper name whatsoever.) We
embarked, the sun shining now, in a galley with a striped
awning, which I had ordered for the purpose, and all rowing
hard, went down the river. We dined in a field; what I
suffered for fear those boys should get drunk, the struggles
I underwent in a contest of feeling between hospitality and
prudence, must ever remain untold. I feel, even now, old
with the anxiety of that tremendous hour. They were very
good, however. The speech of one became thick, and his
eyes too like lobsters' to be comfortable, but only temporarily.
He recovered, and I suppose outlived the salad
he took. I have heard nothing to the contrary, and I
imagine I should have been implicated on the inquest if
there had been one. We had tea and rashers of bacon at a
public-house, and came home, the last five or six miles in a
prodigious thunderstorm. This was the great success of the
day, which they certainly enjoyed more than anything else.
The dinner had been great, and Mahogany had informed
them, after a bottle of light champagne, that he never would
come up the river "with ginger company" any more. But
the getting so completely wet through was the culminating
part of the entertainment. You never in your life saw such
objects as they were; and their perfect unconsciousness that
it was at all advisable to go home and change, or that there
was anything to prevent their standing at the station two
mortal hours to see me off, was wonderful. As to getting
them to their dames with any sort of sense that they were<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[257]</a></span>
damp, I abandoned the idea. I thought it a success when
they went down the street as civilly as if they were just up
and newly dressed, though they really looked as if you could
have rubbed them to rags with a touch, like saturated
curl-paper.</p>

<p>I am sorry you have not been able to see our play, which
I suppose you won't now, for I take it you are not going on
Monday, the 21st, our last night in town? It is worth
seeing, not for the getting up (which modesty forbids me to
approve), but for the little bijou it is, in the scenery, dresses,
and appointments. They are such as never can be got together
again, because such men as Stanfield, Roberts, Grieve,
Haghe, Egg, and others, never can be again combined in
such a work. Everything has been done at its best from all
sorts of authorities, and it is really very beautiful to look at.</p>

<p>I find I am "used up" by the Exhibition. I don't say
"there is nothing in it"&mdash;there's too much. I have only
been twice; so many things bewildered me. I have a natural
horror of sights, and the fusion of so many sights in one has
not decreased it. I am not sure that I have seen anything
but the fountain and perhaps the Amazon. It is a dreadful
thing to be obliged to be false, but when anyone says,
"Have you seen &mdash;&mdash;?" I say, "Yes," because if I don't,
I know he'll explain it, and I can't bear that. &mdash;&mdash; took
all the school one day. The school was composed of a
hundred "infants," who got among the horses' legs in
crossing to the main entrance from the Kensington Gate,
and came reeling out from between the wheels of coaches
undisturbed in mind. They were clinging to horses, I am
told, all over the park.</p>

<p>When they were collected and added up by the frantic
monitors, they were all right. They were then regaled with
cake, etc., and went tottering and staring all over the place;<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[258]</a></span>
the greater part wetting their forefingers and drawing a
wavy pattern on every accessible object. One infant strayed.
He was not missed. Ninety and nine were taken home,
supposed to be the whole collection, but this particular
infant went to Hammersmith. He was found by the police
at night, going round and round the turnpike, which he
still supposed to be a part of the Exhibition. He had the
same opinion of the police, also of Hammersmith workhouse,
where he passed the night. When his mother came
for him in the morning, he asked when it would be over?
It was a great Exhibition, he said, but he thought it
long.</p>

<p>As I begin to have a foreboding that you will think the
same of this act of vengeance of mine, this present letter, I
shall make an end of it, with my heartiest and most loving
remembrances to Watson. I should have liked him of all
things to have been in the Eton expedition, tell him, and to
have heard a song (by-the-bye, I have forgotten that) sung
in the thunderstorm, solos by Charley, chorus by the friends,
describing the career of a booby who was plucked at
college, every verse ending:</p>

<div class='poem'>
I don't care a fig what the people may think,<br />
But what <span class="smcap">will</span> the governor say!<br />
</div>

<p>which was shouted with a deferential jollity towards myself,
as a governor who had that day done a creditable
action, and proved himself worthy of all confidence.</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 4em;">With love to the boys and girls,</span><br />
<span style="margin-right: 2em;">Ever, dear Mrs. Watson,</span><br />
Most sincerely yours.<br />
</div>

<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[259]</a></span></p>
<div class="sidenote">Mr. Frank
Stone.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
"<span class="smcap">Household Words</span>," <i>Sunday, July 20th, 1851.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Stone</span>,</div>

<p>I have been considering the great house question
since you kindly called yesterday evening, and come to the
conclusion that I had better not let it go. I am convinced
it is the prudent thing for me to do, and that I am very
unlikely to find the same comforts for the rising generation
elsewhere, for the same money. Therefore, as Robins no
doubt understands that you would come to me yesterday&mdash;passing
his life as he does amidst every possible phase of
such negotiations&mdash;I think it hardly worth while to wait for
the receipt of his coming letter. If you will take the trouble
to call on him in the morning, and offer the &pound;1,450, I shall
be very much obliged to you. If you will receive from me
full power to conclude the purchase (subject of course to
my solicitor's approval of the lease), pray do. I give you
<i>carte blanche</i> to &pound;1,500, but I think the &pound;1,450 ought to
win the day.</p>

<p>I don't make any apologies for thrusting this honour
upon you, knowing what a thorough-going old pump you are.
Lemon and his wife are coming here, after the rehearsal, to
a gipsy sort of cold dinner. Time, half-past three. Viands,
pickled salmon and cold pigeon-pie. Occupation afterwards,
lying on the carpet as a preparation for histrionic strength.
Will you come with us from the Hanover Square Rooms?</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever affectionately.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr.
Charles
Knight.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Broadstairs, Kent</span>, <i>Sunday, July 27th, 1851.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Knight</span>,</div>

<p>A most excellent Shadow!<a name="FNanchor_13_13" id="FNanchor_13_13"></a><a href="#Footnote_13_13" class="fnanchor">[13]</a> I have sent it up to the
printer, and Wills is to send you a proof. Will you look
carefully at all the earlier part, where the use of the past<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[260]</a></span>
tense instead of the present a little hurts the picturesque
effect? I understand each phase of the thing to be <i>always
a thing present before the mind's eye</i>&mdash;a shadow passing
before it. Whatever is done, must be <i>doing</i>. Is it not so?
For example, if I did the Shadow of Robinson Crusoe, I
should not say he <i>was</i> a boy at Hull, when his father lectured
him about going to sea, and so forth; but he <i>is</i> a boy at
Hull. There he is, in that particular Shadow, eternally a
boy at Hull; his life to me is a series of shadows, but there
is no "was" in the case. If I choose to go to his manhood,
I can. These shadows don't change as realities do. No
phase of his existence passes away, if I choose to bring it
to this unsubstantial and delightful life, the only death of
which, to me, is <i>my</i> death, and thus he is immortal to
unnumbered thousands. If I am right, will you look at the
proof through the first third or half of the papers, and see
whether the Factor comes before us in that way? If not,
it is merely the alteration of the verb here and there that is
requisite.</p>

<p>You say you are coming down to look for a place next
week. Now, Jerrold says he is coming on Thursday, by the
cheap express at half-past twelve, to return with me for
the play early on Monday morning. Can't you make that
holiday too? I have promised him our only spare bed, but
we'll find you a bed hard by, and shall be delighted "to
eat and drink you," as an American once wrote to me.
We will make expeditions to Herne Bay, Canterbury, where
not? and drink deep draughts of fresh air. Come! They
are beginning to cut the corn. You will never see the
country so pretty. If you stay in town these days, you'll
do nothing. I feel convinced you'll not buy the "Memoirs
of a Man of Quality." Say you'll come!</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever affectionately.<br />
</div>

<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[261]</a></span></p>
<div class="sidenote">Mr. Frank
Stone.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Broadstairs, Kent</span>, <i>Saturday, August 23rd, 1851.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Stone</span>,</div>

<p>A "dim vision" occurs to me, arising out of your
note; also presents itself to the brains of my other
half.</p>

<p>Supposing you should find, on looking onward, a possibility
of your being houseless at Michaelmas, what do you
say to using Devonshire Terrace as a temporary encampment?
It will not be in its usual order, but we would take
care that there should be as much useful furniture of all
sorts there, as to render it unnecessary for you to move a
stick. If you should think this a convenience, then I should
propose to you to pile your furniture in the middle of the
rooms at Tavistock House, and go out to Devonshire Terrace
two or three weeks <i>before</i> Michaelmas, to enable my workmen
to commence their operations. This might be to our
mutual convenience, and therefore I suggest it. Certainly
the sooner I can begin on Tavistock House the better.
And possibly your going into Devonshire Terrace might
relieve you from a difficulty that would otherwise be
perplexing.</p>

<p>I make this suggestion (I need not say to <i>you</i>) solely on
the chance of its being useful to both of us. If it were
merely convenient to me, you know I shouldn't dream
of it. Such an arrangement, while it would cost you
nothing, would perhaps enable you to get your new house
into order comfortably, and do exactly the same thing
for me.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever affectionately.<br />
</div>

<p>P.S.&mdash;I anticipated your suggestion some weeks ago,
when I found I couldn't build a stable. I said I ought to
have permission to take the piece of ground into my garden,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[262]</a></span>
which was conceded. Loaden writes me this morning that
he thinks he can get permission to build a stable one storey
high, without a chimney. I reply that on the whole I would
rather enlarge the garden than build a stable with those
restrictions.</p>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. Henry
Austin.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Broadstairs</span>, <i>Sunday, September 7th, 1851.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Henry</span>,</div>

<p>I am in that state of mind which you may (once) have
seen described in the newspapers as "bordering on distraction;"
the house given up to me, the fine weather going on
(soon to break, I daresay), the painting season oozing away,
my new book waiting to be born, and</p>

<div class='center'>
<span class="smcap">no workmen on the premises</span>,<br />
</div>

<p>along of my not hearing from you!! I have torn all my
hair off, and constantly beat my unoffending family. Wild
notions have occurred to me of sending in my own plumber
to do the drains. Then I remember that you have probably
written to prepare <i>your</i> man, and restrain my audacious
hand. Then Stone presents himself, with a most exasperatingly
mysterious visage, and says that a rat has appeared
in the kitchen, and it's his opinion (Stone's, not the rat's)
that the drains want "compo-ing;" for the use of which
explicit language I could fell him without remorse. In my
horrible desire to "compo" everything, the very postman
becomes my enemy because he brings no letter from you;
and, in short, I don't see what's to become of me unless I
hear from you to-morrow, which I have not the least expectation
of doing.</p>

<p>Going over the house again, I have materially altered
the plans&mdash;abandoned conservatory and front balcony&mdash;decided
to make Stone's painting-room the drawing-room (it<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[263]</a></span>
is nearly six inches higher than the room below), to carry
the entrance passage right through the house to a back door
leading to the garden, and to reduce the once intended
drawing-room&mdash;now school-room&mdash;to a manageable size,
making a door of communication between the new drawing-room
and the study. Curtains and carpets, on a scale of
awful splendour and magnitude, are already in preparation,
and still&mdash;still&mdash;</p>

<div class='center'>
<span class="smcap">no workmen on the premises</span>.<br />
</div>

<p>To pursue this theme is madness. Where are you?
When are you coming home? Where is the man who is to
do the work? Does he know that an army of artificers
must be turned in at once, and the whole thing finished out
of hand? O rescue me from my present condition. Come
up to the scratch, I entreat and implore you!</p>

<p>I send this to L&aelig;titia to forward,</p>

<div class='poem'>
Being, as you well know why,<br />
Completely floored by N. W., I<br />
<span style="margin-left: 10em;"><i>Sleep</i>.</span><br />
</div>

<p>I hope you may be able to read this. My state of mind
does not admit of coherence.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever affectionately.<br />
</div>

<p>P.S.&mdash;<span class="smcap">No workmen on the premises</span>!</p>

<p>Ha! ha! ha! (I am laughing demoniacally.)</p>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. Henry
Austin.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Broadstairs</span>, <i>Sunday, September 21st, 1851.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Henry</span>,</div>

<p>It is quite clear we could do nothing else with the
drains than what you have done. Will it be at all a heavy
item in the estimate?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[264]</a></span></p>

<p>If there be the <i>least</i> chance of a necessity for the pillar,
let us have it. Let us dance in peace, whatever we do, and
only go into the kitchen by the staircase.</p>

<p>Have they cut the door between the drawing-room and
the study yet? The foreman will let Shoolbred know when
the feat is accomplished.</p>

<p>O! and did you tell him of another brass ventilator
in the dining-room, opening into the dining-room flue?</p>

<p>I don't think I shall come to town until you want to
show the progress, whenever that may be. I shall look
forward to another dinner, and I think we must encourage
the Oriental, for the goodness of its wine.</p>

<p>I am getting a complete set of a certain distinguished
author's works prepared for a certain distinguished architect,
which I hope he will accept, as a slight, though very inadequate,
etc. etc.; affectionate, etc.; so heartily and kindly
taking so much interest, etc. etc.</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 2em;">Love to L&aelig;titia.</span><br />
Ever affectionately.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. Henry
Austin.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Broadstairs, Kent</span>, <i>October 7th, 1851.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Henry</span>,</div>

<div class='center'>O! O! O! D&mdash;&mdash; the Pantechnicon. O!</div>

<p>I will be at Tavistock House at twelve on Saturday, and
then will wait for you until I see you. If we return together&mdash;as
I hope we shall&mdash;our express will start at half-past
four, and we ought to dine (somewhere about Temple Bar)
at three.</p>

<p>The infamous &mdash;&mdash; says the stoves shall be fixed to-morrow.</p>

<p>O! if this were to last long; the distraction of the new
book, the whirling of the story through one's mind, escorted<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[265]</a></span>
by workmen, the imbecility, the wild necessity of beginning
to write, the not being able to do so, the, O! I should
go&mdash;&mdash; O!</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever affectionately.<br />
</div>

<p>P.S.&mdash;None. I have torn it off.</p>


<div class="sidenote">Miss Mary
Boyle.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Broadstairs, Kent</span>, <i>October 10th, 1851.</i><br />
</div>

<div class='center'><br /><span class="smcap">on the death of her mother</span>.</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Miss Boyle</span>,</div>

<p>Your remembrance at such a time&mdash;not thrown away
upon me, trust me&mdash;is a sufficient assurance that you know
how truly I feel towards you, and with what an earnest
sympathy I must think of you now.</p>

<p>God be with you! There is indeed nothing terrible in
such a death, nothing that we would undo, nothing that we
may remember otherwise than with deeply thankful, though
with softened hearts.</p>

<p>Kate sends you her affectionate love. I enclose a note
from Georgina. Pray give my kindest remembrances to
your brother Cavendish, and believe me now and ever,</p>

<div class='sig'>
Faithfully your Friend.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. Eeles.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span style="margin-right: 6em;">"<span class="smcap">Household Words" Office</span>,</span><br />
<i>Wednesday Evening, Oct. 22nd, 1851.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">Dear Mr. Eeles</span>,</div>

<p>I send you the list I have made for the book-backs.
I should like the "History of a Short Chancery Suit" to
come at the bottom of one recess, and the "Catalogue of
Statues of the Duke of Wellington" at the bottom of the
other. If you should want more titles, and will let me know
how many, I will send them to you.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Faithfully yours.<br />
</div>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[266]</a></span></p>
<div class='center'><br />
LIST OF IMITATION BOOK-BACKS.<br />
<br />
<i>Tavistock House</i>, 1851.<br />
<br />
<br /></div>

<div class='center'>
<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Books at Tavistock">
<tr><td align='left'>Five Minutes in China. 3 vols.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>Forty Winks at the Pyramids. 2 vols.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>Abernethy on the Constitution. 2 vols.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>Mr. Green's Overland Mail. 2 vols.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>Captain Cook's Life of Savage. 2 vols.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>A Carpenter's Bench of Bishops. 2 vols.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>Toot's Universal Letter-Writer. 2 vols.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>Orson's Art of Etiquette.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>Downeaster's Complete Calculator.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>History of the Middling Ages. 6 vols.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>Jonah's Account of the Whale.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>Captain Parry's Virtues of Cold Tar.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>Kant's Ancient Humbugs. 10 vols.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>Bowwowdom. A Poem.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>The Quarrelly Review. 4 vols.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>The Gunpowder Magazine. 4 vols.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>Steele. By the Author of "Ion."</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>The Art of Cutting the Teeth.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>Matthew's Nursery Songs. 2 vols.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>Paxton's Bloomers. 5 vols.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>On the Use of Mercury by the Ancient Poets.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>Drowsy's Recollections of Nothing. 3 vols.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>Heavyside's Conversations with Nobody. 3 vols.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>Commonplace Book of the Oldest Inhabitant. 2 vols.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>Growler's Gruffiology, with Appendix. 4 vols.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>The Books of Moses and Sons. 2 vols.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>Burke (of Edinburgh) on the Sublime and Beautiful. 2 vols.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>Teazer's Commentaries.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>King Henry the Eighth's Evidences of Christianity. 5 vols.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>Miss Biffin on Deportment.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>Morrison's Pills Progress. 2 vols.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>Lady Godiva on the Horse.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>Munchausen's Modern Miracles. 4 vols.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>Richardson's Show of Dramatic Literature. 12 vols.</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>Hansard's Guide to Refreshing Sleep. As many volumes as possible.</td></tr>
</table></div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. Henry
Austin.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span style="margin-right: 2em;"><span class="smcap">Office of "Household Words</span>,"</span><br />
<i>Saturday, Oct. 25th, 1851.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Henry</span>,</div>

<p>On the day of our departure, I thought we were going&mdash;backward&mdash;at
a most triumphant pace; but yesterday we
rather recovered. The painters still mislaid their brushes every
five minutes, and chiefly whistled in the intervals; and the
carpenters (especially the Pantechnicon) continued to look
sideways with one eye down pieces of wood, as if they were
absorbed in the contemplation of the perspective of the
Thames Tunnel, and had entirely relinquished the vanities
of this transitory world; but still there was an improvement,
and it is confirmed to-day. White lime is to be seen
in kitchens, the bath-room is gradually resolving itself from<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[267]</a></span>
an abstract idea into a fact&mdash;youthful, extremely youthful,
but a fact. The drawing-room encourages no hope whatever,
nor the study. Staircase painted. Irish labourers
howling in the school-room, but I don't know why. I see
nothing. Gardener vigorously lopping the trees, and really
letting in the light and air. Foreman sweet-tempered but
uneasy. Inimitable hovering gloomily through the premises
all day, with an idea that a little more work is done when he
flits, bat-like, through the rooms, than when there is no one
looking on. Catherine all over paint. Mister McCann,
encountering Inimitable in doorways, fades obsequiously
into areas, and there encounters him again, and swoons with
confusion. Several reams of blank paper constantly spread
on the drawing-room walls, and sliced off again, which looks
like insanity. Two men still clinking at the new stair-rails.
I think they must be learning a tune; I cannot make out
any other object in their proceedings.</p>

<p>Since writing the above, I have been up there again,
and found the young paper-hanger putting on his slippers,
and looking hard at the walls of the servants' room at the
top of the house, as if he meant to paper it one of these
days. May Heaven prosper his intentions!</p>

<p>When do you come back? I hope soon.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever affectionately.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mrs.
Charles
Dickens.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Clifton</span>, <i>November 13th, 1851.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dearest Kate</span>,</div>

<p>I have just received your second letter, and am quite
delighted to find that all is going on so vigorously, and that
you are in such a methodical, business-like, and energetic
state. I shall come home by the express on Saturday
morning, and shall hope to be at home between eleven and
twelve.</p>

<p>We had a noble night last night. The room (which is<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[268]</a></span>
the largest but one in England) was crammed in every part.
The effect of from thirteen to fourteen hundred people, all
well dressed, and all seated in one unbroken chamber, except
that the floor rose high towards the end of the hall, was
most splendid, and we never played to a better audience.
The enthusiasm was prodigious; the place delightful for
speaking in; no end of gas; another hall for a dressing-room;
an immense stage; and every possible convenience.
We were all thoroughly pleased, I think, with the whole
thing, and it was a very great and striking success. To-morrow-night,
having the new Hardman, I am going to try
the play with all kinds of cuts, taking out, among other
things, some half-dozen printed pages of "Wills's Coffee
House."</p>

<p>We are very pleasant and cheerful. They are all going
to Matthew Davenport Hill's to lunch this morning, and to
see some woods about six or seven miles off. I prefer being
quiet, and shall go out at my leisure and call on Elliot. We
are very well lodged and boarded, and, living high up on
the Downs, are quite out of the filth of Bristol.</p>

<p>I saw old Landor at Bath, who has bronchitis. When
he was last in town, "Kenyon drove him about, by God,
half the morning, under a most damnable pretence of
taking him to where Walter was at school, and they never
found the confounded house!" He had in his pocket on
that occasion a souvenir for Walter in the form of a Union
shirt-pin, which is now in my possession, and shall be duly
brought home.</p>

<p>I am tired enough, and shall be glad when to-morrow
night is over. We expect a very good house. Forster
came up to town after the performance last night, and promised
to report to you that all was well. Jerrold is in
extraordinary force. I don't think I ever knew him so<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[269]</a></span>
humorous. And this is all my news, which is quite enough.
I am continually thinking of the house in the midst of all
the bustle, but I trust it with such confidence to you that I
am quite at my ease about it.</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 4em;">With best love to Georgy and the girls,</span><br />
Ever, my dearest Kate, most affectionately yours.<br />
</div>

<p>P.S.&mdash;I forgot to say that Topham has suddenly come out
as a juggler, and swallows candles, and does wonderful things
with the poker very well indeed, but with a bashfulness and
embarrassment extraordinarily ludicrous.</p>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. Eeles.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Tavistock House, Tavistock Square</span>, <i>Nov. 17th, 1851.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">Dear Mr. Eeles</span>,</div>

<p>I must thank you for the admirable manner in which
you have done the book-backs in my room. I feel personally
obliged to you, I assure you, for the interest you have
taken in my whim, and the promptitude with which you
have completely carried it out.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Faithfully yours.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mrs.
Gaskell.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Tavistock House</span>, <i>Thursday Afternoon, Dec. 5th, 1851.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Mrs. Gaskell</span>,</div>

<p>I write in great haste to tell you that Mr. Wills, in
the utmost consternation, has brought me your letter, just
received (four o'clock), and that it is <i>too late</i> to recall your
tale. I was so delighted with it that I put it first in the
number (not hearing of any objection to my proposed
alteration by return of post), and the number is now made
up and in the printer's hands. I cannot possibly take the
tale out&mdash;it has departed from me.</p>

<p>I am truly concerned for this, but I hope you will not
blame me for what I have done in perfect good faith. Any<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[270]</a></span>
recollection of me from your pen cannot (as I think you
know) be otherwise than truly gratifying to me; but with
my name on every page of "Household Words," there
would be&mdash;or at least I should feel&mdash;an impropriety in so
mentioning myself. I was particular, in changing the
author, to make it "Hood's <i>Poems</i>" in the most important
place&mdash;I mean where the captain is killed&mdash;and I hope and
trust that the substitution will not be any serious drawback
to the paper in any eyes but yours. I would do anything
rather than cause you a minute's vexation arising out of
what has given me so much pleasure, and I sincerely
beseech you to think better of it, and not to fancy that any
shade has been thrown on your charming writing, by</p>

<div class='sig'>
The unfortunate but innocent.<br />
</div>

<p>P.S.&mdash;I write at a gallop, not to lose another post.</p>


<div class="sidenote">Mrs.
Gaskell.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Tavistock House</span>, <i>Sunday, December 21st, 1851.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Mrs. Gaskell</span>,</div>

<p>If you were not the most suspicious of women, always
looking for soft sawder in the purest metal of praise, I should
call your paper delightful, and touched in the tenderest and
most delicate manner. Being what you are, I confine myself
to the observation that I have called it "A Love Affair at
Cranford," and sent it off to the printer.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Faithfully yours ever.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. Peter
Cunningham.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Tavistock House</span>, <i>December 26th, 1851.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Cunningham</span>,</div>

<p>About the three papers.</p>

<p>1st. With Mr. Plowman of Oxford, Wills will communicate.</p>

<p>2nd. (Now returned.) I have seen, in nearly the same
form, before. The list of names is overwhelming.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[271]</a></span></p>

<p>3rd. I am not at all earnest in the Savage matter;
firstly, because I think so tremendous a vagabond never
could have obtained an honest living in any station of existence
or at any period of time; and secondly, because I think
it of the highest importance that such an association as our
Guild should not appear to resent upon society the faults of
individuals who were flagrantly impracticable.</p>

<p>At its best, it is liable to that suspicion, as all such efforts
have been on the part of many jealous persons, to whom it
<i>must</i> look for aid. And any stop that in the least encourages
it is one of a fatal kind.</p>

<p>I do <i>not</i> think myself, but this is merely an individual
opinion, that Savage <i>was</i> a man of genius, or that anything
of his writing would have attracted much notice but for
the bastard's reference to his mother. For these reasons
combined, I should not be inclined to add my subscription
of two guineas to yours, unless the inscription were altered
as I have altered it in pencil. But in that case I should be
very glad to respond to your suggestion, and to snuff out all
my smaller disinclination.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Faithfully yours ever.<br />
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<h2>1852.</h2>

<h3>NARRATIVE.</h3>


<div class='unindent'><span class='smcap'>In</span> the summer of this year, Charles Dickens hired a house
at Dover for three months, whither he went with his family.
At the end of this time he sent his children and servants
back to Tavistock House, and crossed over to Boulogne, with
his wife and sister-in-law, to inspect that town and its neighbourhood,
with a view of making it his summer quarters in
the following year. Many amateur performances were given
in the provinces in aid of the fund for the Guild of Literature<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[272]</a></span>
and Art; Charles Dickens, as usual, taking the whole management
on his own shoulders.</div>

<p>In March, the first number of "Bleak House" appeared,
and he was at work on this book all through the year, as
well as being constantly occupied with his editorship of
"Household Words."</p>

<p>We have, in the letters for this year, Charles Dickens's
first to Lord John Russell (afterwards the Earl Russell); a
friend whom he held in the highest estimation, and to whom
he was always grateful for many personal kindnesses. We
have also his first letter to Mr. Wilkie Collins, with whom
he became most intimately associated in literary work. The
affectionate friendship he had for him, the high value in which
he held him as a brother-artist, are constantly expressed in
Charles Dickens's own letters to Mr. Collins, and in his letters
to other friends.</p>

<p>"Those gallant men" (in the letter to Mr. J. Crofton
Croker) had reference to an antiquarian club, called the
Noviomagians, who were about to give a dinner in honour
of Sir Edward Belcher and Captain Kellett, the officers in
command of the Arctic Exploring Expedition, to which
Charles Dickens was also invited. Mr. Crofton Croker was
the president of this club, and to denote his office it was
customary to put on a cocked hat after dinner.</p>

<p>The "lost character" he writes of in a letter to Mrs.
Watson, refers to two different decipherings of his handwriting;
this sort of study being in fashion then, and he
and his friends at Rockingham Castle deriving much
amusement from it.</p>

<p>The letter dated July 9th was in answer to an anonymous
correspondent, who wrote to him as follows: "I
venture to trespass on your attention with one serious
query, touching a sentence in the last number of 'Bleak
House.' Do the supporters of Christian missions to the
heathen really deserve the attack that is conveyed in the
sentence about Jo' seated in his anguish on the door-step of
the Society for the Propagation of the Gospel in Foreign
Parts? The allusion is severe, but is it just? Are such<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[273]</a></span>
boys as Jo' neglected? What are ragged schools, town
missions, and many of those societies I regret to see sneered
at in the last number of 'Household Words'?"</p>

<p>The "Duke of Middlesex," in the letter we have here to
Mr. Charles Knight, was the name of the character played
by Mr. F. Stone, in Sir E. B. Lytton's comedy of "Not so
Bad as we Seem."</p>

<p>Our last letter in this year, to Mr. G. Linn&aelig;us Banks, was
in acknowledgment of one from him on the subject of a
proposed public dinner to Charles Dickens, to be given by
the people of Birmingham, when they were also to present
him with a salver and a diamond ring. The dinner was given
in the following year, and the ring and salver (the latter an
artistic specimen of Birmingham ware) were duly presented
by Mr. Banks, who acted as honorary secretary, in the names
of the subscribers, at the rooms of the Birmingham Fine
Arts Association. Mr. Banks, and the artist, Mr. J. C.
Walker, were the originators of this demonstration.</p>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. W. C.
Macready.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Tavistock House</span>, <i>January 31st, 1852.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Macready</span>,</div>

<p>If the "taxes on knowledge" mean the stamp duty,
the paper duty, and the advertisement duty, they seem to
me to be unnecessarily confounded, and unfairly too.</p>

<p>I have already declined to sign a petition for the removal
of the stamp duty on newspapers. I think the reduced
duty is some protection to the public against the rash and
hasty launching of blackguard newspapers. I think the
newspapers are made extremely accessible to the poor man
at present, and that he would not derive the least benefit
from the abolition of the stamp. It is not at all clear to
me, supposing he wants <i>The Times</i> a penny cheaper, that
he would get it a penny cheaper if the tax were taken off.
If he supposes he would get in competition two or three<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[274]</a></span>
new journals as good to choose from, he is mistaken; not
knowing the immense resources and the gradually perfective
machinery necessary to the production of such a journal. It
appears to me to be a fair tax enough, very little in the way
of individuals, not embarrassing to the public in its mode of
being levied, and requiring some small consideration and
pauses from the American kind of newspaper projectors.
Further, a committee has reported in favour of the repeal,
and the subject may be held to need no present
launching.</p>

<p>The repeal of the paper duty would benefit the producers
of periodicals immensely. It would make a very large difference
to me, in the case of such a journal as "Household
Words." But the gain to the public would be very small.
It would not make the difference of enabling me, for
example, to reduce the price of "Household Words," by
its fractional effect upon a copy, or to increase the quantity
of matter. I might, in putting the difference into my
pocket, improve the quality of the paper a little, but not
one man in a thousand would notice it. It <i>might</i> (though I
am not sure even of this) remove the difficulties in the way
of a deserving periodical with a small sale. Charles Knight
holds that it would. But the case, on the whole, appeared
to me so slight, when I went to Downing Street with a
deputation on the subject, that I said (in addressing the
Chancellor of the Exchequer) I could not honestly maintain
it for a moment as against the soap duty, or any other
pressing on the mass of the poor.</p>

<p>The advertisement duty has this preposterous anomaly,
that a footman in want of a place pays as much in the way
of tax for the expression of his want, as Professor Holloway
pays for the whole list of his miraculous cures.</p>

<p>But I think, at this time especially, there is so much to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[275]</a></span>
be considered in the necessity the country will be under of
having money, and the necessity of justice it is always
under, to consider the physical and moral wants of the poor
man's home, as to justify a man in saying: "I must wait a
little, all taxes are more or less objectionable, and so no
doubt are these, but we must have some; and I have not
made up my mind that all these things that are mixed up
together <i>are</i> taxes on knowledge in reality."</p>

<p>Kate and Georgy unite with me in kindest and heartiest
love to dear Mrs. Macready. We are always with you in
spirit, and always talking about you. I am obliged to
conclude very hastily, being beset to-day with business
engagements. Saw the lecture and was delighted; thought
the idea admirable. Again, loves upon loves to dear Mrs.
Macready and to Miss Macready also, and Kate and all the
house. I saw &mdash;&mdash; play (O Heaven!) "Macbeth," the
other night, in three hours and fifty minutes, which is quick,
I think.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever and always affectionately.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. J.
Crofton
Croker.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Tavistock House</span>, <i>March 6th, 1852.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,</div>

<p>I have the greatest interest in those gallant men, and
should have been delighted to dine in their company. I feel
truly obliged to you for your kind remembrance on such an
occasion.</p>

<p>But I am engaged to Lord Lansdowne on Wednesday,
and can only drink to them in the spirit, which I have often
done when they have been farther off.</p>

<p>I hope you will find occasion to put on your cocked hat,
that they may see how terrific and imposing "a fore-and-after"
can be made on shore.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Faithfully yours always.<br />
</div>

<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[276]</a></span></p>
<div class="sidenote">The Hon.
Mrs.
Watson.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Tavistock House</span>, <i>April 6th, 1852.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Mrs. Watson</span>,</div>

<p>My "lost character" was one of those awful documents
occasionally to be met with, which <span class="smcap">will</span> be everywhere.
It glared upon me from every drawer I had, fell out of
books, lurked under keys, hid in empty inkstands, got into
portfolios, frightened me by inscrutably passing into locked
despatch-boxes, and was not one character, but a thousand.
This was when I didn't want it. I look for it this morning,
and it is nowhere! Probably will never be beheld
again.</p>

<p>But it was very unlike this one; and there is no doubt
that when these ventures come out good, it is only by lucky
chance and coincidence. She never mentioned my love of
order before, and it is so remarkable (being almost a <i>dis</i>order),
that she ought to have fainted with surprise when
my handwriting was first revealed to her.</p>

<p>I was very sorry to leave Rockingham the other day,
and came away in quite a melancholy state. The Birmingham
people were very active; and the Shrewsbury gentry
quite transcendent. I hope we shall have a very successful
and dazzling trip. It is delightful to me to think of your
coming to Birmingham; and, by-the-bye, if you will tell me
in the previous week what hotel accommodation you want,
Mr. Wills will look to it with the greatest pleasure.</p>

<p>Your bookseller ought to be cashiered. I suppose "he"
(as Rogers calls everybody's husband) went out hunting with
the idea of diverting his mind from dwelling on its loss.
Abortive effort!</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 8em;">Charley brings this with himself.</span><br />
<span style="margin-right: 4em;">With kindest regards and remembrances,</span><br />
Ever, dear Mrs. Watson, most faithfully yours.<br />
</div>

<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[277]</a></span></p>
<div class="sidenote">Mr.
Charles
Knight.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Tavistock House</span>, <i>June 29th, 1852.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Knight</span>,</div>

<p>A thousand thanks for the Shadow, which, is charming.
May you often go (out of town) and do likewise!</p>

<p>I dined with Charles Kemble, yesterday, to meet Emil
Devrient, the German actor. He said (Devrient is my antecedent)
that Ophelia <i>spoke</i> the snatches of ballads in their
German version of "Hamlet," because they didn't know the
airs. Tom Taylor said that you had published the airs in
your "Shakespeare." I said that if it were so, I knew you
would be happy to place them at the German's service. If
you have got them and will send them to me, I will write to
Devrient (who knows no English) a French explanation and
reminder of the circumstance, and will tell him that you
responded like a man and a&mdash;I was going to say publisher,
but you are nothing of the sort, except as Tonson. Then
indeed you are every inch a pub.!</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever affectionately.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">The
Lord John
Russell.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Tavistock House</span>, <i>Wednesday, June 30th, 1852.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Lord</span>,</div>

<p>I am most truly obliged to you for your kind note,
and for your so generously thinking of me in the midst of
your many occupations. I do assure you that your ever
ready consideration had already attached me to you in the
warmest manner, and made me very much your debtor.
I thank you unaffectedly and very earnestly, and am proud
to be held in your remembrance.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Believe me always, yours faithfully and obliged.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Anonymous
Correspondent.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Tavistock House, Tavistock Square</span>, <i>July 9th, 1852.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">Sir</span>,</div>

<p>I have received your letter of yesterday's date, and
shall content myself with a brief reply.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[278]</a></span></p>

<p>There was a long time during which benevolent societies
were spending immense sums on missions abroad, when there
was no such thing as a ragged school in England, or any
kind of associated endeavour to penetrate to those horrible
domestic depths in which such schools are now to be found,
and where they were, to my most certain knowledge, neither
placed nor discovered by the Society for the Propagation of
the Gospel in Foreign Parts.</p>

<p>If you think the balance between the home mission and
the foreign mission justly held in the present time, I do not.
I abstain from drawing the strange comparison that might
be drawn between the sums even now expended in endeavours
to remove the darkest ignorance and degradation from our
very doors, because I have some respect for mistakes that
may be founded in a sincere wish to do good. But I present
a general suggestion of the still-existing anomaly (in such a
paragraph as that which offends you), in the hope of inducing
some people to reflect on this matter, and to adjust the balance
more correctly. I am decidedly of opinion that the two
works, the home and the foreign, are <i>not</i> conducted with an
equal hand, and that the home claim is by far the stronger
and the more pressing of the two.</p>

<p>Indeed, I have very grave doubts whether a great commercial
country, holding communication with all parts of the
world, can better Christianise the benighted portions of it
than by the bestowal of its wealth and energy on the making
of good Christians at home, and on the utter removal of
neglected and untaught childhood from its streets, before it
wanders elsewhere. For, if it steadily persist in this work,
working downward to the lowest, the travellers of all grades
whom it sends abroad will be good, exemplary, practical
missionaries, instead of undoers of what the best professed
missionaries can do.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[279]</a></span></p>

<p>These are my opinions, founded, I believe, on some
knowledge of facts and some observation. If I could be
scared out of them, let me add in all good humour, by such
easily-impressed words as "antichristian" or "irreligious,"
I should think that I deserved them in their real
signification.</p>

<p>I have referred in vain to page 312 of "Household
Words" for the sneer to which you call my attention. Nor
have I, I assure you, the least idea where else it is to be
found.</p>

<div class='sig'>
I am, Sir, your faithful Servant.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Miss Mary
Boyle.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
10, <span class="smcap">Camden Crescent, Dover</span>, <i>July 22nd, 1852.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Mary</span>,</div>

<p>This is indeed a noble letter. The description of the
family is quite amazing. I <i>must</i> return it myself to say that
I <span class="smcap">have</span> appreciated it.</p>

<p>I am going to do "Used Up" at Manchester on the 2nd
of September. O, think of that! With another Mary!!!
How can I ever say, "<i>Dear</i> Joe, if you like!" The voice
may fully frame the falsehood, but the heart&mdash;the heart,
Mr. Wurzel&mdash;will have no part in it.</p>

<p>My dear Mary, you do scant justice to Dover. It is not
quite a place to my taste, being too bandy (I mean musical,
no reference to its legs), and infinitely too genteel. But the
sea is very fine, and the walks are quite remarkable. There
are two ways of going to Folkestone, both lovely and striking
in the highest degree; and there are heights, and downs,
and country roads, and I don't know what, everywhere.</p>

<p>To let you into a secret, I am not quite sure that I
ever did like, or ever shall like, anything quite so well
as "Copperfield." But I foresee, I think, some very
good things in "Bleak House." I shouldn't wonder if they<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[280]</a></span>
were the identical things that D'Israeli sees looming in the
distance. I behold them in the months ahead and weep.</p>

<p>Watson seemed, when I saw him last, to be holding on
as by a sheet-anchor to theatricals at Christmas. Then,
O rapture! but be still, my fluttering heart.</p>

<p>This is one of what I call my wandering days before I
fall to work. I seem to be always looking at such times for
something I have not found in life, but may possibly come
to a few thousands of years hence, in some other part of
some other system. God knows. At all events I won't put
your pastoral little pipe out of tune by talking about it. I'll
go and look for it on the Canterbury road among the hop-gardens
and orchards.</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 2em;">Ever faithfully your Friend,</span><br />
<span class="smcap">Joe</span>.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr.
Charles
Knight.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
10, <span class="smcap">Camden Crescent, Dover</span>, <i>Sunday, Aug. 1st, 1852.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Knight</span>,</div>

<p>I don't see why you should go to the Ship, and I
won't stand it. The state apartment will be occupied by
the Duke of Middlesex (whom I think you know), but we
can easily get a bed for you hard by. Therefore you will
please to drive here next Saturday evening. Our regular
dinner hour is half-past five. If you are later, you will find
something ready for you.</p>

<p>If you go on in that way about your part, I shall think
you want to play Mr. Gabblewig. Your r&ocirc;le, though a
small one on the stage, is a large one off it; and no man is
more important to the Guild, both on and off.</p>

<p>My dear friend Watson! Dead after an illness of four
days. He dined with us this day three weeks. I loved
him as my heart, and cannot think of him without tears.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever affectionately.<br />
</div>

<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[281]</a></span></p>
<div class="sidenote">Mr. Mark
Lemon.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Dover</span>, <i>August 5th, 1852.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Mark</span>,</div>

<p>Poor dear Watson was dead when the paragraph in
the paper appeared. He was buried in his own church
yesterday. Last Sunday three weeks (the day before he
went abroad) he dined with us, and was quite well and
happy. She has come home, is at Rockingham with the
children, and does not weakly desert his grave, but sets up
her rest by it from the first. He had been wandering in
his mind a little before his death, but recovered consciousness,
and fell asleep (she says) quite gently and peacefully
in her arms.</p>

<p>I loved him very much, and God knows he deserved it.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever affectionately.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">The Earl of
Carlisle.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
10, <span class="smcap">Camden Crescent, Dover</span>, <i>Thursday, Aug. 5th, 1852.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Lord Carlisle</span>,</div>

<p>'Peared to me (as Uncle Tom would say) until within
these last few days, that I should be able to write to
you, joyfully accepting your Saturday's invitation after
Newcastle, in behalf of all whom it concerned. But the
Sunderland people rushed into the field to propose our
acting there on that Saturday, the only possible night.
And as it is the concluding Guild expedition, and the Guild
has a paramount claim on us, I have been obliged to knock
my own inclinations on the head, cut the throat of my own
wishes, and bind the Company hand and foot to the
Sunderland lieges. I don't mean to tell them now of your
invitation until we shall have got out of that country.
There might be rebellion. We are staying here for the
autumn.</p>

<p>Is there any hope of your repeating your visit to these
coasts?</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever faithfully yours.<br />
</div>

<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[282]</a></span></p>
<div class="sidenote">The Hon.
Mrs.
Watson.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
10, <span class="smcap">Camden Crescent, Dover</span>, <i>August 5th, 1852.</i><br />
</div>

<div class='center'><br />
ON THE DEATH OF MR. WATSON.<br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear, dear Mrs. Watson</span>,</div>

<p>I cannot bear to be silent longer, though I know full
well&mdash;no one better I think&mdash;how your love for him, and
your trust in God, and your love for your children will have
come to the help of such a nature as yours, and whispered
better things than any friendship can, however faithful and
affectionate.</p>

<p>We held him so close in our hearts&mdash;all of us here&mdash;and
have been so happy with him, and so used to say how good
he was, and what a gentle, generous, noble spirit he had,
and how he shone out among commoner men as something
so real and genuine, and full of every kind of worthiness,
that it has often brought the tears into my eyes to talk of
him; we have been so accustomed to do this when we
looked forward to years of unchanged intercourse, that now,
when everything but truth goes down into the dust, those
recollections which make the sword so sharp pour balm into
the wound. And if it be a consolation to us to know the
virtues of his character, and the reasons that we had for
loving him, O how much greater is your comfort who were
so devoted to him, and were the happiness of his life!</p>

<p>We have thought of you every day and every hour; we
think of you now in the dear old house, and know how right
it is, for his dear children's sake, that you should have
bravely set up your rest in the place consecrated by their
father's memory, and within the same summer shadows that
fall upon his grave. We try to look on, through a few years,
and to see the children brightening it, and George a comfort
and a pride and an honour to you; and although it <i>is</i> hard
to think of what we have lost, we know how something of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[283]</a></span>
it will be restored by your example and endeavours, and the
blessing that will descend upon them. We know how the
time will come when some reflection of that cordial, unaffected,
most affectionate presence, which we can never
forget, and never would forget if we could&mdash;such is God's
great mercy&mdash;will shine out of your boy's eyes upon you,
his best friend and his last consoler, and fill the void there
is now.</p>

<p>May God, who has received into His rest through this
affliction as good a man as ever I can know and love and
mourn for on this earth, be good to you, dear friends,
through these coming years! May all those compassionate
and hopeful lessons of the great Teacher who shed divine
tears for the dead bring their full comfort to you! I have
no fear of that, my confidence is certainty.</p>

<p>I cannot write what I wish; I had so many things to
say, I seem to have said none. It is so with the remembrances
we send. I cannot put them into words.</p>

<p>If you should ever set up a record in the little church, I
would try to word it myself, and God knows out of the
fulness of my heart, if you should think it well.</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 12em;">My dear Friend,</span><br />
Yours, with the truest affection and sympathy.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. W. C.
Macready.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span style="margin-right: 2em;"><span class="smcap">H&ocirc;tel Des Bains, Boulogne</span>,</span><br />
<i>Tuesday Night, Oct. 5th, 1852.</i><br />
</div>

<div class='center'><br />ON THE DEATH OF MRS. MACREADY.</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dearest Macready</span>,</div>

<p>I received your melancholy letter while we were
staying at Dover, a few days after it was written; but I
thought it best not to write to you until you were at home
again, among your dear children.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[284]</a></span></p>

<p>Its tidings were not unexpected to us, had been
anticipated in many conversations, often thought of under
many circumstances; but the shock was scarcely lessened
by this preparation. The many happy days we have passed
together came crowding back; all the old cheerful times
arose before us; and the remembrance of what we had
loved so dearly and seen under so many aspects&mdash;all natural
and delightful and affectionate and ever to be cherished&mdash;was,
how pathetic and touching you know best!</p>

<p>But my dear, dear Macready, this is not the first time
you have felt that the recollection of great love and
happiness associated with the dead soothes while it wounds.
And while I can imagine that the blank beside you may
grow wider every day for many days to come, I <i>know</i>&mdash;I
think&mdash;that from its depths such comfort will arise as only
comes to great hearts like yours, when they can think upon
their trials with a steady trust in God.</p>

<p>My dear friend, I have known her so well, have been
so happy in her regard, have been so light-hearted with
her, have interchanged so many tender remembrances of
you with her when you were far away, and have seen her
ever so simply and truly anxious to be worthy of you, that
I cannot write as I would and as I know I ought. As I
would press your hand in your distress, I let this note go
from me. I understand your grief, I deeply feel the reason
that there is for it, yet in that very feeling find a softening
consolation that must spring up a hundred-thousandfold for
you. May Heaven prosper it in your breast, and the
spirits that have gone before, from the regions of mercy to
which they have been called, smooth the path you have to
tread alone! Children are left you. Your good sister (God
bless her!) is by your side. You have devoted friends, and
more reasons than most men to be self-reliant and stedfast.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[285]</a></span>
Something is gone that never in this world can be replaced,
but much is left, and it is a part of her life, her death, her
immortality.</p>

<p>Catherine and Georgina, who are with me here, send you
their overflowing love and sympathy. We hope that in a
little while, and for a little while at least, you will come
among us, who have known the happiness of being in this
bond with you, and will not exclude us from participation in
your past and future.</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 2em;">Ever, my dearest Macready, with unchangeable affection,</span><br />
Yours in all love and truth.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. W. H.
Wills.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">H&ocirc;tel Des Bains, Boulogne</span>, <i>Tuesday, Oct. 12th, 1852.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Wills</span>,</div>

<div class='center'>
H. W.<br />
</div>

<p>I have thought of the Christmas number, but not very
successfully, because I have been (and still am) constantly
occupied with "Bleak House." I purpose returning home
either on Sunday or Monday, as my work permits, and we
will, immediately thereafter, dine at the office and talk it
over, so that you may get all the men to their work.</p>

<p>The fault of &mdash;&mdash;'s poem, besides its intrinsic meanness
as a composition, is that it goes too glibly with the comfortable
ideas (of which we have had a great deal too much in
England since the Continental commotions) that a man is to
sit down and make himself domestic and meek, no matter
what is done to him. It wants a stronger appeal to rulers
in general to let men do this, fairly, by governing them well.
As it stands, it is at about the tract-mark ("Dairyman's
Daughter," etc.) of political morality, and don't think that
it is necessary to write <i>down</i> to any part of our audience. I
always hold that to be as great a mistake as can be made.</p>

<p>I wish you would mention to Thomas, that I think the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[286]</a></span>
paper on hops <i>extremely well done</i>. He has quite caught
the idea we want, and caught it in the best way. In
pursuing the bridge subject, I think it would be advisable
to look up the <i>Thames police</i>. I have a misty notion of some
capital papers coming out of it. Will you see to this branch
of the tree among the other branches?</p>

<div class='center'>
<span class="smcap">Myself</span>.<br />
</div>

<p>To Chapman I will write. My impression is that I shall
not subscribe to the Hood monument, as I am not at all
favourable to such posthumous honours.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever faithfully.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. W. H.
Wills.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span style="margin-right: 4em;"><span class="smcap">H&ocirc;tel des Bains, Boulogne</span>,</span><br />
<i>Wednesday Night, Oct. 13th, 1852.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Wills</span>,</div>

<p>The number coming in after dinner, since my letter
was written and posted, I have gone over it.</p>

<p>I am grievously depressed by it; it is so exceedingly
bad. If you have anything else to put first, don't put &mdash;&mdash;'s
paper first. (There is nothing better for a beginning in the
number as it stands, but this is very bad.) It is a mistake
to think of it as a first article. The article itself is in the
main a mistake. Firstly, the subject requires the greatest
discretion and nicety of touch. And secondly, it is all wrong
and self-contradictory. Nobody can for a moment suppose
that "sporting" amusements are the sports of the <span class="smcap">people</span>;
the whole gist of the best part of the description is to show
that they are the amusements of a peculiar and limited class.
The greater part of them are at a miserable discount (horse-racing
excepted, which has been already sufficiently done in
H. W.), and there is no reason for running amuck at them
at all. I have endeavoured to remove much of my objection<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[287]</a></span>
(and I think have done so), but, both in purpose and in any
general address, it is as wide of a first article as anything
can well be. It would do best in the opening of the number.</p>

<p>About Sunday in Paris there is no kind of doubt. Take
it out. Such a thing as that crucifixion, unless it were done
in a masterly manner, we have no business to stagger families
with. Besides, the name is a comprehensive one, and should
include a quantity of fine matter. Lord bless me, what I
could write under that head!</p>

<p>Strengthen the number, pray, by anything good you
may have. It is a very dreary business as it stands.</p>

<p>The proofs want a thorough revision.</p>

<p>In haste, going to bed.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever faithfully.<br />
</div>

<p>P.S.&mdash;I want a name for Miss Martineau's paper.</p>

<div class='center'>
<span class="smcap">Triumphant Carriages</span> (or <span class="smcap">Triumphal</span>).<br />

<span class="smcap">Dublin Stoutheartedness</span>.<br />

<span class="smcap">Patience and Prejudice</span>.<br />
</div>

<p>Take which you like best.</p>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. John
Watkins.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Monday</span>, <i>October 18th, 1852.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">Sir</span>,</div>

<p>On my return to town I find the letter awaiting me
which you did me the favour to address to me, I believe&mdash;for
it has no date&mdash;some days ago.</p>

<p>I have the greatest tenderness for the memory of Hood,
as I had for himself. But I am not very favourable to
posthumous memorials in the monument way, and I should
exceedingly regret to see any such appeal as you contemplate
made public, remembering another public appeal that
was made and responded to after Hood's death. I think
that I best discharge my duty to my deceased friend, and
best consult the respect and love with which I remember
him, by declining to join in any such public endeavours as<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[288]</a></span>
that which you (in all generosity and singleness of purpose,
I am sure) advance. I shall have a melancholy gratification
in privately assisting to place a simple and plain record
over the remains of a great writer that should be as modest
as he was himself, but I regard any other monument in
connection with his mortal resting-place as a mistake.</p>

<div class='sig'>
I am, Sir, your faithful Servant.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Rev.
James
White.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Office of "Household Words</span>," <i>Tuesday, Oct. 19th, 1852.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear White</span>,</div>

<p>We are now getting our Christmas extra number
together, and I think you are the boy to do, if you will, one
of the stories.</p>

<p>I propose to give the number some fireside name, and to
make it consist entirely of short stories supposed to be told
by a family sitting round the fire. <i>I don't care about their
referring to Christmas at all</i>; nor do I design to connect
them together, otherwise than by their names, as:</p>



<div class='center'>
<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Names of Story">
<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Grandfather's Story.</span></td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Father's Story.</span></td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Daughter's Story.</span></td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Schoolboy's Story.</span></td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Child's Story.</span></td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Guest's Story.</span></td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span class="smcap">The Old Nurse's Story</span>.</td></tr>
</table></div>


<p>The grandfather might very well be old enough to have
lived in the days of the highwaymen. Do you feel disposed,
from fact, fancy, or both, to do a good winter-hearth story
of a highwayman? If you do, I embrace you (per post),
and throw up a cap I have purchased for the purpose into
mid-air.</p>

<p>Think of it and write me a line in reply. We are all
well and blooming.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[289]</a></span></p>

<p>Are you never coming to town any more? Never going
to drink port again, metropolitaneously, but <i>always</i> with
Fielden?</p>

<p>Love to Mrs. White and the children, if Lotty be not out
of the list long ago.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever faithfully, my dear White.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">The Hon.
Mrs.
Watson.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Athen&aelig;um</span>, <i>Monday, November 22nd, 1852.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Mrs. Watson</span>,</div>

<p>Having just now finished my work for the time being,
I turn in here in the course of a rainy walk, to have the
gratification of writing a few lines to you. If my occupations
with this same right hand were less numerous, you
would soon be tired of me, I should write to you so often.</p>

<p>You asked Catherine a question about "Bleak House."
Its circulation is half as large again as "Copperfield"! I
have just now come to the point I have been patiently
working up to in the writing, and I hope it will suggest to
you a pretty and affecting thing. In the matter of "Uncle
Tom's Cabin," I partly though not entirely agree with
Mr. James. No doubt a much lower art will serve for the
handling of such a subject in fiction, than for a launch
on the sea of imagination without such a powerful bark;
but there are many points in the book very admirably
done. There is a certain St. Clair, a New Orleans gentleman,
who seems to me to be conceived with great power
and originality. If he had not "a Grecian outline of face,"
which I began to be a little tired of in my earliest infancy,
I should think him unexceptionable. He has a sister too,
a maiden lady from New England, in whose person the
besetting weaknesses and prejudices of the Abolitionists
themselves, on the subject of the blacks, are set forth in the
liveliest and truest colours and with the greatest boldness.</p>

<p>I have written for "Household Words" of this next<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[290]</a></span>
publication-day an article on the State funeral,<a name="FNanchor_14_14" id="FNanchor_14_14"></a><a href="#Footnote_14_14" class="fnanchor">[14]</a> showing
why I consider it altogether a mistake, to be temperately
but firmly objected to; which I daresay will make a good
many of the admirers of such things highly indignant. It
may have right and reason on its side, however, none the less.</p>

<p>Charley and I had a great talk at Dover about his going
into the army, when I thought it right to set before him
fairly and faithfully the objections to that career, no less
than its advantages. The result was that he asked in a
very manly way for time to consider. So I appointed to go
down to Eton on a certain day at the beginning of this
month, and resume the subject. We resumed it accordingly
at the White Hart, at Windsor, and he came to the conclusion
that he would rather be a merchant, and try to
establish some good house of business, where he might find
a path perhaps for his younger brothers, and stay at home,
and make himself the head of that long, small procession.
I was very much pleased with him indeed; he showed a fine
sense and a fine feeling in the whole matter. We have
arranged, therefore, that he shall leave Eton at Christmas,
and go to Germany after the holidays, to become well
acquainted with that language, now most essential in such a
walk of life as he will probably tread.</p>

<p>And I think this is the whole of my news. We are
always talking of you at home. Mary Boyle dined with us
a little while ago. You look out, I imagine, on a waste of
water. When I came from Windsor, I thought I must have
made a mistake and got into a boat (in the dark) instead of
a railway-carriage. Catherine and Georgina send their
kindest loves. I am ever, with the best and truest wishes
of my heart, my dear Mrs. Watson,</p>

<div class='sig'>
Your most affectionate Friend.<br />
</div>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[291]</a></span></p>

<div class="sidenote">Rev.
James
White.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Office of "Household Words</span>," <i>Monday, Nov. 22nd, 1852.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear White</span>,</div>

<p>First and foremost, there is no doubt whatever of
your story suiting "Household Words." It is a very good
story indeed, and would be serviceable at any time. I am
not quite so clear of its suiting the Christmas number, for
this reason. You know what the spirit of the Christmas
number is. When I suggested the stories being about a
highwayman, I got hold of that idea as being an adventurous
one, including various kinds of wrong, expressing a state of
society no longer existing among us, and pleasant to hear
(therefore) from an old man. Now, your highwayman not
being a real highwayman after all, the kind of suitable
Christmas interest I meant to awaken in the story is not in
it. Do you understand? For an ordinary number it is
quite unobjectionable. If you should think of any other
idea, narratable by an old man, which you think would
strike the chord of the season; and if you should find time
to work it out during the short remainder of this month, I
should be greatly pleased to have it. In any case, this
story goes straightway into type.</p>

<p>What tremendous weather it is! Our best loves to all
at home. (I have just bought thirty bottles of the most
stunning port on earth, which Ellis of the Star and Garter,
Richmond, wrote to me of.)</p>

<p>I think you will find some good going in the next
"Bleak House." I write shortly, having been working my
head off.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever affectionately yours.<br />
</div>

<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[292]</a></span></p>
<div class="sidenote">Mrs.
Gaskell.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Office of "Household Words</span>," <i>Wednesday, Dec. 1st, 1852.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My Dear Mrs. Gaskell</span>,</div>

<p>I send you the proof of "The Old Nurse's Story," with
my proposed alteration. I shall be glad to know whether
you approve of it. To assist you in your decision, I send
you, also enclosed, the original ending. And I have made a
line with ink across the last slip but one, where the alteration
begins. Of course if you wish to enlarge, explain, or
re-alter, you will do it. Do not keep the proof longer than
you can help, as I want to get to press with all despatch.</p>

<p>I hope I address this letter correctly. I am far from
sure. In haste.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever faithfully yours.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. W. H.
Wills.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Tavistock House</span>, <i>Thursday, December 9th, 1852.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Wills</span>,</div>

<p>I am driven mad by dogs, who have taken it into
their accursed heads to assemble every morning in the piece
of ground opposite, and who have barked this morning <i>for
five hours without intermission</i>; positively rendering it impossible
for me to work, and so making what is really
ridiculous quite serious to me. I wish, between this and
dinner, you would send John to see if he can hire a gun,
with a few caps, some powder, and a few charges of small
shot. If you duly commission him with a card, he can
easily do it. And if I get those implements up here to-night,
I'll be the death of some of them to-morrow morning.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever faithfully.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Rev.
James
White.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Tavistock House</span>, <i>Thursday Evening, Dec. 9th, 1852.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear White</span>,</div>

<p>I hear you are not going to poor Macready's. Now,
don't you think it would do you good to come here instead?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[293]</a></span>
<i>I</i> say it would, and I ought to know! We can give you
everything but a bed (all ours are occupied in consequence
of the boys being at home), and shall all be delighted to see
you. Leave the bed to us, and we'll find one hard by. I
say nothing of the last day of the old year, and the dancing
out of that good old worthy that will take place here (for
you might like to hear the bells at home); but after the
twentieth, I shall be comparatively at leisure, and good for
anything or nothing. Don't you consider it your duty to
your family to come? <i>I</i> do, and I again say that I ought
to know.</p>

<p>Our best love to Mrs. White and Lotty&mdash;happily so much
better, we rejoice to hear&mdash;and all.</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 2em;">So no more at present from</span><br />
<span class="smcap">The Inimitable B</span>.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mrs.
Gaskell.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Tavistock House</span>, <i>Friday, Dec. 17th, 1852.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Mrs. Gaskell</span>,</div>

<p>I received your kind note yesterday morning with
the truest gratification, for I <i>am</i> the writer of "The Child's
Story" as well as of "The Poor Relation's." I assure you,
you have given me the liveliest and heartiest pleasure by
what you say of it.</p>

<p>I don't claim for my ending of "The Nurse's Story" that
it would have made it a bit better. All I can urge in its
behalf is, that it is what I should have done myself. But
there is no doubt of the story being admirable as it stands,
and there <i>is</i> some doubt (I think) whether Forster would
have found anything wrong in it, if he had not known of my
hammering over the proofs in making up the number, with
all the three endings before me.</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 2em;">With kindest regards to Mr. Gaskell,</span><br />
Ever faithfully yours.<br />
</div>

<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[294]</a></span></p>
<div class="sidenote">Mr. W.
Wilkie
Collins.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Tavistock House</span>, <i>Monday, Dec. 20th, 1852.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Collins</span>,</div>

<p>If I did not know that you are likely to have a forbearing
remembrance of my occupation, I should be full of
remorse for not having sooner thanked you for "Basil."</p>

<p>Not to play the sage or the critic (neither of which parts,
I hope, is at all in my line), but to say what is the friendly
truth, I may assure you that I have read the book with
very great interest, and with a very thorough conviction that
you have a call to this same art of fiction. I think the probabilities
here and there require a little more respect than you
are disposed to show them, and I have no doubt that the
prefatory letter would have been better away, on the ground
that a book (of all things) should speak for and explain
itself. But the story contains admirable writing, and many
clear evidences of a very delicate discrimination of character.
It is delightful to find throughout that you have taken great
pains with it besides, and have "gone at it" with a perfect
knowledge of the jolter-headedness of the conceited idiots
who suppose that volumes are to be tossed off like pancakes,
and that any writing can be done without the utmost application,
the greatest patience, and the steadiest energy of
which the writer is capable.</p>

<p>For all these reasons, I have made "Basil's" acquaintance
with great gratification, and entertain a high respect
for him. And I hope that I shall become intimate with
many worthy descendants of his, who are yet in the limbo
of creatures waiting to be born.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Always faithfully yours.<br />
</div>

<p>P.S.&mdash;I am open to any proposal to go anywhere any
day or days this week. Fresh air and change in any
amount I am ready for. If I could only find an idle man
(this is a general observation), he would find the warmest
recognition in this direction.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[295]</a></span></p>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. Frank
Stone,
A.R.A.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Tavistock House</span>, <i>Monday Evening, Dec. 20th, 1852.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Stone</span>,</div>

<p>Every appearance of brightness! Shall I expect you
to-morrow morning? If so, at what hour?</p>

<p>I think of taking train afterwards, and going down for
a walk on Chatham lines. If you can spare the day for
fresh air and an impromptu bit of fish and chop, I can
recommend you one of the most delightful of men for a
companion. O, he is indeed refreshing!!!</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever affectionately yours.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. W. H.
Wills.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Office of "Household Words</span>," <i>Christmas Eve, 1852.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Wills</span>,</div>

<p>I have gone carefully through the number&mdash;an
awful one for the amount of correction required&mdash;and have
made everything right. If my mind could have been
materialised, and drawn along the tops of all the spikes on
the outside of the Queen's Bench prison, it could not have
been more agonised than by the &mdash;&mdash;, which, for imbecility,
carelessness, slovenly composition, relatives without antecedents,
universal chaos, and one absorbing whirlpool of
jolter-headedness, beats anything in print and paper I have
ever "gone at" in my life.</p>

<p>I shall come and see how you are to-morrow. Meantime
everything is in perfect trim in these parts, and I have
sent down to Stacey to come here and top up with a final
interview before I go.</p>

<p>Just after I had sent the messenger off to you, yesterday,
concerning the toll-taker memoranda, the other idea came
into my head, and in the most obliging manner came out
of it.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever faithfully yours.<br />
</div>

<p>P.S.&mdash;Here is &mdash;&mdash; perpetually flitting about Brydges<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[296]</a></span>
Street, and hovering in the neighbourhood, with a veil of
secrecy drawn down over his chin, so ludicrously transparent,
that I can't help laughing while he looks at me.</p>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. G.
Linn&aelig;us
Banks.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Tavistock House</span>, <i>Sunday, Dec. 26th, 1852</i>.<br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,</div>

<p>I will not attempt to tell you how affected and gratified
I am by the intelligence your kind letter conveys to me.
Nothing would be more welcome to me than such a mark of
confidence and approval from such a source, nothing more
precious, or that I could set a higher worth upon.</p>

<p>I hasten to return the gauges, of which I have marked
one as the size of the finger, from which this token will never
more be absent as long as I live.</p>

<p>With feelings of the liveliest gratitude and cordiality
towards the many friends who so honour me, and with many
thanks to you for the genial earnestness with which you
represent them,</p>

<div class='sig'>
I am, my dear Sir, very faithfully yours.<br />
</div>

<p>P.S.&mdash;Will you do me the favour to inform the dinner
committee that a friend of mine, Mr. Clement, of Shrewsbury,
is very anxious to purchase a ticket for the dinner,
and that if they will be so good as to forward one for him
to me I shall feel much obliged.</p>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<h2>1853.</h2>

<h3>NARRATIVE.</h3>


<div class='unindent'><span class='smcap'>In</span> this year, Charles Dickens was still writing "Bleak
House," and went to Brighton for a short time in the
spring. In May he had an attack of illness, a return<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[297]</a></span>
of an old trouble of an inflammatory pain in the side,
which was short but very severe while it lasted. Immediately
on his recovery, early in June, a departure from
London for the summer was resolved upon. He had
decided upon trying Boulogne this year for his holiday
sojourn, and as soon as he was strong enough to travel,
he, his wife, and sister-in-law went there in advance of
the family, taking up their quarters at the H&ocirc;tel des Bains,
to find a house, which was speedily done. The pretty little
Villa des Moulineaux, and its excellent landlord, at once
took his fancy, and in that house, and in another on the
same ground, also belonging to M. Beaucourt, he passed
three very happy summers. And he became as much
attached to "Our French Watering Place" as to "Our
English" one. Having written a sketch of Broadstairs
under that name in "Household Words," he did the same
of Boulogne under the former title.</div>

<p>During the summer, besides his other work, he was
employed in dictating "The Child's History of England,"
which he published in "Household Words," and which
was the only book he ever wrote by dictation. But, as at
Broadstairs and other seaside homes, he had always plenty
of relaxation and enjoyment in the visits of his friends.
In September he finished "Bleak House," and in October
he started with Mr. Wilkie Collins and Mr. Egg from
Boulogne, on an excursion through parts of Switzerland
and Italy; his wife and family going home at the same
time, and he himself returning to Tavistock House early in
December. His eldest son, Charles, had left Eton some
time before this, and had gone for the completion of his
education to Leipsic. He was to leave Germany at the end
of the year, therefore it was arranged that he should meet
the travellers in Paris on their homeward journey, and they
all returned together.</p>

<p>Just before Christmas he went to Birmingham in fulfilment
of an offer which he had made at the dinner given to
him at Birmingham on the 6th of January (of which he
writes to Mr. Macready in the first letter that follows here),<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[298]</a></span>
to give two readings from his own books for the benefit of
the New Midland Institute. They were his first public
readings. He read "The Christmas Carol" on one evening,
and "The Cricket on the Hearth" on the next, before
enormous audiences. The success was so great, and the
sum of money realised for the institute so large, that he
consented to give a second reading of "The Christmas
Carol," remaining another night in Birmingham for the
purpose, on the condition that seats were reserved, at
prices within their means, for the working men. And to
his great satisfaction they formed a large proportion, and
were among the most enthusiastic and appreciative of his
audience. He was accompanied by his wife and sister-in-law,
and on this occasion a breakfast was given to him
after his last reading, at which a silver flower-basket, duly
inscribed, was very gracefully presented to <i>Mrs.</i> Charles
Dickens.</p>

<p>The letters in this year require little explanation. Those
to his wife and sister-in-law and Mr. Wills give a little
history of his Italian journey. At Naples he found his
excellent friend Sir James Emerson Tennent, with his wife
and daughter, with whom he joined company in the ascent
of Vesuvius.</p>

<p>The two letters to M. Regnier, the distinguished actor
of the Th&eacute;&acirc;tre Fran&ccedil;ais&mdash;with whom Charles Dickens had
formed a sincere friendship during his first residence in
Paris&mdash;on the subject of a projected benefit to Miss Kelly,
need no further explanation.</p>

<p>Mr. John Delane, editor of <i>The Times</i>, and always a
highly-esteemed friend of Charles Dickens, had given him
an introduction to a school at Boulogne, kept by two English
gentlemen, one a clergyman and the other a former Eton
master, the Rev. W. Bewsher and Mr. Gibson. He had at
various times four boys at this school, and very frequently
afterwards he expressed his gratitude to Mr. Delane for
having given him the introduction, which turned out so
satisfactory in every respect.</p>

<p>The letter of grateful acknowledgment from Mr. Poole<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[299]</a></span>
and Charles Dickens to Lord Russell was for the pension
for which the old dramatic author was indebted to that
nobleman, and which enabled him to live comfortably until
the end of his life.</p>

<p>A note to Mr. Marcus Stone was sent with a copy of "The
Child's History of England." The sketch referred to was
one of "Jo'," in "Bleak House," which showed great feeling
and artistic promise, since fully fulfilled by the young
painter, but very remarkable in a boy so young as he was
at that time. The letter to Mr. Stanfield, in seafaring
language, is a specimen of a playful way in which he
frequently addressed that dear friend.</p>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. W. H.
Wills.</div>

<div class='center'><br /><br />
<small>"A curiosity from <i>him</i>. No date. No signature."&mdash;W. H. H.</small><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Wills</span>,</div>

<p>I have not a shadow of a doubt about Miss Martineau's
story. It is certain to tell. I think it very effectively,
admirably done; a fine plain purpose in it; quite
a singular novelty. For the last story in the Christmas
number it will be great. I couldn't wish for a better.</p>

<p>Mrs. Gaskell's ghost story I have got this morning;
have not yet read. It is long.</p>


<div class="sidenote">Mr.
Clarkson
Stanfield.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
H.M.S. <i>Tavistock, January 2nd, 1853.</i><br />
</div>

<p>Yoho, old salt! Neptun' ahoy! You don't forget,
messmet, as you was to meet Dick Sparkler and Mark
Porpuss on the fok'sle of the good ship <i>Owssel Words</i>,
Wednesday next, half-past four? Not you; for when did
Stanfell ever pass his word to go anywheers and not come!
Well. Belay, my heart of oak, belay! Come alongside the
<i>Tavistock</i> same day and hour, 'stead of <i>Owssel Words</i>.
Hail your shipmets, and they'll drop over the side and join<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[300]</a></span>
you, like two new shillings a-droppin' into the purser's
pocket. Damn all lubberly boys and swabs, and give me
the lad with the tarry trousers, which shines to me like
di'mings bright!</p>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. W. C.
Macready.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Tavistock House</span>, <i>Friday Night, Jan. 14th, 1853.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dearest Macready</span>,</div>

<p>I have been much affected by the receipt of your
kindest and best of letters; for I know out of the midst of
what anxieties it comes to me, and I appreciate such remembrance
from my heart. You and yours are always with us,
however. It is no new thing for you to have a part in any
scene of my life. It very rarely happens that a day passes
without our thoughts and conversation travelling to Sherborne.
We are so much there that I cannot tell you how
plainly I see you as I write.</p>

<p>I know you would have been full of sympathy and
approval if you had been present at Birmingham, and that
you would have concurred in the tone I tried to take about
the eternal duties of the arts to the people. I took the
liberty of putting the court and that kind of thing out of
the question, and recognising nothing <i>but</i> the arts and the
people. The more we see of life and its brevity, and the
world and its varieties, the more we know that no exercise
of our abilities in any art, but the addressing of it to the
great ocean of humanity in which we are drops, and not to
bye-ponds (very stagnant) here and there, ever can or ever
will lay the foundations of an endurable retrospect. Is it
not so? <i>You</i> should have as much practical information on
this subject, now, my dear friend, as any man.</p>

<p>My dearest Macready, I cannot forbear this closing word.
I still look forward to our meeting as we used to do in the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[301]</a></span>
happy times we have known together, so far as your old
hopefulness and energy are concerned. And I think I
never in my life have been more glad to receive a sign,
than I have been to hail that which I find in your
handwriting.</p>

<p>Some of your old friends at Birmingham are full of
interest and enquiry. Kate and Georgina send their dearest
loves to you, and to Miss Macready, and to all the children.
I am ever, and no matter where I am&mdash;and quite as much in
a crowd as alone&mdash;my dearest Macready,</p>

<div class='sig'>
Your affectionate and most attached Friend.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mrs.
Gaskell.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Tavistock House</span>, <i>May 3rd, 1853.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Mrs. Gaskell</span>,</div>

<p>The subject is certainly not too serious, so sensibly
treated. I have no doubt that you may do a great deal of
good by pursuing it in "Household Words." I thoroughly
agree in all you say in your note, have similar reasons for
giving it some anxious consideration, and shall be greatly
interested in it. Pray decide to do it. Send the papers, as
you write them, to me. Meanwhile I will think of a name
for them, and bring it to bear upon yours, if I think yours
improvable. I am sure you may rely on being widely understood
and sympathised with.</p>

<p>Forget that I called those two women my dear friends!
Why, if I told you a fiftieth part of what I have thought
about them, you would write me the most suspicious of notes,
refusing to receive the fiftieth part of that. So I don't write,
particularly as you laid your injunctions on me concerning
Ruth. In revenge, I will now mention one word that I wish
you would take out whenever you reprint that book. She
would never&mdash;I am ready to make affidavit before any<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[302]</a></span>
authority in the land&mdash;have called her seducer "Sir," when
they were living at that hotel in Wales. A girl pretending
to be what she really was would have done it, but she&mdash;never!</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever most faithfully yours.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Monsieur
Regnier.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Tavistock House</span>, <i>Monday, May 9th, 1853.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Regnier</span>,</div>

<p>I meant to have spoken to you last night about a
matter in which I hope you can assist me, but I forgot it.
I think I must have been quite <i>boulevers&eacute;</i> by your supposing
(as you pretended to do, when you went away) that it was
not a great pleasure and delight to me to see you act!</p>

<p>There is a certain Miss Kelly, now sixty-two years old,
who was once one of the very best of English actresses, in
the greater and better days of the English theatre. She
has much need of a benefit, and I am exerting myself to
arrange one for her, on about the 9th of June, if possible,
at the St. James's Theatre. The first piece will be an
entertainment of her own, and she will act in the last.
Between these two (and at the best time of the night), it
would be a great attraction to the public, and a great proof
of friendship to me, if you would act. If we could manage,
through your influence and with your assistance, to present
a little French vaudeville, such as "<i>Le bon Homme jadis</i>,"
it would make the night a grand success.</p>

<p>Mitchell's permission, I suppose, would be required.
That I will undertake to apply for, if you will tell me that
you are willing to help us, and that you could answer for
the other necessary actors in the little French piece, whatever
the piece might be, that you would choose for the
purpose. Pray write me a short note in answer, on this
point.</p>

<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[303]</a></span></p><p>I ought to tell you that the benefit will be "under distinguished
patronage." The Duke of Devonshire, the Duke
of Leinster, the Duke of Beaufort, etc. etc., are members of
the committee with me, and I have no doubt that the
audience will be of the <i>&eacute;lite</i>.</p>

<p>I have asked Mr. Chapman to come to me to-morrow, to
arrange for the hiring of the theatre. Mr. Harley (a favourite
English comedian whom you may know) is our secretary.
And if I could assure the committee to-morrow afternoon of
your co-operation, I am sure they would be overjoyed.</p>

<div class='sig'>
<i>Votre tout d&eacute;vou&eacute;.</i><br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Monsieur
Regnier.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Tavistock House</span>, <i>May 20th, 1853.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Regnier</span>,</div>

<p>I am heartily obliged to you for your kind letter
respecting Miss Kelly's benefit. It is to take place <i>on
Thursday, the 16th June</i>; Thursday the 9th (the day originally
proposed) being the day of Ascot Races, and therefore
a bad one for the purpose.</p>

<p>Mitchell, like a brave <i>gar&ccedil;on</i> as he is, most willingly
consents to your acting for us. Will you think what little
French piece it will be best to do, in order that I may have
it ready for the bills?</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever faithfully yours, my dear Regnier.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. W. H.
Wills.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Boulogne</span>, <i>Monday, June 13th, 1853.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Wills</span>,</div>

<p>You will be glad, I know, to hear that we had a
delightful passage yesterday, and that I made a perfect
phenomenon of a dinner. It is raining hard to-day, and my
back feels the draught; but I am otherwise still mending.</p>

<p>I have signed, sealed, and delivered a contract for a
house (once occupied for two years by a man I knew in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[304]</a></span>
Switzerland), which is not a large one, but stands in the
middle of a great garden, with what the landlord calls a
"forest" at the back, and is now surrounded by flowers,
vegetables, and all manner of growth. A queer, odd,
French place, but extremely well supplied with all table and
other conveniences, and strongly recommended.</p>

<p>The address is:</p>

<div class='center'>
Ch&acirc;teau des Moulineaux,<br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Rue Beaurepaire, Boulogne.</span><br />
</div>

<p>There is a coach-house, stabling for half-a-dozen horses,
and I don't know what.</p>

<p>We take possession this afternoon, and I am now laying
in a good stock of creature comforts. So no more at
present from</p>

<div class='sig'>
Yours ever faithfully.<br />
</div>

<p>P.S.&mdash;Mrs. Dickens and her sister unite in kindest
regards.</p>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. W. H.
Wills.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span style="margin-right: 2em;"><span class="smcap"><ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'Chateau'">Ch&acirc;teau</ins> des Moulineaux, Boulogne</span>,</span><br />
<i>Saturday Night, June 18th, 1853.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Wills</span>,</div>

<div class='center'>
"<span class="smcap">Bleak House</span>."<br />
</div>

<p>Thank God, I have done half the number with great
care, and hope to finish on Thursday or Friday next. O
how thankful I feel to be able to have done it, and what a
relief to get the number out!</p>

<div class='center'>
<span class="smcap">General Movements of Inimitable</span>.<br />
</div>

<p><i>I don't think</i> (I am not sure) I shall come to London
until after the completion of "Bleak House," No. 18&mdash;the
number after this now in hand&mdash;for it strikes me
that I am better here at present. I have picked up in
the most extraordinary manner, and I believe you would<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[305]</a></span>
never suppose to look at me that I had had that week or
barely an hour of it. If there should be any occasion for
our meeting in the meantime, a run over here would do you
no harm, and we should be delighted to see you at any
time. If you suppose this place to be in a street, you are
much mistaken. It is in the country, though not more
than ten minutes' walk from the post-office, and is the best
doll's-house of many rooms, in the prettiest French grounds,
in the most charming situation I have ever seen; the best
place I have ever lived in abroad, except at Genoa. You
can scarcely imagine the beauty of the air in this richly-wooded
hill-side. As to comforts in the house, there are
all sorts of things, beginning with no end of the coldest
water and running through the most beautiful flowers down
to English foot-baths and a Parisian liqueur-stand. Your
parcel (frantic enclosures and all) arrived quite safely last
night. This will leave by steamer to-morrow, Sunday
evening. There is a boat in the morning, but having no
one to send to-night I can't reach it, and to-morrow being
Sunday it will come to much the same thing.</p>

<p>I think that's all at present.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever, my dear Wills, faithfully yours.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. Frank
Stone,
A.R.A.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span style="margin-right: 2em;"><span class="smcap"><ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'Chateau'">Ch&acirc;teau</ins> des Moulineaux, Rue Beaurepaire, Boulogne</span>,</span><br />
<i>Thursday, June 23rd, 1853.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Pumpion</span>,</div>

<p>I take the earliest opportunity, after finishing my
number&mdash;ahem!&mdash;to write you a line, and to report myself
(thank God) brown, well, robust, vigorous, open to fight
any man in England of my weight, and growing a moustache.
Any person of undoubted pluck, in want of a customer, may
hear of me at the bar of Bleak House, where my money is
down.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[306]</a></span></p>

<p>I think there is an abundance of places here that would
suit you well enough; and Georgina is ready to launch on
voyages of discovery and observation with you. But it is
necessary that you should consider for how long a time you
want it, as the folks here let much more advantageously
for the tenant when they know the term&mdash;don't like to let
without. It seems to me that the best thing you can do is
to get a paper of the South Eastern tidal trains, fix your
day for coming over here in five hours (when you will pay
through to Boulogne at London Bridge), let me know the
day, and come and see how you like the place. <i>I</i> like it
better than ever. We can give you a bed (two to spare, at
a pinch three), and show you a garden and a view or so.
The town is not so cheap as places farther off, but you get a
great deal for your money, and by far the best wine at tenpence
a bottle that I have ever drank anywhere. I really
desire no better.</p>

<p>I may mention for your guidance (for I count upon your
coming to overhaul the general aspect of things), that you
have nothing on earth to do with your luggage when it is
once in the boat, <i>until after you have walked ashore</i>. That
you will be filtered with the rest of the passengers through
a hideous, whitewashed, quarantine-looking custom-house,
where a stern man of a military aspect will demand your
passport. That you will have nothing of the sort, but will
produce your card with this addition: "Restant &agrave; Boulogne,
chez M. Charles Dickens, Ch&acirc;teau des Moulineaux." That
you will then be passed out at a little door, like one of the
ill-starred prisoners on the bloody September night, into a
yelling and shrieking crowd, cleaving the air with the
names of the different hotels, exactly seven thousand six
hundred and fifty-four in number. And that your heart
will be on the point of sinking with dread, then you will<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[307]</a></span>
find yourself in the arms of the Sparkler of Albion. All
unite in kindest regards.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever affectionately.<br />
</div>

<p>P.S.&mdash;I thought you might like to see the flourish again.</p>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. W. H.
Wills.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Boulogne</span>, <i>Wednesday, July 27th, 1853.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Wills</span>,</div>

<p>I have thought of another article to be called "Frauds
upon the Fairies," <i>&agrave; propos</i> of George Cruikshank's editing.
Half playfully and half seriously, I mean to protest most
strongly against alteration, for any purpose, of the beautiful
little stories which are so tenderly and humanly useful to
us in these times, when the world is too much with us, early
and late; and then to re-write "Cinderella" according to
Total Abstinence, Peace Society, and Bloomer principles,
and expressly for their propagation.</p>

<p>I shall want his book of "Hop o' my Thumb" (Forster
noticed it in the last <i>Examiner</i>), and the most simple and
popular version of "Cinderella" you can get me. I shall
not be able to do it until after finishing "Bleak House," but
I shall do it the more easily for having the books by me.
So send them, if convenient, in your next parcel.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever faithfully.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. W. C.
Macready.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span style="margin-right: 2em;"><span class="smcap"><ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'Chateau'">Ch&acirc;teau</ins> des Moulineaux, Boulogne</span>,</span><br />
<i>Sunday, Aug. 24th, 1853.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My Dearest Macready</span>,</div>

<p>Some unaccountable delay in the transmission here
of the parcel which contained your letter, caused me to come
into the receipt of it a whole week after its date. I immediately
wrote to Miss Coutts, who has written to you, and I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[308]</a></span>
hope some good may come of it. I know it will not be her
fault if none does. I was very much concerned to read your
account of poor Mrs. Warner, and to read her own plain and
unaffected account of herself. Pray assure her of my cordial
sympathy and remembrance, and of my earnest desire to do
anything in my power to help to put her mind at ease.</p>

<p>We are living in a beautiful little country place here,
where I have been hard at work ever since I came, and am
now (after an interval of a week's rest) going to work again
to finish "Bleak House." Kate and Georgina send their
kindest loves to you, and Miss Macready, and all the rest.
They look forward, I assure you, to their Sherborne visit,
when I&mdash;a mere forlorn wanderer&mdash;shall be roaming over
the Alps into Italy. I saw "The Midsummer Night's Dream"
of the Op&eacute;ra Comique, done here (very well) last night. The
way in which a poet named Willyim Shay Kes Peer gets
drunk in company with Sir John Foll Stayffe, fights with a
noble 'night, Lor Latimeer (who is in love with a maid-of-honour
you may have read of in history, called Mees Oleevia),
and promises not to do so any more on observing symptoms
of love for him in the Queen of England, is very remarkable.
Queen Elizabeth, too, in the profound and impenetrable disguise
of a black velvet mask, two inches deep by three broad,
following him into taverns and worse places, and enquiring
of persons of doubtful reputation for "the sublime Williams,"
was inexpressibly ridiculous. And yet the nonsense was
done with a sense quite admirable.</p>

<p>I have been very much struck by the book you sent me.
It is one of the wisest, the manliest, and most serviceable I
ever read. I am reading it again with the greatest pleasure
and admiration.</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 2em;">Ever most affectionately yours,</span><br />
My dear Macready.<br />
</div>

<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[309]</a></span></p>
<div class="sidenote">The Hon.
Mrs.
Watson.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span style="margin-right: 2em;"><span class="smcap">Villa des Moulineaux, Boulogne</span>,</span><br />
<i>Saturday, Aug. 27th, 1853.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My Dear Mrs. Watson</span>,</div>

<p>I received your letter&mdash;most welcome and full of
interest to me&mdash;when I was hard at work finishing "Bleak
House." We are always talking of you; and I had said
but the day before, that one of the first things I would do
on my release would be to write to you. To finish the topic
of "Bleak House" at once, I will only add that I like the
conclusion very much and think it <i>very pretty indeed</i>. The
story has taken extraordinarily, especially during the last
five or six months, when its purpose has been gradually
working itself out. It has retained its immense circulation
from the first, beating dear old "Copperfield" by a round
ten thousand or more. I have never had so many readers.
We had a little reading of the final double number here the
night before last, and it made a great impression I assure
you.</p>

<p>We are all extremely well, and like Boulogne very much
indeed. I laid down the rule before we came, that we
would know nobody here, and we <i>do</i> know nobody here. We
evaded callers as politely as we could, and gradually came
to be understood and left to ourselves. It is a fine bracing
air, a beautiful open country, and an admirable mixture of
town and country. We live on a green hill-side out of the
town, but are in the town (on foot) in ten minutes. Things
are tolerably cheap, and exceedingly good; the people very
cheerful, good-looking, and obliging; the houses very
clean; the distance to London short, and easily traversed.
I think if you came to know the place (which I never did
myself until last October, often as I have been through it),
you could be but in one mind about it.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[310]</a></span></p>

<p>Charley is still at Leipzig. I shall take him up somewhere
on the Rhine, to bring him home for Christmas, as I
come back on my own little tour. He has been in the Hartz
Mountains on a walking tour, and has written a journal
thereof, which he has sent home in portions. It has cost
about as much in postage as would have bought a pair of
ponies.</p>

<p>I contemplate starting from here on Monday, the 10th of
October; Catherine, Georgina, and the rest of them will
then go home. I shall go first by Paris and Geneva to
Lausanne, for it has a separate place in my memory. If
the autumn should be very fine (just possible after such a
summer), I shall then go by Chamonix and Martigny, over
the Simplon to Milan, thence to Genoa, Leghorn, Pisa, and
Naples, thence, I hope, to Sicily. Back by Bologna,
Florence, Rome, Verona, Mantua, etc., to Venice, and home
by Germany, arriving in good time for Christmas Day.
Three nights in Christmas week, I have promised to read in
the Town Hall at Birmingham, for the benefit of a new and
admirable institution for working men projected there.
The Friday will be the last night, and I shall read the
"Carol" to two thousand working people, stipulating that
they shall have that night entirely to themselves.</p>

<p>It just occurs to me that I mean to engage, for the two
months odd, a travelling servant. I have not yet got one.
If you should happen to be interested in any good foreigner,
well acquainted with the countries and the languages, who
would like such a master, how delighted I should be to like
<i>him</i>!</p>

<p>Ever since I have been here, I have been very hard at
work, often getting up at daybreak to write through many
hours. I have never had the least return of illness, thank<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[311]</a></span>
God, though I was so altered (in a week) when I came here,
that I doubt if you would have known me. I am redder
and browner than ever at the present writing, with the
addition of a rather formidable and fierce moustache.
Lowestoft I know, by walking over there from Yarmouth,
when I went down on an exploring expedition, previous to
"Copperfield." It is a fine place. I saw the name "Blunderstone"
on a direction-post between it and Yarmouth, and
took it from the said direction-post for the book. We
imagined the Captain's ecstasies when we saw the birth of
his child in the papers. In some of the descriptions of
Chesney Wold, I have taken many bits, chiefly about trees
and shadows, from observations made at Rockingham. I
wonder whether you have ever thought so! I shall hope to
hear from you again soon, and shall not fail to write again
before I go away. There seems to be nothing but "I" in
this letter; but "I" know, my dear friend, that you will
be more interested in that letter in the present connection,
than in any other I could take from the alphabet.</p>

<p>Catherine and Georgina send their kindest loves, and
more messages than this little sheet would hold. If I were
to give you a hint of what we feel at the sight of your handwriting,
and at the receipt of a word from yourself about
yourself, and the dear boys, and the precious little girls, I
should begin to be sorrowful, which is rather the tendency
of my mind at the close of another long book. I heard from
Cerjat two or three days since. Goff, by-the-bye, lived in
this house two years.</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 6em;">Ever, my dear Mrs. Watson,</span><br />
Yours, with true affection and regard.<br />
</div>

<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[312]</a></span></p>
<div class="sidenote">Mr. Peter
Cunningham.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap"><ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'Chateau'">Ch&acirc;teau</ins> des Moulineaux, Rue Beaurepaire, Boulogne</span>.<br />
</div>

<div class='unindent'>
<span class="smcap">My dear Cunningham</span>,<br />
<br />
<span style="margin-left: 4em;">A note&mdash;Cerberus-like&mdash;of three heads.</span><br />
</div>

<p>First. I know you will be glad to hear that the manager
is himself again. Vigorous, brown, energetic, muscular;
the pride of Albion and the admiration of Gaul.</p>

<p>Secondly. I told Wills when I left home, that I was
quite pained to see the end of your excellent "Bowl of Punch"
altered. I was unaffectedly touched and gratified by the
heartiness of the original; and saw no earthly, celestial, or
subterranean objection to its remaining, as it did not so
unmistakably apply to me as to necessitate the observance
of my usual precaution in the case of such references, by
any means.</p>

<p>Thirdly. If you ever have a holiday that you don't know
what to do with, <i>do</i> come and pass a little time here. We
live in a charming garden in a very pleasant country, and
should be delighted to receive you. Excellent light wines
on the premises, French cookery, millions of roses, two
cows (for milk punch), vegetables cut for the pot, and handed
in at the kitchen window; five summer-houses, fifteen
fountains (with no water in 'em), and thirty-seven clocks
(keeping, as I conceive, Australian time; having no reference
whatever to the hours on this side of the globe).</p>

<p>I know, my dear Cunningham, that the British nation
can ill afford to lose you; and that when the Audit Office
mice are away, the cats of that great public establishment
will play. But pray consider that the bow may be sometimes
bent too long, and that ever-arduous application, even
in patriotic service, is to be avoided. No one can more
highly estimate your devotion to the best interests of Britain
than I. But I wish to see it tempered with a wise consideration<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[313]</a></span>
for your own amusement, recreation, and pastime.
All work and no play may make Peter a dull boy as well as
Jack. And (if I may claim the privilege of friendship to
remonstrate) I would say that you do not take enough time
for your meals. Dinner, for instance, you habitually neglect.
Believe me, this rustic repose will do you good. Winkles
also are to be obtained in these parts, and it is well remarked
by Poor Richard, that a bird in the handbook is worth two
in the bush.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever cordially yours.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. Walter
Savage
Landor.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Tavistock House, London</span>, <i>Sept. 8th, 1853.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Landor</span>,</div>

<p>I am in town for a day or two, and Forster tells me
I may now write to thank you for the happiness you have
given me by honouring my name with such generous
mention, on such a noble place, in your great book. I
believe he has told you already that I wrote to him from
Boulogne, not knowing what to do, as I had not received
the precious volume, and feared you might have some plan
of sending it to me, with which my premature writing would
interfere.</p>

<p>You know how heartily and inexpressibly I prize what
you have written to me, or you never would have selected
me for such a distinction. I could never thank you enough,
my dear Landor, and I will not thank you in words any
more. Believe me, I receive the dedication like a great
dignity, the worth of which I hope I thoroughly know. The
Queen could give me none in exchange that I wouldn't
laughingly snap my fingers at.</p>

<p>We are staying at Boulogne until the 10th of October,
when I go into Italy until Christmas, and the rest come
home.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[314]</a></span></p>

<p>Kate and Georgina would send you their best loves if
they were here, and would never leave off talking about it
if I went back and told them I had written to you without
such mention of them. Walter is a very good boy, and
comes home from school with honourable commendation.
He passed last Sunday in solitary confinement (in a bath-room)
on bread and water, for terminating a dispute with
the nurse by throwing a chair in her direction. It is the
very first occasion of his ever having got into trouble, for
he is a great favourite with the whole house, and one of the
most amiable boys in the boy world. (He comes out on
birthdays in a blaze of shirt-pin).</p>

<p>If I go and look at your old house, as I shall if I go to
Florence, I shall bring you back another leaf from the same
tree as I plucked the last from.</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 6em;">Ever, my dear Landor,</span><br />
Heartily and affectionately yours.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. John
Delane.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span style="margin-right: 2em;"><span class="smcap">Villa Des Moulineaux, Boulogne</span>,</span><br />
<i>Monday, Sept. 12th, 1853.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Delane</span>,</div>

<p>I am very much obliged to you, I assure you, for
your frank and full reply to my note. Nothing could be
more satisfactory, and I have to-day seen Mr. Gibson and
placed my two small representatives under his charge. His
manner is exactly what you describe him. I was greatly
pleased with his genuineness altogether.</p>

<p>We remain here until the tenth of next month, when I
am going to desert my wife and family and run about Italy
until Christmas. If I can execute any little commission for
you or Mrs. Delane&mdash;in the Genoa street of silversmiths, or
anywhere else&mdash;I shall be delighted to do so. I have been
in the receipt of several letters from Macready lately, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[315]</a></span>
rejoice to find him quite himself again, though I have great
misgivings that he will lose his eldest boy before he can be
got to India.</p>

<p>Mrs. Dickens and her sister are proud of your message,
and beg their kind regards to be forwarded in return; my
other half being particularly comforted and encouraged by
your account of Mr. Gibson. In this charge I am to include
Mrs. Delane, who, I hope, will make an exchange of
remembrances, and give me hers for mine.</p>

<p>I never saw anything so ridiculous as this place at present.
They expected the Emperor ten or twelve days ago,
and put up all manner of triumphal arches made of evergreens,
which look like tea-leaves now, and will take a
withered and weird appearance hardly to be foreseen, long
before the twenty-fifth, when the visit is vaguely expected
to come off. In addition to these faded garlands all over
the leading streets, there are painted eagles hoisted over
gateways and sprawling across a hundred ways, which have
been washed out by the rain and are now being blistered by
the sun, until they look horribly ludicrous. And a number
of our benighted compatriots who came over to see a perfect
blaze of <i>f&ecirc;tes</i>, go wandering among these shrivelled preparations
and staring at ten thousand flag-poles without any
flags upon them, with a kind of indignant curiosity and
personal injury quite irresistible. With many thanks,</p>

<div class='sig'>
Very faithfully yours.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. W. H.
Wills.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Boulogne</span>, <i>Sunday, Sept. 18th, 1853.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Wills</span>,</div>

<div class='center'>
<span class="smcap">Courier</span>.<br />
</div>

<p>Edward Kaub will bring this. He turned up yesterday,
accounting for his delay by waiting for a written
recommendation, and having at the last moment (as a<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[316]</a></span>
foreigner, not being an Englishman) a passport to get. I
quite agree with you as to his appearance and manner, and
have engaged him. It strikes me that it would be an
excellent beginning if you would deliver him a neat and
appropriate address, telling him what in your conscience you
can find to tell of me favourably as a master, and particularly
impressing upon him <i>readiness and punctuality</i> on
his part as the great things to be observed. I think it
would have a much better effect than anything I could say
in this stage, if said from yourself. But I shall be much
obliged to you if you will act upon this hint forthwith.</p>

<div class='center'>
<span class="smcap">W. H. Wills</span>.<br />
</div>

<p>No letter having arrived from the popular author of
"The Larboard Fin,"<a name="FNanchor_15_15" id="FNanchor_15_15"></a><a href="#Footnote_15_15" class="fnanchor">[15]</a> by this morning's post, I rather
think one must be on the way in the pocket of Gordon's
son. If Kaub calls for this before young Scotland arrives,
you will understand if I do not herein refer to an unreceived
letter. But I shall leave this open, until Kaub comes for it.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever faithfully.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">The
Lord John
Russell.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span style="margin-right: 2em;"><span class="smcap">Villa des Moulineaux, Boulogne</span>,</span><br />
<i>Wednesday, Sept. 21st, 1853.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Lord</span>,</div>

<p>Your note having been forwarded to me here, I
cannot forbear thanking you with all my heart for your
great kindness. Mr. Forster had previously sent me a
copy of your letter to him, together with the expression of
the high and lasting gratification he had in your handsome
response. I know he feels it most sincerely.</p>

<p>I became the prey of a perfect spasm of sensitive twinges,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[317]</a></span>
when I found that the close of "Bleak House" had not
penetrated to "the wilds of the North" when your letter
left those parts. I was so very much interested in it myself
when I wrote it here last month, that I have a fond sort of
faith in its interesting its readers. But for the hope that
you may have got it by this time, I should refuse comfort.
That supports me.</p>

<p>The book has been a wonderful success. Its audience
enormous.</p>

<p>I fear there is not much chance of my being able to
execute any little commission for Lady John anywhere in
Italy. But I am going across the Alps, leaving here on the
tenth of next month, and returning home to London for
Christmas Day, and should indeed be happy if I could do
her any dwarf service.</p>

<p>You will be interested, I think, to hear that Poole lives
happily on his pension, and lives within it. He is quite
incapable of any mental exertion, and what he would have
done without it I cannot imagine. I send it to him at Paris
every quarter. It is something, even amid the estimation
in which you are held, which is but a foreshadowing of what
shall be by-and-by as the people advance, to be so gratefully
remembered as he, with the best reason, remembers
you. Forgive my saying this. But the manner of that
transaction, no less than the matter, is always fresh in my
memory in association with your name, and I cannot help it.</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 9em;">My dear Lord,</span><br />
Yours very faithfully and obliged.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">The Hon.
Mrs.
Watson.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Boulogne</span>, <i>Wednesday, Sept. 21st, 1853.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Mrs. Watson</span>,</div>

<p>The courier was unfortunately engaged. He offered
to recommend another, but I had several applicants, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[318]</a></span>
begged Mr. Wills to hold a grand review at the "Household
Words" office, and select the man who is to bring me down
as his victim. I am extremely sorry the man you recommend
was not to be had. I should have been so delighted
to take him.</p>

<p>I am finishing "The Child's History," and clearing the
way through "Household Words," in general, before I go
on my trip. I forget whether I told you that Mr. Egg
the painter and Mr. Collins are going with me. The other
day I was in town. In case you should not have heard of
the condition of that deserted village, I think it worth
mentioning. All the streets of any note were unpaved,
mountains high, and all the omnibuses were sliding down
alleys, and looking into the upper windows of small houses.
At eleven o'clock one morning I was positively <i>alone</i> in
Bond Street. I went to one of my tailors, and he was at
Brighton. A smutty-faced woman among some gorgeous
regimentals, half finished, had not the least idea when he
would be back. I went to another of my tailors, and he
was in an upper room, with open windows and surrounded
by mignonette boxes, playing the piano in the bosom of
his family. I went to my hosier's, and two of the least
presentable of "the young men" of that elegant establishment
were playing at draughts in the back shop. (Likewise
I beheld a porter-pot hastily concealed under a Turkish
dressing-gown of a golden pattern.) I then went wandering
about to look for some ingenious portmanteau, and near the
corner of St. James's Street saw a solitary being sitting in
a trunk-shop, absorbed in a book which, on a close inspection,
I found to be "Bleak House." I thought this looked
well, and went in. And he really was more interested in
seeing me, when he knew who I was, than any face I had
seen in any house, every house I knew being occupied by<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[319]</a></span>
painters, including my own. I went to the Athen&aelig;um that
same night, to get my dinner, and it was shut up for repairs.
I went home late, and had forgotten the key and was
locked out.</p>

<p>Preparations were made here, about six weeks ago, to
receive the Emperor, who is not come yet. Meanwhile our
countrymen (deluded in the first excitement) go about
staring at these arrangements, with a personal injury upon
them which is most ridiculous. And they <i>will</i> persist in
speaking an unknown tongue to the French people, who <i>will</i>
speak English to them.</p>

<p>Kate and Georgina send their kindest loves. We are all
quite well. Going to drop two small boys here, at school
with a former Eton tutor highly recommended to me.
Charley was heard of a day or two ago. He says his
professor "is very short-sighted, always in green spectacles,
always drinking weak beer, always smoking a pipe, and
always at work." The last qualification seems to appear to
Charley the most astonishing one.</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 2em;">Ever, my dear Mrs. Watson,</span><br />
Most affectionately yours.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Miss
Hogarth.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Hotel de la Villa, Milan</span>, <i>Tuesday, Oct. 25th, 1853.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Georgy</span>,</div>

<p>I have walked to that extent in Switzerland (walked
over the Simplon on Sunday, as an addition to the other
feats) that one pair of the new strong shoes has gone to be
mended this morning, and the other is in but a poor way;
the snow having played the mischief with them.</p>

<p>On the Swiss side of the Simplon, we slept at the
beastliest little town, in the wildest kind of house, where<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[320]</a></span>
some fifty cats tumbled into the corridor outside our bedrooms
all at once in the middle of the night&mdash;whether
through the roof or not, I don't know; for it was dark
when we got up&mdash;and made such a horrible and terrific
noise that we started out of our beds in a panic. I strongly
objected to opening the door lest they should get into the
room and tear at us; but Edward opened his, and laid about
him until he dispersed them. At Domo D'Ossola we had
three immense bedrooms (Egg's bed twelve feet wide!), and
a sala of imperceptible extent in the dim light of two
candles and a wood fire; but were very well and very
cheaply entertained. Here, we are, as you know, housed in
the greatest comfort.</p>

<p>We continue to get on very well together. We really do
admirably. I lose no opportunity of inculcating the lesson
that it is of no use to be out of temper in travelling, and it
is very seldom wanted for any of us. Egg is an excellent
fellow, and full of good qualities; I am sure a generous
and staunch man at heart, and a good and honourable
nature.</p>

<p>I shall send Catherine from Genoa a list of the places
where letters will find me. I shall hope to hear from you
too, and shall be very glad indeed to do so. No more at
present.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever most affectionately.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Miss
Hogarth.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Croce di Malta, Genoa</span>, <i>Saturday, Oct. 29th, 1853.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dearest Georgy</span>,</div>

<p>We had thirty-one hours consecutively on the road
between this and Milan, and arrived here in a rather
damaged condition. We live at the top of this immense
house, overlooking the port and sea, pleasantly and airily<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[321]</a></span>
enough, though it is no joke to get so high, and though the
apartment is rather vast and faded.</p>

<p>The old walks are pretty much the same as ever, except
that they have built behind the Peschiere on the San
Bartolomeo hill, and changed the whole town towards San
Pietro d'Arena, where we seldom went. The Bisagno looks
just the same, strong just now, and with very little water in
it. Vicoli stink exactly as they used to, and are fragrant with
the same old flavour of very rotten cheese kept in very hot
blankets. The Mezzaro pervades them as before. The
old Jesuit college in the Strada Nuova is under the present
government the H&ocirc;tel de Ville, and a very splendid caff&eacute;
with a terrace garden has arisen between it and Palavicini's
old palace. Another new and handsome caff&eacute; has been
built in the Piazza Carlo Felice, between the old caff&eacute; of the
Bei Arti (where Fletcher stopped for the bouquets in the
green times, when we went to the &mdash;&mdash;'s party), and the
Strada Carlo Felice. The old beastly gate and guardhouse
on the Albaro road are still in their dear old beastly
state, and the whole of that road is just as it was. The
man without legs is still in the Strada Nuova; but the
beggars in general are all cleared off, and our old one-armed
Belisario made a sudden evaporation a year or two
ago. I am going to the Peschiere to-day. The puppets
are here, and the opera is open, but only with a buffo
company, and without a buffet. We went to the Scala,
where they did an opera of Verdi's, called "Il Trovatore,"
and a poor enough ballet. The whole performance miserable
indeed. I wish you were here to take some of the old
walks. It is quite strange to walk about alone. Good-bye,
my dear Georgy. Pray tell me how Kate is. I rather
fancy from her letter, though I scarcely know why, that
she is not quite as well as she was at Boulogne. I was<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[322]</a></span>
charmed with your account of the Plornishghenter and
everything and everybody else. Kiss them all for me.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever most affectionately yours.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Miss
Hogarth.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span style="margin-right: 2em;"><span class="smcap">H&ocirc;tel des &Eacute;trangers, Naples</span>,</span><br />
<i>Friday Night, Nov. 4th, 1853.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dearest Georgy</span>,</div>

<p>Instead of embarking on Monday at Genoa, we were
delayed (in consequence of the boat's being a day later
when there are thirty-one days in the month) until Tuesday.
Going aboard that morning at half-past nine, we found the
steamer more than full of passengers from Marseilles, and
in a state of confusion not to be described. We could get
no places at the table, got our dinners how we could on
deck, had no berths or sleeping accommodation of any kind,
and had paid heavy first-class fares! To add to this, we
got to Leghorn too late to steam away again that night,
getting the ship's papers examined first&mdash;as the authorities
said so, not being favourable to the new express English
ship, English officered&mdash;and we lay off the lighthouse all
night long. The scene on board beggars description.
Ladies on the tables, gentlemen under the tables, and
ladies and gentlemen lying indiscriminately on the open
deck, arrayed like spoons on a sideboard. No mattresses,
no blankets, nothing. Towards midnight, attempts were
made by means of an awning and flags to make this latter
scene remotely approach an Australian encampment; and
we three lay together on the bare planks covered with overcoats.
We were all gradually dozing off when a perfectly
tropical rain fell, and in a moment drowned the whole ship.
The rest of the night was passed upon the stairs, with an
immense jumble of men and women. When anybody came<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[323]</a></span>
up for any purpose we all fell down; and when anybody
came down we all fell up again. Still, the good-humour in
the English part of the passengers was quite extraordinary.
There were excellent officers aboard, and the first mate lent
me his cabin to wash in in the morning, which I afterwards
lent to Egg and Collins. Then we and the Emerson
Tennents (who were aboard) and the captain, the doctor,
and the second officer went off on a jaunt together to Pisa,
as the ship was to lie at Leghorn all day.</p>

<p>The captain was a capital fellow, but I led him, facetiously,
such a life all day, that I got almost everything altered
at night. Emerson Tennent, with the greatest kindness,
turned his son out of his state room (who, indeed, volunteered
to go in the most amiable manner), and I got a good
bed there. The store-room down by the hold was opened
for Egg and Collins, and they slept with the moist sugar, the
cheese in cut, the spices, the cruets, the apples and pears&mdash;in
a perfect chandler's shop; in company with what the
&mdash;&mdash;'s would call a "hold gent"&mdash;who had been so horribly
wet through overnight that his condition frightened the
authorities&mdash;a cat, and the steward&mdash;who dozed in an arm-chair,
and all night long fell headforemost, once in every five
minutes, on Egg, who slept on the counter or dresser. Last
night I had the steward's own cabin, opening on deck, all to
myself. It had been previously occupied by some desolate
lady, who went ashore at Civita Vecchia. There was little
or no sea, thank Heaven, all the trip; but the rain was
heavier than any I have ever seen, and the lightning very
constant and vivid. We were, with the crew, some two
hundred people; with boats, at the utmost stretch, for one
hundred, perhaps. I could not help thinking what would
happen if we met with any accident; the crew being chiefly
Maltese, and evidently fellows who would cut off alone in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[324]</a></span>
the largest boat on the least alarm. The speed (it being the
crack express ship for the India mail) very high; also the
running through all the narrow rocky channels. Thank
God, however, here we are. Though the more sensible and
experienced part of the passengers agreed with me this
morning that it was not a thing to try often. We had an
excellent table after the first day, the best wines and so
forth, and the captain and I swore eternal friendship. Ditto
the first officer and the majority of the passengers. We got
into the bay about seven this morning, but could not land
until noon. We towed from Civita Vecchia the entire Greek
navy, I believe, consisting of a little brig-of-war, with great
guns, fitted as a steamer, but disabled by having burst the
bottom of her boiler in her first run. She was just big
enough to carry the captain and a crew of six or so, but the
captain was so covered with buttons and gold that there
never would have been room for him on board to put these
valuables away if he hadn't worn them, which he consequently
did, all night.</p>

<p>Whenever anything was wanted to be done, as slackening
the tow-rope or anything of that sort, our officers roared at
this miserable potentate, in violent English, through a
speaking-trumpet, of which he couldn't have understood a
word under the most favourable circumstances, so he did all
the wrong things first, and the right things always last.
The absence of any knowledge of anything not English on
the part of the officers and stewards was most ridiculous.
I met an Italian gentleman on the cabin steps, yesterday
morning, vainly endeavouring to explain that he wanted a
cup of tea for his sick wife. And when we were coming
out of the harbour at Genoa, and it was necessary to order
away that boat of music you remember, the chief officer
(called aft for the purpose, as "knowing something of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[325]</a></span>
Italian,") delivered himself in this explicit and clear manner
to the principal performer: "Now, signora, if you don't
sheer off, you'll be run down; so you had better trice up
that guitar of yours, and put about."</p>

<p>We get on as well as possible, and it is extremely
pleasant and interesting, and I feel that the change is doing
me great and real service, after a long continuous strain
upon the mind; but I am pleased to think that we are at
our farthest point, and I look forward with joy to coming
home again, to my old room, and the old walks, and all the
old pleasant things.</p>

<p>I wish I had arranged, or could have done so&mdash;for it
would not have been easy&mdash;to find some letters here. It is
a blank to stay for five days in a place without any.</p>

<p>I don't think Edward knows fifty Italian words; but
much more French is spoken in Italy now than when we
were here, and he stumbles along somehow.</p>

<p>I am afraid this is a dull letter, for I am very tired.
You must take the will for the deed, my dear, and good
night.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever most affectionately.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">
Miss
Hogarth.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Rome</span>, <i>Sunday Night, Nov. 13th, 1853.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dearest Georgy</span>,</div>

<p>We arrived here yesterday afternoon, at between
three and four. On sending to the post-office this morning,
I received your pleasant little letter, and one from Miss
Coutts, who is still at Paris. But to my amazement there
was none from Catherine! You mention her writing, and
I cannot but suppose that your two letters must have been
posted together. However, I received none from her, and
I have all manner of doubts respecting the plainness of its
<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[326]</a></span>direction. They will not produce the letters here as at
Genoa, but persist in looking them out at the post-office for
you. I shall send again to-morrow, and every day until
Friday, when we leave here. If I find no letter from her
<i>to-morrow</i>, I shall write to her nevertheless by that post
which brings this, so that you may both hear from me
together.</p>

<p>One night, at Naples, Edward came in, open-mouthed,
to the table d'h&ocirc;te where we were dining with the Tennents,
to announce "The Marchese Garofalo." I at first thought it
must be the little parrot-marquess who was once your escort
from Genoa; but I found him to be a man (married to an
Englishwoman) whom we used to meet at Ridgway's. He was
very glad to see me, and I afterwards met him at dinner at
Mr. Lowther's, our charg&eacute; d'affaires. Mr. Lowther was at the
Rockingham play, and is a very agreeable fellow. We had an
exceedingly pleasant dinner of eight, preparatory to which I
was near having the ridiculous adventure of not being able
to find the house and coming back dinnerless. I went in an
open carriage from the hotel in all state, and the coachman,
to my surprise, pulled up at the end of the Chiaja. "Behold
the house," says he, "of Il Signor Larthoor!"&mdash;at the same
time pointing with his whip into the seventh heaven, where
the early stars were shining. "But the Signor Larthoor,"
returns the Inimitable darling, "lives at Pausilippo." "It
is true," says the coachman (still pointing to the evening
star), "but he lives high up the Salita Sant' Antonio, where
no carriage ever yet ascended, and that is the house" (evening
star as aforesaid), "and one must go on foot. Behold the
Salita Sant' Antonio!" I went up it, a mile and a half I
should think. I got into the strangest places, among the
wildest Neapolitans&mdash;kitchens, washing-places, archways,
stables, vineyards&mdash;was baited by dogs, answered in profoundly
unintelligible Neapolitan, from behind lonely locked<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[327]</a></span>
doors, in cracked female voices, quaking with fear; could
hear of no such Englishman or any Englishman. By-and-by
I came upon a Polenta-shop in the clouds, where an old
Frenchman, with an umbrella like a faded tropical leaf (it
had not rained for six weeks) was staring at nothing at all,
with a snuff-box in his hand. To him I appealed concerning
the Signor Larthoor. "Sir," said he, with the sweetest
politeness, "can you speak French?" "Sir," said I, "a
little." "Sir," said he, "I presume the Signor Loothere"&mdash;you
will observe that he changed the name according to
the custom of his country&mdash;"is an Englishman." I admitted
that he was the victim of circumstances and had that misfortune.
"Sir," said he, "one word more. <i>Has</i> he a servant
with a wooden leg?" "Great Heaven, sir," said I, "how
do I know! I should think not, but it is possible." "It
is always," said the Frenchman, "possible. Almost all the
things of the world are always possible." "Sir," said I&mdash;you
may imagine my condition and dismal sense of my own
absurdity, by this time&mdash;"that is true." He then took an
immense pinch of snuff, wiped the dust off his umbrella,
led me to an arch commanding a wonderful view of the bay
of Naples, and pointed deep into the earth from which I
had mounted. "Below there, near the lamp, one finds an
Englishman, with a servant with a wooden leg. It is always
possible that he is the Signor Loothere." I had been asked
at six, and it was now getting on for seven. I went down
again in a state of perspiration and misery not to be
described, and without the faintest hope of finding the
place. But as I was going down to the lamp, I saw the
strangest staircase up a dark corner, with a man in a white-waistcoat
(evidently hired) standing on the top of it, fuming.
I dashed in at a venture, found it was the place, made the
most of the whole story, and was indescribably popular.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[328]</a></span>
The best of it was, that as nobody ever did find the place,
he had put a servant at the bottom of the Salita, to "wait
for an English gentleman." The servant (as he presently
pleaded), deceived by the moustache, had allowed the
English gentleman to pass unchallenged.</p>

<p>The night before we left Naples we were at the San
Carlo, where, with the Verdi rage of our old Genoa time,
they were again doing the "Trovatore." It seemed rubbish
on the whole to me, but was very fairly done. I think
"La Tenco," the prima donna, will soon be a great hit in
London. She is a very remarkable singer and a fine actress,
to the best of my judgment on such premises. There seems
to be no opera here, at present. There was a Festa in
St. Peter's to-day, and the Pope passed to the Cathedral in
state. We were all there.</p>

<p>We leave here, please God, on Friday morning, and post
to Florence in three days and a half. We came here by
Vetturino. Upon the whole, the roadside inns are greatly
improved since our time. Half-past three and half-past
four have been, however, our usual times of rising on the
road.</p>

<p>I was in my old place at the Coliseum this morning,
and it was as grand as ever. With that exception the
ruined part of Rome&mdash;the real original Rome&mdash;looks smaller
than my remembrance made it. It is the only place on
which I have yet found that effect. We are in the old
hotel.</p>

<p>You are going to Bonchurch I suppose? will be there,
perhaps, when this letter reaches you? I shall be pleased
to think of you as at home again, and making the commodious
family mansion look natural and home-like. I
don't like to think of my room without anybody to peep
<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[329]</a></span>into it now and then. Here is a world of travelling
arrangements for me to settle, and here are Collins and Egg
looking sideways at me with an occasional imploring glance
as beseeching me to settle it. So I leave off. Good-night.</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 2em;">Ever, my dearest Georgy,</span><br />
Most affectionately yours.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Sir James
Emerson
Tennent.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span style="margin-right: 2em;"><span class="smcap">H&ocirc;tel des &Icirc;les Britanniques, Piazza del Popolo, Rome</span>,</span><br />
<i>Monday, Nov. 14th, 1853.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Tennent</span>,</div>

<p>As I never made a good bargain in my life&mdash;except
once, when, on going abroad, I let my house on excellent
terms to an admirable tenant, who never paid anything&mdash;I
sent Edward into the Casa Dies yesterday morning, while
I invested the premises from the outside, and carefully
surveyed them. It is a very clean, large, bright-looking
house at the corner of the Via Gregoriana; not exactly in a
part of Rome I should pick out for living in, and on what I
should be disposed to call the wrong side of the street.
However, this is not to the purpose. Signor Dies has no
idea of letting an apartment for a short time&mdash;scouted the
idea of a month&mdash;signified that he could not be brought to
the contemplation of two months&mdash;was by no means clear
that he could come down to the consideration of three.
This of course settled the business speedily.</p>

<p>This hotel is no longer kept by the Melloni I spoke of,
but is even better kept than in his time, and is a very
admirable house. I have engaged a small apartment for
you to be ready on Thursday afternoon (at two piastres
and a half&mdash;two-and-a-half per day&mdash;sitting-room and three
bedrooms, one double-bedded and two not). If you would
like to change to ours, which is a very good one, on Friday
morning, you can of course do so. As our dining-room is
large, and there is no table d'h&ocirc;te here, I will order dinner<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[330]</a></span>
in it for our united parties at six on Thursday. You
will be able to decide how to arrange for the remainder of
your stay, after being here and looking about you&mdash;two
really necessary considerations in Rome.</p>

<p>Pray make my kind regards to Lady Tennent, and Miss
Tennent, and your good son, who became homeless for
my sake. Mr. Egg and Mr. Collins desire to be also
remembered.</p>

<p>It has been beautiful weather since we left Naples,
until to-day, when it rains in a very dogged, sullen, downcast,
and determined manner. We have been speculating
at breakfast on the possibility of its raining in a similar
manner at Naples, and of your wandering about the hotel,
refusing consolation.</p>

<p>I grieve to report the Orvieto considerably damaged by
the general vine failure, but still far from despicable.
Montefiascone (the Est wine you know) is to be had here;
and we have had one bottle in the very finest condition, and
one in a second-rate state.</p>

<p>The Coliseum, in its magnificent old decay, is as grand
as ever; and with the electric telegraph darting through
one of its ruined arches like a sunbeam and piercing direct
through its cruel old heart, is even grander.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Believe me always, very faithfully yours.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mrs.
Charles
Dickens.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Rome</span>, <i>Monday, Nov. 14th, 1853.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dearest Catherine</span>,</div>

<p>As I have mentioned in my letter to Georgy (written
last night but posted with this), I received her letter without
yours, to my unbounded astonishment. This morning,
on sending again to the post-office, I at last got yours, and
most welcome it is with all its contents.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[331]</a></span></p>

<p>I found Layard at Naples, who went up Vesuvius with
us, and was very merry and agreeable. He is travelling
with Lord and Lady Somers, and Lord Somers being laid
up with an attack of malaria fever, Layard had a day to
spare. Craven, who was Lord Normanby's Secretary of
Legation in Paris, now lives at Naples, and is married to a
French lady. He is very hospitable and hearty, and seemed
to have vague ideas that something might be done in a
pretty little private theatre he has in his house. He told
me of Fanny Kemble and the Sartoris's being here. I have
also heard of Thackeray's being here&mdash;I don't know how
truly. Lockhart is here, and, I fear, very ill. I mean to
go and see him.</p>

<p>We are living in the old hotel, which is not now kept by
Meloni, who has retired. I don't know whether you recollect
an apartment at the top of the house, to which we once ran
up with poor Roche to see the horses start in the race at
the Carnival time? That is ours, in which I at present
write. We have a large back dining-room, a handsome
front drawing-room, looking into the Piazza del Popolo,
and three front bedrooms, all on a floor. The whole costs us
about four shillings a day each. The hotel is better kept
than ever. There is a little kitchen to each apartment
where the dinner is kept hot. There is no house comparable
to it in Paris, and it is better than Mivart's. We
start for Florence, post, on Friday morning, and I am
bargaining for a carriage to take us on to Venice.</p>

<p>Edward is an excellent servant, and always cheerful and
ready for his work. He knows no Italian, except the names
of a few things, but French is far more widely known here
now than in our time. Neither is he an experienced courier
as to roads and so forth; but he picks up all that I want to
know, here and there, somehow or other. I am perfectly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[332]</a></span>
pleased with him, and would rather have him than an older
hand. Poor dear Roche comes back to my mind though,
often.</p>

<p>I have written to engage the courier from Turin into
France, from <i>Tuesday, the 6th December</i>. This will bring us
home some two days after the tenth, probably. I wrote to
Charley from Naples, giving him his choice of meeting me
at Lyons, in Paris, or at Boulogne. I gave him full
instructions what to do if he arrived before me, and he will
write to me at Turin saying where I shall find him. I shall
be a day or so later than I supposed as the nearest calculation
I could make when I wrote to him; but his waiting for
me at an hotel will not matter.</p>

<p>We have had delightful weather, with one day's exception,
until to-day, when it rained very heavily and suddenly.
Egg and Collins have gone to the Vatican, and I am
"going" to try whether I can hit out anything for the
Christmas number. Give my love to Forster, and tell him
I won't write to him until I hear from him.</p>

<p>I have not come across any English whom I know except
Layard and the Emerson Tennents, who will be here on
Thursday from Civita Vecchia, and are to dine with us.
The losses up to this point have been two pairs of shoes
(one mine and one Egg's), Collins's snuff-box, and Egg's
dressing-gown.</p>

<p>We observe the managerial punctuality in all our arrangements,
and have not had any difference whatever.</p>

<p>I have been reserving this side all through my letter, in
the conviction that I had something else to tell you. If I
had, I cannot remember what it is. I introduced myself to
Salvatore at Vesuvius, and reminded him of the night when
poor Le Gros fell down the mountains. He was full of
interest directly, remembered the very hole, put on his gold-banded<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[333]</a></span>
cap, and went up with us himself. He did not
know that Le Gros was dead, and was very sorry to hear it.
He asked after the ladies, and hoped they were very happy,
to which I answered, "Very." The cone is completely
changed since our visit, is not at all recognisable as the
same place; and there is no fire from the mountain, though
there is a great deal of smoke. Its last demonstration was
in 1850.</p>

<p>I shall be glad to think of your all being at home again,
as I suppose you will be soon after the receipt of this.
Will you see to the invitations for Christmas Day, and write
to L&aelig;titia? I shall be very happy to be at home again
myself, and to embrace you; for of course I miss you <i>very
much</i>, though I feel that I could not have done a better
thing to clear my mind and freshen it up again, than make
this expedition. If I find Charley much ahead of me, I
shall start on through a night or so to meet him, and leave
the others to catch us up. I look upon the journey as almost
closed at Turin. My best love to Mamey, and Katey, and
Sydney, and Harry, and the darling Plornishghenter. We
often talk about them, and both my companions do so with
interest. They always send all sorts of messages to you,
which I never deliver. God bless you! Take care of
yourself.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever most affectionately.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. W. H.
Wills.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Rome</span>, <i>Thursday Afternoon, Nov. 17th, 1853.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Wills</span>,</div>

<p>Just as I wrote the last words of the enclosed little
story for the Christmas number just now, Edward brought
in your letter. Also one from Forster (tell him) which I
have not yet opened. I will write again&mdash;and write to him&mdash;from
Florence. I am delighted to have news of you.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[334]</a></span></p>

<p>The enclosed little paper for the Christmas number is in
a character that nobody else is likely to hit, and which is
pretty sure to be considered pleasant. Let Forster have
the MS. with the proof, and I know he will correct it to the
minutest point. I have a notion of another little story, also
for the Christmas number. If I can do it at Venice, I will,
and send it straight on. But it is not easy to work under
these circumstances. In travelling we generally get up
about three; and in resting we are perpetually roaming
about in all manner of places. Not to mention my being
laid hold of by all manner of people.</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Keep "Household Words" Imaginative</span>! is the solemn
and continual Conductorial Injunction. Delighted to hear
of Mrs. Gaskell's contributions.</p>

<p>Yes by all manner of means to Lady Holland. Will you
ask her whether she has Sydney Smith's letters to me,
which I placed (at Mrs. Smith's request) either in Mrs.
Smith's own hands or in Mrs. Austin's? I cannot remember
which, but I think the latter.</p>

<p>In making up the Christmas number, don't consider my
paper or papers, with any reference saving to where they
will fall best. I have no liking, in the case, for any
particular place.</p>

<p>All perfectly well. Companion moustaches (particularly
Egg's) dismal in the extreme. Kindest regards to Mrs.
Wills.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever faithfully.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. W. H.
Wills.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Florence</span>, <i>Monday, Nov. 21st, 1853.</i><br />
</div>

<div class='center'>
H. W.<br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Wills</span>,</div>

<p>I sent you by post from Rome, on Wednesday last, a
little story for the Christmas number, called "The Schoolboy's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[335]</a></span>
Story." I have an idea of another short one, to be
called "Nobody's Story," which I hope to be able to
do at Venice, and to send you straight home before
this month is out. I trust you have received the first
safely.</p>

<p>Edward continues to do extremely well. He is always,
early and late, what you have seen him. He is a very steady
fellow, a little too bashful for a courier even; settles prices
of everything now, as soon as we come into an hotel; and
improves fast. His knowledge of Italian is painfully defective,
and, in the midst of a howling crowd at a post-house
or railway station, this deficiency perfectly stuns him. I
was obliged last night to get out of the carriage, and pluck
him from a crowd of porters who were putting our baggage
into wrong conveyances&mdash;by cursing and ordering about in
all directions. I should think about ten substantives, the
names of ten common objects, form his whole Italian stock.
It matters very little at the hotels, where a great deal of
French is spoken now; but, on the road, if none of his
party knew Italian, it would be a very serious inconvenience
indeed.</p>

<p>Will you write to Ryland if you have not heard from
him, and ask him what the Birmingham reading-nights
are really to be? For it is ridiculous enough that I
positively don't know. Can't a Saturday Night in a Truck
District, or a Sunday Morning among the Ironworkers (a
fine subject) be knocked out in the course of the same
visit?</p>

<p>If you should see any managing man you know in the
Oriental and Peninsular Company, I wish you would very
gravely mention to him from me that if they are not careful
what they are about with their steamship <i>Valetta</i>, between
Marseilles and Naples, they will suddenly find that they<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[336]</a></span>
will receive a blow one fine day in <i>The Times</i>, which it
will be a very hard matter for them ever to recover. When
I sailed in her from Genoa, there had been taken on board,
<i>with no caution in most cases from the agent, or hint of
discomfort</i>, at least forty people of both sexes for whom
there was no room whatever. I am a pretty old traveller
as you know, but I never saw anything like the manner in
which pretty women were compelled to lie among the men
in the great cabin and on the bare decks. The good humour
was beyond all praise, but the natural indignation very
great; and I was repeatedly urged to stand up for the
public in "Household Words," and to write a plain description
of the facts to <i>The Times</i>. If I had done either, and
merely mentioned that all these people paid heavy first-class
fares, I will answer for it that they would have been beaten
off the station in a couple of months. I did neither,
because I was the best of friends with the captain and all
the officers, and never saw such a fine set of men; so admirable
in the discharge of their duty, and so zealous to do
their best by everybody. It is impossible to praise them too
highly. But there is a strong desire at all the ports along
the coast to throw impediments in the way of the English
service, and to favour the French and Italian boats. In
those boats (which I know very well) great care is taken of
the passengers, and the accommodation is very good. If the
Peninsula and Oriental add to all this the risk of such an
exposure as they are <i>certain</i> to get (if they go on so) in <i>The
Times</i>, they are dead sure to get a blow from the public
which will make them stagger again. I say nothing of the
number of the passengers and the room in the ship's boats,
though the frightful consideration the contrast presented
must have been in more minds than mine. I speak only of
the taking people for whom there is no sort of accommodation<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[337]</a></span>
as the most decided swindle, and the coolest, I ever did with
my eyes behold.</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 2em;">Kindest regards from fellow-travellers.</span><br />
Ever, my dear Wills, faithfully yours.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Miss
Hogarth.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Venice</span>, <i>Friday, November 25th, 1853.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dearest Georgy</span>,</div>

<p>We found an English carriage from Padua at Florence,
and hired it to bring it back again. We travelled post with
four horses all the way (from Padua to this place there is a
railroad) and travelled all night. We left Florence at half-past
six in the morning, and got to Padua at eleven next day&mdash;yesterday.
The cold at night was most intense. I don't
think I have ever felt it colder. But our carriage was very
comfortable, and we had some wine and some rum to keep
us warm. We came by Bologna (where we had tea) and
Ferrara. You may imagine the delays in the night when I
tell you that each of our passports, after receiving <i>six vis&eacute;s</i>
at Florence, received in the course of the one night, <i>nine
more</i>, every one of which was written and sealed; somebody
being slowly knocked out of bed to do it every time! It
really was excruciating.</p>

<p>Landor had sent me a letter to his son, and on the day
before we left Florence I thought I would go out to Fiesoli
and leave it. So I got a little one-horse open carriage and
drove off alone. We were within half a mile of the Villa
Landoro, and were driving down a very narrow lane like one
of those at Albaro, when I saw an elderly lady coming
towards us, very well dressed in silk of the Queen's blue,
and walking freshly and briskly against the wind at a good
round pace. It was a bright, cloudless, very cold day, and
I thought she walked with great spirit, as if she enjoyed it.
I also thought (perhaps that was having him in my mind)<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">[338]</a></span>
that her ruddy face was shaped like Landor's. All of a
sudden the coachman pulls up, and looks enquiringly at
me. "What's the matter?" says I. "Ecco la Signora
Landoro?" says he. "For the love of Heaven, don't stop,"
says I. "<i>I</i> don't know her, I am only going to the house to
leave a letter&mdash;go on!" Meanwhile she (still coming on)
looked at me, and I looked at her, and we were both a good
deal confused, and so went our several ways. Altogether, I
think it was as disconcerting a meeting as I ever took part
in, and as odd a one. Under any other circumstances I
should have introduced myself, but the separation made the
circumstances so peculiar that "I didn't like."</p>

<p>The Plornishghenter is evidently the greatest, noblest,
finest, cleverest, brightest, and most brilliant of boys.
Your account of him is most delightful, and I hope to find
another letter from you somewhere on the road, making
me informed of his demeanour on your return. On which
occasion, as on every other, I have no doubt he will have
distinguished himself as an irresistibly attracting, captivating
May-Roon-Ti-Groon-Ter. Give him a good many kisses
for me. I quite agree with Syd as to his ideas of paying
attention to the old gentleman. It's not bad, but deficient in
originality. The usual deficiency of an inferior intellect
with so great a model before him. I am very curious to see
whether the Plorn remembers me on my reappearance.</p>

<p>I meant to have gone to work this morning, and to have
tried a second little story for the Christmas number of
"Household Words," but my letters have (most pleasantly)
put me out, and I defer all such wise efforts until to-morrow.
Egg and Collins are out in a gondola with a
servitore di piazza.</p>

<p>You will find this but a stupid letter, but I really have
no news. We go to the opera, whenever there is one, see<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">[339]</a></span>
sights, eat and drink, sleep in a natural manner two or
three nights, and move on again. Edward was a little
crushed at Padua yesterday. He had been extraordinarily
cold all night in the rumble, and had got out our clothes to
dress, and I think must have been projecting a five or six
hours' sleep, when I announced that he was to come on here
in an hour and a half to get the rooms and order dinner.
He fell into a sudden despondency of the profoundest kind,
but was quite restored when we arrived here between eight
and nine. We found him waiting at the Custom House with
a gondola in his usual brisk condition.</p>

<p>It is extraordinary how few English we see. With the
exception of a gentlemanly young fellow (in a consumption
I am afraid), married to the tiniest little girl, in a brown
straw hat, and travelling with his sister and her sister, and
a consumptive single lady, travelling with a maid and a
Scotch terrier <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'chistened'">christened</ins> Trotty Veck, we have scarcely seen
any, and have certainly spoken to none, since we left
Switzerland. These were aboard the <i>Valetta</i>, where the
captain and I indulged in all manner of insane suppositions
concerning the straw hat&mdash;the "Little Matron" we called
her; by which name she soon became known all over the
ship. The day we entered Rome, and the moment we
entered it, there was the Little Matron, alone with antiquity&mdash;and
Murray&mdash;on the wall. The very first church I
entered, there was the Little Matron. On the last afternoon,
when I went alone to St. Peter's, there was the Little
Matron and her party. The best of it is, that I was
extremely intimate with them, invited them to Tavistock
House, when they come home in the spring, and have not
the faintest idea of their name.</p>

<p>There was no table d'h&ocirc;te at Rome, or at Florence, but
there is one here, and we dine at it to-day, so perhaps we<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">[340]</a></span>
may stumble upon somebody. I have heard from Charley
this morning, who appoints (wisely) Paris as our place of
meeting. I had a letter from Coote, at Florence, informing
me that his volume of "Household Songs" was ready, and
requesting permission to dedicate it to me. Which of course
I gave.</p>

<p>I am beginning to think of the Birmingham readings.
I suppose you won't object to be taken to hear them? This
is the last place at which we shall make a stay of more than
one day. We shall stay at Parma one, and at Turin one,
supposing De la Rue to have been successful in taking
places with the courier into France for the day on which we
want them (he was to write to bankers at Turin to do it),
and then we shall come hard and fast home. I feel almost
there already, and shall be delighted to close the pleasant
trip, and get back to my own Piccola Camera&mdash;if, being
English, you understand what <i>that</i> is. My best love and
kisses to Mamey, Katey, Sydney, Harry, and the noble
Plorn. Last, not least, to yourself, and many of them. I
will not wait over to-morrow, tell Kate, for her letter; but
will write then, whether or no.</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 2em;">Ever, my dearest Georgy,</span><br />
Most affectionately yours.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr.
Marcus
Stone.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Tavistock House</span>, <i>December 19th, 1853.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Marcus</span>,</div>

<p>You made an excellent sketch from a book of mine
which I have received (and have preserved) with great
pleasure. Will you accept from me, in remembrance of it,
<i>this</i> little book? I believe it to be true, though it may be
sometimes not as genteel as history has a habit of being.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Faithfully yours.<br />
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341">[341]</a></span></p>
<h2>1854.</h2>

<h3>NARRATIVE.</h3>


<div class='unindent'><span class='smcap'>The</span> summer of this year was also spent at Boulogne,
M. Beaucourt being again the landlord; but the house,
though still on the same "property," stood on the top of
the hill, above the Moulineaux, and was called the Villa du
Camp de Droite.</div>

<p>In the early part of the year Charles Dickens paid
several visits to the English provinces, giving readings from
his books at many of the large manufacturing towns, and
always for some good and charitable purpose.</p>

<p>He was still at work upon "Hard Times," which was
finished during the summer, and was constantly occupied
with "Household Words." Many of our letters for this
year are to the contributors to this journal. The last is an
unusually interesting one. He had for some time past been
much charmed with the writings of a certain Miss Berwick,
who, he knew, to be a contributor under a feigned name.
When at last the lady confided her real name, and he discovered
in the young poetess the daughter of his dear
friends, Mr.<a name="FNanchor_16_16" id="FNanchor_16_16"></a><a href="#Footnote_16_16" class="fnanchor">[16]</a> and Mrs. Procter, the "new sensation" caused
him intense surprise, and the greatest pleasure and delight.
Miss Adelaide Procter was, from this time, a frequent contributor
to "Household Words," more especially to the
Christmas numbers.</p>

<p>There are really very few letters in this year requiring
any explanation from us&mdash;many explaining themselves, and
many having allusion to incidents in the past year, which
have been duly noted by us for 1853.</p>

<p>The portrait mentioned in the letter to Mr. Collins, for
which he was sitting to Mr. E. M. Ward, R.A., was to be
one of a series of oil sketches of the then celebrated literary
men of the day, in their studies. We believe this portrait
to be now in the possession of Mrs. Ward.</p>

<p>In explanation of the letter to Mr. John Saunders on
the subject of the production of the latter's play, called<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342">[342]</a></span>
"Love's Martyrdom," we will give the dramatist's own
words:</p>

<div class="blockquot"><p>"Having printed for private circulation a play entitled
'Love's Martyrdom,' and for which I desired to obtain the
independent judgment of some of our most eminent literary
men, before seeking the ordeal of the stage, I sent a
copy to Mr. Dickens, and the letter in question is his
acknowledgment.</p>

<div class='center'><b>*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*</b></div>

<p>"He immediately took steps for the introduction of the
play to the theatre. At first he arranged with Mr. Phelps,
of Sadler's Wells, but subsequently, with that gentleman's
consent, removed it to the Haymarket. There it was played
with Miss Helen Faucit in the character of Margaret, Miss
Swanborough (who shortly after married and left the stage)
as Julia, Mr. Barry Sullivan as Franklyn, and Mr. Howe as
Laneham.</p>

<p>"As far as the play itself was concerned, it was received
on all sides as a genuine dramatic and poetic success,
achieved, however, as an eminent critic came to my box to
say, through greater difficulties than he had ever before
seen a dramatic work pass through. The time has not come
for me to speak freely of these, but I may point to two of
them: the first being the inadequate rehearsals, which
caused Mr. Dickens to tell me on the stage, four or five
days only before the first performance, that the play was
not then in as good a state as it would have been in at Paris
three weeks earlier. The other was the breakdown of the
performer of a most important secondary part; a collapse
so absolute that he was changed by the management before
the second representation of the piece."</p></div>

<p>This ill-luck of the beginning, pursued the play to its
close.</p>

<div class="blockquot"><p>"The Haymarket Theatre was at the time in the very
lowest state of prostration, through the Crimean War; the
habitual frequenters were lovers of comedy, and enjoyers of
farce and burlesque; and there was neither the money nor
the faith to call to the theatre by the usual methods,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343">[343]</a></span>
vigorously and discriminatingly pursued, the multitudes
that I believed could have been so called to a better and
more romantic class of comedy.</p>

<p>"Even under these and other, similarly depressing circumstances,
the nightly receipts were about &pound;60, the expenses
being &pound;80; and on the last&mdash;an author's&mdash;night, there was
an excellent and enthusiastic house, yielding, to the best of
my recollection, about &pound;140, but certainly between &pound;120
and &pound;140. And with that night&mdash;the sixth or seventh&mdash;the
experiment ended."</p></div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. Walter
Savage
Landor.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Tavistock House</span>, <i>January 7th, 1854.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Landor</span>,</div>

<p>I heartily assure you that to have your name coupled
with anything I have done is an honour and a pleasure to
me. I cannot say that I am sorry that you should have
thought it necessary to write to me, for it is always delightful
to me to see your hand, and to know (though I
want no outward and visible sign as an assurance of the fact)
that you are ever the same generous, earnest, gallant man.</p>

<p>Catherine and Georgina send their kind loves. So does
Walter Landor, who came home from school with high
judicial commendation and a prize into the bargain.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever, my dear Landor, affectionately yours.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">The Hon.
Mrs.
Watson.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Tavistock House</span>, <i>Friday, January 13th, 1854.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Mrs. Watson</span>,</div>

<p>On the very day after I sent the Christmas number
to Rockingham, I heard of your being at Brighton. I should
have sent another there, but that I had a misgiving I might
seem to be making too much of it. For, when I thought of
the probability of the Rockingham copy going on to Brighton,
and pictured to myself the advent of two of those very large
envelopes at once at Junction House at breakfast time, a
sort of comic modesty overcame me. I was heartily pleased<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344">[344]</a></span>
with the Birmingham audience, which was a very fine one.
I never saw, nor do I suppose anybody ever did, such an
interesting sight as the working people's night. There were
two thousand five hundred of them there, and a more delicately
observant audience it is impossible to imagine. They
lost nothing, misinterpreted nothing, followed everything
closely, laughed and cried with most delightful earnestness,
and animated me to that extent that I felt as if we were all
bodily going up into the clouds together. It is an enormous
place for the purpose; but I had considered all that carefully,
and I believe made the most distant person hear as well as
if I had been reading in my own room. I was a little doubtful
before I began on the first night whether it was quite practicable
to conceal the requisite effort; but I soon had the
satisfaction of finding that it was, and that we were all going
on together, in the first page, as easily, to all appearance, as
if we had been sitting round the fire.</p>

<p>I am obliged to go out on Monday at five and to dine
out; but I will be at home at any time before that hour that
you may appoint. You say you are only going to stay one
night in town; but if you could stay two, and would dine
with us alone on Tuesday, <i>that</i> is the plan that we should
all like best. Let me have one word from you by post on
Monday morning. Few things that I saw, when I was away,
took my fancy so much as the Electric Telegraph, piercing,
like a sunbeam, right through the cruel old heart of the
Coliseum at Rome. And on the summit of the Alps, among
the eternal ice and snow, there it was still, with its posts
sustained against the sweeping mountain winds by clusters
of great beams&mdash;to say nothing of its being at the bottom
of the sea as we crossed the Channel. With kindest loves,</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 2em;">Ever, my dear Mrs. Watson,</span><br />
Most faithfully yours.<br />
</div>

<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_345" id="Page_345">[345]</a></span></p>
<div class="sidenote">Miss Mary
Boyle.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Tavistock House</span>, <i>Monday, January 16th, 1854.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Mary</span>,</div>

<p>It is all very well to pretend to love me as you do.
Ah! If you loved as <i>I</i> love, Mary! But, when my breast is
tortured by the perusal of such a letter as yours, Falkland,
Falkland, madam, becomes my part in "The Rivals," and I
play it with desperate earnestness.</p>

<p>As thus:</p>

<div class="blockquot">
<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Falkland</span> (<i>to Acres</i>). Then you see her, sir, sometimes?</div>

<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Acres</span>. See her! Odds beams and sparkles, yes. See her acting!
Night after night.</div>

<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Falkland</span> (<i>aside and furious</i>). Death and the devil! Acting, and I
not there! Pray, sir (<i>with constrained calmness</i>), what
does she act?</div>

<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Acres</span>. Odds, monthly nurses and babbies! Sairey Gamp and
Betsey Prig, "which, wotever it is, my dear (<i>mimicking</i>),
I likes it brought reg'lar and draw'd mild!" <i>That's</i>
very like her.</div>

<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Falkland</span>. Confusion! Laceration! Perhaps, sir, perhaps she sometimes
acts&mdash;ha! ha! perhaps she sometimes acts, I say&mdash;eh!
sir?&mdash;a&mdash;ha, ha, ha! a fairy? (<i>With great bitterness.</i>)</div>

<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Acres</span>. Odds, gauzy pinions and spangles, yes! You should hear
her sing as a fairy. You should see her dance as a
fairy. Tol de rol lol&mdash;la&mdash;lol&mdash;liddle diddle. (<i>Sings and
dances</i>). <i>That's</i> very like her.</div>

<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Falkland</span>. Misery! while I, devoted to her image, can scarcely write
a line now and then, or pensively read aloud to the
people of Birmingham. (<i>To him.</i>) And they applaud her,
no doubt they applaud her, sir. And she&mdash;I see her!
Curtsies and smiles! And they&mdash;curses on them! they
laugh and&mdash;ha, ha, ha!&mdash;and clap their hands&mdash;and say
it's very good. Do they not say it's very good, sir?
Tell me. Do they not?</div>

<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Acres</span>. Odds, thunderings and pealings, of course they do! and
the third fiddler, little Tweaks, of the county town, goes
into fits. Ho, ho, ho, I can't bear it (<i>mimicking</i>); take
me out! Ha, ha, ha! O what a one she is! She'll be
the death of me. Ha, ha, ha, ha! <i>That's</i> very like her!</div>

<div class='hang1'><span class="smcap">Falkland</span>. Damnation! Heartless Mary! (<i>Rushes out.</i>)</div></div>

<p>Scene opens, and discloses coals of fire, heaped up<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_346" id="Page_346">[346]</a></span>
into form of letters, representing the following inscription:</p>

<div class='poem'>
When the praise thou meetest<br />
To thine ear is sweetest,<br />
O then<br />
<span style="margin-left: 12em;"><span class="smcap">Remember Joe</span>!</span><br />
</div>

<div class='center'><br />
(<i>Curtain falls.</i>)<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">M. de
Cerjat.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Tavistock House</span>, <i>Monday, Jan. 16th, 1854.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Cerjat</span>,</div>

<p>Guilty. The accused pleads guilty, but throws himself
upon the mercy of the court. He humbly represents
that his usual hour for getting up, in the course of his
travels, was three o'clock in the morning, and his usual hour
for going to bed, nine or ten the next night. That the
places in which he chiefly deviated from these rules of
hardship, were Rome and Venice; and that at those cities of
fame he shut himself up in solitude, and wrote Christmas
papers for the incomparable publication known as "Household
Words." That his correspondence at all times, arising
out of the business of the said "Household Words" alone,
was very heavy. That his offence, though undoubtedly
committed, was unavoidable, and that a nominal punishment
will meet the justice of the case.</p>

<p>We had only three bad days out of the whole time.
After Naples, which was very hot, we had very cold, clear,
bright weather. When we got to Chamounix, we found
the greater part of the inns shut up and the people gone.
No visitors whatsoever, and plenty of snow. These were
the very best circumstances under which to see the place,
and we stayed a couple of days at the H&ocirc;tel de Londres
(hastily re-furbished for our entertainment), and climbed
through the snow to the Mer de Glace, and thoroughly
enjoyed it. Then we went, in mule procession (I walking)
to the old hotel at Martigny, where Collins was ill, and I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_347" id="Page_347">[347]</a></span>
suppose I bored Egg to death by talking all the evening
about the time when you and I were there together. Naples
(a place always painful to me, in the intense degradation of
the people) seems to have only three classes of inhabitants
left in it&mdash;priests, soldiers (standing army one hundred
thousand strong), and spies. Of macaroni we ate very
considerable quantities everywhere; also, for the benefit of
Italy, we took our share of every description of wine. At
Naples I found Layard, the Nineveh traveller, who is a
friend of mine and an admirable fellow; so we fraternised
and went up Vesuvius together, and ate more macaroni and
drank more wine. At Rome, the day after our arrival, they
were making a saint at St. Peter's; on which occasion I was
surprised to find what an immense number of pounds of
wax candles it takes to make the regular, genuine article.
From Turin to Paris, over the Mont Cenis, we made only
one journey. The Rhone, being frozen and foggy, was not
to be navigated, so we posted from Lyons to Chalons, and
everybody else was doing the like, and there were no horses
to be got, and we were stranded at midnight in amazing
little cabarets, with nothing worth mentioning to eat in
them, except the iron stove, which was rusty, and the
billiard-table, which was musty. We left Turin on a
Tuesday evening, and arrived in Paris on a Friday evening;
where I found my son Charley, hot&mdash;or I should rather say
cold&mdash;from Germany, with his arms and legs so grown out
of his coat and trousers, that I was ashamed of him, and
was reduced to the necessity of taking him, under cover of
night, to a ready-made establishment in the Palais Royal,
where they put him into balloon-waisted pantaloons, and
increased my confusion. Leaving Calais on the evening
of Sunday, the 10th of December; fact of distinguished
author's being aboard, was telegraphed to Dover; thereupon<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_348" id="Page_348">[348]</a></span>
authorities of Dover Railway detained train to London for
distinguished author's arrival, rather to the exasperation of
British public. D. A. arrived at home between ten and
eleven that night, thank God, and found all well and
happy.</p>

<p>I think you see <i>The Times</i>, and if so, you will have
seen a very graceful and good account of the Birmingham
readings. It was the most remarkable thing that England
could produce, I think, in the way of a vast intelligent
assemblage; and the success was most wonderful and
prodigious&mdash;perfectly overwhelming and astounding altogether.
They wound up by giving my wife a piece of plate,
having given me one before; and when you come to dine
here (may it be soon!) it shall be duly displayed in the centre
of the table.</p>

<p>Tell Mrs. Cerjat, to whom my love, and all our loves, that
I have highly excited them at home here by giving them
an account in detail of all your daughters; further, that the
way in which Catherine and Georgina have questioned me
and cross-questioned me about you all, notwithstanding,
is maddening. Mrs. Watson has been obliged to pass her
Christmas at Brighton alone with her younger children, in consequence
of her two eldest boys coming home to Rockingham
from school with the whooping-cough. The quarantine
expires to-day, however; and she drives here, on her way
back into Northamptonshire, to-morrow.</p>

<p>The sad affair of the Preston strike remains unsettled;
and I hear, on strong authority, that if that were settled, the
Manchester people are prepared to strike next. Provisions
very dear, but the people very temperate and quiet in
general. So ends this jumble, which looks like the index
to a chapter in a book, I find, when I read it over.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever, my dear Cerjat, heartily your Friend.<br />
</div>

<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_349" id="Page_349">[349]</a></span></p>
<div class="sidenote">Mr.
Arthur
Ryland.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Tavistock House</span>, <i>January 18th, 1854.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,</div>

<p>I am quite delighted to find that you are so well
satisfied, and that the enterprise has such a light upon it. I
think I never was better pleased in my life than I was with
my Birmingham friends.</p>

<p>That principle of fair representation of all orders carefully
carried out, I believe, will do more good than any of us
can yet foresee. Does it not seem a strange thing to
consider that I have never yet seen with these eyes of
mine, a mechanic in any recognised position on the platform
of a Mechanics' Institution?</p>

<p>Mr. Wills may be expected to sink, shortly, under the
ravages of letters from all parts of England, Ireland, and
Scotland, proposing readings. He keeps up his spirits, but
I don't see how they are to carry him through.</p>

<p>Mrs. Dickens and Miss Hogarth beg their kindest
regards; and I am, my dear sir, with much regard, too,</p>

<div class='sig'>
Very faithfully yours.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr.
Charles
Knight.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Tavistock House</span>, <i>January 30th, 1854.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Knight</span>,</div>

<p>Indeed there is no fear of my thinking you the owner
of a cold heart. I am more than three parts disposed,
however, to be ferocious with you for ever writing down
such a preposterous truism.</p>

<p>My satire is against those who see figures and averages,
and nothing else&mdash;the representatives of the wickedest and
most enormous vice of this time&mdash;the men who, through
long years to come, will do more to damage the real useful
truths of political economy than I could do (if I tried) in my
whole life; the addled heads who would take the average
of cold in the Crimea during twelve months as a reason<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_350" id="Page_350">[350]</a></span>
for clothing a soldier in nankeens on a night when he
would be frozen to death in fur, and who would comfort the
labourer in travelling twelve miles a day to and from his
work, by telling him that the average distance of one
inhabited place from another in the whole area of England,
is not more than four miles. Bah! What have you to
do with these?</p>

<p>I shall put the book upon a private shelf (after reading
it) by "Once upon a Time." I should have buried my pipe of
peace and sent you this blast of my war-horn three or four
days ago, but that I have been reading to a little audience
of three thousand five hundred at Bradford.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever affectionately yours.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Rev.
James
White.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Tavistock House</span>, <i>Tuesday, March 7th, 1854.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear White</span>,</div>

<p>I am tardy in answering your letter; but "Hard
Times," and an immense amount of enforced correspondence,
are my excuse. To you a sufficient one, I know.</p>

<p>As I should judge from outward and visible appearances,
I have exactly as much chance of seeing the Russian fleet
reviewed by the Czar as I have of seeing the English fleet
reviewed by the Queen.</p>

<p>"Club Law" made me laugh very much when I went
over it in the proof yesterday. It is most capitally done,
and not (as I feared it might be) too directly. It is in the
next number but one.</p>

<p>Mrs. &mdash;&mdash; has gone stark mad&mdash;and stark naked&mdash;on
the spirit-rapping imposition. She was found t'other day
in the street, clothed only in her chastity, a pocket-handkerchief
and a visiting card. She had been informed, it appeared,
by the spirits, that if she went out in that trim she would be
invisible. She is now in a madhouse, and, I fear, hopelessly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_351" id="Page_351">[351]</a></span>
insane. One of the curious manifestations of her disorder
is that she can bear nothing black. There is a terrific
business to be done, even when they are obliged to put coals
on her fire.</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash; has a thing called a Psycho-grapher, which writes
at the dictation of spirits. It delivered itself, a few nights
ago, of this extraordinarily lucid message:</p>

<div class='center'>
<span class="smcap">x. y. z</span>!<br />
</div>

<p>upon which it was gravely explained by the true believers
that "the spirits were out of temper about something."
Said &mdash;&mdash; had a great party on Sunday, when it was
rumoured "a count was going to raise the dead." I stayed
till the ghostly hour, but the rumour was unfounded, for
neither count nor plebeian came up to the spiritual scratch.
It is really inexplicable to me that a man of his calibre can
be run away with by such small deer.</p>

<p><i>&Agrave; propos</i> of spiritual messages comes in Georgina, and,
hearing that I am writing to you, delivers the following
enigma to be conveyed to Mrs. White:</p>

<div class='center'>
"Wyon of the Mint lives <i>at</i> the Mint."<br />
</div>

<p>Feeling my brain going after this, I only trust it with
loves from all to all.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever faithfully.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr.
Charles
Knight.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Tavistock House</span>, <i>March 17th, 1854.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Knight</span>,</div>

<p>I have read the article with much interest. It is
most conscientiously done, and presents a great mass of
curious information condensed into a surprisingly small
space.</p>

<p>I have made a slight note or two here and there, with a
soft pencil, so that a touch of indiarubber will make all
blank again.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_352" id="Page_352">[352]</a></span></p>

<p>And I earnestly entreat your attention to the point (I
have been working upon it, weeks past, in "Hard Times")
which I have jocosely suggested on the last page but one.
The English are, so far as I know, the hardest-worked
people on whom the sun shines. Be content if, in their
wretched intervals of pleasure, they read for amusement and
do no worse. They are born at the oar, and they live and
die at it. Good God, what would we have of them!</p>

<div class='sig'>
Affectionately yours always.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. W. H.
Wills.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span style="margin-right: 4em;"><span class="smcap">Office of "Household Words</span>,"</span><br />
<span style="margin-right: 2em;"><span class="smcap">No. 16, Wellington Street, North Strand</span>,</span><br />
<i>Wednesday, April 12th, 1854.</i><br />
</div>

<div class='center'><b>*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*</b></div>

<p>I know all the walks for many and many miles
round about Malvern, and delightful walks they are. I
suppose you are already getting very stout, very red, very
jovial (in a physical point of view) altogether.</p>

<p>Mark and I walked to Dartford from Greenwich, last
Monday, and found Mrs. &mdash;&mdash; acting "The Stranger" (with
a strolling company from the Standard Theatre) in Mr.
Munn's schoolroom. The stage was a little wider than
your table here, and its surface was composed of loose
boards laid on the school forms. Dogs sniffed about it
during the performances, and <i>the</i> carpenter's highlows were
ostentatiously taken off and displayed in the proscenium.</p>

<p>We stayed until a quarter to ten, when we were obliged
to fly to the railroad, but we sent the landlord of the hotel
down with the following articles:</p>



<div class='center'>
<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary="Punch recipe">
<tr><td align='left'>1</td><td align='left'>&nbsp;bottle</td><td align='left'>&nbsp;superior</td><td align='left'>&nbsp;old port,</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>1</td><td align='center'>do.</td><td align='center'>do.</td><td align='left'>golden sherry,</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>1</td><td align='center'>do.</td><td align='center'>do.</td><td align='left'>best French brandy,</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_353" id="Page_353">[353]</a></span>1</td><td align='center'>do.</td><td align='center'>do.</td><td align='left'>1st quality old Tom gin,</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>1</td><td align='left'>&nbsp;bottle</td><td align='left'>&nbsp;superior</td><td align='left'>&nbsp;prime Jamaica rum,</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>1</td><td align='center'>do.</td><td align='center'>do.</td><td align='left'>small still <i>Isla</i> whiskey,</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>1</td><td align='left'>&nbsp;kettle</td><td align='left'>&nbsp;boiling</td><td align='left'>water, two pounds finest white lump sugar,</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left' colspan='3'>Our cards,</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left'>1</td><td align='left'>&nbsp;lemon,</td></tr>
<tr><td align='left' colspan='2'><span style="margin-left: 2em;">and</span></td></tr>
<tr><td align='left' colspan='3'>Our compliments.</td></tr>
</table></div>


<p>The effect we had previously made upon the theatrical
company by being beheld in the first two chairs&mdash;there was
nearly a pound in the house&mdash;was altogether electrical.</p>

<p>My ladies send their kindest regards, and are disappointed
at your not saying that you drink two-and-twenty
tumblers of the limpid element, every day. The children
also unite in "loves," and the Plornishghenter, on being
asked if he would send his, replies "Yes&mdash;man," which we
understand to signify cordial acquiescence.</p>

<p>Forster just come back from lecturing at Sherborne.
Describes said lecture as "Blaze of Triumph."</p>

<div class='center'>
H. W. <span class="smcap">again</span>.<br />
</div>

<p>Miss&mdash;I mean Mrs.&mdash;Bell's story very nice. I have sent
it to the printer, and entitled it "The Green Ring and the
Gold Ring."</p>

<p>This apartment looks desolate in your absence; but,
O Heavens, how tidy!</p>

<div class='center'>
F. W.<br />
</div>

<p>Mrs. Wills supposed to have gone into a convent at
Somers Town.</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 5em;">My dear Wills,</span><br />
Ever faithfully yours.<br />
</div>

<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_354" id="Page_354">[354]</a></span></p>
<div class="sidenote">Mr. B. W.
Procter.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Tavistock House</span>, <i>Saturday Night, April 15th, 1854.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Procter</span>,</div>

<p>I have read the "Fatal Revenge." Don't do what
the minor theatrical people call "despi-ser" me, but I think
it's very bad. The concluding narrative is by far the most
meritorious part of the business. Still, the people are so
very convulsive and tumble down so many places, and are
always knocking other people's bones about in such a very
irrational way, that I object. The way in which earthquakes
won't swallow the monsters, and volcanoes in
eruption won't boil them, is extremely aggravating. Also
their habit of bolting when they are going to explain
anything.</p>

<p>You have sent me a very different and a much better
book; and for that I am truly grateful. With the dust of
"Maturin" in my eyes, I sat down and read "The Death of
Friends," and the dust melted away in some of those tears
it is good to shed. I remember to have read "The Backroom
Window" some years ago, and I have associated it
with you ever since. It is a most delightful paper. But
the two volumes are all delightful, and I have put them on
a shelf where you sit down with Charles Lamb again, with
Talfourd's vindication of him hard by.</p>

<p>We never meet. I hope it is not irreligious, but in this
strange London I have an inclination to adapt a portion of
the Church Service to our common experience. Thus:</p>

<p>"We have left unmet the people whom we ought to have
met, and we have met the people whom we ought not to
have met, and there seems to be no help in us."</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 7em;">But I am always, my dear Procter,</span><br />
<span style="margin-right: 5em;">(At a distance),</span><br />
Very cordially yours.<br />
</div>

<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_355" id="Page_355">[355]</a></span></p>
<div class="sidenote">Mrs.
Gaskell.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Tavistock House</span>, <i>April 21st, 1854.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Mrs. Gaskell</span>,</div>

<p>I safely received the paper from Mr. Shaen, welcomed
it with three cheers, and instantly despatched it to
the printer, who has it in hand now.</p>

<p>I have no intention of striking. The monstrous claims
at domination made by a certain class of manufacturers,
and the extent to which the way is made easy for working
men to slide down into discontent under such hands, are
within my scheme; but I am not going to strike, so don't
be afraid of me. But I wish you would look at the story
yourself, and judge where and how near I seem to be
approaching what you have in your mind. The first two
months of it will show that.</p>

<p>I will "make my will" on the first favourable occasion.
We were playing games last night, and were fearfully
clever. With kind regards to Mr. Gaskell, always, my dear
Mrs. Gaskell,</p>

<div class='sig'>
Faithfully yours.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. Frank
Stone,
A.R.A.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Tavistock House</span>, <i>May 30th, 1854.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Stone</span>,</div>

<p>I can<i>not</i> stand a total absence of ventilation, and I
should have liked (in an amiable and persuasive manner) to
have punched &mdash;&mdash;'s head, and opened the register stoves.
I saw the supper tables, sir, in an empty state, and was
charmed with them. Likewise I recovered myself from a
swoon, occasioned by long contact with an unventilated man
of a strong flavour from Copenhagen, by drinking an
unknown species of celestial lemonade in that enchanted
apartment.</p>

<p>I am grieved to say that on Saturday I stand engaged
to dine, at three weeks' notice, with one &mdash;&mdash;,
a man who has read every book that ever was written,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_356" id="Page_356">[356]</a></span>
and is a perfect gulf of information. Before exploding
a mine of knowledge he has a habit of closing one eye
and wrinkling up his nose, so that he seems perpetually
to be taking aim at you and knocking you over with a
terrific charge. Then he looks again, and takes another
aim. So you are always on your back, with your legs in
the air.</p>

<p>How can a man be conversed with, or walked with, in
the county of Middlesex, when he is reviewing the Kentish
Militia on the shores of Dover, or sailing, every day for
three weeks, between Dover and Calais?</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever affectionately.<br />
</div>

<p>P.S.&mdash;"Humphry Clinker" is certainly Smollett's best.
I am rather divided between "Peregrine Pickle" and
"Roderick Random," both extraordinarily good in their
way, which is a way without tenderness; but you will have
to read them both, and I send the first volume of
"Peregrine" as the richer of the two.</p>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. Peter
Cunningham.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Tavistock House</span>, <i>June 7th, 1854.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Cunningham</span>,</div>

<p>I cannot become one of the committee for Wilson's
statue, after entertaining so strong an opinion against the
expediency of such a memorial in poor dear Talfourd's case.
But I will subscribe my three guineas, and will pay that
sum to the account at Coutts's when I go there next week,
before leaving town.</p>

<p>"The Goldsmiths" admirably done throughout. It is a
book I have long desired to see done, and never expected to
see half so well done. Many thanks to you for it.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever faithfully yours.<br />
</div>

<p>P.S.&mdash;Please to observe the address at Boulogne: "Villa
du Camp de Droite."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_357" id="Page_357">[357]</a></span></p>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. W. H.
Wills.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Villa du Camp de Droite</span>, <i>Thursday, June 22nd, 1854.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Wills</span>,</div>

<p>I have nothing to say, but having heard from you
this morning, think I may as well report all well.</p>

<p>We have a most charming place here. It beats the
former residence all to nothing. We have a beautiful
garden, with all its fruits and flowers, and a field of our
own, and a road of our own away to the Column, and
everything that is airy and fresh. The great Beaucourt
hovers about us like a guardian genius, and I imagine that
no English person in a carriage could by any possibility
find the place.</p>

<p>Of the wonderful inventions and contrivances with
which a certain inimitable creature has made the most of
it, I will say nothing, until you have an opportunity of
inspecting the same. At present I will only observe that I
have written exactly seventy-two words of "Hard Times,"
since I have been here.</p>

<p>The children arrived on Tuesday night, by London boat,
in every stage and aspect of sea-sickness.</p>

<p>The camp is about a mile off, and huts are now building
for (they say) sixty thousand soldiers. I don't imagine it to
be near enough to bother us.</p>

<p>If the weather ever should be fine, it might do you good
sometimes to come over with the proofs on a Saturday,
when the tide serves well, before you and Mrs. W. make
your annual visit. Recollect there is always a bed, and no
sudden appearance will put us out.</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 4em;">Kind regards.</span><br />
Ever faithfully.<br />
</div>

<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_358" id="Page_358">[358]</a></span></p>
<div class="sidenote">Mr. W.
Wilkie
Collins.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span style="margin-right: 2em;"><span class="smcap">Villa du Camp de Droite, Boulogne</span>,</span><br />
<i>Wednesday Night, July 12th, 1854.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Collins</span>,</div>

<p>Bobbing up, corkwise, from a sea of "Hard Times"
I beg to report this tenement&mdash;<span class="smcap">amazing</span>!!! Range of view
and air, most free and delightful; hill-side garden, delicious;
field, stupendous; speculations in haycocks already
effected by the undersigned, with the view to the keeping
up of a "home" at rounders.</p>

<p>I hope to finish and get to town by next Wednesday
night, the 19th; what do you say to coming back with me
on the following Tuesday? The interval I propose to pass
in a career of amiable dissipation and unbounded license in
the metropolis. If you will come and breakfast with me
about midnight&mdash;anywhere&mdash;any day, and go to bed no
more until we fly to these pastoral retreats, I shall be
delighted to have so vicious an associate.</p>

<p>Will you undertake to let Ward know that if he still
wishes me to sit to him, he shall have me as long as he
likes, at Tavistock House, on Monday, the 24th, from
ten <span class="smcap">a.m.</span>?</p>

<p>I have made it understood here that we shall want to be
taken the greatest care of this summer, and to be fed on
nourishing meats. Several new dishes have been rehearsed
and have come out very well. I have met with what they
call in the City "a parcel" of the celebrated 1846 champagne.
It is a very fine wine, and calculated to do us good
when weak.</p>

<p>The camp is about a mile off. Voluptuous English
authors reposing from their literary fatigues (on their
laurels) are expected, when all other things fail, to lie on
straw in the midst of it when the days are sunny, and stare
at the blue sea until they fall asleep. (About one hundred<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_359" id="Page_359">[359]</a></span>
and fifty soldiers have been at various times billeted on
Beaucourt since we have been here, and he has clinked
glasses with them every one, and read a MS. book of his
father's, on soldiers in general, to them all.)</p>

<p>I shall be glad to hear what you say to these various
proposals. I write with the Emperor in the town, and a
great expenditure of tricolour floating thereabouts, but no
stir makes its way to this inaccessible retreat. It is like
being up in a balloon. Lionising Englishmen and Germans
start to call, and are found lying imbecile in the road halfway
up. Ha! ha! ha!</p>

<p>Kindest regards from all. The Plornishghenter adds
Mr. and Mrs. Goose's duty.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever faithfully.<br />
</div>

<p>P.S.&mdash;The cobbler has been ill these many months, and
unable to work; has had a carbuncle in his back, and has it
cut three times a week. The little dog sits at the door so
unhappy and anxious to help, that I every day expect to see
him beginning a pair of top boots.</p>


<div class="sidenote">Miss
Hogarth.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Office of "Household Words</span>," <i>Saturday, July 22nd, 1854.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Georgina</span>,</div>

<p>Neither you nor Catherine did justice to Collins's
book.<a name="FNanchor_17_17" id="FNanchor_17_17"></a><a href="#Footnote_17_17" class="fnanchor">[17]</a> I think it far away the cleverest novel I have
ever seen written by a new hand. It is in some respects
masterly. "Valentine Blyth" is as original, and as well
done as anything can be. The scene where he shows his
pictures is full of an admirable humour. Old Mat is admirably
done. In short, I call it a very remarkable book,
and have been very much surprised by its great merit.</p>

<p>Tell Kate, with my love, that she will receive to-morrow
in a little parcel, the complete proofs of "Hard Times."<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_360" id="Page_360">[360]</a></span>
They will not be corrected, but she will find them pretty
plain. I am just now going to put them up for her. I saw
Grisi the night before last in "Lucrezia Borgia"&mdash;finer
than ever. Last night I was drinking gin-slings till daylight,
with Buckstone of all people, who saw me looking at
the Spanish dancers, and insisted on being convivial. I
have been in a blaze of dissipation altogether, and have
succeeded (I think), in knocking the remembrance of my
work out.</p>

<p>Loves to all the darlings, from the Plornish-Maroon
upward. London is far hotter than Naples.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever affectionately.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mrs.
Gaskell.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span style="margin-right: 2em;"><span class="smcap">Villa du Camp de Droite, Boulogne</span>,</span><br />
<i>Thursday, Aug. 17th, 1854.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Mrs. Gaskell</span>,</div>

<p>I sent your MS. off to Wills yesterday, with instructions
to forward it to you without delay. I hope you
will have received it before this notification comes to hand.</p>

<p>The usual festivity of this place at present&mdash;which is the
blessing of soldiers by the ten thousand&mdash;has just now been
varied by the baptising of some new bells, lately hung up
(to my sorrow and lunacy) in a neighbouring church. An
English lady was godmother; and there was a procession
afterwards, wherein an English gentleman carried "the
relics" in a highly suspicious box, like a barrel organ; and
innumerable English ladies in white gowns and bridal
wreaths walked two and two, as if they had all gone to
school again.</p>

<p>At a review, on the same day, I was particularly struck
by the commencement of the proceedings, and its singular
contrast to the usual military operations in Hyde Park.
Nothing would induce the general commanding in chief to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_361" id="Page_361">[361]</a></span>
begin, until chairs were brought for all the lady-spectators.
And a detachment of about a hundred men deployed into
all manner of farmhouses to find the chairs. Nobody
seemed to lose any dignity by the transaction, either.</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 2em;">With kindest regards, my dear Mrs. Gaskell,</span><br />
Faithfully yours always.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Rev.
William
Harness.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span style="margin-right: 2em;"><span class="smcap">Villa du Camp de Droite, Boulogne</span>,</span><br />
<i>Saturday, Aug. 19th, 1854.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Harness</span>,</div>

<p>Yes. The book came from me. I could not put a
memorandum to that effect on the title-page, in consequence
of my being here.</p>

<p>I am heartily glad you like it. I know the piece you
mention, but am far from being convinced by it. A great
misgiving is upon me, that in many things (this thing
among the rest) too many are martyrs to <i>our</i> complacency
and satisfaction, and that we must give up something
thereof for their poor sakes.</p>

<p>My kindest regards to your sister, and my love (if I may
send it) to another of your relations.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Always, very faithfully yours.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. Henry
Austin.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span style="margin-right: 2em;"><span class="smcap">Villa du Camp de Droite, Boulogne</span>,</span><br />
<i>Wednesday, Sept. 6th, 1854.</i><br />
</div>

<div class='center'><b>*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;*</b></div>

<p>Any Saturday on which the tide serves your purpose
(next Saturday excepted) will suit me for the flying visit
you hint at; and we shall be delighted to see you.
Although the camp is not above a mile from this gate, we
never see or hear of it, unless we choose. If you could
come here in dry weather you would find it as pretty, airy,
and pleasant a situation as you ever saw. We illuminated<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_362" id="Page_362">[362]</a></span>
the whole front of the house last night&mdash;eighteen windows&mdash;and
an immense palace of light was seen sparkling on
this hill-top for miles and miles away. I rushed to a
distance to look at it, and never saw anything of the same
kind half so pretty.</p>

<p>The town<a name="FNanchor_18_18" id="FNanchor_18_18"></a><a href="#Footnote_18_18" class="fnanchor">[18]</a> looks like one immense flag, it is so decked
out with streamers; and as the royal yacht approached
yesterday&mdash;the whole range of the cliff tops lined with
troops, and the artillery matches in hand, all ready to fire
the great guns the moment she made the harbour; the
sailors standing up in the prow of the yacht, the Prince in
a blazing uniform, left alone on the deck for everybody to
see&mdash;a stupendous silence, and then such an infernal blazing
and banging as never was heard. It was almost as fine a
sight as one could see under a deep blue sky. In our own
proper illumination I laid on all the servants, all the
children now at home, all the visitors (it is the annual
"Household Words" time), one to every window, with
everything ready to light up on the ringing of a big
dinner-bell by your humble correspondent. St. Peter's on
Easter Monday was the result.</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 2em;">Best love from all.</span><br />
Ever affectionately.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. W.
Wilkie
Collins.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Boulogne</span>, <i>Tuesday, Sept. 26th, 1854.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Collins</span>,</div>

<p>First, I have to report that I received your letter with
much pleasure.</p>

<p>Secondly, that the weather has entirely changed. It is so
cool that we have not only a fire in the drawing-room regularly,
but another to dine by. The delicious freshness of the
air is charming, and it is generally bright and windy besides.</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_363" id="Page_363">[363]</a></span></p>
<p>Thirdly, that &mdash;&mdash;'s intellectual faculties appear to
have developed suddenly. He has taken to borrowing
money; from which I infer (as he has no intention whatever
of repaying) that his mental powers are of a high
order. Having got a franc from me, he fell upon Mrs.
Dickens for five sous. She declining to enter into the transaction,
he beleaguered that feeble little couple, Harry and
Sydney, into paying two sous each for "tickets" to behold
the ravishing spectacle of an utterly-non-existent-and-there-fore-impossible-to-be-produced
toy theatre. He eats stony
apples, and harbours designs upon his fellow-creatures until
he has become light-headed. From the couch rendered uneasy
by this disorder he has arisen with an excessively protuberant
forehead, a dull slow eye, a complexion of a leaden
hue, and a croaky voice. He has become a horror to me,
and I resort to the most cowardly expedients to avoid meeting
him. He, on the other hand, wanting another franc,
dodges me round those trees at the corner, and at the back
door; and I have a presentiment upon me that I shall fall a
sacrifice to his cupidity at last.</p>

<p>On the Sunday night after you left, or rather on the
Monday morning at half-past one, Mary was taken <i>very ill</i>.
English cholera. She was sinking so fast, and the sickness
was so exceedingly alarming, that it evidently would not do
to wait for Elliotson. I caused everything to be done that
we had naturally often thought of, in a lonely house so full
of children, and fell back upon the old remedy; though the
difficulty of giving even it was rendered very great by the
frightful sickness. Thank God, she recovered so favourably
that by breakfast time she was fast asleep. She slept
twenty-four hours, and has never had the least uneasiness
since. I heard&mdash;of course afterwards&mdash;that she had had an
attack of sickness two nights before. I think that long ride<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_364" id="Page_364">[364]</a></span>
and those late dinners had been too much for her. Without
them I am inclined to doubt whether she would have been ill.</p>

<p>Last Sunday as ever was, the theatre took fire at half-past
eleven in the forenoon. Being close by the English
church, it showered hot sparks into that temple through the
open windows. Whereupon the congregation shrieked and
rose and tumbled out into the street; &mdash;&mdash; benignly observing
to the only ancient female who would listen to him, "I fear
we must part;" and afterwards being beheld in the street&mdash;in
his robes and with a kind of sacred wildness on him&mdash;handing
ladies over the kennel into shops and other structures,
where they had no business whatever, or the least
desire to go. I got to the back of the theatre, where I
could see in through some great doors that had been forced
open, and whence the spectacle of the whole interior, burning
like a red-hot cavern, was really very fine, even in the daylight.
Meantime the soldiers were at work, "saving" the
scenery by pitching it into the next street; and the poor
little properties (one spinning-wheel, a feeble imitation of a
water-mill, and a basketful of the dismalest artificial flowers
very conspicuous) were being passed from hand to hand
with the greatest excitement, as if they were rescued children
or lovely women. In four or five hours the whole place was
burnt down, except the outer walls. Never in my days did
I behold such feeble endeavours in the way of extinguishment.
On an average I should say it took ten minutes to
throw half a gallon of water on the great roaring heap; and
every time it was insulted in this way it gave a ferocious
burst, and everybody ran off. Beaucourt has been going
about for two days in a clean collar; which phenomenon
evidently means something, but I don't know what. Elliotson
reports that the great conjuror lives at his hotel, has
extra wine every day, and fares expensively. Is he the devil?<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_365" id="Page_365">[365]</a></span></p>

<p>I have heard from the Kernel.<a name="FNanchor_19_19" id="FNanchor_19_19"></a><a href="#Footnote_19_19" class="fnanchor">[19]</a> Wa'al, sir, sayin' as he
minded to locate himself with us for a week, I expected to
have heard from him again this morning, but have not.
Beard comes to-morrow.</p>

<p>Kindest regards and remembrances from all. Ward
lives in a little street between the two Tintilleries. The
Plornish-Maroon desires his duty. He had a fall yesterday,
through overbalancing himself in kicking his nurse.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever faithfully.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. Frank
Stone,
A.R.A.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Boulogne</span>, <i>Friday, Oct. 13th, 1854.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Stone</span>,</div>

<p>Having some little matters that rather press on my
attention to see to in town, I have made up my mind to
relinquish the walking project, and come straight home (by
way of Folkestone) on Tuesday. I shall be due in town at
midnight, and shall hope to see you next day, with the top
of your coat-collar mended.</p>

<p>Everything that happens here we suppose to be an
announcement of the taking of Sebastopol. When a
church-clock strikes, we think it is the joy-bell, and fly
out of the house in a burst of nationality&mdash;to sneak in
again. If they practise firing at the camp, we are sure it
is the artillery celebrating the fall of the Russian, and we
become enthusiastic in a moment. I live in constant
readiness to illuminate the whole house. Whatever anybody
says I believe; everybody says, every day, that
Sebastopol is in flames. Sometimes the Commander-in-Chief
has blown himself up, with seventy-five thousand
men. Sometimes he has "cut" his way through Lord
Raglan, and has fallen back on the advancing body<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_366" id="Page_366">[366]</a></span>
of the Russians, one hundred and forty-two thousand
strong, whom he is going to "bring up" (I don't know
where from, or how, or when, or why) for the destruction
of the Allies. All these things, in the words of the
catechism, "I steadfastly believe," until I become a mere
driveller, a moonstruck, babbling, staring, credulous,
imbecile, greedy, gaping, wooden-headed, addle-brained,
wool-gathering, dreary, vacant, obstinate civilian.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever, my fellow-countryman, affectionately.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. John
Saunders.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Tavistock House</span>, <i>October 26th, 1854.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">Dear Sir</span>,</div>

<p>I have had much gratification and pleasure in the
receipt of your obliging communication. Allow me to
thank you for it, in the first place, with great cordiality.</p>

<p>Although I cannot say that I came without any prepossessions
to the perusal of your play (for I had favourable
inclinings towards it before I began), I <i>can</i> say that I read it
with the closest attention, and that it inspired me with
a strong interest, and a genuine and high admiration. The
parts that involve some of the greatest difficulties of your
task appear to me those in which you shine most. I would
particularly instance the end of Julia as a very striking
example of this. The delicacy and beauty of her redemption
from her weak rash lover, are very far, indeed beyond
the range of any ordinary dramatist, and display the true
poetical strength.</p>

<p>As your hopes now centre in Mr. Phelps, and in seeing
the child of your fancy on his stage, I will venture to point
out to you not only what I take to be very dangerous
portions of "Love's Martyrdom" as it stands, <i>for presentation
on the stage</i>, but portions which I believe Mr. Phelps
will speedily regard in that light when he sees it before<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_367" id="Page_367">[367]</a></span>
him in the persons of live men and women on the wooden
boards. Knowing him, I think he will be then as violently
discouraged as he is now generously exalted; and it may be
useful to you to be prepared for the consideration of those
passages.</p>

<p>I do not regard it as a great stumbling-block that the
play of modern times best known to an audience proceeds
upon the main idea of this, namely, that there was a
hunchback who, because of his deformity, mistrusted himself.
But it is certainly a grain in the balance when the
balance is going the wrong way, and therefore it
should be most carefully trimmed. The incident of the
ring is an insignificant one to look at over a row of gaslights,
is difficult to convey to an audience, and the least thing will
make it ludicrous. If it be so well done by Mr. Phelps
himself as to be otherwise than ludicrous, it will be disagreeable.
If it be either, it will be perilous, and doubly
so, because you revert to it. The quarrel scene between the
two brothers in the third act is now so long that the justification
of blind passion and impetuosity&mdash;which can alone
bear out Franklyn, before the bodily eyes of a great concourse
of spectators, in plunging at the life of his own
brother&mdash;is lost. That the two should be parted, and that
Franklyn should again drive at him, and strike him, and then
wound him, is a state of things to set the sympathy of an
audience in the wrong direction, and turn it from the man
you make happy to the man you leave unhappy. I would
on no account allow the artist to appear, attended by that
picture, more than once. All the most sudden inconstancy
of Clarence I would soften down. Margaret must act much
better than any actress I have ever seen, if all her lines fall
in pleasant places; therefore, I think she needs compression
too.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_368" id="Page_368">[368]</a></span></p>

<p>All this applies solely to the theatre. If you ever revise
the sheets for readers, will you note in the margin the
broken laughter and the appeals to the Deity? If, on
summing them up, you find you want them all, I would
leave them as they stand by all means. If not, I would
blot accordingly.</p>

<p>It is only in the hope of being slightly useful to you by
anticipating what I believe Mr. Phelps will discover&mdash;or
what, if ever he should pass it, I have a strong conviction
the audience will find out&mdash;that I have ventured on these
few hints. Your concurrence with them generally, on reconsideration,
or your preference for the poem as it stands, can
not in the least affect my interest in your success. On the
other hand, I have a perfect confidence in your not taking
my misgivings ill; they arise out of my sincere desire for
the triumph of your work.</p>

<p>With renewed thanks for the pleasure you have afforded
me,</p>

<div class='sig'>
I am, dear Sir, faithfully yours.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. W. C.
Macready.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span style="margin-right: 2em;"><span class="smcap">Tavistock House</span>, <i>November 1st, 1854.</i></span><br />
(And a constitutionally foggy day.)<br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dearest Macready</span>,</div>

<p>I thought it better not to encumber the address to
working men with details. Firstly, because they would
detract from whatever fiery effect the words may have in
them; secondly, because writing and petitioning and
pressing a subject upon members and candidates are now
so clearly understood; and thirdly, because the paper was
meant as an opening to a persistent pressure of the whole
question on the public, which would yield other opportunities
of touching on such points.</p>

<p>In the number <i>for next week</i>&mdash;not this&mdash;is one of those<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_369" id="Page_369">[369]</a></span>
following-up articles called "A Home Question." It is not
written by me, but is generally of my suggesting, and is
exceedingly well done by a thorough and experienced hand.
I think you will find in it, generally, what you want. I have
told the printers to send you a proof by post as soon as it is
corrected&mdash;that is to say, as soon as some insertions I made
in it last night are in type and in their places.</p>

<p>My dear old Parr, I don't believe a word you write about
King John! That is to say, I don't believe you take into
account the enormous difference between the energy summonable-up
in your study at Sherborne and the energy that
will fire up in you (without so much as saying "With your
leave" or "By your leave") in the Town Hall at Birmingham.
I know you, you ancient codger, I know you! Therefore
I will trouble you to be so good as to do an act of
honesty after you have been to Birmingham, and to write
to me, "Ingenuous boy, you were correct. I find I could
have read 'em 'King John' with the greatest ease."</p>

<p>In that vast hall in the busy town of Sherborne, in
which our illustrious English novelist is expected to read
next month&mdash;though he is strongly of opinion that he is
deficient in power, and too old&mdash;I wonder what accommodation
there is for reading! because our illustrious
countryman likes to stand at a desk breast-high, with
plenty of room about him, a sloping top, and a ledge to
keep his book from tumbling off. If such a thing should
not be there, however, on his arrival, I suppose even a Sherborne
carpenter could knock it up out of a deal board. <i>Is</i>
there a deal board in Sherborne though? I should like to
hear Katey's opinion on that point.</p>

<p>In this week's "Household Words" there is an exact
portrait of our Boulogne landlord, which I hope you will
like. I think of opening the next long book I write with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_370" id="Page_370">[370]</a></span>
a man of juvenile figure and strong face, who is always
persuading himself that he is infirm. What do you think
of the idea? I should like to have your opinion about it.
I would make him an impetuous passionate sort of fellow,
devilish grim upon occasion, and of an iron purpose.
Droll, I fancy?</p>

<p>&mdash;&mdash; is getting a little too fat, but appears to be
troubled by the great responsibility of directing the whole
war. He doesn't seem to be quite clear that he has got the
ships into the exact order he intended, on the sea point of
attack at Sebastopol. We went to the play last Saturday
night with Stanfield, whose "high lights" (as Maclise calls
those knobs of brightness on the top of his cheeks) were
more radiant than ever. We talked of you, and I told
Stanny how they are imitating his "Acis and Galatea" sea
in "Pericles," at Phelps's. He didn't half like it; but I
added, in nautical language, that it was merely a piratical
effort achieved by a handful of porpoise-faced swabs, and
that brought him up with a round turn, as we say at sea.</p>

<p>We are looking forward to the twentieth of next month
with great pleasure. All Tavistock House send love and
kisses to all Sherborne House. If there is anything I can
bring down for you, let me know in good course of time.</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 2em;">Ever, my dearest Macready,</span><br />
Most affectionately yours.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">The Hon.
Mrs.
Watson.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Tavistock House</span>, <i>Wednesday, Nov. 1st, 1854.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Mrs. Watson</span>,</div>

<p>I take upon myself to answer your letter to Catherine,
as I am referred to in it.</p>

<p>The "Walk" is not my writing. It is very well done by
a close imitator. Why I found myself so "used up" after<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_371" id="Page_371">[371]</a></span>
"Hard Times" I scarcely know, perhaps because I intended
to do nothing in that way for a year, when the idea laid hold
of me by the throat in a very violent manner, and because
the compression and close condensation necessary for that
disjointed form of publication gave me perpetual trouble.
But I really was tired, which is a result so very incomprehensible
that I can't forget it. I have passed an idle autumn
in a beautiful situation, and am dreadfully brown and big.
For further particulars of Boulogne, see "Our French
Watering Place," in this present week of "Household
Words," which contains a faithful portrait of our landlord
there.</p>

<p>If you carry out that bright Croydon idea, rely on our
glad co-operation, only let me know all about it a few days
beforehand; and if you feel equal to the contemplation of
the moustache (which has been cut lately) it will give us the
heartiest pleasure to come and meet you. This in spite of
the terrific duffery of the Crystal Palace. It is a very
remarkable thing in itself; but to have so very large a
building continually crammed down one's throat, and to find
it a new page in "The Whole Duty of Man" to go there, is
a little more than even I (and you know how amiable I am)
can endure.</p>

<p>You always like to know what I am going to do, so I
beg to announce that on the 19th of December I am going
to read the "Carol" at Reading, where I undertook the
presidency of the Literary Institution on the death of poor
dear Talfourd. Then I am going on to Sherborne, in
Dorsetshire, to do the like for another institution, which
is one of the few remaining pleasures of Macready's life.
Then I am coming home for Christmas Day. Then I believe
I must go to Bradford, in Yorkshire, to read once more to a
little fireside party of four thousand. Then I am coming<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_372" id="Page_372">[372]</a></span>
home again to get up a new little version of "The Children
in the Wood" (yet to be written, by-the-bye), for the children
to act on Charley's birthday.</p>

<p>I am full of mixed feeling about the war&mdash;admiration of
our valiant men, burning desires to cut the Emperor of
Russia's throat, and something like despair to see how the
old cannon-smoke and blood-mists obscure the wrongs and
sufferings of the people at home. When I consider the
Patriotic Fund on the one hand, and on the other the
poverty and wretchedness engendered by cholera, of which
in London alone, an infinitely larger number of English
people than are likely to be slain in the whole Russian war
have miserably and needlessly died&mdash;I feel as if the world
had been pushed back five hundred years. If you are
reading new books just now, I think you will be interested
with a controversy between Whewell and Brewster, on the
question of the shining orbs about us being inhabited or
no. Whewell's book is called, "On the Plurality of Worlds;"
Brewster's, "More Worlds than One." I shouldn't wonder
if you know all about them. They bring together a vast
number of points of great interest in natural philosophy,
and some very curious reasoning on both sides, and leave
the matter pretty much where it was.</p>

<p>We had a fine absurdity in connection with our luggage,
when we left Boulogne. The barometer had within a few
hours fallen about a foot, in honour of the occasion, and it
was a tremendous night, blowing a gale of wind and raining
a little deluge. The luggage (pretty heavy, as you may
suppose), in a cart drawn by two horses, stuck fast in a rut
in our field, and couldn't be moved. Our man, made a
lunatic by the extremity of the occasion, ran down to the
town to get two more horses to help it out, when he
returned with those horses and carter B, the most beaming<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_373" id="Page_373">[373]</a></span>
of men; carter A, who had been soaking all the time by
the disabled vehicle, descried in carter B the acknowledged
enemy of his existence, took his own two horses out, and
walked off with them! After which, the whole set-out
remained in the field all night, and we came to town,
thirteen individuals, with one comb and a pocket-handkerchief.
I was upside-down during the greater part of the
passage.</p>

<p>Dr. Rae's account of Franklin's unfortunate party is
deeply interesting; but I think hasty in its acceptance of
the details, particularly in the statement that they had eaten
the dead bodies of their companions, which I don't believe.
Franklin, on a former occasion, was almost starved to death,
had gone through all the pains of that sad end, and lain
down to die, and no such thought had presented itself to
any of them. In famous cases of shipwreck, it is very rare
indeed that any person of any humanising education or
refinement resorts to this dreadful means of prolonging
life. In open boats, the coarsest and commonest men of the
shipwrecked party have done such things; but I don't
remember more than one instance in which an officer had
overcome the loathing that the idea had inspired. Dr. Rae
talks about their <i>cooking</i> these remains too. I should like
to know where the fuel came from.</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 5em;">Kindest love and best regards.</span><br />
Ever, my dear Mrs. Watson, affectionately yours.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr.
Clarkson
Stanfield,
R.A.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Tavistock House</span>, <i>Friday Night, Nov. 3rd, 1854.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Stanny</span>,</div>

<p>First of all, here is enclosed a letter for Mrs.
Stanfield, which, if you don't immediately and faithfully
deliver, you will hear of in an unpleasant way from the
station-house at the curve of the hill above you.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_374" id="Page_374">[374]</a></span></p>

<p>Secondly, this is not to remind you that we meet at the
Athen&aelig;um next Monday at five, because none but a mouldy
swab as never broke biscuit or lay out on the for'sel-yardarm
in a gale of wind ever forgot an appointment with a
messmate.</p>

<p>But what I want you to think of at your leisure is this:
when our dear old Macready was in town last, I saw it would
give him so much interest and pleasure if I promised to go
down and read my "Christmas Carol" to the little Sherborne
Institution, which is now one of the few active objects he
has in the life about him, that I came out with that promise
in a bold&mdash;I may say a swaggering way. Consequently,
on Wednesday, the 20th of December, I am going down
to see him, with Kate and Georgina, returning to town in
good time for Christmas, on Saturday, the 23rd. Do you
think you could manage to go and return with us? I really
believe there is scarcely anything in the world that would give
him such extraordinary pleasure as such a visit; and if you
would empower me to send him an intimation that he may
expect it, he will have a daily joy in looking forward to the
time (I am seriously sure) which we&mdash;whose light has not
gone out, and who are among our old dear pursuits and
associations&mdash;can scarcely estimate.</p>

<p>I don't like to broach the idea in a careless way, and so
I propose it thus, and ask you to think of it.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever most affectionately yours.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Miss
Procter.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Tavistock House</span>, <i>Sunday, Dec. 17th, 1854.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Miss Procter</span>,</div>

<p>You have given me a new sensation. I did suppose
that nothing in this singular world could surprise me, but
you have done it.</p>

<p>You will believe my congratulations on the delicacy and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_375" id="Page_375">[375]</a></span>
talent of your writing to be sincere. From the first, I have
always had an especial interest in that Miss Berwick, and
have over and over again questioned Wills about her. I
suppose he has gone on gradually building up an imaginary
structure of life and adventure for her, but he has given me
the strangest information! Only yesterday week, when we
were "making up" "The Poor Travellers," as I sat meditatively
poking the office fire, I said to him, "Wills, have
you got that Miss Berwick's proof back, of the little sailor's
song?" "No," he said. "Well, but why not?" I asked
him. "Why, you know," he answered, "as I have often
told you before, she don't live at the place to which her
letters are addressed, and so there's always difficulty and
delay in communicating with her." "Do you know what
age she is?" I said. Here he looked unfathomably profound,
and returned, "Rather advanced in life." "You said she
was a governess, didn't you?" said I; to which he replied
in the most emphatic and positive manner, "A governess."</p>

<p>He then came and stood in the corner of the hearth,
with his back to the fire, and delivered himself like an
oracle concerning you. He told me that early in life (conveying
to me the impression of about a quarter of a century
ago) you had had your feelings desperately wounded by
some cause, real or imaginary&mdash;"It does not matter which,"
said I, with the greatest sagacity&mdash;and that you had then
taken to writing verses. That you were of an unhappy
temperament, but keenly sensitive to encouragement. That
you wrote after the educational duties of the day were discharged.
That you sometimes thought of never writing
any more. That you had been away for some time "with
your pupils." That your letters were of a mild and melancholy
character, and that you did not seem to care as much
as might be expected about money. All this time I sat<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_376" id="Page_376">[376]</a></span>
poking the fire, with a wisdom upon me absolutely crushing;
and finally I begged him to assure the lady that she might
trust me with her real address, and that it would be better
to have it now, as I hoped our further communications,
etc. etc. etc. You must have felt enormously wicked last
Tuesday, when I, such a babe in the wood, was unconsciously
prattling to you. But you have given me so much pleasure,
and have made me shed so many tears, that I can only think
of you now in association with the sentiment and grace of
your verses.</p>

<p>So pray accept the blessing and forgiveness of Richard
Watts, though I am afraid you come under both his conditions
of exclusion.<a name="FNanchor_20_20" id="FNanchor_20_20"></a><a href="#Footnote_20_20" class="fnanchor">[20]</a></p>

<div class='sig'>
Very faithfully yours.<br />
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<h2>1855.</h2>

<h3>NARRATIVE.</h3>


<div class='unindent'><span class='smcap'>In</span> the beginning of this year, Charles Dickens gave public
readings at Reading, Sherborne, and Bradford in Yorkshire,
to which reference is made in the first following letters. Besides
this, he was fully occupied in getting up a play for his
children, which was acted on the 6th January. Mr. Planch&eacute;'s
fairy extravaganza of "Fortunio and his Seven Gifted
Servants" was the play selected, the parts being filled by
all his own children and some of their young friends, and
Charles Dickens, Mr. Mark Lemon, and Mr. Wilkie Collins
playing with them, the only grown-up members of the company.
In February he made a short trip to Paris with
Mr. Wilkie Collins, with an intention of going on to Bordeaux,
which was abandoned on account of bad weather.
Out of the success of the children's play at Tavistock House
rose a scheme for a serious play at the same place. Mr.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_377" id="Page_377">[377]</a></span>
Collins undertaking to write a melodrama for the purpose,
and Mr. Stanfield to paint scenery and drop-scene, Charles
Dickens turned one of the rooms of the house into a very
perfect little theatre, and in June "The Lighthouse" was
acted for three nights, with "Mr. Nightingale's Diary"
and "Animal Magnetism" as farces; the actors being himself
and several members of the original amateur company,
the actresses, his two daughters and his sister-in-law. Mr.
Stanfield, after entering most heartily into the enterprise,
and giving constant time and attention to the painting of
his beautiful scenes, was unfortunately ill and unable to
attend the first performance. We give a letter to him,
reporting its great success.</div>

<p>In this summer Charles Dickens made a speech at a
great meeting at Drury Lane Theatre on the subject of
"Administrative Reform," of which he writes to Mr.
Macready. On this subject of "Administrative Reform,"
too, we give two letters to the great Nineveh traveller
Mr. Layard (now Sir Austen H. Layard), for whom, as his
letters show, he conceived at once the affectionate friendship
which went on increasing from this time for the rest of his
life. Mr. Layard also spoke at the Drury Lane meeting.</p>

<p>Charles Dickens had made a promise to give another
reading at Birmingham for the funds of the institute which
still needed help; and in a letter to Mr. Arthur Ryland,
asking him to fix a time for it, he gives the first idea of a
selection from "David Copperfield," which was afterwards
one of the most popular of his readings.</p>

<p>He was at all times fond of making excursions for a day&mdash;or
two or three days&mdash;to Rochester and its neighbourhood;
and after one of these, this year, he writes to
Mr. Wills that he has seen a "small freehold" to be sold,
<i>opposite</i> the house on which he had fixed his childish
affections (and which he calls in <i>this</i> letter the "Hermitage,"
its real name being "Gad's Hill Place"). The latter house
was not, at that time, to be had, and he made some approach
to negotiations as to the other "little freehold," which,
however, did not come to anything. Later in the year,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_378" id="Page_378">[378]</a></span>
however, Mr. Wills, by an accident, discovered that Gad's
Hill Place, the property of Miss Lynn, the well-known
authoress, and a constant contributor to "Household
Words," was itself for sale; and a negotiation for its
purchase commenced, which was not, however, completed
until the following spring.</p>

<p>Later in the year, the performance of "The Lighthouse"
was repeated, for a charitable purpose, at the Campden
House theatre.</p>

<p>This autumn was passed at Folkestone. Charles Dickens
had decided upon spending the following winter in Paris,
and the family proceeded there from Folkestone in October,
making a halt at Boulogne; from whence his sister-in-law
preceded the party to Paris, to secure lodgings, with the
help of Lady Olliffe. He followed, to make his choice of
apartments that had been found, and he writes to his wife
and to Mr. Wills, giving a description of the Paris house.
Here he began "Little Dorrit." In a letter to Mrs. Watson,
from Folkestone, he gives her the name which he had first
proposed for this story&mdash;"Nobody's Fault."</p>

<p>During his absence from England, Mr. and Mrs. Hogarth
occupied Tavistock House, and his eldest son, being now
engaged in business, remained with them, coming to Paris
only for Christmas. Three of his boys were at school
at Boulogne at this time, and one, Walter Landor, at
Wimbledon, studying for an Indian army appointment.</p>


<div class="sidenote">M. de
Cerjat.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Tavistock House</span>, <i>January 3rd, 1855.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Cerjat</span>,</div>

<p>When your Christmas letter did not arrive according
to custom, I felt as if a bit of Christmas had fallen out and
there was no supplying the piece. However, it was soon supplied
by yourself, and the bowl became round and sound again.</p>

<p>The Christmas number of "Household Words," I suppose,
will reach Lausanne about midsummer. The first
ten pages or so&mdash;all under the head of "The First Poor<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_379" id="Page_379">[379]</a></span>
Traveller"&mdash;are written by me, and I hope you will find, in
the story of the soldier which they contain, something that
may move you a little. It moved me <i>not</i> a little in the
writing, and I believe has touched a vast number of people.
We have sold eighty thousand of it.</p>

<p>I am but newly come home from reading at Reading
(where I succeeded poor Talfourd as the president of an
institution), and at Sherborne, in Dorsetshire, and at Bradford,
in Yorkshire. Wonderful audiences! and the number
at the last place three thousand seven hundred. And yet
but for the noise of their laughing and cheering, they
"went" like one man.</p>

<p>The absorption of the English mind in the war is, to
me, a melancholy thing. Every other subject of popular
solicitude and sympathy goes down before it. I fear I
clearly see that for years to come domestic reforms are
shaken to the root; every miserable red-tapist flourishes
war over the head of every protester against his humbug;
and everything connected with it is pushed to such an unreasonable
extent, that, however kind and necessary it may
be in itself, it becomes ridiculous. For all this it is an
indubitable fact, I conceive, that Russia <span class="smcap">must be</span> stopped,
and that the future peace of the world renders the war imperative
upon us. The Duke of Newcastle lately addressed
a private letter to the newspapers, entreating them to exercise
a larger discretion in respect of the letters of "Our Own
Correspondents," against which Lord Raglan protests as
giving the Emperor of Russia information for nothing which
would cost him (if indeed he could get it at all) fifty or a
hundred thousand pounds a year. The communication has
not been attended with much effect, so far as I can see. In
the meantime I do suppose we have the wretchedest Ministry
that ever was&mdash;in whom nobody not in office of some sort<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_380" id="Page_380">[380]</a></span>
believes&mdash;yet whom there is nobody to displace. The
strangest result, perhaps, of years of Reformed Parliaments
that ever the general sagacity did <i>not</i> foresee.</p>

<p>Let me recommend you, as a brother-reader of high distinction,
two comedies, both Goldsmith's&mdash;"She Stoops to
Conquer" and "The Good-natured Man." Both are so
admirable and so delightfully written that they read wonderfully.
A friend of mine, Forster, who wrote "The Life of
Goldsmith," was very ill a year or so ago, and begged me
to read to him one night as he lay in bed, "something of
Goldsmith's." I fell upon "She Stoops to Conquer," and
we enjoyed it with that wonderful intensity, that I believe
he began to get better in the first scene, and was all right
again in the fifth act.</p>

<p>I am charmed by your account of Haldimand, to whom
my love. Tell him Sydney Smith's daughter has privately
printed a life of her father with selections from his letters,
which has great merit, and often presents him exactly as he
used to be. I have strongly urged her to publish it, and I
think she will do so, about March.</p>

<p>My eldest boy has come home from Germany to learn
a business life at Birmingham (I think), first of all. The
whole nine are well and happy. Ditto, Mrs. Dickens.
Ditto, Georgina. My two girls are full of interest in yours;
and one of mine (as I think I told you when I was at
Elys&eacute;e) is curiously like one of yours in the face. They are
all agog now about a great fairy play, which is to come off
here next Monday. The house is full of spangles, gas, Jew
theatrical tailors, and pantomime carpenters. We all unite
in kindest and best loves to dear Mrs. Cerjat and all the
blooming daughters. And I am, with frequent thoughts of
you and cordial affection, ever, my dear Cerjat,</p>

<div class='sig'>
Your faithful Friend.<br />
</div>

<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_381" id="Page_381">[381]</a></span></p>
<div class="sidenote">Miss Mary
Boyle.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Tavistock House</span>, <i>January 3rd, 1855.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Mary</span>,</div>

<p>This is a word of heartfelt greeting; in exchange for
yours, which came to me most pleasantly, and was received
with a cordial welcome. If I had leisure to write a letter,
I should write you, at this point, perhaps the very best
letter that ever was read; but, being in the agonies of
getting up a gorgeous fairy play for the postboys, on
Charley's birthday (besides having the work of half-a-dozen
to do as a regular thing), I leave the merits of the
wonderful epistle to your lively fancy.</p>

<p>Enclosing a kiss, if you will have the kindness to return
it when done with.</p>

<p>I have just been reading my "Christmas Carol" in
Yorkshire. I should have lost my heart to the beautiful
young landlady of my hotel (age twenty-nine, dress, black
frock and jacket, exquisitely braided) if it had not been
safe in your possession.</p>

<p>Many, many happy years to you! My regards to that
obstinate old Wurzell<a name="FNanchor_21_21" id="FNanchor_21_21"></a><a href="#Footnote_21_21" class="fnanchor">[21]</a> and his dame, when you have them
under lock and key again.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever affectionately yours.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mrs.
Gaskell.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Tavistock House</span>, <i>January 27th, 1855.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Mrs. Gaskell</span>,</div>

<p>Let me congratulate you on the conclusion of your
story; not because it is the end of a task to which you had
conceived a dislike (for I imagine you to have got the
better of that delusion by this time), but because it is the
vigorous and powerful accomplishment of an anxious labour.
It seems to me that you have felt the ground thoroughly
firm under your feet, and have strided on with a force and
purpose that <span class="smcap">must</span> now give you pleasure.</p>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_382" id="Page_382">[382]</a></span></p>
<p>You will not, I hope, allow that not-lucid interval of
dissatisfaction with yourself (and me?), which beset you for
a minute or two once upon a time, to linger in the shape of
any disagreeable association with "Household Words." I
shall still look forward to the large sides of paper, and shall
soon feel disappointed if they don't begin to reappear.</p>

<p>I thought it best that Wills should write the business
letter on the conclusion of the story, as that part of our
communications had always previously rested with him. I
trust you found it satisfactory? I refer to it, not as a
matter of mere form, but because I sincerely wish everything
between us to be beyond the possibility of misunderstanding
or reservation.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Dear Mrs. Gaskell, very faithfully yours.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr.
Arthur
Ryland.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Tavistock House</span>, <i>Monday, Jan. 29th, 1855.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Mr. Ryland</span>,</div>

<p>I have been in the greatest difficulty&mdash;which I am not
yet out of&mdash;to know what to read at Birmingham. I fear
the idea of next month is now impracticable. Which of
two other months do you think would be preferable for your
Birmingham objects? Next May, or next December?</p>

<p>Having already read two Christmas books at Birmingham,
I should like to get out of that restriction, and have a swim
in the broader waters of one of my long books. I have
been poring over "Copperfield" (which is my favourite), with
the idea of getting a reading out of it, to be called by some
such name as "Young Housekeeping and Little Emily."
But there is still the huge difficulty that I constructed the
whole with immense pains, and have so woven it up and
blended it together, that I cannot yet so separate the parts
as to tell the story of David's married life with Dora, and
the story of Mr. Peggotty's search for his niece, within the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_383" id="Page_383">[383]</a></span>
time. This is my object. If I could possibly bring it to
bear, it would make a very attractive reading, with, a strong
interest in it, and a certain completeness.</p>

<p>This is exactly the state of the case. I don't mind confiding
to you, that I never can approach the book with
perfect composure (it had such perfect possession of me
when I wrote it), and that I no sooner begin to try to get
it into this form, than I begin to read it all, and to feel that
I cannot disturb it. I have not been unmindful of the
agreement we made at parting, and I have sat staring at
the backs of my books for an inspiration. This project is
the only one that I have constantly reverted to, and yet I
have made no progress in it!</p>

<div class='sig'>
Faithfully yours always.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Monsieur
Regnier.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Tavistock House, London</span>, <i>Saturday Evening, Feb. 3rd, 1855.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Regnier</span>,</div>

<p>I am coming to Paris for a week, with my friend
Collins&mdash;son of the English painter who painted our green
lanes and our cottage children so beautifully. Do not tell
this to Le Vieux. Unless I have the ill fortune to stumble
against him in the street I shall not make my arrival known
to him.</p>

<p>I purpose leaving here on Sunday, the 11th, but I shall
stay that night at Boulogne to see two of my little boys
who are at school there. We shall come to Paris on
Monday, the 12th, arriving there in the evening.</p>

<p>Now, <i>mon cher</i>, do you think you can, without inconvenience,
engage me for a week an apartment&mdash;cheerful,
light, and wholesome&mdash;containing a comfortable <i>salon et
deux chambres &agrave; coucher</i>. I do not care whether it is
an hotel or not, but the reason why I do not write for
an apartment to the H&ocirc;tel Brighton is, that there they<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_384" id="Page_384">[384]</a></span>
expect one to dine at home (I mean in the apartment)
generally; whereas, as we are coming to Paris expressly to
be always looking about us, we want to dine wherever we
like every day. Consequently, what we want to find is
a good apartment, where we can have our breakfast but
where we shall never dine.</p>

<p>Can you engage such accommodation for me? If you
can, I shall feel very much obliged to you. If the apartment
should happen to contain a little bed for a servant I
might perhaps bring one, but I do not care about that
at all. I want it to be pleasant and gay, and to throw
myself <i>en gar&ccedil;on</i> on the festive <i>diableries de Paris</i>.</p>

<p>Mrs. Dickens and her sister send their kindest regards
to Madame Regnier and you, in which I heartily join. All
the children send their loves to the two brave boys and the
Normandy <i>bonnes</i>.</p>

<p>I shall hope for a short answer from you one day next
week. My dear Regnier,</p>

<div class='sig'>
Always faithfully yours.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. W. H.
Wills.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Office of "Household Words</span>," <i>Friday, Feb. 9th, 1855.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Wills</span>,</div>

<p>I want to alter the arrangements for to-morrow, and
put you to some inconvenience.</p>

<p>When I was at Gravesend t'other day, I saw, at Gad's
Hill&mdash;just opposite to the Hermitage, where Miss Lynn
used to live&mdash;a little freehold to be sold. The spot and the
very house are literally "a dream of my childhood," and I
should like to look at it before I go to Paris. With that
purpose I must go to Strood by the North Kent, at a
quarter-past ten to-morrow morning, and I want you,
strongly booted, to go with me! (I know the particulars
from the agent.)<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_385" id="Page_385">[385]</a></span></p>

<p>Can you? Let me know. If you can, can you manage
so that we can take the proofs with us? If you can't, will
you bring them to Tavistock House at dinner time to-morrow,
half-past five? Forster will dine with us, but no
one else.</p>

<p>I am uncertain of your being in town to-night, but I
send John up with this.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever faithfully.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Miss
Hogarth.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">H&ocirc;tel Meurice, Paris</span>, <i>Friday, Feb. 16th, 1855.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Georgy</span>,</div>

<p>I heard from home last night; but the posts are so
delayed and put out by the snow, that they come in at all
sorts of times except the right times, and utterly defy all
calculation. Will you tell Catherine with my love, that I
will write to her again to-morrow afternoon; I hope she
may then receive my letter by Monday morning, and in it I
purpose telling her when I may be expected home. The
weather is so severe and the roads are so bad, that the
journey to and from Bordeaux seems out of the question.
We have made up our minds to abandon it for the present,
and to return about Tuesday night or Wednesday. Collins
continues in a queer state, but is perfectly cheerful under
the stoppage of his wine and other afflictions.</p>

<p>We have a beautiful apartment, very elegantly furnished,
very thickly carpeted, and as warm as any apartment in
Paris <i>can</i> be in such weather. We are very well waited on
and looked after. We breakfast at ten, read and write till
two, and then I go out walking all over Paris, while the
invalid sits by the fire or is deposited in a caf&eacute;. We dine at
five, in a different restaurant every day, and at seven or so
go to the theatre&mdash;sometimes to two theatres, sometimes to
three. We get home about twelve, light the fire, and drink<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_386" id="Page_386">[386]</a></span>
lemonade, to which <i>I</i> add rum. We go to bed between
one and two. I live in peace, like an elderly gentleman,
and regard myself as in a negative state of virtue and
respectability.</p>

<p>The theatres are not particularly good, but I have
seen Lema&icirc;tre act in the most wonderful and astounding
manner. I am afraid we must go to the Op&eacute;ra Comique on
Sunday. To-morrow we dine with Regnier and to-day with
the Olliffes.</p>

<p>"La Joie fait Peur," at the Fran&ccedil;ais, delighted me.
Exquisitely played and beautifully imagined altogether.
Last night we went to the Porte St. Martin to see a piece
(English subject) called "Jane Osborne," which the characters
pronounce "Ja Nosbornnne." The seducer was Lord
Nottingham. The comic Englishwoman's name (she kept
lodgings and was a very bad character) was Missees
Christmas. She had begun to get into great difficulties
with a gentleman of the name of Meestair Cornhill, when
we were obliged to leave, at the end of the first act, by the
intolerable stench of the place. The whole theatre must be
standing over some vast cesspool. It was so alarming that
I instantly rushed into a caf&eacute; and had brandy.</p>

<p>My ear has gradually become so accustomed to French,
that I understand the people at the theatres (for the first
time) with perfect ease and satisfaction. I walked about
with Regnier for an hour and a half yesterday, and received
many compliments on my angelic manner of speaking the
celestial language. There is a winter Franconi's now, high
up on the Boulevards, just like the round theatre on the
Champs Elys&eacute;es, and as bright and beautiful. A clown
from Astley's is all in high favour there at present. He
talks slang English (being evidently an idiot), as if he felt a
perfect confidence that everybody understands him. His<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_387" id="Page_387">[387]</a></span>
name is Boswell, and the whole cirque rang last night with
cries for Boz Zwilllll! Boz Zweellll! Boz Zwuallll! etc.
etc. etc. etc.</p>

<p>I must begin to look out for the box of bon-bons for the
noble and fascinating Plornish-Maroon. Give him my love
and a thousand kisses.</p>

<p>Loves to Mamey, Katey, Sydney, Harry, and the
following stab to Anne&mdash;she forgot to pack me any shaving
soap.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever, my dear Georgy, most affectionately yours.<br />
</div>

<p>P.S.&mdash;Collins sends kind regards.</p>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. W. H.
Wills.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">H&ocirc;tel Meurice, Paris</span>, <i>Friday, Feb. 16th, 1855.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Wills</span>,</div>

<p>I received your letter yesterday evening. I have
not yet seen the lists of trains and boats, but propose
arranging to return about Tuesday or Wednesday. In the
meantime I am living like Gil Blas and doing nothing. I
am very much obliged to you, indeed, for the trouble you
have kindly taken about the little freehold. It is clear to
me that its merits resolve themselves into the view and the
spot. If I had more money these considerations might, with
me, overtop all others. But, as it is, I consider the matter
quite disposed of, finally settled in the negative, and to be
thought no more about. I shall not go down and look at
it, as I could add nothing to your report.</p>

<p>Paris is finer than ever, and I go wandering about it all
day. We dine at all manner of places, and go to two or
three theatres in the evening. I suppose, as an old farmer
said of Scott, I am "makin' mysel'" all the time; but I
seem to be rather a free-and-easy sort of superior vagabond.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_388" id="Page_388">[388]</a></span></p>

<p>I live in continual terror of &mdash;&mdash;, and am strongly fortified
within doors, with a means of retreat into my bedroom
always ready. Up to the present blessed moment, his
staggering form has not appeared.</p>

<p>As to yesterday's post from England, I have not, at the
present moment, the slightest idea where it may be. It is
under the snow somewhere, I suppose; but nobody expects
it, and <i>Galignani</i> reprints every morning leaders from <i>The
Times</i> of about a fortnight or three weeks old.</p>

<p>Collins, who is not very well, sends his "penitent
regards," and says he is enjoying himself as much as a man
with the weight of a broken promise on his conscience can.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever, my dear Wills, faithfully yours.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr.
Arthur
Ryland.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Tavistock House</span>, <i>February 26th, 1855.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Mr. Ryland</span>,</div>

<p>Charley came home, I assure you, perfectly delighted
with his visit to you, and rapturous in his accounts of your
great kindness to him.</p>

<p>It appears to me that the first question in reference to
my reading (I have not advanced an inch in my "Copperfield"
trials by-the-bye) is, whether you think you could
devise any plan in connection with the room at Dee's,
which would certainly bring my help in money up to five
hundred pounds. That is what I want. If it could be
done by a subscription for two nights, for instance, I
would not be chary of my time and trouble. But if you
cannot see your way clearly to that result in that connection,
then I think it would be better to wait until we
can have the Town Hall at Christmas. I have promised to
read, about Christmas time, at Sheffield and at Peterboro'.
I <i>could</i> add Birmingham to the list, then, if need were. But<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_389" id="Page_389">[389]</a></span>
what I want is, to give the institution in all five hundred
pounds. That is my object, and nothing less will satisfy me.</p>

<p>Will you think it over, taking counsel with whomsoever
you please, and let me know what conclusion you arrive at.
Only think of me as subservient to the institution.</p>

<div class='sig'>
My dear Mr. Ryland, always very faithfully yours.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. David
Roberts,
R.A.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Tavistock House</span>, <i>February 28th, 1855.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear David Roberts</span>,</div>

<p>I hope to make it quite plain to you, in a few words,
why I think it right to stay away from the Lord Mayor's
dinner to the club. If I did not feel a kind of rectitude
involved in my non-acceptance of his invitation, your note
would immediately induce me to change my mind.</p>

<p>Entertaining a strong opinion on the subject of the
City Corporation as it stands, and the absurdity of its
pretensions in an age perfectly different, in all conceivable
respects, from that to which it properly belonged as a
reality, I have expressed that opinion on more than one
occasion, within a year or so, in "Household Words." I do
not think it consistent with my respect for myself, or for
the art I profess, to blow hot and cold in the same breath;
and to laugh at the institution in print, and accept the
hospitality of its representative while the ink is staring us
all in the face. There is a great deal too much of this
among us, and it does not elevate the earnestness or
delicacy of literature.</p>

<p>This is my sole consideration. Personally I have always
met the present Lord Mayor on the most agreeable terms,
and I think him an excellent one. As between you, and
me, and him, I cannot have the slightest objection to your
telling him the truth. On a more private occasion, when<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_390" id="Page_390">[390]</a></span>
he was not keeping his state, I should be delighted to
interchange any courtesy with that honourable and amiable
gentleman, Mr. Moon.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Believe me always cordially yours.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr.
Austen H.
Layard.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Tavistock House</span>, <i>Tuesday Evening, April 3rd, 1855.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">Dear Layard</span>,</div>

<p>Since I had the pleasure of seeing you again at Miss
Coutts's (really a greater pleasure to me than I could easily
tell you), I have thought a good deal of the duty we all owe
you of helping you as much as we can. Being on very
intimate terms with Lemon, the editor of "Punch" (a most
affectionate and true-hearted fellow), I mentioned to him in
confidence what I had at heart. You will find yourself the
subject of their next large cut, and of some lines in an
earnest spirit. He again suggested the point to Mr. Shirley
Brookes, one of their regular corps, who will do what is
right in <i>The Illustrated London News</i> and <i>The Weekly
Chronicle</i>, papers that go into the hands of large numbers
of people. I have also communicated with Jerrold, whom I
trust, and have begged him not to be diverted from the
straight path of help to the most useful man in England on
all possible occasions. Forster I will speak to carefully,
and I have no doubt it will quicken him a little; not that
we have anything to complain of in his direction. If you
ever see any new loophole, cranny, needle's-eye, through
which I can present your case to "Household Words," I
most earnestly entreat you, as your staunch friend and
admirer&mdash;you <i>can</i> have no truer&mdash;to indicate it to me at
any time or season, and to count upon my being Damascus
steel to the core.</p>

<p>All this is nothing; because all these men, and thousands
of others, dote upon you. But I know it would be a comfort<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_391" id="Page_391">[391]</a></span>
to me, in your hard-fighting place, to be assured of such
sympathy, and therefore only I write.</p>

<p>You have other recreations for your Sundays in the
session, I daresay, than to come here. But it is generally
a day on which I do not go out, and when we dine at half-past
five in the easiest way in the world, and smoke in the
peacefulest manner. Perhaps one of these Sundays after
Easter you might not be indisposed to begin to dig us out?</p>

<p>And I should like, on a Saturday of your appointing, to
get a few of the serviceable men I know&mdash;such as I have
mentioned&mdash;about you here. Will you think of this, too,
and suggest a Saturday for our dining together?</p>

<p>I am really ashamed and moved that you should do your
part so manfully and be left alone in the conflict. I felt you
to be all you are the first moment I saw you. I know you
will accept my regard and fidelity for what they are worth.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Dear Layard, very heartily yours.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr.
Austen H.
Layard.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Tavistock House</span>, <i>Tuesday, April 10th, 1855.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">Dear Layard</span>,</div>

<p>I shall of course observe the strictest silence, at
present, in reference to your resolutions. It will be a most
acceptable occupation to me to go over them with you,
and I have not a doubt of their producing a strong effect
out of doors.</p>

<p>There is nothing in the present time at once so galling
and so alarming to me as the alienation of the people from
their own public affairs. I have no difficulty in understanding
it. They have had so little to do with the game
through all these years of Parliamentary Reform, that they
have sullenly laid down their cards, and taken to looking
on. The players who are left at the table do not see
beyond it, conceive that gain and loss and all the interest<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_392" id="Page_392">[392]</a></span>
of the play are in their hands, and will never be wiser
until they and the table and the lights and the money are
all overturned together. And I believe the discontent to
be so much the worse for smouldering, instead of blazing
openly, that it is extremely like the general mind of France
before the breaking out of the first Revolution, and is in
danger of being turned by any one of a thousand accidents&mdash;a
bad harvest&mdash;the last strain too much of aristocratic
insolence or incapacity&mdash;a defeat abroad&mdash;a mere chance at
home&mdash;with such a devil of a conflagration as never has
been beheld since.</p>

<p>Meanwhile, all our English tuft-hunting, toad-eating,
and other manifestations of accursed gentility&mdash;to say
nothing of the Lord knows who's defiances of the proven
truth before six hundred and fifty men&mdash;<span class="smcap">are</span> expressing
themselves every day. So, every day, the disgusted
millions with this unnatural gloom are confirmed and
hardened in the very worst of moods. Finally, round all
this is an atmosphere of poverty, hunger, and ignorant
desperation, of the mere existence of which perhaps not
one man in a thousand of those not actually enveloped in
it, through the whole extent of this country, has the least
idea.</p>

<p>It seems to me an absolute impossibility to direct the
spirit of the people at this pass until it shows itself. If
they begin to bestir themselves in the vigorous national
manner; if they would appear in political reunion, array
themselves peacefully but in vast numbers against a system
that they know to be rotten altogether, make themselves
heard like the sea all round this island, I for one should
be in such a movement heart and soul, and should think it
a duty of the plainest kind to go along with it, and try to
guide it by all possible means. But you can no more help<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_393" id="Page_393">[393]</a></span>
a people who do not help themselves than you can help a
man who does not help himself. And until the people can
be got up from the lethargy, which is an awful symptom of
the advanced state of their disease, I know of nothing that
can be done beyond keeping their wrongs continually
before them.</p>

<p>I shall hope to see you soon after you come back. Your
speeches at Aberdeen are most admirable, manful, and
earnest. I would have such speeches at every market-cross,
and in every town-hall, and among all sorts and conditions
of men; up in the very balloons, and down in the very
diving-bells.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever, cordially yours.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. John
Forster.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Tavistock House</span>, <i>Saturday, April 14th, 1855.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My Dear Forster</span>,</div>

<p>I cannot express to you how very much delighted I
am with the "Steele." I think it incomparably the best of
the series. The pleasanter humanity of the subject may
commend it more to one's liking, but that again requires a
delicate handling, which you have given to it in a most
charming manner. It is surely not possible to approach a
man with a finer sympathy, and the assertion of the claims
of literature throughout is of the noblest and most gallant
kind.</p>

<p>I don't agree with you about the serious papers in <i>The
Spectator</i>, which I think (whether they be Steele's or
Addison's) are generally as indifferent as the humour of
<i>The Spectator</i> is delightful. And I have always had a
notion that Prue understood her husband very well, and
held him in consequence, when a fonder woman with less
show of caprice must have let him go. But these are
points of opinion. The paper is masterly, and all I have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_394" id="Page_394">[394]</a></span>
got to say is, that if &mdash;&mdash; had a grain of the honest sentiment
with which it overflows, he never would or could
have made so great a mistake.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever affectionately.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. Mark
Lemon.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Tavistock House</span>, <i>Thursday, April 26th, 1855.</i><br />
</div>

<div class='center'><br />
>ON THE DEATH OF AN INFANT.<br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My Dear Mark</span>,</div>

<p>I will call for you at two, and go with you to Highgate,
by all means.</p>

<p>Leech and I called on Tuesday evening and left our
loves. I have not written to you since, because I thought
it best to leave you quiet for a day. I have no need to tell
you, my dear fellow, that my thoughts have been constantly
with you, and that I have not forgotten (and never
shall forget) who sat up with me one night when a little
place in my house was left empty.</p>

<p>It is hard to lose any child, but there are many blessed
sources of consolation in the loss of a baby. There is a
beautiful thought in Fielding's "Journey from this World
to the Next," where the baby he had lost many years before
was found by him all radiant and happy, building him a
bower in the Elysian Fields where they were to live together
when he came.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever affectionately yours.<br />
</div>

<p>P.S.&mdash;Our kindest loves to Mrs. Lemon.</p>


<div class="sidenote">Mr.
Clarkson
Stanfield,
R.A.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Tavistock House</span>, <i>Sunday, May 20th, 1855.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My Dear Stanny</span>,</div>

<p>I have a little lark in contemplation, if you will help
it to fly.</p>

<p>Collins has done a melodrama (a regular old-style melodrama),
in which there is a very good notion. I am going<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_395" id="Page_395">[395]</a></span>
to act it, as an experiment, in the children's theatre here&mdash;I,
Mark, Collins, Egg, and my daughter Mary, the
whole <i>dram. pers.</i>; our families and yours the whole
audience; for I want to make the stage large and shouldn't
have room for above five-and-twenty spectators. Now
there is only one scene in the piece, and that, my tarry lad,
is the inside of a lighthouse. Will you come and paint it
for us one night, and we'll all turn to and help? It is a
mere wall, of course, but Mark and I have sworn that you
must do it. If you will say yes, I should like to have the
tiny flats made, after you have looked at the place, and not
before. On Wednesday in this week I am good for a steak
and the play, if you will make your own appointment here;
or any day next week except Thursday. Write me a line in
reply. We mean to burst on an astonished world with the
melodrama, without any note of preparation. So don't say
a syllable to Forster if you should happen to see him.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever affectionately yours.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr.
Clarkson
Stanfield,
R.A.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Tavistock House</span>, <i>Tuesday Afternoon, Six o'clock, May 22nd, 1855.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Stanny</span>,</div>

<p>Your note came while I was out walking. Even if I
had been at home I could not have managed to dine
together to-day, being under a beastly engagement to dine
out. Unless I hear from you to the contrary, I shall expect
you here some time to-morrow, and will remain at home. I
only wait your instructions to get the little canvases made.
O, what a pity it is not the outside of the light'us, with the sea
a-rowling agin it! Never mind, we'll get an effect out of
the inside, and there's a storm and a shipwreck "off;"
and the great ambition of my life will be achieved at last, in<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_396" id="Page_396">[396]</a></span>
the wearing of a pair of very coarse petticoat trousers. So
hoorar for the salt sea, mate, and bouse up!</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 2em;">Ever affectionately,</span><br />
<span class="smcap">Dicky</span>.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. Mark
Lemon.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Tavistock House</span>, <i>May 23rd, 1855.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Mark</span>,</div>

<p>Stanny says he is only sorry it is not the outside of
the lighthouse with a raging sea and a transparent light.
He enters into the project with the greatest delight, and I
think we shall make a capital thing of it.</p>

<p>It now occurs to me that we may as well do a farce too.
I should like to get in a little part for Katey, and also for
Charley, if it were practicable. What do you think of
"Animal Mag."? You and I in our old parts; Collins,
Jeffrey; Charley, the Markis; Katey and Mary (or Georgina),
the two ladies? Can you think of anything merry that is
better? It ought to be broad, as a relief to the melodrama,
unless we could find something funny with a story in it too.
I rather incline myself to "Animal Mag." Will you come
round and deliver your sentiments?</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever affectionately.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. Frank
Stone,
A.R.A.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Tavistock House</span>, <i>Thursday, May 24th, 1855.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Stone</span>,</div>

<p>Great projects are afoot here for a grown-up play in
about three weeks' time. Former schoolroom arrangements
to be reversed&mdash;large stage and small audience. Stanfield
bent on desperate effects, and all day long with his coat off,
up to his eyes in distemper colours.</p>

<p>Will you appear in your celebrated character of Mr.
Nightingale? I want to wind up with that popular farce,
we all playing our old parts.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever affectionately.<br />
</div>

<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_397" id="Page_397">[397]</a></span></p>
<div class="sidenote">Mr.
Frank
Stone,
A.R.A.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Tavistock House</span>, <i>May 24th, 1855.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Stone</span>,</div>

<p>That's right! You will find the words come back
very quickly. Why, <i>of course</i> your people are to come, and
if Stanfield don't astonish 'em, I'm a Dutchman. O Heaven,
if you could hear the ideas he proposes to me, making even
<i>my</i> hair stand on end!</p>

<p>Will you get Marcus or some similar bright creature to
copy out old Nightingale's part for you, and then return
the book? This is the prompt-book, the only one I have;
and Katey and Georgina (being also in wild excitement)
want to write their parts out with all despatch.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever affectionately.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. W.
Wilkie
Collins.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Tavistock House</span>, <i>Thursday, May 24th, 1855.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Collins</span>,</div>

<p>I shall expect you to-morrow evening at "Household
Words." I have written a little ballad for Mary&mdash;"The
Story of the Ship's Carpenter and the Little Boy, in the
Shipwreck."</p>

<p>Let us close up with "Mr. Nightingale's Diary." Will
you look whether you have a book of it, or your part.</p>

<p>All other matters and things hereunto belonging when
we meet.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever faithfully.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mrs.
Trollope.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Tavistock House</span>, <i>Tuesday Morning, June 19th, 1855.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Mrs. Trollope</span>,</div>

<p>I was out of town on Sunday, or I should have
answered your note immediately on its arrival. I cannot
have the pleasure of seeing the famous "medium" to-night,
for I have some theatricals at home. But I fear I
shall not in any case be a good subject for the purpose, as I
altogether want faith in the thing.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_398" id="Page_398">[398]</a></span></p>

<p>I have not the least belief in the awful unseen world
being available for evening parties at so much per night;
and, although I should be ready to receive enlightenment
from any source, I must say I have very little hope of it
from the spirits who express themselves through mediums,
as I have never yet observed them to talk anything but
nonsense, of which (as Carlyle would say) there is probably
enough in these days of ours, and in all days, among
mere mortality.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Very faithfully yours.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr.
Clarkson
Stanfield,
R.A.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Tavistock House</span>, <i>Wednesday, June 20th, 1855.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Stanny</span>,</div>

<p>I write a hasty note to let you know that last night
was perfectly wonderful!!!</p>

<p>Such an audience! Such a brilliant success from first
to last! The Queen had taken it into her head in the
morning to go to Chatham, and had carried Phipps with
her. He wrote to me asking if it were possible to give him
a quarter of an hour. I got through that time before the
overture, and he came without any dinner, so influenced by
eager curiosity. Lemon and I did every conceivable absurdity,
I think, in the farce; and they never left off laughing.
At supper I proposed your health, which was drunk with
nine times nine, and three cheers over. We then turned to
at Scotch reels (having had no exercise), and danced in the
maddest way until five this morning.</p>

<p>It is as much as I can do to guide the pen.</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 2em;">With loves to Mrs. Stanfield and all,</span><br />
Ever most affectionately yours.<br />
</div>

<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_399" id="Page_399">[399]</a></span></p>
<div class="sidenote">Mr. W. C.
Macready.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Tavistock House</span>, <i>Saturday, June 30th, 1855.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My very dear Macready</span>,</div>

<p>I write shortly, after a day's work at my desk, rather
than lose a post in answering your enthusiastic, earnest, and
young&mdash;how young, in all the best side of youth&mdash;letter.</p>

<p>To tell you the truth, I confidently expected to hear from
you. I knew that if there were a man in the world who
would be interested in, and who would approve of, my giving
utterance to whatever was in me at this time, it would be
you. I was as sure of you as of the sun this morning.</p>

<p>The subject is surrounded by difficulties; the Association
is sorely in want of able men; and the resistance of all the
phalanx, who have an interest in corruption and mismanagement,
is the resistance of a struggle against death. But the
great, first, strong necessity is to rouse the people up, to
keep them stirring and vigilant, to carry the war dead into
the tent of such creatures as &mdash;&mdash;, and ring into their souls
(or what stands for them) that the time for dandy insolence
is gone for ever. It may be necessary to come to that law
of primogeniture (I have no love for it), or to come to even
greater things; but this is the first service to be done, and
unless it is done, there is not a chance. For this, and to
encourage timid people to come in, I went to Drury Lane
the other night; and I wish you had been there and had
seen and heard the people.</p>

<p>The Association will be proud to have your name and
gift. When we sat down on the stage the other night,
and were waiting a minute or two to begin, I said to Morley,
the chairman (a thoroughly fine earnest fellow), "this
reminds me so of one of my dearest friends, with a melancholy
so curious, that I don't know whether the place feels
familiar to me or strange." He was full of interest directly,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_400" id="Page_400">[400]</a></span>
and we went on talking of you until the moment of his
getting up to open the business.</p>

<p>They are going to print my speech in a tract-form, and
send it all over the country. I corrected it for the purpose
last night. We are all well. Charley in the City; all the
boys at home for the holidays; three prizes brought home
triumphantly (one from the Boulogne waters and one from
Wimbledon); I taking dives into a new book, and runs at
leap-frog over "Household Words;" and Anne going to be
married&mdash;which is the only bad news.</p>

<p>Catherine, Georgie, Mary, Katey, Charley, and all the
rest, send multitudes of loves. Ever, my dearest Macready,
with unalterable affection and attachment,</p>

<div class='sig'>
Your faithful Friend.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. W.
Wilkie
Collins.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
3, <span class="smcap">Albion Villas, Folkestone</span>, <i>Tuesday, July 17th, 1855.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Collins</span>,</div>

<p>Walter goes back to school on the 1st of August.
Will you come out of school to this breezy vacation on the
same day, or rather <i>this day fortnight, July 31st</i>? for that is
the day on which he leaves us, and we begin (here's a
parent!) to be able to be comfortable. Why a boy of that
age should seem to have on at all times a hundred and
fifty pair of double-soled boots, and to be always jumping
a bottom stair with the whole hundred and fifty, I don't
know. But the woeful fact is within my daily experience.</p>

<p>We have a very pleasant little house, overlooking the
sea, and I think you will like the place. It rained, in
honour of our arrival, with the greatest vigour, yesterday.
I went out after dinner to buy some nails (you know the
arrangements that would be then in progress), and I stopped
in the rain, about halfway down a steep, crooked street,
like a crippled ladder, to look at a little coachmaker's,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_401" id="Page_401">[401]</a></span>
where there had just been a sale. Speculating on the
insolvent coachmaker's business, and what kind of coaches
he could possibly have expected to get orders for in
Folkestone, I thought, "What would bring together fifty
people now, in this little street, at this little rainy minute?"
On the instant, a brewer's van, with two mad horses in it,
and the harness dangling about them&mdash;like the trappings of
those horses you are acquainted with, who bolted through
the starry courts of heaven&mdash;dashed by me, and in that
instant, such a crowd as would have accumulated in Fleet
Street sprang up magically. Men fell out of windows,
dived out of doors, plunged down courts, precipitated
themselves down steps, came down waterspouts, instead of
rain, I think, and I never saw so wonderful an instance of
the gregarious effect of an excitement.</p>

<p>A man, a woman, and a child had been thrown out on
the horses taking fright and the reins breaking. The child
is dead, and the woman very ill but will probably recover,
and the man has a hand broken and other mischief done to
him.</p>

<p>Let me know what Wigan says. If he does not take the
play, and readily too, I would recommend you not to offer
it elsewhere. You have gained great reputation by it, have
done your position a deal of good, and (as I think) stand so
well with it, that it is a pity to engender the notion that you
care to stand better.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever faithfully.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. W. H.
Wills.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Folkestone</span>, <i>September 16th, 1855.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Wills</span>,</div>

<p>Scrooge is delighted to find that Bob Cratchit is
enjoying his holiday in such a delightful situation; and he
says (with that warmth of nature which has distinguished<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_402" id="Page_402">[402]</a></span>
him since his conversion), "Make the most of it, Bob; make
the most of it."</p>

<p>[I am just getting to work on No. 3 of the new book,
and am in the hideous state of mind belonging to that
condition.]</p>

<p>I have not a word of news. I am steeped in my story,
and rise and fall by turns into enthusiasm and depression.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever faithfully.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">The Hon.
Mrs.
Watson.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Folkestone</span>, <i>Sunday, Sept. 16th, 1855.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Mrs. Watson</span>,</div>

<p>This will be a short letter, but I hope not unwelcome.
If you knew how often I write to you&mdash;in intention&mdash;I don't
know where you would find room for the correspondence.</p>

<p>Catherine tells me that you want to know the name of
my new book. I cannot bear that you should know it from
anyone but me. It will not be made public until the end
of October; the title is:</p>

<div class='center'>
"<span class="smcap">Nobody's Fault</span>."<br />
</div>

<p>Keep it as the apple of your eye&mdash;an expressive form of
speech, though I have not the least idea of what it means.</p>

<p>Next, I wish to tell you that I have appointed to read at
Peterboro', on Tuesday, the 18th of December. I have
told the Dean that I cannot accept his hospitality, and that
I am going with Mr. Wills to the inn, therefore I shall be
absolutely at your disposal, and shall be more than disappointed
if you don't stay with us. As the time approaches
will you let me know your arrangements, and whether Mr.
Wills can bespeak any rooms for you in arranging for me?
Georgy will give you our address in Paris as soon as we shall
have settled there. We shall leave here, I think, in rather
less than a month from this time.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_403" id="Page_403">[403]</a></span></p>

<p>You know my state of mind as well as I do, indeed, if
you don't know it much better, it is not the state of mind I
take it to be. How I work, how I walk, how I shut
myself up, how I roll down hills and climb up cliffs; how
the new story is everywhere&mdash;heaving in the sea, flying
with the clouds, blowing in the wind; how I settle to
nothing, and wonder (in the old way) at my own incomprehensibility.
I am getting on pretty well, have done the
first two numbers, and am just now beginning the third;
which egotistical announcements I make to you because I
know you will be interested in them.</p>

<p>All the house send their kindest loves. I think of
inserting an advertisement in <i>The Times</i>, offering to submit
the Plornishghenter to public competition, and to receive
fifty thousand pounds if such another boy cannot be found,
and to pay five pounds (my fortune) if he can.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever, my dear Mrs. Watson, affectionately yours.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. W.
Wilkie
Collins.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Folkestone</span>, <i>Sunday, Sept. 30th, 1855.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Collins</span>,</div>

<p>Welcome from the bosom of the deep! If a hornpipe
will be acceptable to you at any time (as a reminder of
what the three brothers were always doing), I shall be, as
the chairman says at Mr. Evans's, "happy to oblige."</p>

<p>I have almost finished No. 3, in which I have relieved
my indignant soul with a scarifier. Sticking at it day after
day, I am the incompletest letter-writer imaginable&mdash;seem
to have no idea of holding a pen for any other purpose but
that book. My fair Laura has not yet reported concerning
Paris, but I should think will have done so before I see you.
And now to that point. I purpose being in town on <i>Monday,
the 8th</i>, when I have promised to dine with Forster. At the
office, between half-past eleven and one that day, I will<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_404" id="Page_404">[404]</a></span>
expect you, unless I hear from you to the contrary. Of
course the H. W. stories are at your disposition. If you
should have completed your idea, we might breakfast together
at the G. on the Tuesday morning and discuss it.
Or I shall be in town after ten on the Monday night. At the
office I will tell you the idea of the Christmas number, which
will put you in train, I hope, for a story. I have postponed
the shipwreck idea for a year, as it seemed to require more
force from me than I could well give it with the weight of a
new start upon me.</p>

<p>All here send their kindest remembrances. We missed
you very much, and the Plorn was quite inconsolable. We
slide down C&aelig;sar occasionally.</p>

<p>They launched the boat, the rapid building of which you
remember, the other day. All the fishermen in the place,
all the nondescripts, and all the boys pulled at it with ropes
from six <span class="smcap">a.m.</span> to four <span class="smcap">p.m.</span> Every now and then the ropes
broke, and they all fell down in the shingle. The obstinate
way in which the beastly thing wouldn't move was so exasperating
that I wondered they didn't shoot it, or burn it.
Whenever it moved an inch they all cheered; whenever it
wouldn't move they all swore. Finally, when it was quite
given over, some one tumbled against it accidentally (as it
appeared to me, looking out at my window here), and it
instantly shot about a mile into the sea, and they all stood
looking at it helplessly.</p>

<p>Kind regards to Pigott, in which all unite.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever faithfully.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. W. C.
Macready.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Folkestone</span>, <i>Thursday, Oct. 4th, 1855.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dearest Macready</span>,</div>

<p>I have been hammering away in that strenuous
manner at my book, that I have had leisure for scarcely any<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_405" id="Page_405">[405]</a></span>
letters but such, as I have been obliged to write; having a
horrible temptation when I lay down my book-pen to run
out on the breezy downs here, tear up the hills, slide down
the same, and conduct myself in a frenzied manner, for the
relief that only exercise gives me.</p>

<p>Your letter to Miss Coutts in behalf of little Miss Warner
I despatched straightway. She is at present among the
Pyrenees, and a letter from her crossed that one of mine in
which I enclosed yours, last week.</p>

<p>Pray stick to that dim notion you have of coming to
Paris! How delightful it would be to see your aged
countenance and perfectly bald head in that capital! It
will renew your youth, to visit a theatre (previously dining
at the Trois Fr&egrave;res) in company with the jocund boy who
now addresses you. Do, do stick to it.</p>

<p>You will be pleased to hear, I know, that Charley has
gone into Baring's house under very auspicious circumstances.
Mr. Bates, of that firm, had done me the kindness
to place him at the brokers' where he was. And when said
Bates wrote to me a fortnight ago to say that an excellent
opening had presented itself at Baring's, he added that the
brokers gave Charley "so high a character for ability and
zeal" that it would be unfair to receive him as a volunteer,
and he must begin at a fifty-pound salary, to which I
graciously consented.</p>

<p>As to the suffrage, I have lost hope even in the ballot.
We appear to me to have proved the failure of representative
institutions without an educated and advanced people
to support them. What with teaching people to "keep in
their stations," what with bringing up the soul and body of
the land to be a good child, or to go to the beershop, to go
a-poaching and go to the devil; what with having no such
thing as a middle class (for though we are perpetually<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_406" id="Page_406">[406]</a></span>
bragging of it as our safety, it is nothing but a poor fringe
on the mantle of the upper); what with flunkyism, toadyism,
letting the most contemptible lords come in for all manner
of places, reading <i>The Court Circular</i> for the New Testament,
I do reluctantly believe that the English people are
habitually consenting parties to the miserable imbecility
into which we have fallen, <i>and never will help themselves
out of it</i>. Who is to do it, if anybody is, God knows. But
at present we are on the down-hill road to being conquered,
and the people <span class="smcap">will</span> be content to bear it, sing "Rule
Britannia," and <span class="smcap">will not</span> be saved.</p>

<p>In No. 3 of my new book I have been blowing off
a little of indignant steam which would otherwise blow
me up, and with God's leave I shall walk in the same all
the days of my life; but I have no present political faith or
hope&mdash;not a grain.</p>

<p>I am going to read the "Carol" here to-morrow in a
long carpenter's shop, which looks far more alarming as a
place to hear in than the Town Hall at Birmingham.</p>

<p>Kindest loves from all to your dear sister, Kate and the
darlings. It is blowing a gale here from the south-west
and raining like mad.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever most affectionately.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mrs.
Charles
Dickens.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">2, Rue St. Florentin</span>, <i>Tuesday, Oct. 16th, 1855.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dearest Catherine</span>,</div>

<p>We have had the most awful job to find a place that
would in the least suit us, for Paris is perfectly full, and
there is nothing to be got at any sane price. However, we
have found two apartments&mdash;an <i>entresol</i> and a first floor,
with a kitchen and servants' room at the top of the house,
at No. 49, Avenue des Champs Elys&eacute;es.</p>

<p>You must be prepared for a regular Continental abode.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_407" id="Page_407">[407]</a></span>
There is only one window in each room, but the front
apartments all look upon the main street of the Champs
Elys&eacute;es, and the view is delightfully cheerful. There are
also plenty of rooms. They are not over and above well
furnished, but by changing furniture from rooms we don't
care for to rooms we <i>do</i> care for, we shall be able to make
them home-like and presentable. I think the situation
itself almost the finest in Paris; and the children will have
a window from which to look on the busy life outside.</p>

<p>We could have got a beautiful apartment in the Rue
Faubourg St. Honor&eacute; for a very little more, most elegantly
furnished; but the greater part of it was on a courtyard,
and it would never have done for the children. This, that I
have taken for six months, is seven hundred francs per
month, and twenty more for the <i>concierge</i>. What you have
to expect is a regular French residence, which a little
habitation will make pretty and comfortable, with nothing
showy in it, but with plenty of rooms, and with that
wonderful street in which the Barri&egrave;re de l'&Eacute;toile stands
outside. The amount of rooms is the great thing, and I
believe it to be the place best suited for us, at a not
unreasonable price in Paris.</p>

<p>Georgina and Lady Olliffe<a name="FNanchor_22_22" id="FNanchor_22_22"></a><a href="#Footnote_22_22" class="fnanchor">[22]</a> send their loves. Georgina
and I add ours to Mamey, Katey, the Plorn, and Harry.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever affectionately.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. W. H.
Wills.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span style="margin-right: 2em;">49, <span class="smcap">Avenue des Champs Elys&eacute;es, Paris</span>,</span><br />
<i>Friday, Oct. 19th, 1855.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Wills</span>,</div>

<p>After going through unheard-of bedevilments (of
which you shall have further particulars as soon as I come
right side upwards, which may happen in a day or two),<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_408" id="Page_408">[408]</a></span>
we are at last established here in a series of closets, but a
great many of them, with all Paris perpetually passing
under the windows. Letters may have been wandering
after me to that home in the Rue de Balzac, which is to be
the subject of more lawsuits between the man who let it
to me and the man who wouldn't let me have possession,
than any other house that ever was built. But I have had
no letters at all, and have been&mdash;ha, ha!&mdash;a maniac since
last Monday.</p>

<p>I will try my hand at that paper for H. W. to-morrow,
if I can get a yard of flooring to sit upon; but we have
really been in that state of topsy-turvyhood that even
that has been an unattainable luxury, and may yet be
for eight-and-forty hours or so, for anything I see to the
contrary.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever faithfully.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. W. H.
Wills.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span style="margin-right: 2em;"><span class="smcap">49, Avenue des Champs Elys&eacute;es, Paris</span>,</span><br />
<i>Sunday Night, Oct. 21st, 1855.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Wills</span>,</div>

<p>Coming here from a walk this afternoon, I found
your letter of yesterday awaiting me. I send this reply by
my brother Alfred, who is here, and who returns home to-morrow.
You should get it at the office early on Tuesday.</p>

<p>I will go to work to-morrow, and will send you, please
God, an article by Tuesday's post, which you will get on
Wednesday forenoon. Look carefully to the proof, as I
shall not have time to receive it for correction. When you
arrange about sending your parcels, will you ascertain, and
communicate to me, the prices of telegraph messages? It
will save me trouble, having no foreign servant (though
French is in that respect a trump), and may be useful on
an emergency.</p>

<p>I have two floors here&mdash;<i>entresol</i> and first&mdash;in a doll's<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_409" id="Page_409">[409]</a></span>
house, but really pretty within, and the view without
astounding, as you will say when you come. The house is
on the Exposition side, about half a quarter of a mile above
Franconi's, of course on the other side of the way, and close
to the Jardin d'H&icirc;ver. Each room has but one window in
it, but we have no fewer than six rooms (besides the back
ones) looking on the Champs Elys&eacute;es, with the wonderful
life perpetually flowing up and down. We have no spare-room,
but excellent stowage for the whole family, including
a capital dressing-room for me, and a really slap-up kitchen
near the stairs. Damage for the whole, seven hundred
francs a month.</p>

<p>But, sir&mdash;but&mdash;when Georgina, the servants, and I
were here for the first night (Catherine and the rest
being at Boulogne), I heard Georgy restless&mdash;turned out&mdash;asked:
"What's the matter?" "Oh, it's dreadfully
dirty. I can't sleep for the smell of my room." Imagine
all my stage-managerial energies multiplied at daybreak by
a thousand. Imagine the porter, the porter's wife, the
porter's wife's sister, a feeble upholsterer of enormous age
from round the corner, and all his workmen (four boys),
summoned. Imagine the partners in the proprietorship of
the apartment, and martial little man with Fran&ccedil;ois-Prussian
beard, also summoned. Imagine your inimitable chief
briefly explaining that dirt is not in his way, and that he is
driven to madness, and that he devotes himself to no coat
and a dirty face, until the apartment is thoroughly purified.
Imagine co-proprietors at first astounded, then urging that
"it's not the custom," then wavering, then affected, then
confiding their utmost private sorrows to the Inimitable,
offering new carpets (accepted), embraces (not accepted),
and really responding like French bricks. Sallow, unbrushed,
unshorn, awful, stalks the Inimitable through the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_410" id="Page_410">[410]</a></span>
apartment until last night. Then all the improvements
were concluded, and I do really believe the place to be now
worth eight or nine hundred francs per month. You
must picture it as the smallest place you ever saw, but
as exquisitely cheerful and vivacious, clean as anything
human can be, and with a moving panorama always outside,
which is Paris in itself.</p>

<p>You mention a letter from Miss Coutts as to Mrs.
Brown's illness, which you say is "enclosed to Mrs. Charles
Dickens."</p>

<p>It is not enclosed, and I am mad to know where she
writes from that I may write to her. Pray set this right,
for her uneasiness will be greatly intensified if she have no
word from me.</p>

<p>I thought we were to give &pound;1,700 for the house at Gad's
Hill. Are we bound to &pound;1,800? Considering the improvements
to be made, it is a little too much, isn't it? I have a
strong impression that at the utmost we were only to divide
the difference, and not to pass &pound;1,750. You will set me
right if I am wrong. But I don't think I am.</p>

<p>I write very hastily, with the piano playing and Alfred
looking for this.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever, my dear Wills, faithfully.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. W. H.
Wills.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span style="margin-right: 2em;">49, <span class="smcap">Avenue des Champs Elys&eacute;es</span>,</span><br />
<i>Wednesday, Oct. 24th, 1855.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Wills</span>,</div>

<p>In the Gad's Hill matter, I too would like to try the
effect of "not budging." <i>So do not go beyond the</i> &pound;1,700.
Considering what I should have to expend on the one hand,
and the low price of stock on the other, I do not feel disposed
to go beyond that mark. They won't let a purchaser
escape for the sake of the &pound;100, I think. And Austin<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_411" id="Page_411">[411]</a></span>
was strongly of opinion, when I saw him last, that &pound;1,700
was enough.</p>

<p>You cannot think how pleasant it is to me to find myself
generally known and liked here. If I go into a shop to buy
anything, and give my card, the officiating priest or
priestess brightens up, and says: "<i>Ah! c'est l'&eacute;crivain
c&eacute;l&egrave;bre! Monsieur porte un nom tr&egrave;s-distingu&eacute;. Mais!
je suis honor&eacute; et int&eacute;ress&eacute; de voir Monsieur Dick-in. Je lis
un des livres de monsieur tous les jours</i>" (in the <i>Moniteur</i>).
And a man who brought some little vases home last night,
said: "<i>On conna&icirc;t bien en France que Monsieur Dick-in
prend sa position sur la dignit&eacute; de la litt&eacute;rature. Ah! c'est
grande chose! Et ses caract&egrave;res</i>" (this was to Georgina,
while he unpacked) "<i>sont si spirituellement tourn&eacute;es! Cette
Madame Tojare</i>" (Todgers), "<i>ah! qu'elle est dr&ocirc;le et
pr&eacute;cis&eacute;ment comme une dame que je connais &agrave; Calais.</i>"</p>

<p>You cannot have any doubt about this place, if you will
only recollect it is the great main road from the Place de la
Concorde to the Barri&egrave;re de l'&Eacute;toile.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever faithfully.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">
Monsieur
Regnier.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<i>Wednesday, November 21st, 1855.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Regnier</span>,</div>

<p>In thanking you for the box you kindly sent me the
day before yesterday, let me thank you a thousand times
for the delight we derived from the representation of your
beautiful and admirable piece. I have hardly ever been so
affected and interested in any theatre. Its construction is
in the highest degree excellent, the interest absorbing, and
the whole conducted by a masterly hand to a touching and
natural conclusion.</p>

<p>Through the whole story from beginning to end, I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_412" id="Page_412">[412]</a></span>
recognise the true spirit and feeling of an artist, and I most
heartily offer you and your fellow-labourer my felicitations
on the success you have achieved. That it will prove a very
great and a lasting one, I cannot for a moment doubt.</p>

<p>O my friend! If I could see an English actress with
but one hundredth part of the nature and art of Madame
Plessy, I should believe our English theatre to be in a fair
way towards its regeneration. But I have no hope of ever
beholding such a phenomenon. I may as well expect ever
to see upon an English stage an accomplished artist, able
to write and to embody what he writes, like you.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Faithfully yours ever.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Madame
Viardot.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
49, <span class="smcap">Avenue des Champs Elys&eacute;es</span>, <i>Monday, Dec. 3rd, 1855.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">Dear Madame Viardot</span>,</div>

<p>Mrs. Dickens tells me that you have only borrowed
the first number of "Little Dorrit," and are going to send
it back. Pray do nothing of the sort, and allow me to have
the great pleasure of sending you the succeeding numbers
as they reach me. I have had such delight in your great
genius, and have so high an interest in it and admiration of
it, that I am proud of the honour of giving you a moment's
intellectual pleasure.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Believe me, very faithfully yours.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">The Hon.
Mrs.
Watson.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Tavistock House</span>, <i>Sunday, Dec. 23rd, 1855.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Mrs. Watson</span>,</div>

<p>I have a moment in which to redeem my promise, of
putting you in possession of my Little Friend No. 2, before
the general public. It is, of course, at the disposal of your
circle, but until the month is out, is understood to be a
prisoner in the castle.</p>

<p>If I had time to write anything, I should still quite vainly<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_413" id="Page_413">[413]</a></span>
try to tell you what interest and happiness I had in once
more seeing you among your dear children. Let me congratulate
you on your Eton boys. They are so handsome,
frank, and genuinely modest, that they charmed me. A
kiss to the little fair-haired darling and the rest; the love
of my heart to every stone in the old house.</p>

<p>Enormous effect at Sheffield. But really not a better
audience perceptively than at Peterboro', for that could
hardly be, but they were more enthusiastically demonstrative,
and they took the line, "and to Tiny Tim who did
<span class="smcap">not</span> die," with a most prodigious shout and roll of thunder.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever, my dear Friend, most faithfully yours.<br />
</div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<h2>1856.</h2>

<h3>NARRATIVE.</h3>


<div class='unindent'><span class='smcap'>Charles Dickens</span> having taken an <i>appartement</i> in Paris for
the winter months, 49, Avenue des Champs Elys&eacute;es, was
there with his family until the middle of May. He much
enjoyed this winter sojourn, meeting many old friends,
making new friends, and interchanging hospitalities with
the French artistic world. He had also many friends from
England to visit him. Mr. Wilkie Collins had an <i>appartement
de gar&ccedil;on</i> hard by, and the two companions were constantly
together. The Rev. James White and his family
also spent their winter at Paris, having taken an <i>appartement</i>
at 49, Avenue des Champs Elys&eacute;es, and the girls of
the two families had the same masters, and took their lessons
together. After the Whites' departure, Mr. Macready paid
Charles Dickens a visit, occupying the vacant <i>appartement</i>.</div>

<p>During this winter Charles Dickens was, however,
constantly backwards and forwards between Paris and
London on "Household Words" business, and was also at
work on his "Little Dorrit."</p>

<p>While in Paris he sat for his portrait to the great Ary<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_414" id="Page_414">[414]</a></span>
Scheffer. It was exhibited at the Royal Academy Exhibition
of this year, and is now in the National Portrait
Gallery.</p>

<p>The summer was again spent at Boulogne, and once more
at the Villa des Moulineaux, where he received
constant visits from English friends, Mr. Wilkie Collins
taking up his quarters for many weeks at a little cottage
in the garden; and there the idea of another play, to be
acted at Tavistock House, was first started. Many of
our letters for this year have reference to this play, and
will show the interest which Charles Dickens took in it,
and the immense amount of care and pains given by him to
the careful carrying out of this favourite amusement.</p>

<p>The Christmas number of "Household Words," written
by Charles Dickens and Mr. Collins, called "The Wreck of
the <i>Golden Mary</i>," was planned by the two friends during
this summer holiday.</p>

<p>It was in this year that one of the great wishes of his
life was to be realised, the much-coveted house&mdash;Gad's
Hill Place&mdash;having been purchased by him, and the cheque
written on the 14th of March&mdash;on a "Friday," as he writes
to his sister-in-law, in the letter of this date. He frequently
remarked that all the important, and so far fortunate, events
of his life had happened to him on a Friday. So that,
contrary to the usual superstition, that day had come to be
looked upon by his family as his "lucky" day.</p>

<p>The allusion to the "plainness" of Miss Boyle's handwriting
is good-humouredly ironical; that lady's writing
being by no means famous for its legibility.</p>

<p>The "Anne" mentioned in the letter to his sister-in-law,
which follows the one to Miss Boyle, was the faithful
servant who had lived with the family so long; and who,
having left to be married the previous year, had found it a
very difficult matter to recover from her sorrow at this
parting. And the "godfather's present" was for a son of
Mr. Edmund Yates.</p>

<p>"The Humble Petition" was written to Mr. Wilkie
Collins during that gentleman's visit to Paris.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_415" id="Page_415">[415]</a></span></p>

<p>The explanation of the remark to Mr. Wills (6th April),
that he had paid the money to Mr. Poole, is that Charles
Dickens was the trustee through whom the dramatist
received his pension.</p>

<p>The letter to the Duke of Devonshire has reference to
the peace illuminations after the Crimean war.</p>

<p>The M. Forgues for whom, at Mr. Collins's request, he
writes a short biography of himself, was the editor of the
<i>Revue des Deux Mondes</i>.</p>

<p>The speech at the London Tavern was on behalf of
the Artists' Benevolent Fund.</p>

<p>Miss Kate Macready had sent some clever poems to
"Household Words," with which Charles Dickens had been
much pleased. He makes allusion to these, in our two
remaining letters to Mr. Macready.</p>

<p>"I did write it for you" (letter to Mrs. Watson, 17th
October), refers to that part of "Little Dorrit" which
treats of the visit of the Dorrit family to the Great St.
Bernard. An expedition which it will be remembered he
made himself, in company with Mr. and Mrs. Watson and
other friends.</p>

<p>The letter to Mrs. Horne refers to a joke about the name
of a friend of this lady's, who had once been brought by her
to Tavistock House. The letter to Mr. Mitton concerns the
lighting of the little theatre at Tavistock House.</p>

<p>Our last letter is in answer to one from Mr. Kent, asking
him to sit to Mr. John Watkins for his photograph. We
should add, however, that he did subsequently give this
gentleman some sittings.</p>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. W. H.
Wills.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
49, <span class="smcap">Champs Elys&eacute;es</span>, <i>Sunday, Jan. 6th, 1856.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Wills</span>,</div>

<p>I should like Morley to do a Strike article, and to
work into it the greater part of what is here. But I cannot
represent myself as holding the opinion that all strikes
among this unhappy class of society, who find it so difficult
to get a peaceful hearing, are always necessarily wrong,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_416" id="Page_416">[416]</a></span>
because I don't think so. To open a discussion of the
question by saying that the men are "<i>of course</i> entirely and
painfully in the wrong," surely would be monstrous in any
one. Show them to be in the wrong here, but in the name
of the eternal heavens show why, upon the merits of this
question. Nor can I possibly adopt the representation that
these men are wrong because by throwing themselves out
of work they throw other people, possibly without their
consent. If such a principle had anything in it, there could
have been no civil war, no raising by Hampden of a troop
of horse, to the detriment of Buckinghamshire agriculture,
no self-sacrifice in the political world. And O, good God,
when &mdash;&mdash; treats of the suffering of wife and children, can
he suppose that these mistaken men don't feel it in the
depths of their hearts, and don't honestly and honourably,
most devoutly and faithfully believe that for those very
children, when they shall have children, they are bearing all
these miseries now!</p>

<p>I hear from Mrs. Fillonneau that her husband was
obliged to leave town suddenly before he could get your
parcel, consequently he has not brought it; and White's
sovereigns&mdash;unless you have got them back again&mdash;are
either lying out of circulation somewhere, or are being
spent by somebody else. I will write again on Tuesday.
My article is to begin the enclosed.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever faithfully.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. Mark
Lemon.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
49, <span class="smcap">Champs Elys&eacute;es, Paris</span>, <i>Monday, Jan. 7th, 1856.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Mark</span>,</div>

<p>I want to know how "Jack and the Beanstalk" goes.
I have a notion from a notice&mdash;a favourable notice, however&mdash;which
I saw in <i>Galignani</i>, that Webster has let down
the comic business.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_417" id="Page_417">[417]</a></span></p>

<p>In a piece at the Ambigu, called the "Rentr&eacute;e &agrave; Paris,"
a mere scene in honour of the return of the troops from the
Crimea the other day, there is a novelty which I think it
worth letting you know of, as it is easily available, either
for a serious or a comic interest&mdash;the introduction of a
supposed electric telegraph. The scene is the railway
terminus at Paris, with the electric telegraph office on the
prompt side, and the clerks <i>with their backs to the audience</i>&mdash;much
more real than if they were, as they infallibly would
be, staring about the house&mdash;working the needles; and the
little bell perpetually ringing. There are assembled to greet
the soldiers, all the easily and naturally imagined elements
of interest&mdash;old veteran fathers, young children, agonised
mothers, sisters and brothers, girl lovers&mdash;each impatient
to know of his or her own object of solicitude. Enter to
these a certain marquis, full of sympathy for all, who
says: "My friends, I am one of you. My brother has
no commission yet. He is a common soldier. I wait for
him as well as all brothers and sisters here wait for <i>their</i>
brothers. Tell me whom you are expecting." Then
they all tell him. Then he goes into the telegraph-office,
and sends a message down the line to know how long
the troops will be. Bell rings. Answer handed out
on slip of paper. "Delay on the line. Troops will not
arrive for a quarter of an hour." General disappointment.
"But we have this brave electric telegraph, my friends,"
says the marquis. "Give me your little messages, and I'll
send them off." General rush round the marquis. Exclamations:
"How's Henri?" "My love to Georges;" "Has
Guillaume forgotten Elise?" "Is my son wounded?"
"Is my brother promoted?" etc. etc. Marquis composes
tumult. Sends message&mdash;such a regiment, such a company&mdash;"Elise's
love to Georges." Little bell rings, slip of<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_418" id="Page_418">[418]</a></span>
paper handed out&mdash;"Georges in ten minutes will embrace
his Elise. Sends her a thousand kisses." Marquis sends
message&mdash;such a regiment, such a company&mdash;"Is my son
wounded?" Little bell rings. Slip of paper handed out&mdash;"No.
He has not yet upon him those marks of bravery in
the glorious service of his country which his dear old father
bears" (father being lamed and invalided). Last of all,
the widowed mother. Marquis sends message&mdash;such a
regiment, such a company&mdash;"Is my only son safe?" Little
bell rings. Slip of paper handed out&mdash;"He was first upon
the heights of Alma." General cheer. Bell rings again,
another slip of paper handed out. "He was made a sergeant
at Inkermann." Another cheer. Bell rings again, another
slip of paper handed out. "He was made colour-sergeant
at Sebastopol." Another cheer. Bell rings again, another
slip of paper handed out. "He was the first man who
leaped with the French banner on the Malakhoff tower."
Tremendous cheer. Bell rings again, another slip of paper
handed out. "But he was struck down there by a musket-ball,
and&mdash;&mdash;Troops have proceeded. Will arrive in half a
minute after this." Mother abandons all hope; general
commiseration; troops rush in, down a platform; son only
wounded, and embraces her.</p>

<p>As I have said, and as you will see, this is available for
any purpose. But done with equal distinction and rapidity,
it is a tremendous effect, and got by the simplest means in the
world. There is nothing in the piece, but it was impossible
not to be moved and excited by the telegraph part of it.</p>

<p>I hope you have seen something of Stanny, and have
been to pantomimes with him, and have drunk to the
absent Dick. I miss you, my dear old boy, at the play,
woefully, and miss the walk home, and the partings at the
corner of Tavistock Square. And when I go by myself, I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_419" id="Page_419">[419]</a></span>
come home stewing "Little Dorrit" in my head; and the
best part of <i>my</i> play is (or ought to be) in Gordon Street.</p>

<p>I have written to Beaucourt about taking that breezy
house&mdash;a little improved&mdash;for the summer, and I hope you
and yours will come there often and stay there long. My
present idea, if nothing should arise to unroot me sooner, is
to stay here until the middle of May, then plant the family
at Boulogne, and come with Catherine and Georgy home for
two or three weeks. When I shall next run across I don't
know, but I suppose next month.</p>

<p>We are up to our knees in mud here. Literally in
vehement despair, I walked down the avenue outside the
Barri&egrave;re de l'&Eacute;toile here yesterday, and went straight on
among the trees. I came back with top-boots of mud on.
Nothing will cleanse the streets. Numbers of men and
women are for ever scooping and sweeping in them, and they
are always one lake of yellow mud. All my trousers go to
the tailor's every day, and are ravelled out at the heels every
night. Washing is awful.</p>

<p>Tell Mrs. Lemon, with my love, that I have bought her
some Eau d'Or, in grateful remembrance of her knowing
what it is, and crushing the tyrant of her existence by
resolutely refusing to be put down when that monster would
have silenced her. You may imagine the loves and messages
that are now being poured in upon me by all of them, so I
will give none of them; though I am pretending to be very
scrupulous about it, and am looking (I have no doubt) as if
I were writing them down with the greatest care.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever affectionately.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. W.
Wilkie
Collins.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
49, <span class="smcap">Champs Elys&eacute;es</span>, <i>Saturday, Jan. 19th, 1856.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Collins</span>,</div>

<p>I had no idea you were so far on with your book,
and heartily congratulate you on being within sight of land.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_420" id="Page_420">[420]</a></span></p>

<p>It is excessively pleasant to me to get your letter, as it
opens a perspective of theatrical and other lounging evenings,
and also of articles in "Household Words." It will not be
the first time that we shall have got on well in Paris, and I
hope it will not be by many a time the last.</p>

<p>I purpose coming over, early in February (as soon, in
fact, as I shall have knocked out No. 5 of "Little D."), and
therefore we can return in a jovial manner together. As
soon as I know my day of coming over, I will write to you
again, and (as the merchants&mdash;say Charley&mdash;would add)
"communicate same" to you.</p>

<p>The lodging, <i>en gar&ccedil;on</i>, shall be duly looked up, and I
shall of course make a point of finding it close here. There
will be no difficulty in that. I will have concluded the
treaty before starting for London, and will take it by the
month, both because that is the cheapest way, and because
desirable places don't let for shorter terms.</p>

<p>I have been sitting to Scheffer to-day&mdash;conceive this, if
you please, with No. 5 upon my soul&mdash;four hours!! I am
so addleheaded and bored, that if you were here, I should
propose an instantaneous rush to the Trois Fr&egrave;res. Under
existing circumstances I have no consolation.</p>

<p>I think <span class="smcap">the</span> portrait<a name="FNanchor_23_23" id="FNanchor_23_23"></a><a href="#Footnote_23_23" class="fnanchor">[23]</a> is the most astounding thing ever
beheld upon this globe. It has been shrieked over by the
united family as "Oh! the very image!" I went down to
the <i>entresol</i> the moment I opened it, and submitted it to
the Plorn&mdash;then engaged, with a half-franc musket, in
capturing a Malakhoff of chairs. He looked at it very hard,
and gave it as his opinion that it was Misser Hegg. We
suppose him to have confounded the Colonel with Jollins.
I met Madame Georges Sand the other day at a dinner got
up by Madame Viardot for that great purpose. The human<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_421" id="Page_421">[421]</a></span>
mind cannot conceive any one more astonishingly opposed to
all my preconceptions. If I had been shown her in a state
of repose, and asked what I thought her to be, I should have
said: "The Queen's monthly nurse." <i>Au reste</i>, she has
nothing of the <i>bas bleu</i> about her, and is very quiet and
agreeable.</p>

<p>The way in which mysterious Frenchmen call and want
to embrace me, suggests to any one who knows me intimately,
such infamous lurking, slinking, getting behind doors,
evading, lying&mdash;so much mean resort to craven flights,
dastard subterfuges, and miserable poltroonery&mdash;on my
part, that I merely suggest the arrival of cards like this:</p>

<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
<img src="images/6handwrittencards.png" width="500" height="372" alt="Handwritten cards" title="Handwritten cards" />
</div>


<div class='unindent'>&mdash;and I then write letters of terrific <i>empressement</i>, with<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_422" id="Page_422">[422]</a></span>
assurances of all sorts of profound considerations, and never
by any chance become visible to the naked eye.</div>

<p>At the Porte St. Martin they are doing the "Orestes," put
into French verse by Alexandre Dumas. Really one of the
absurdest things I ever saw. The scene of the tomb, with
all manner of classical females, in black, grouping themselves
on the lid, and on the steps, and on each other, and
in every conceivable aspect of obtrusive impossibility, is
just like the window of one of those artists in hair, who
address the friends of deceased persons. To-morrow week
a f&ecirc;te is coming off at the Jardin d'H&icirc;ver, next door
but one here, which I must certainly go to. The f&ecirc;te of
the company of the Folies Nouvelles! The ladies of the
company are to keep stalls, and are to sell to Messieurs the
Amateurs orange-water and lemonade. Paul le Grand is
to promenade among the company, dressed as Pierrot.
Kalm, the big-faced comic singer, is to do the like, dressed
as a Russian Cossack. The entertainments are to conclude
with "La Polka des B&ecirc;tes f&eacute;roces, par la Troupe enti&egrave;re des
Folies Nouvelles." I wish, without invasion of the rights
of British subjects, or risk of war, &mdash;&mdash; could be seized by
French troops, brought over, and made to assist.</p>

<p>The <i>appartement</i> has not grown any bigger since you last
had the joy of beholding me, and upon my honour and word
I live in terror of asking &mdash;&mdash; to dinner, lest she should not
be able to get in at the dining-room door. I <i>think</i> (am not
sure) the dining-room would hold her, if she could be once
passed in, but I don't see my way to that. Nevertheless,
we manage our own family dinners very snugly there, and
have good ones, as I think you will say, every day at half-past
five.</p>

<p>I have a notion that we may knock out a <i>series</i> of
descriptions for H. W. without much trouble. It is very<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_423" id="Page_423">[423]</a></span>
difficult to get into the Catacombs, but my name is so well
known here that I think I may succeed. I find that the
guillotine can be got set up in private, like Punch's show.
What do you think of <i>that</i> for an article? I find myself
underlining words constantly. It is not my nature. It is
mere imbecility after the four hours' sitting.</p>

<p>All unite in kindest remembrances to you, your mother
and brother.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever cordially.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Miss Mary
Boyle.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
49, <span class="smcap">Champs Elys&eacute;es, Paris</span>, <i>Jan. 28th, 1856.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Mary</span>,</div>

<p>I am afraid you will think me an abandoned ruffian
for not having acknowledged your more than handsome
warm-hearted letter before now. But, as usual, I have
been so occupied, and so glad to get up from my desk and
wallow in the mud (at present about six feet deep here),
that pleasure correspondence is just the last thing in the
world I have had leisure to take to. Business correspondence
with all sorts and conditions of men and women,
O my Mary! is one of the dragons I am perpetually fighting;
and the more I throw it, the more it stands upon its hind
legs, rampant, and throws me.</p>

<p>Yes, on that bright cold morning when I left Peterboro',
I felt that the best thing I could do was to say
that word that I would do anything in an honest way to
avoid saying, at one blow, and make off. I was so sorry to
leave you all! You can scarcely imagine what a chill and
blank I felt on that Monday evening at Rockingham. It
was so sad to me, and engendered a constraint so melancholy
and peculiar, that I doubt if I were ever much more out of
sorts in my life. Next morning, when it was light and
sparkling out of doors, I felt more at home again. But<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_424" id="Page_424">[424]</a></span>
when I came in from seeing poor dear Watson's grave,
Mrs. Watson asked me to go up in the gallery, which I
had last seen in the days of our merry play. We went up,
and walked into the very part he had made and was so fond
of, and she looked out of one window and I looked out of
another, and for the life of me I could not decide in my own
heart whether I should console or distress her by going and
taking her hand, and saying something of what was naturally
in my mind. So I said nothing, and we came out again,
and on the whole perhaps it was best; for I have no doubt
we understood each other very well without speaking a
word.</p>

<p>Sheffield was a tremendous success and an admirable
audience. They made me a present of table-cutlery after
the reading was over; and I came away by the mail-train
within three-quarters of an hour, changing my dress and
getting on my wrappers partly in the fly, partly at the inn,
partly on the platform. When we got among the Lincolnshire
fens it began to snow. That changed to sleet, that
changed to rain; the frost was all gone as we neared London,
and the mud has all come. At two or three o'clock in the
morning I stopped at Peterboro' again, and thought of you
all disconsolately. The lady in the refreshment-room was
very hard upon me, harder even than those fair enslavers
usually are. She gave me a cup of tea, as if I were a hyena
and she my cruel keeper with a strong dislike to me. I
mingled my tears with it, and had a petrified bun of enormous
antiquity in miserable meekness.</p>

<p>It is clear to me that climates are gradually assimilating
over a great part of the world, and that in the most miserable
part of our year there is very little to choose between
London and Paris, except that London is not so muddy.
I have never seen dirtier or worse weather than we have<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_425" id="Page_425">[425]</a></span>
had here since I returned. In desperation I went out to
the Barri&egrave;res last Sunday on a headlong walk, and came
back with my very eyebrows smeared with mud. Georgina
is usually invisible during the walking time of the day.
A turned-up nose may be seen in the midst of splashes,
but nothing more.</p>

<p>I am settling to work again, and my horrible restlessness
immediately assails me. It belongs to such times. As I
was writing the preceding page, it suddenly came into my
head that I would get up and go to Calais. I don't know
why; the moment I got there I should want to go somewhere
else. But, as my friend the Boots says (see Christmas
number "Household Words"): "When you come to think
what a game you've been up to ever since you was in your
own cradle, and what a poor sort of a chap you were, and
how it's always yesterday with you, or else to-morrow, and
never to-day, that's where it is."</p>

<p>My dear Mary, would you favour me with the name and
address of the professor that taught you writing, for I want
to improve myself? Many a hand have I seen with many
characteristics of beauty in it&mdash;some loopy, some dashy,
some large, some small, some sloping to the right, some
sloping to the left, some not sloping at all; but what I like
in <i>your</i> hand, Mary, is its plainness, it is like print. Them
as runs may read just as well as if they stood still. I should
have thought it was copper-plate if I hadn't known you.
They send all sorts of messages from here, and so do I, with
my best regards to Bedgy and pardner and the blessed
babbies. When shall we meet again, I wonder, and go
somewhere! Ah!</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 6em;">Believe me ever, my dear Mary,</span><br />
<span style="margin-right: 2em;">Yours truly and affectionately,</span><br />
<span class="smcap">Joe</span>.<br />
<span style="margin-right: 5em;">(That doesn't look plain.)</span><br />
JOE.<br /></div>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_426" id="Page_426">[426]</a></span></p>


<div class="sidenote">Miss
Hogarth.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
"<span class="smcap">Household Words</span>," <i>Friday, Feb. 8th, 1856.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Georgy</span>,</div>

<p>I must write this at railroad speed, for I have been
at it all day, and have numbers of letters to cram into the
next half-hour. I began the morning in the City, for the
Theatrical Fund; went on to Shepherd's Bush; came back
to leave cards for Mr. Baring and Mr. Bates; ran across
Piccadilly to Stratton Street, stayed there an hour, and
shot off here. I have been in four cabs to-day, at a cost
of thirteen shillings. Am going to dine with Mark and
Webster at half-past four, and finish the evening at the
Adelphi.</p>

<p>The dinner was very successful. Charley was in great
force, and floored Peter Cunningham and the Audit Office
on a question about some bill transactions with Baring's.
The other guests were B. and E., Shirley Brooks, Forster,
and that's all. The dinner admirable. I never had a
better. All the wine I sent down from Tavistock House.
Anne waited, and looked well and happy, very much
brighter altogether. It gave me great pleasure to see
her so improved. Just before dinner I got all the
letters from home. They could not have arrived more
opportunely.</p>

<p>The godfather's present looks charming now it is
engraved, and John is just now going off to take it to
Mrs. Yates. To-morrow Wills and I are going to Gad's
Hill. It will occupy the whole day, and will just leave me
time to get home to dress for dinner.</p>

<p>And that's all that I have to say, except that the first
number of "Little Dorrit" has gone to forty thousand, and
the other one fast following.</p>

<p>My best love to Catherine, and to Mamey and Katey,
and Walter and Harry, and the noble Plorn. I am grieved<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_427" id="Page_427">[427]</a></span>
to hear about his black eye, and fear that I shall find it in
the green and purple state on my return.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever affectionately.<br />
</div>

<div class='center'><br />
<span class="smcap">The Humble Petition of Charles Dickens, a Distressed Foreigner</span>,<br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">Sheweth</span>,</div>

<p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;That your Petitioner has not been able to write one
word to-day, or to fashion forth the dimmest shade of the
faintest ghost of an idea.</p>

<p>That your Petitioner is therefore desirous of being taken
out, and is not at all particular where.</p>

<p>That your Petitioner, being imbecile, says no more. But
will ever, etc. (whatever that may be).</p>

<p><span class="smcap">Paris</span>, <i>March 3rd, 1856.</i><br /></p>


<div class="sidenote">Mr.
Douglas
Jerrold.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
"<span class="smcap">Household Words" Office</span>, <i>March 6th, 1856.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Jerrold</span>,</div>

<p>Buckstone has been with me to-day in a state of
demi-semi-distraction, by reason of Macready's dreading his
asthma so much as to excuse himself (of necessity, I know)
from taking the chair for the fund on the occasion of their
next dinner. I have promised to back Buckstone's entreaty
to you to take it; and although I know that you have an
objection which you once communicated to me, I still hold
(as I did then) that it is a reason <i>for</i> and not against. Pray
reconsider the point. Your position in connection with
dramatic literature has always suggested to me that there
would be a great fitness and grace in your appearing in this
post. I am convinced that the public would regard it in that
light, and I particularly ask you to reflect that we never can<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_428" id="Page_428">[428]</a></span>
do battle with the Lords, if we will not bestow ourselves to
go into places which they have long monopolised. Now pray
discuss this matter with yourself once more. If you can
come to a favourable conclusion I shall be really delighted,
and will of course come from Paris to be by you; if you
cannot come to a favourable conclusion I shall be really
sorry, though I of course most readily defer to your right to
regard such a matter from your own point of view.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever faithfully yours.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Miss
Hogarth.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
"<span class="smcap">Household Words" Office</span>, <i>Tuesday, March 11th, 1856</i>.<a name="FNanchor_24_24" id="FNanchor_24_24"></a><a href="#Footnote_24_24" class="fnanchor">[24]</a><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Georgy</span>,</div>

<p>I have been in bed half the day with my cold, which
is excessively violent, consequently have to write in a
great hurry to save the post.</p>

<p>Tell Catherine that I have the most prodigious, overwhelming,
crushing, astounding, blinding, deafening, pulverising,
scarifying secret, of which Forster is the hero,
imaginable by the whole efforts of the whole British population.
It is a thing of that kind that, after I knew it,
(from himself) this morning, I lay down flat as if an engine
and tender had fallen upon me.</p>

<p>Love to Catherine (not a word of Forster before anyone
else), and to Mamey, Katey, Harry, and the noble Plorn.
Tell Collins with my kind regards that Forster has just
pronounced to me that "Collins is a decidedly clever
fellow." I hope he is a better fellow in health, too.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever affectionately.<br />
</div>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_429" id="Page_429">[429]</a></span></p>

<div class="sidenote">Miss
Hogarth.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
"<span class="smcap">Household Words</span>," <i>Friday, March 14th, 1856.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Georgy</span>,</div>

<p>I am amazed to hear of the snow (I don't know why,
but it excited John this morning beyond measure); though
we have had the same east wind here, and <i>the</i> cold and <i>my</i>
cold have both been intense.</p>

<p>Yesterday evening Webster, Mark, Stanny, and I went
to the Olympic, where the Wigans ranged us in a row in a
gorgeous and immense private box, and where we saw
"Still Waters Run Deep." I laughed (in a conspicuous
manner) to that extent at Emery, when he received the
dinner-company, that the people were more amused by me
than by the piece. I don't think I ever saw anything
meant to be funny that struck me as so extraordinarily
droll. I couldn't get over it at all. After the piece we
went round, by Wigan's invitation, to drink with him. It
being positively impossible to get Stanny off the stage,
we stood in the wings during the burlesque. Mrs. Wigan
seemed really glad to see her old manager, and the company
overwhelmed him with embraces. They had nearly all
been at the meeting in the morning.</p>

<p>I have seen Charley only twice since I came to
London, having regularly been in bed until mid-day. To
my amazement, my eye fell upon him at the Adelphi
yesterday.</p>

<p>This day I have paid the purchase-money for Gad's
Hill Place. After drawing the cheque, I turned round to
give it to Wills (&pound;1,790), and said: "Now isn't it an extraordinary
thing&mdash;look at the day&mdash;Friday! I have been
nearly drawing it half-a-dozen times, when the lawyers
have not been ready, and here it comes round upon a Friday,
as a matter of course."</p>

<p>Kiss the noble Plorn a dozen times for me, and tell him<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_430" id="Page_430">[430]</a></span>
I drank his health yesterday, and wished him many happy
returns of the day; also that I hope he will not have
broken all his toys before I come back.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever affectionately.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. W. C.
Macready.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
49, <span class="smcap">Champs Elys&eacute;es, Paris</span>, <i>Saturday, March 22nd, 1856.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Macready</span>,</div>

<p>I want you&mdash;you being quite well again, as I trust
you are, and resolute to come to Paris&mdash;so to arrange your
order of march as to let me know beforehand when you
will come, and how long you will stay. We owe Scribe
and his wife a dinner, and I should like to pay the debt
when you are with us. Ary Scheffer too would be delighted
to see you again. If I could arrange for a certain
day I would secure them. We cannot afford (you and I,
I mean) to keep much company, because we shall have to
look in at a theatre or so, I daresay!</p>

<p>It would suit my work best, if I could keep myself clear
until Monday, the 7th of April. But in case that day
should be too late for the beginning of your brief visit with
a deference to any other engagements you have in contemplation,
then fix an earlier one, and I will make "Little
Dorrit" curtsy to it. My recent visit to London and my
having only just now come back have thrown me a little
behindhand; but I hope to come up with a wet sail in a
few days.</p>

<p>You should have seen the ruins of Covent Garden
Theatre. I went in the moment I got to London&mdash;four
days after the fire. Although the audience part and the
stage were so tremendously burnt out that there was not a
piece of wood half the size of a lucifer-match for the eye to
rest on, though nothing whatever remained but bricks and
smelted iron lying on a great black desert, the theatre still<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_431" id="Page_431">[431]</a></span>
looked so wonderfully like its old self grown gigantic that
I never saw so strange a sight. The wall dividing the
front from the stage still remained, and the iron pass-doors
stood ajar in an impossible and inaccessible frame. The
arches that supported the stage were there, and the
arches that supported the pit; and in the centre of the
latter lay something like a Titanic grape-vine that a
hurricane had pulled up by the roots, twisted, and flung
down there; this was the great chandelier. Gye had kept
the men's wardrobe at the top of the house over the great
entrance staircase; when the roof fell in it came down
bodily, and all that part of the ruins was like an old
Babylonic pavement, bright rays tesselating the black
ground, sometimes in pieces so large that I could make out
the clothes in the "Trovatore."</p>

<p>I should run on for a couple of hours if I had to
describe the spectacle as I saw it, wherefore I will immediately
muzzle myself. All here unite in kindest loves
to dear Miss Macready, to Katie, Lillie, Benvenuta, my
godson, and the noble Johnny. We are charmed to hear
such happy accounts of Willy and Ned, and send our loving
remembrance to them in the next letters. All Parisian
novelties you shall see and hear for yourself.</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 2em;">Ever, my dearest Macready,</span><br />
Your affectionate Friend.<br />
</div>

<p>P.S.&mdash;Mr. F.'s aunt sends her defiant respects.</p>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. W. C.
Macready.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span style="margin-right: 6em;">49, <span class="smcap">Avenue des Champs Elys&eacute;es, Paris</span>,</span><br />
<i>Thursday Night, March 27th, 1856 (after post time).</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dearest Macready</span>,</div>

<p>If I had had any idea of your coming (see how
naturally I use the word when I am three hundred miles<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_432" id="Page_432">[432]</a></span>
off!) to London so soon, I would never have written one
word about the jump over next week. I am vexed that I
did so, but as I did I will not now propose a change in the
arrangements, as I know how methodical you tremendously
old fellows are. That's your secret I suspect. That's the
way in which the blood of the Mirabels mounts in your aged
veins, even at your time of life.</p>

<p>How charmed I shall be to see you, and we all shall be,
I will not attempt to say. On that expected Sunday you
will lunch at Amiens but not dine, because we shall wait
dinner for you, and you will merely have to tell that driver
in the glazed hat to come straight here. When the Whites
left I added their little apartment to this little apartment,
consequently you shall have a snug bedroom (is it not waiting
expressly for you?) overlooking the Champs Elys&eacute;es.
As to the arm-chair in my heart, no man on earth&mdash;&mdash;but,
good God! you know all about it.</p>

<p>You will find us in the queerest of little rooms all alone,
except that the son of Collins the painter (who writes a
good deal in "Household Words") dines with us every day.
Scheffer and Scribe shall be admitted for one evening,
because they know how to appreciate you. The Emperor
we will not ask unless you expressly wish it; it makes a fuss.</p>

<p>If you have no appointed hotel at Boulogne, go to the
H&ocirc;tel des Bains, there demand "Marguerite," and tell her
that I commended you to her special care. It is the best
house within my experience in France; Marguerite the
best housekeeper in the world.</p>

<p>I shall charge at "Little Dorrit" to-morrow with new
spirits. The sight of you is good for my boyish eyes, and
the thought of you for my dawning mind. Give the enclosed
lines a welcome, then send them on to Sherborne.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever yours most affectionately and truly.<br />
</div>

<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_433" id="Page_433">[433]</a></span></p>
<div class="sidenote">Mr. W. H.
Wills.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
49, <span class="smcap">Champs Elys&eacute;es, Paris</span>, <i>Sunday, April 6th, 1856.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Wills</span>,</div>

<div class='center'><span class="smcap">christmas</span>.</div>

<p>Collins and I have a mighty original notion (mine in
the beginning) for another play at Tavistock House. I
propose opening on Twelfth Night the theatrical season of
that great establishment. But now a tremendous question.
Is</p>

<div class='center'><span class="smcap">Mrs. Wills</span>!</div>

<div class='unindent'>game to do a Scotch housekeeper, in a supposed country-house,
with Mary, Katey, Georgina, etc.? If she can screw
her courage up to saying "Yes," that country-house opens the
piece in a singular way, and that Scotch housekeeper's part
shall flow from the present pen. If she says "No" (but she
won't), no Scotch housekeeper can be. The Tavistock House
season of four nights pauses for a reply. Scotch song (new
and original) of Scotch housekeeper would pervade the
piece.</div>

<div class='center'><span class="smcap">You</span></div>

<div class='unindent'>had better pause for breath.</div>

<div class='sig'>Ever faithfully.</div>

<div class='center'><span class="smcap">Poole</span>.</div>

<p>I have paid him his money. Here is the proof of life.
If you will get me the receipt to sign, the money can go to
my account at Coutts's.</p>


<div class="sidenote">Mrs.
Charles
Dickens.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Tavistock House</span>, <i>Monday, May 5th, 1856.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Catherine</span>,</div>

<p>I did nothing at Dover (except for "Household
Words"), and have not begun "Little Dorrit," No. 8, yet.
But I took twenty-mile walks in the fresh air, and perhaps
in the long run did better than if I had been at work. The
report concerning Scheffer's portrait I had from Ward. It<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_434" id="Page_434">[434]</a></span>
is in the best place in the largest room, but I find the <i>general</i>
impression of the artists exactly mine. They almost all
say that it wants something; that nobody could mistake
whom it was meant for, but that it has something disappointing
in it, etc. etc. Stanfield likes it better than
any of the other painters, I think. His own picture is
magnificent. And Frith, in a "Little Child's Birthday
Party," is quite delightful. There are many interesting
pictures. When you see Scheffer, tell him from me that
Eastlake, in his speech at the dinner, referred to the portrait
as "a contribution from a distinguished man of genius
in France, worthy of himself and of his subject."</p>

<p>I did the maddest thing last night, and am deeply
penitent this morning. We stayed at Webster's till any
hour, and they wanted me, at last, to make punch, which
couldn't be done when the jug was brought, because (to
Webster's burning indignation) there was only one lemon
in the house. Hereupon I then and there besought the
establishment in general to come and drink punch on
Thursday night, after the play; on which occasion it will
become necessary to furnish fully the table with some cold
viands from Fortnum and Mason's. Mark has looked in
since I began this note, to suggest that the great festival
may come off at "Household Words" instead. I am
inclined to think it a good idea, and that I shall transfer
the locality to that business establishment. But I am at
present distracted with doubts and torn by remorse.</p>

<p>The school-room and dining-room I have brought into
habitable condition and comfortable appearance. Charley
and I breakfast at half-past eight, and meet again at dinner
when he does not dine in the City, or has no engagement.
He looks very well.</p>

<p>The audiences at Gye's are described to me as absolute<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_435" id="Page_435">[435]</a></span>
marvels of coldness. No signs of emotion can be hammered,
out of them. Panizzi sat next me at the Academy dinner,
and took it very ill that I disparaged &mdash;&mdash;. The amateurs
here are getting up another pantomime, but quarrel so
violently among themselves that I doubt its ever getting
on the stage. Webster expounded his scheme for rebuilding
the Adelphi to Stanfield and myself last night,
and I felt bound to tell him that I thought it wrong
from beginning to end. This is all the theatrical news I
know.</p>

<p>I write by this post to Georgy. Love to Mamey, Katey,
Harry, and the noble Plorn. I should be glad to see him
here.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever affectionately.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Miss
Hogarth.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Tavistock House</span>, <i>Monday, May 5th, 1856.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Georgy</span>,</div>

<p>You will not be much surprised to hear that I have
done nothing yet (except for H. W.), and have only just
settled down into a corner of the school-room. The extent
to which John and I wallowed in dust for four hours
yesterday morning, getting things neat and comfortable
about us, you may faintly imagine. At four in the afternoon
came Stanfield, to whom I no sooner described the
notion of the new play, than he immediately upset all my
new arrangements by making a proscenium of the chairs,
and planning the scenery with walking-sticks. One of the
least things he did was getting on the top of the long
table, and hanging over the bar in the middle window
where that top sash opens, as if he had got a hinge in
the middle of his body. He is immensely excited on the
subject. Mark had a farce ready for the managerial perusal,
but it won't do.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_436" id="Page_436">[436]</a></span></p>

<p>I went to the Dover theatre on Friday night, which was
a miserable spectacle. The pit is boarded over, and it is a
drinking and smoking place. It was "for the benefit of
Mrs. &mdash;&mdash;," and the town had been very extensively
placarded with "Don't forget Friday." I made out four
and ninepence (I am serious) in the house, when I went in.
We may have warmed up in the course of the evening to
twelve shillings. A Jew played the grand piano; Mrs. &mdash;&mdash;
sang no end of songs (with not a bad voice, poor creature);
Mr. &mdash;&mdash; sang comic songs fearfully, and danced clog
hornpipes capitally; and a miserable woman, shivering in a
shawl and bonnet, sat in the side-boxes all the evening,
nursing Master &mdash;&mdash;, aged seven months. It was a most
forlorn business, and I should have contributed a sovereign
to the treasury, if I had known how.</p>

<p>I walked to Deal and back that day, and on the previous
day walked over the downs towards Canterbury in a gale of
wind. It was better than still weather after all, being
wonderfully fresh and free.</p>

<p>If the Plorn were sitting at this school-room window in
the corner, he would see more cats in an hour than he ever
saw in his life. <i>I</i> never saw so many, I think, as I have
seen since yesterday morning.</p>

<p>There is a painful picture of a great deal of merit (Egg
has bought it) in the exhibition, painted by the man who
did those little interiors of Forster's. It is called "The
Death of Chatterton." The dead figure is a good deal like
Arthur Stone; and I was touched on Saturday to see that
tender old file standing before it, crying under his spectacles
at the idea of seeing his son dead. It was a very tender
manifestation of his gentle old heart.</p>

<p>This sums up my news, which is no news at all. Kiss the
Plorn for me, and expound to him that I am always looking<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_437" id="Page_437">[437]</a></span>
forward to meeting him again, among the birds and flowers
in the garden on the side of the hill at Boulogne.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever affectionately.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">The Duke
of Devonshire.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Tavistock House</span>, <i>Sunday, June 1st, 1856.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Duke of Devonshire</span>,</div>

<p>Allow me to thank you with all my heart for your
kind remembrance of me on Thursday night. My house
was already engaged to Miss Coutts's, and I to&mdash;the top of
St. Paul's, where the sight was most wonderful! But
seeing that your cards gave me leave to present some
person not named, I conferred them on my excellent friend
Dr. Elliotson, whom I found with some fireworkless little
boys in a desolate condition, and raised to the seventh
heaven of happiness. You are so fond of making people
happy, that I am sure you approve.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Always your faithful and much obliged.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. W.
Wilkie
Collins.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Tavistock House</span>, <i>June 6th, 1856.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Collins</span>,</div>

<p>I have never seen anything about myself in print
which has much correctness in it&mdash;any biographical account
of myself I mean. I do not supply such particulars when
I am asked for them by editors and compilers, simply
because I am asked for them every day. If you want to
prime Forgues, you may tell him without fear of anything
wrong, that I was born at Portsmouth on the 7th of
February, 1812; that my father was in the Navy Pay Office;
that I was taken by him to Chatham when I was very
young, and lived and was educated there till I was twelve
or thirteen, I suppose; that I was then put to a school near
London, where (as at other places) I distinguished myself<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_438" id="Page_438">[438]</a></span>
like a brick; that I was put in the office of a solicitor, a
friend of my father's, and didn't much like it; and after a
couple of years (as well as I can remember) applied myself
with a celestial or diabolical energy to the study of such
things as would qualify me to be a first-rate parliamentary
reporter&mdash;at that time a calling pursued by many clever
men who were young at the Bar; that I made my d&eacute;but in
the gallery (at about eighteen, I suppose), engaged on a
voluminous publication no longer in existence, called <i>The
Mirror of Parliament</i>; that when <i>The Morning Chronicle</i>
was purchased by Sir John Easthope and acquired a large
circulation, I was engaged there, and that I remained there
until I had begun to publish "Pickwick," when I found
myself in a condition to relinquish that part of my labours;
that I left the reputation behind me of being the best and
most rapid reporter ever known, and that I could do anything
in that way under any sort of circumstances, and
often did. (I daresay I am at this present writing the best
shorthand writer in the world.)</p>

<p>That I began, without any interest or introduction of
any kind, to write fugitive pieces for the old "Monthly
Magazine," when I was in the gallery for <i>The Mirror of
Parliament</i>; that my faculty for descriptive writing was
seized upon the moment I joined <i>The Morning Chronicle</i>,
and that I was liberally paid there and handsomely acknowledged,
and wrote the greater part of the short
descriptive "Sketches by <span class="smcap">Boz</span>" in that paper; that I had
been a writer when I was a mere baby, and always an actor
from the same age; that I married the daughter of a writer
to the signet in Edinburgh, who was the great friend and
assistant of Scott, and who first made Lockhart known to
him.</p>

<p>And that here I am.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_439" id="Page_439">[439]</a></span></p>

<p>Finally, if you want any dates of publication of books,
tell Wills and he'll get them for you.</p>

<p>This is the first time I ever set down even these particulars,
and, glancing them over, I feel like a wild beast in
a caravan describing himself in the keeper's absence.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever faithfully.<br />
</div>

<p>P.S.&mdash;I made a speech last night at the London Tavern,
at the end of which all the company sat holding their napkins
to their eyes with one hand, and putting the other
into their pockets. A hundred people or so contributed
nine hundred pounds then and there.</p>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. Mark
Lemon.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span style="margin-right: 2em;"><span class="smcap">Villa des Moulineaux, Boulogne</span>,</span><br />
<i>Sunday, June 15th 1856.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear old Boy</span>,</div>

<p>This place is beautiful&mdash;a burst of roses. Your friend
Beaucourt (who <i>will not</i> put on his hat), has thinned the
trees and greatly improved the garden. Upon my life, I
believe there are at least twenty distinct smoking-spots
expressly made in it.</p>

<p>And as soon as you can see your day in next month for
coming over with Stanny and Webster, will you let them
both know? I should not be very much surprised if I were
to come over and fetch you, when I know what your day is.
Indeed, I don't see how you could get across properly
without me.</p>

<p>There is a f&ecirc;te here to-night in honour of the Imperial
baptism, and there will be another to-morrow. The Plorn
has put on two bits of ribbon (one pink and one blue), which
he calls "companys," to celebrate the occasion. The fact
that the receipts of the f&ecirc;tes are to be given to the sufferers
by the late floods reminds me that you will find at the<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_440" id="Page_440">[440]</a></span>
passport office a tin-box, condescendingly and considerately
labelled in English:</p>

<div class='center'>
<span class="smcap">For the Overflowings</span>,<br />
</div>

<div class='unindent'>which the chief officer clearly believes to mean, for the
sufferers from the inundations.</div>

<p>I observe more Mingles in the laundresses' shops, and
one inscription, which looks like the name of a duet or
chorus in a playbill, "Here they mingle."</p>

<p>Will you congratulate Mrs. Lemon, with our loves, on her
gallant victory over the recreant cabman?</p>

<p>Walter has turned up, rather brilliant on the whole; and
that (with shoals of remembrances and messages which I
don't deliver) is all my present intelligence.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever affectionately.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. Mark
Lemon.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">H. W. Office</span>, <i>July 2nd, 1856.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Mark</span>,</div>

<p>I am concerned to hear that you are ill, that you
sit down before fires and shiver, and that you have stated
times for doing so, like the demons in the melodramas, and
that you mean to take a week to get well in.</p>

<p>Make haste about it, like a dear fellow, and keep up your
spirits, because I have made a bargain with Stanny and
Webster that they shall come to Boulogne to-morrow week,
Thursday the 10th, and stay a week. And you know how
much pleasure we shall all miss if you are not among us&mdash;at
least for some part of the time.</p>

<p>If you find any unusually light appearance in the air at
Brighton, it is a distant refraction (I have no doubt) of the
gorgeous and shining surface of Tavistock House, now
transcendently painted. The theatre partition is put up,
and is a work of such terrific solidity, that I suppose it will<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_441" id="Page_441">[441]</a></span>
be dug up, ages hence, from the ruins of London, by that
Australian of Macaulay's who is to be impressed by its
ashes. I have wandered through the spectral halls of the
Tavistock mansion two nights, with feelings of the profoundest
depression. I have breakfasted there, like a
criminal in Pentonville (only not so well). It is more like
Westminster Abbey by midnight than the lowest-spirited
man&mdash;say you at present for example&mdash;can well imagine.</p>

<p>There has been a wonderful robbery at Folkestone, by
the new manager of the Pavilion, who succeeded Giovannini.
He had in keeping &pound;16,000 of a foreigner's, and bolted
with it, as he supposed, but in reality with only &pound;1,400 of
it. The Frenchman had previously bolted with the whole,
which was the property of his mother. With him to
England the Frenchman brought a "lady," who was, all
the time and at the same time, endeavouring to steal all the
money from him and bolt with it herself. The details are
amazing, and all the money (a few pounds excepted) has
been got back.</p>

<p>They will be full of sympathy and talk about you when
I get home, and I shall tell them that I send their loves
beforehand. They are all enclosed. The moment you feel
hearty, just write me that word by post. I shall be so
delighted to receive it.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever, my dear Boy, your affectionate Friend.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. Walter
Savage
Landor.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span style="margin-right: 2em;"><span class="smcap">Villa des Moulineaux, Boulogne</span>,</span><br />
<i>Saturday Evening, July 5th, 1856.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Landor</span>,</div>

<p>I write to you so often in my books, and my writing
of letters is usually so confined to the numbers that I <i>must</i>
write, and in which I have no kind of satisfaction, that I<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_442" id="Page_442">[442]</a></span>
am afraid to think how long it is since we exchanged a
direct letter. But talking to your namesake this very day
at dinner, it suddenly entered my head that I would come
into my room here as soon as dinner should be over, and
write, "My dear Landor, how are you?" for the pleasure
of having the answer under your own hand. That you <i>do</i>
write, and that pretty often, I know beforehand. Else
why do I read <i>The Examiner</i>?</p>

<p>We were in Paris from October to May (I perpetually
flying between that city and London), and there we found
out, by a blessed accident, that your godson was horribly
deaf. I immediately consulted the principal physician of
the Deaf and Dumb Institution there (one of the best aurists
in Europe), and he kept the boy for three months, and took
unheard-of pains with him. He is now quite recovered,
has done extremely well at school, has brought home a prize
in triumph, and will be eligible to "go up" for his India
examination soon after next Easter. Having a direct
appointment, he will probably be sent out soon after he has
passed, and so will fall into that strange life "up the
country," before he well knows he is alive, which indeed
seems to be rather an advanced stage of knowledge.</p>

<p>And there in Paris, at the same time, I found Marguerite
Power and Little Nelly, living with their mother and a
pretty sister, in a very small, neat apartment, and working
(as Marguerite told me) hard for a living. All that I saw
of them filled me with respect, and revived the tenderest
remembrances of Gore House. They are coming to pass
two or three weeks here for a country rest, next month.
We had many long talks concerning Gore House, and all its
bright associations; and I can honestly report that they
hold no one in more gentle and affectionate remembrance
than you. Marguerite is still handsome, though she had<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_443" id="Page_443">[443]</a></span>
the smallpox two or three years ago, and bears the traces
of it here and there, by daylight. Poor little Nelly (the
quicker and more observant of the two) shows some little
tokens of a broken-off marriage in a face too careworn for
her years, but is a very winning and sensible creature.</p>

<p>We are expecting Mary Boyle too, shortly.</p>

<p>I have just been propounding to Forster if it is not a
wonderful testimony to the homely force of truth, that one
of the most popular books on earth has nothing in it to
make anyone laugh or cry? Yet I think, with some confidence,
that you never did either over any passage in
"Robinson Crusoe." In particular, I took Friday's death
as one of the least tender and (in the true sense) least
sentimental things ever written. It is a book I read very
much; and the wonder of its prodigious effect on me and
everyone, and the admiration thereof, grows on me the
more I observe this curious fact.</p>

<p>Kate and Georgina send you their kindest loves, and
smile approvingly on me from the next room, as I bend
over my desk. My dear Landor, you see many I daresay,
and hear from many I have no doubt, who love you
heartily; but we silent people in the distance never forget
you. Do not forget us, and let us exchange affection at
least.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever your Admirer and Friend.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">The Duke
of Devonshire.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span style="margin-right: 2em;"><span class="smcap">Villa des Moulineaux, near Boulogne</span>,</span><br />
<i>Saturday Night, July 5th, 1856.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Duke of Devonshire</span>,</div>

<p>From this place where I am writing my way through
the summer, in the midst of rosy gardens and sea airs, I
cannot forbear writing to tell you with what uncommon<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_444" id="Page_444">[444]</a></span>
pleasure I received your interesting letter, and how sensible
I always am of your kindness and generosity. You were
always in the mind of my household during your illness;
and to have so beautiful, and fresh, and manly an assurance
of your recovery from it, under your own hand, is a privilege
and delight that I will say no more of.</p>

<p>I am so glad you like Flora. It came into my head
one day that we have all had our Floras, and that it was a
half-serious, half-ridiculous truth which had never been
told. It is a wonderful gratification to me to find that
everybody knows her. Indeed, some people seem to think
I have done them a personal injury, and that their individual
Floras (God knows where they are, or who!) are
each and all Little Dorrit's.</p>

<p>We were all grievously disappointed that you were ill
when we played Mr. Collins's "Lighthouse" at my house.
If you had been well, I should have waited upon you with
my humble petition that you would come and see it; and if
you had come I think you would have cried, which would
have charmed me. I hope to produce another play at
home next Christmas, and if I can only persuade you to see
it from a special arm-chair, and can only make you wretched,
my satisfaction will be intense. May I tell you, to beguile
a moment, of a little "Tag," or end of a piece, I saw in
Paris this last winter, which struck me as the prettiest I
had ever met with? The piece was not a new one, but a
revival at the Vaudeville&mdash;"Les M&eacute;moires du Diable."
Admirably constructed, very interesting, and extremely
well played. The plot is, that a certain M. Robin has come
into possession of the papers of a deceased lawyer, and
finds some relating to the wrongful withholding of an
estate from a certain baroness, and to certain other
frauds (involving even the denial of the marriage to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_445" id="Page_445">[445]</a></span>
the deceased baron, and the tarnishing of his good name)
which are so very wicked that he binds them up in a book
and labels them "M&eacute;moires du Diable." Armed with this
knowledge he goes down to the desolate old ch&acirc;teau in the
country&mdash;part of the wrested-away estate&mdash;from which the
baroness and her daughter are going to be ejected. He
informs the mother that he can right her and restore the
property, but must have, as his reward, her daughter's
hand in marriage. She replies: "I cannot promise my
daughter to a man of whom I know nothing. The gain
would be an unspeakable happiness, but I resolutely decline
the bargain." The daughter, however, has observed all,
and she comes forward and says: "Do what you have promised
my mother you can do, and I am yours." Then the
piece goes on to its development, in an admirable way,
through the unmasking of all the hypocrites. Now,
M. Robin, partly through his knowledge of the secret ways
of the old ch&acirc;teau (derived from the lawyer's papers), and
partly through his going to a masquerade as the devil&mdash;the
better to explode what he knows on the hypocrites&mdash;is
supposed by the servants at the ch&acirc;teau really to be the
devil. At the opening of the last act he suddenly appears
there before the young lady, and she screams, but, recovering
and laughing, says: "You are not really the &mdash;&mdash;?"
"Oh dear no!" he replies, "have no connection with him.
But these people down here are so frightened and absurd!
See this little toy on the table; I open it; here's a little
bell. They have a notion that whenever this bell rings I
shall appear. Very ignorant, is it not?" "Very, indeed,"
says she. "Well," says M. Robin, "if you should want
me very much to appear, try the bell, if only for a jest.
Will you promise?" Yes, she promises, and the play goes
on. At last he has righted the baroness completely, and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_446" id="Page_446">[446]</a></span>
has only to hand her the last document, which proves her
marriage and restores her good name. Then he says:
"Madame, in the progress of these endeavours I have
learnt the happiness of doing good for its own sake. I
made a necessary bargain with you; I release you from it.
I have done what I undertook to do. I wish you and your
amiable daughter all happiness. Adieu! I take my leave."
Bows himself out. People on the stage astonished.
Audience astonished&mdash;incensed. The daughter is going
to cry, when she looks at the box on the table, remembers
the bell, runs to it and rings it, and he rushes back and
takes her to his heart; upon which we all cry with pleasure,
and then laugh heartily.</p>

<p>This looks dreadfully long, and perhaps you know it
already. If so, I will endeavour to make amends with
Flora in future numbers.</p>

<p>Mrs. Dickens and her sister beg to present their remembrances
to your Grace, and their congratulations on your
recovery. I saw Paxton now and then when you were ill,
and always received from him most encouraging accounts.
I don't know how heavy he is going to be (I mean in the
scale), but I begin to think Daniel Lambert must have been
in his family.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever your Grace's faithful and obliged.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. W. C.
Macready.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span style="margin-right: 2em;"><span class="smcap">Villa des Moulineaux, Boulogne</span>,</span><br />
<i>Tuesday, July 8th, 1856.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dearest Macready</span>,</div>

<p>I perfectly agree with you in your appreciation of
Katie's poem, and shall be truly delighted to publish it in
"Household Words." It shall go into the very next number
we make up. We are a little in advance (to enable Wills to<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_447" id="Page_447">[447]</a></span>
get a holiday), but as I remember, the next number made
up will be published in three weeks.</p>

<p>We are pained indeed to read your reference to my poor
boy. God keep him and his father. I trust he is not conscious
of much suffering himself. If that be so, it is, in the
midst of the distress, a great comfort.</p>

<p>"Little Dorrit" keeps me pretty busy, as you may
suppose. The beginning of No. 10&mdash;the first line&mdash;now lies
upon my desk. It would not be easy to increase upon the
pains I take with her anyhow.</p>

<p>We are expecting Stanfield on Thursday, and Peter
Cunningham and his wife on Monday. I would we were
expecting you! This is as pretty and odd a little French
country house as could be found anywhere; and the gardens
are most beautiful.</p>

<p>In "Household Words," next week, pray read "The
Diary of Anne Rodway" (in two not long parts). It is
by Collins, and I think possesses great merit and real
pathos.</p>

<p>Being in town the other day, I saw Gye by accident,
and told him, when he praised &mdash;&mdash; to me, that she was a
very bad actress. "Well!" said he, "<i>you</i> may say anything,
but if anybody else had told me that I should have
stared." Nevertheless, I derived an impression from his
manner that she had not been a profitable speculation in
respect of money. That very same day Stanfield and I
dined alone together at the Garrick, and drank your health.
We had had a ride by the river before dinner (of course he
<i>would</i> go and look at boats), and had been talking of you.
It was this day week, by-the-bye.</p>

<p>I know of nothing of public interest that is new in France,
except that I am changing my moustache into a beard. We
all send our most tender loves to dearest Miss Macready and<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_448" id="Page_448">[448]</a></span>
all the house. The Hammy boy is particularly anxious to
have his love sent to "Misr Creedy."</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 2em;">Ever, my dearest Macready,</span><br />
Most affectionately yours.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. W.
Wilkie
Collins.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Villa des Moulineaux, Boulogne</span>, <i>Sunday, July 13th, 1856.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Collins</span>,</div>

<p>We are all sorry that you are not coming until the
middle of next month, but we hope that you will then be
able to remain, so that we may all come back together about
the 10th of October. I think (recreation allowed, etc.),
that the play will take that time to write. The ladies of
the <i>dram. pers.</i> are frightfully anxious to get it under
way, and to see you locked up in the pavilion; apropos of
which noble edifice I have omitted to mention that it is
made a more secluded retreat than it used to be, and is
greatly improved by the position of the door being changed.
It is as snug and as pleasant as possible; and the Genius
of Order has made a few little improvements about the
house (at the rate of about tenpence apiece), which the
Genius of Disorder will, it is hoped, appreciate.</p>

<p>I think I must come over for a small spree, and to fetch
you. Suppose I were to come on the 9th or 10th of
August to stay three or four days in town, would that do
for you? Let me know at the end of this month.</p>

<p>I cannot tell you what a high opinion I have of Anne
Rodway. I took "Extracts" out of the title because it
conveyed to the many-headed an idea of incompleteness&mdash;of
something unfinished&mdash;and is likely to stall some readers
off. I read the first part at the office with strong admiration,
and read the second on the railway coming back here,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_449" id="Page_449">[449]</a></span>
being in town just after you had started on your cruise.
My behaviour before my fellow-passengers was weak in the
extreme, for I cried as much as you could possibly desire.
Apart from the genuine force and beauty of the little
narrative, and the admirable personation of the girl's
identity and point of view, it is done with an amount of
honest pains and devotion to the work which few men have
better reason to appreciate than I, and which no man can
have a more profound respect for. I think it excellent,
feel a personal pride and pleasure in it which is a delightful
sensation, and know no one else who could have done it.</p>

<p>Of myself I have only to report that I have been hard at
it with "Little Dorrit," and am now doing No. 10. This
last week I sketched out the notion, characters, and
progress of the farce, and sent it off to Mark, who has been
ill of an ague. It ought to be very funny. The cat
business is too ludicrous to be treated of in so small a sheet
of paper, so I must describe it <i>viv&acirc; voce</i> when I come to
town. French has been so insufferably conceited since he
shot tigerish cat No. 1 (intent on the noble Dick, with
green eyes three inches in advance of her head), that I am
afraid I shall have to part with him. All the boys likewise
(in new clothes and ready for church) are at this instant
prone on their stomachs behind bushes, whooshing and
crying (after tigerish cat No. 2): "French!" "Here she
comes!" "There she goes!" etc. I dare not put my
head out of window for fear of being shot (it is as like a
<i>coup d'&eacute;tat</i> as possible), and tradesmen coming up the
avenue cry plaintively: "<i>Ne tirez pas, Monsieur Fleench;
c'est moi&mdash;boulanger. Ne tirez pas, mon ami.</i>"</p>

<p>Likewise I shall have to recount to you the secret
history of a robbery at the Pavilion at Folkestone, which
you will have to write.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_450" id="Page_450">[450]</a></span></p>

<p>Tell Piggot, when you see him, that we shall all be much
pleased if he will come at his own convenience while you
are here, and stay a few days with us.</p>

<p>I shall have more than one notion of future work to
suggest to you while we are beguiling the dreariness of an
arctic winter in these parts. May they prosper!</p>

<p>Kind regards from all to the Dramatic Poet of the
establishment, and to the D. P.'s mother and brother.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever yours.<br />
</div>

<p>P.S.&mdash;If the "Flying Dutchman" should be done again,
pray do go and see it. Webster expressed his opinion to me
that it was "a neat piece." I implore you to go and see a
neat piece.</p>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. W. H.
Wills.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Boulogne</span>, <i>Thursday, August 7th, 1856.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Wills</span>,</div>

<p>I do not feel disposed to record those two Chancery
cases; firstly, because I would rather have no part in
engendering in the mind of any human creature, a hopeful
confidence in that den of iniquity.</p>

<p>And secondly, because it seems to me that the real philosophy
of the facts is altogether missed in the narrative. The
wrong which chanced to be set right in these two cases was
done, as all such wrong is, mainly because these wicked
courts of equity, with all their means of evasion and postponement,
give scoundrels confidence in cheating. If justice
were cheap, sure, and speedy, few such things could be. It
is because it has become (through the vile dealing of those
courts and the vermin they have called into existence) a
positive precept of experience that a man had better endure
a great wrong than go, or suffer himself to be taken, into<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_451" id="Page_451">[451]</a></span>
Chancery, with the dream of setting it right. It is because
of this that such nefarious speculations are made.</p>

<p>Therefore I see nothing at all to the credit of Chancery
in these cases, but everything to its discredit. And as to
owing it to Chancery to bear testimony to its having
rendered justice in two such plain matters, I have no debt
of the kind upon my conscience.</p>

<div class='sig'>
In haste, ever faithfully.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. W. C.
Macready.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Boulogne</span>, <i>Friday, August 8th, 1856.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dearest Macready</span>,</div>

<p>I like the second little poem very much indeed, and
think (as you do) that it is a great advance upon the first.
Please to note that I make it a rule to pay for everything
that is inserted in "Household Words," holding it to be a
part of my trust to make my fellow-proprietors understand
that they have no right to unrequited labour. Therefore,
when Wills (who has been ill and is gone for a holiday) does
his invariable spiriting gently, don't make Katey's case
different from Adelaide Procter's.</p>

<p>I am afraid there is no possibility of my reading Dorsetshirewards.
I have made many conditional promises thus:
"I am very much occupied; but if I read at all, I will read
for your institution in such an order on my list." Edinburgh,
which is No. 1, I have been obliged to put as far off
as next Christmas twelvemonth. Bristol stands next. The
working men at Preston come next. And so, if I were to
go out of the record and read for your people, I should bring
such a house about my ears as would shake "Little Dorrit"
out of my head.</p>

<p>Being in town last Saturday, I went to see Robson in a
burlesque of "Medea." It is an odd but perfectly true<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_452" id="Page_452">[452]</a></span>
testimony to the extraordinary power of his performance
(which is of a very remarkable kind indeed), that it points
the badness of &mdash;&mdash;'s acting in a most singular manner,
by bringing out what she might do and does not. The scene
with Jason is perfectly terrific; and the manner in which the
comic rage and jealousy does not pitch itself over the floor
at the stalls is in striking contrast to the manner in which
the tragic rage and jealousy does. He has a frantic song
and dagger dance, about ten minutes long altogether, which
has more passion in it than &mdash;&mdash; could express in fifty
years.</p>

<p>We all unite in kindest love to Miss Macready and all
your dear ones; not forgetting my godson, to whom I send
his godfather's particular love twice over. The Hammy
boy is so brown that you would scarcely know him.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever, my dear Macready, affectionately yours.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr. W. H.
Wills.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Tavistock House</span>, <i>Sunday Morning, Sept. 28th, 1856.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Wills</span>,</div>

<p>I suddenly remember this morning that in Mr.
Curtis's article, "Health and Education," I left a line
which must come out. It is in effect that the want of
healthy training leaves girls in a fit state to be the subjects
of mesmerism. I would not on any condition hurt
Elliotson's feelings (as I should deeply) by leaving that
depreciatory kind of reference in any page of H. W. He
has suffered quite enough without a stab from a friend. So
pray, whatever the inconvenience may be in what Bradbury
calls "the Friars," take that passage out. By some extraordinary
accident, after observing it, I forgot to do it.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever faithfully.<br />
</div>

<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_453" id="Page_453">[453]</a></span></p>
<div class="sidenote">Miss
Dickens.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Tavistock House</span>, <i>Saturday, Oct. 4th, 1856.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Mamey</span>,</div>

<p>The preparations for the play are already beginning,
and it is christened (this is a great dramatic secret, which I
suppose you know already) "The Frozen Deep."</p>

<p>Tell Katey, with my best love, that if she fail to come
back six times as red, hungry, and strong as she was when
she went away, I shall give her part to somebody else.</p>

<p>We shall all be very glad to see you both back again;
when I say "we" I include the birds (who send their
respectful duty) and the Plorn.</p>

<p>Kind regards to all at Brighton.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever, my dear Mamey, your affectionate Father.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">The Hon.
Mrs.
Watson.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Tavistock House</span>, <i>Tuesday, Oct. 7th</i>, 1856.<br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Mrs. Watson</span>,</div>

<p>I <i>did</i> write it for you; and I hoped in writing
it, that you would think so. All those remembrances are
fresh in my mind, as they often are, and gave me an
extraordinary interest in recalling the past. I should have
been grievously disappointed if you had not been pleased,
for I took aim at you with a most determined intention.</p>

<p>Let me congratulate you most heartily on your handsome
Eddy having passed his examination with such credit. I
am sure there is a spirit shining out of his eyes, which will
do well in that manly and generous pursuit. You will
naturally feel his departure very much, and so will he; but
I have always observed within my experience, that the men
who have left home young have, many long years afterwards,
had the tenderest love for it, and for all associated
with it. That's a pleasant thing to think of, as one of the
wise and benevolent adjustments in these lives of ours.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_454" id="Page_454">[454]</a></span></p>

<p>I have been so hard at work (and shall be for the next
eight or nine months), that sometimes I fancy I have a
digestion, or a head, or nerves, or some odd encumbrance of
that kind, to which I am altogether unaccustomed, and am
obliged to rush at some other object for relief; at present
the house is in a state of tremendous excitement, on account
of Mr. Collins having nearly finished the new play we are
to act at Christmas, which is very interesting and extremely
clever. I hope this time you will come and see it. We
purpose producing it on Charley's birthday, Twelfth Night;
but we shall probably play four nights altogether&mdash;"The
Lighthouse" on the last occasion&mdash;so that if you could
come for the two last nights, you would see both the pieces.
I am going to try and do better than ever, and already the
school-room is in the hands of carpenters; men from underground
habitations in theatres, who look as if they lived
entirely upon smoke and gas, meet me at unheard-of hours.
Mr. Stanfield is perpetually measuring the boards with a
chalked piece of string and an umbrella, and all the elder
children are wildly punctual and business-like to attract
managerial commendation. If you don't come, I shall do
something antagonistic&mdash;try to unwrite No. 11, I think.
I should particularly like you to see a new and serious piece
so done. Because I don't think you know, without seeing,
how good it is!!!</p>

<p>None of the children suffered, thank God, from the
Boulogne risk. The three little boys have gone back to
school there, and are all well. Katey came away ill, but it
turned out that she had the whooping-cough for the second
time. She has been to Brighton, and comes home to-day.
I hear great accounts of her, and hope to find her quite
well when she arrives presently. I am afraid Mary Boyle
has been praising the Boulogne life too highly. Not that<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_455" id="Page_455">[455]</a></span>
I deny, however, our having passed some very pleasant days
together, and our having had great pleasure in her visit.</p>

<p>You will object to me dreadfully, I know, with a beard
(though not a great one); but if you come and see the play,
you will find it necessary there, and will perhaps be more
tolerant of the fearful object afterwards. I need not tell
you how delighted we should be to see George, if you would
come together. Pray tell him so, with my kind regards. I
like the notion of Wentworth and his philosophy of all
things. I remember a philosophical gravity upon him, a
state of suspended opinion as to myself, it struck me, when
we last met, in which I thought there was a great deal of
oddity and character.</p>

<p>Charley is doing very well at Baring's, and attracting
praise and reward to himself. Within this fortnight there
turned up from the West Indies, where he is now a chief
justice, an old friend of mine, of my own age, who lived
with me in lodgings in the Adelphi, when I was just
Charley's age. He had a great affection for me at that
time, and always supposed I was to do some sort of wonders.
It was a very pleasant meeting indeed, and he seemed to
think it so odd that I shouldn't be Charley!</p>

<p>This is every atom of no-news that will come out of my
head, and I firmly believe it is all I have in it&mdash;except that
a cobbler at Boulogne, who had the nicest of little dogs,
that always sat in his sunny window watching him at work,
asked me if I would bring the dog home, as he couldn't
afford to pay the tax for him. The cobbler and the dog
being both my particular friends, I complied. The cobbler
parted with the dog heart-broken. When the dog got
home here, my man, like an idiot as he is, tied him up and
then untied him. The moment the gate was open, the dog
(on the very day after his arrival) ran out. Next day,<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_456" id="Page_456">[456]</a></span>
Georgy and I saw him lying, all covered with mud, dead,
outside the neighbouring church. How am I ever to tell
the cobbler? He is too poor to come to England, so I feel
that I must lie to him for life, and say that the dog is fat and
happy. Mr. Plornish, much affected by this tragedy, said:
"I s'pose, pa, I shall meet the cobbler's dog" (in heaven).</p>

<p>Georgy and Catherine send their best love, and I send
mine. Pray write to me again some day, and I can't be too
busy to be happy in the sight of your familiar hand, associated
in my mind with so much that I love and honour.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever, my dear Mr. Watson, most faithfully yours.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mrs.
Horne.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Tavistock House, Tavistock Square</span>, <i>Oct. 20th, 1856.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Mrs. Horne</span>,</div>

<p>I answer your note by return of post, in order that
you may know that the Stereoscopic Nottage has not
written to me yet. Of course I will not lose a moment in
replying to him when he does address me.</p>

<p>We shall be greatly pleased to see you again. You have
been very, very often in our thoughts and on our lips, during
this long interval.</p>

<p>And "she" is near you, is she? O I remember her
well! And I am still of my old opinion! Passionately
devoted to her sex as I am (they are the weakness of my
existence), I still consider her a failure. She had some
extraordinary christian-name, which I forget. Lashed into
verse by my feelings, I am inclined to write:</p>

<div class='poem'>
My heart disowns<br />
Ophelia Jones;<br />
</div>

<div class='unindent'>only I think it was a more sounding name.</div>

<div class='poem'>
Are these the tones&mdash;<br />
Volumnia Jones?<br /></div>
</div>
<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_457" id="Page_457">[457]</a></span></p>

<div class='unindent'>No. Again it seems doubtful.</div>

<div class='poem'>
God bless her bones,<br />
Petronia Jones!<br />
</div>

<div class='unindent'>I think not.</div>

<div class='poem'>
Carve I on stones<br />
Olympia Jones?<br />
</div>

<div class='unindent'>Can <i>that</i> be the name? Fond memory favours it more
than any other. My love to her.</div>

<div class='sig'>
Ever, my dear Mrs. Horne, very faithfully yours.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">The Duke
of Devonshire.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Tavistock House</span>, <i>December 1st</i>, 1856.<br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Duke of Devonshire</span>,</div>

<p>The moment the first bill is printed for the first
night of the new play I told you of, I send it to you, in the
hope that you will grace it with your presence. There is
not one of the old actors whom you will fail to inspire as
no one else can; and I hope you will see a little result of a
friendly union of the arts, that you may think worth
seeing, and that you can see nowhere else.</p>

<p>We propose repeating it on Thursday, the 8th; Monday,
the 12th; and Wednesday, the 14th of January. I do not
encumber this note with so many bills, and merely mention
those nights in case any one of them should be more
convenient to you than the first.</p>

<p>But I shall hope for the first, unless you dash me
(N. B.&mdash;I put Flora into the current number on purpose that
this might catch you softened towards me, and at a disadvantage).
If there is hope of your coming, I will have
the play clearly copied, and will send it to you to read
beforehand. With the most grateful remembrances, and
the sincerest good wishes for your health and happiness,</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 2em;">I am ever, my dear Duke of Devonshire,</span><br />
Your faithful and obliged.<br />
</div>

<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_458" id="Page_458">[458]</a></span></p>
<div class="sidenote">Mr.
Thomas
Mitton.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Tavistock House</span>, <i>Wednesday, Dec. 3rd</i>, 1856.<br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Mitton</span>,</div>

<p>The inspector from the fire office&mdash;surveyor, by-the-bye,
they called him&mdash;duly came. Wills described him as
not very pleasant in his manners. I derived the impression
that he was so exceedingly dry, that if <i>he</i> ever takes fire, he
must burn out, and can never otherwise be extinguished.</p>

<p>Next day, I received a letter from the secretary, to say
that the said surveyor had reported great additional risk
from fire, and that the directors, at their meeting next
Tuesday, would settle the extra amount of premium to be
paid.</p>

<p>Thereupon I thought the matter was becoming complicated,
and wrote a common-sense note to the secretary
(which I begged might be read to the directors), saying
that I was quite prepared to pay any extra premium, but
setting forth the plain state of the case. (I did not say that
the Lord Chief Justice, the Chief Baron, and half the Bench
were coming; though I felt a temptation to make a joke
about burning them all.)</p>

<p>Finally, this morning comes up the secretary to me
(yesterday having been the great Tuesday), and says that
he is requested by the directors to present their compliments,
and to say that they could not think of charging for any
additional risk at all; feeling convinced that I would place
the gas (which they considered to be the only danger) under
the charge of one competent man. I then explained to him
how carefully and systematically that was all arranged, and
we parted with drums beating and colours flying on both
sides.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Ever faithfully.<br />
</div>

<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_459" id="Page_459">[459]</a></span></p>
<div class="sidenote">Mr. W. C.
Macready</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Tavistock House</span>, <i>Saturday Evening, Dec. 13th</i>, 1856.<br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dearest Macready</span>,</div>

<p>We shall be charmed to squeeze Willie's friend in,
and it shall be done by some undiscovered power of compression
on the second night, Thursday, the 14th. Will
you make our compliments to his honour, the Deputy Fiscal,
present him with the enclosed bill, and tell him we shall be
cordially glad to see him? I hope to entrust him with
a special shake of the hand, to be forwarded to our dear
boy (if a hoary sage like myself may venture on that
expression) by the next mail.</p>

<p>I would have proposed the first night, but that is too
full. You may faintly imagine, my venerable friend, the occupation
of these also gray hairs, between "Golden Marys,"
"Little Dorrits," "Household Wordses," four stage-carpenters
entirely boarding on the premises, a carpenter's
shop erected in the back garden, size always boiling over
on all the lower fires, Stanfield perpetually elevated on
planks and splashing himself from head to foot, Telbin
requiring impossibilities of smart gasmen, and a legion of
prowling nondescripts for ever shrinking in and out. Calm
amidst the wreck, your aged friend glides away on the
"Dorrit" stream, forgetting the uproar for a stretch of
hours, refreshes himself with a ten or twelve miles walk,
pitches headforemost into foaming rehearsals, placidly
emerges for editorial purposes, smokes over buckets of
distemper with Mr. Stanfield aforesaid, again calmly floats
upon the "Dorrit" waters.</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 2em;">With very best love to Miss Macready and all the rest,</span><br />
Ever, my dear Macready, most affectionately yours.<br />
</div>

<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_460" id="Page_460">[460]</a></span></p>

<div class="sidenote">Miss
Power.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Tavistock House</span>, <i>December 15th</i>, 1856.<br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Marguerite</span>,</div>

<p>I am not <i>quite</i> clear about the story; not because it
is otherwise than exceedingly pretty, but because I am
rather in a difficult position as to stories just now. Besides
beginning a long one by Collins with the new year (which
will last five or six months), I have, as I always have at this
time, a considerable residue of stories written for the
Christmas number, not suitable to it, and yet available for
the general purposes of "Household Words." This limits
my choice for the moment to stories that have some decided
specialties (or a great deal of story) in them.</p>

<p>But I will look over the accumulation before you come, and
I hope you will never see your little friend again but in print.</p>

<p>You will find us expecting you on the night of the
twenty-fourth, and heartily glad to welcome you. The
most terrific preparations are in hand for the play on
Twelfth Night. There has been a carpenter's shop in the
garden for six weeks; a painter's shop in the school-room;
a gasfitter's shop all over the basement; a dressmaker's
shop at the top of the house; a tailor's shop in my dressing-room.
Stanfield has been incessantly on scaffoldings for two
months; and your friend has been writing "Little Dorrit,"
etc. etc., in corners, like the sultan's groom, who was
turned upside-down by the genie.</p>

<div class='sig'>
<span style="margin-right: 2em;">Kindest love from all, and from me.</span><br />
Ever affectionately.<br />
</div>


<div class="sidenote">Mr.
William
Charles
Kent.</div>

<div class='date'><br /><br />
<span class="smcap">Tavistock House</span>, <i>Christmas Eve, 1856.</i><br />
</div>

<div class="unindent"><span class="smcap">My dear Sir</span>,</div>

<p>I cannot leave your letter unanswered, because I am
really anxious that you should understand why I cannot
comply with your request.<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_461" id="Page_461">[461]</a></span></p>

<p>Scarcely a week passes without my receiving requests
from various quarters to sit for likenesses, to be taken by
all the processes ever invented. Apart from my having an
invincible objection to the multiplication of my countenance
in the shop-windows, I have not, between my avocations and
my needful recreation, the time to comply with these proposals.
At this moment there are three cases out of a vast
number, in which I have said: "If I sit at all, it shall be to
you first, to you second, and to you third." But I assure
you, I consider myself almost as unlikely to go through
these three conditional achievements as I am to go to
China. Judge when I am likely to get to Mr. Watkins!</p>

<p>I highly esteem and thank you for your sympathy with
my writings. I doubt if I have a more genial reader in the
world.</p>

<div class='sig'>
Very faithfully yours.<br />
</div>



<div class='center'><br />PROLOGUE TO "THE LIGHTHOUSE."<br />

<br />(Spoken by <span class="smcap">Charles Dickens</span>.)<br />

<br /><i>Slow music all the time, unseen speaker, curtain down.</i><br /><br /></div>


<div class='poem'>
A story of those rocks where doomed ships come<br />
To cast them wreck'd upon the steps of home,<br />
Where solitary men, the long year through&mdash;<br />
The wind their music and the brine their view&mdash;<br />
Warn mariners to shun the beacon-light;<br />
A story of those rocks is here to-night.<br />
Eddystone lighthouse<br />
</div>

<div class='sig'>[<i>Exterior view discovered.</i><br /><br /></div>

<div class='poem'>
<span style="margin-left: 11em;">In its ancient form;</span><br />
Ere he who built it wish'd for the great storm<br />
That shiver'd it to nothing; once again<br />
Behold outgleaming on the angry main!<br />
Within it are three men; to these repair<br />
<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_462" id="Page_462">[462]</a></span>In our frail bark of Fancy, swift as air!<br />
<br />
They are but shadows, as the rower grim<br />
Took none but shadows in his boat with him.<br />
So be <i>ye</i> shades, and, for a little space,<br />
The real world a dream without a trace.<br />
Return is easy. It will have ye back<br />
Too soon to the old beaten dusty track;<br />
For but one hour forget it. Billows rise,<br />
Blow winds, fall rain, be black ye midnight skies;<br />
And you who watch the light, arise! arise!<br />
<br /></div>
<div class='sig'>[<i>Exterior view rises and discovers the scene.</i><br />
</div>




<div class='center'><br />THE SONG OF THE WRECK.<br />


<br />I.</div>

<div class='poem'>
The wind blew high, the waters raved,<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A ship drove on the land,</span><br />
A hundred human creatures saved,<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Kneeled down upon the sand.</span><br />
Threescore were drowned, threescore were thrown<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Upon the black rocks wild,</span><br />
And thus among them, left alone,<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They found one helpless child.</span><br />
</div>


<div class='center'><br />II.</div>

<div class='poem'>
A seaman rough, to shipwreck bred,<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Stood out from all the rest,</span><br />
And gently laid the lonely head<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Upon his honest breast.</span><br />
And travelling o'er the desert wide,<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">It was a solemn joy,</span><br />
To see them, ever side by side,<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The sailor and the boy.</span><br />
</div>


<div class='center'><br />III.</div>

<div class='poem'>
In famine, sickness, hunger, thirst,<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The two were still but one,</span><br />
Until the strong man drooped the first,<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And felt his labours done.</span><br />
Then to a trusty friend he spake,<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Across the desert wide,</span><br />
O take this poor boy for my sake!"<br />
<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And kissed the child and died.</span><br />
</div><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_463" id="Page_463">[463]</a></span></p>


<div class='center'><br />IV.</div>

<div class='poem'>
Toiling along in weary plight,<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Through heavy jungle, mire,</span><br />
These two came later every night<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To warm them at the fire.</span><br />
Until the captain said one day,<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"O seaman good and kind,</span><br />
To save thyself now come away,<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And leave the boy behind!"</span><br />
</div>


<div class='center'><br />V.</div>

<div class='poem'>
The child was slumb'ring near the blaze,<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"O captain, let him rest</span><br />
Until it sinks, when God's own ways<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shall teach us what is best!"</span><br />
They watched the whitened ashy heap,<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They touched the child in vain;</span><br />
They did not leave him there asleep,<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">He never woke again.</span><br />
</div>

<p>This song was sung to the music of "Little Nell," a
ballad composed by the late Mr. George Linley, to the words
of Miss Charlotte Young, and dedicated to Charles Dickens.
He was very fond of it, and his eldest daughter had been in
the habit of singing it to him constantly since she was quite
a child.</p>




<div class='center'>END OF VOL. I.<br /><br /><br />



&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;&mdash;<br />
<small>CHARLES DICKENS AND EVANS, CRYSTAL PALACE PRESS.</small></div>



<hr style="width: 65%;" />
<h2><a name="INDEX" id="INDEX"></a>INDEX.</h2>


<div class='unindent'>
A'Beckett, Gilbert, i. <a href="#Page_134">134</a><br />

<br />
Affidavit, a facetious, i. <a href="#Page_101">101</a><br />
<br />
Ainsworth, W. H., letters to, i. <a href="#Page_43">43</a>, <a href="#Page_75">75</a>, <a href="#Page_92">92</a><br />
<br />
Alison, Sir Archibald, i. <a href="#Page_170">170</a><br />
<br />
<a name="america" id="america"></a>America, feeling for Dickens in the backwoods of, i. <a href="#Page_40">40</a>, <a href="#Page_41">41</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dickens's first visit to, i. <a href="#Page_53">53</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">his welcome in, i. <a href="#Page_59">59</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">his opinion of, i. <a href="#Page_60">60</a>-<a href="#Page_64">64</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">freedom of opinion in, i. <a href="#Page_61">61</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dickens's lev&eacute;es in, i. <a href="#Page_66">66</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">change of temperature in, i. <a href="#Page_66">66</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">hotel charges in, i. <a href="#Page_67">67</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">midnight rambles in New York, i. <a href="#Page_67">67</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">descriptions of Niagara, i. <a href="#Page_69">69</a>, <a href="#Page_70">70</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">a maid's views on Niagara, i. <a href="#Page_72">72</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">copyright in, i. <a href="#Page_71">71</a>, <a href="#Page_73">73</a>, <a href="#Page_74">74</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dickens's tribute to Mrs. Trollope's book on, i. <a href="#Page_81">81</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">press-ridden, i. <a href="#Page_97">97</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">absence of quiet in, i. <a href="#Page_98">98</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">criticisms of Dickens in, i. <a href="#Page_151">151</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">and see <a href="#readings">Readings</a></span><br />
<br />
"American Notes," publication of, i. <a href="#Page_54">54</a><br />
<br />
"Animal Magnetism," tag to, written by Dickens, i. <a href="#Page_238">238</a><br />
<br />
Anne, Mrs. Dickens's maid, i. <a href="#Page_72">72</a>, <a href="#Page_414">414</a><br />

<br />
"Arabian Nights," a mistake in the, i. <a href="#Page_88">88</a>, <a href="#Page_89">89</a><br />
<br />
<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_452i" id="Page_452i">[452]</a></span>Astley's Theatre, description of a clown at, i. <a href="#Page_116">116</a><br />
<br />
Austin, Henry, i. <a href="#Page_240">240</a>;
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">and see <a href="#letters">Letters</a></span><br />
<br />
Author, the highest reward of an, i. <a href="#Page_41">41</a><br />
<br />
Autobiography, a concise, of Dickens, i. <a href="#Page_437">437</a><br />
<br />
Autograph of Dickens in 1833, i. <a href="#Page_2">2</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dickens leaves his in Shakespeare's room, i. <a href="#Page_13">13</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">of Boz, i. <a href="#Page_43">43</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">of Dickens as Bobadil, i. <a href="#Page_195">195</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">facsimile of Dickens's handwriting in 1856, i. <a href="#Page_421">421</a>;</span><br />
<br />
Babbage, Charles, letters to, i. <a href="#Page_86">86</a>, <a href="#Page_87">87</a>, <a href="#Page_186">186</a><br />
<br />
Banks, G., i. <a href="#Page_273">273</a>; letter to, i. <a href="#Page_296">296</a><br />

<br />
"Barnaby Rudge" written and published, i. <a href="#Page_36">36</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dickens's descriptions of the illustrations of:</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">the raven, i. <a href="#Page_38">38</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">the locksmith's house, i. <a href="#Page_39">39</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">rioters in The Maypole, i. <a href="#Page_45">45</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">scene in the ruins of the Warren, i. <a href="#Page_46">46</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">abduction of Dolly Varden, i. <a href="#Page_48">48</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Lord George Gordon in the Tower, the duel, frontispiece, i. <a href="#Page_50">50</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Hugh taken to gaol, i. <a href="#Page_51">51</a></span><br />
<br />
"Battle of Life, The," dedication of, i. <a href="#Page_147">147</a>, <a href="#Page_157">157</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dickens superintends rehearsals of the play of, i. <a href="#Page_163">163</a>, <a href="#Page_165">165</a>, <a href="#Page_167">167</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">sale of, i. <a href="#Page_166">166</a>, <a href="#Page_176">176</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">reception of the play of, i. <a href="#Page_167">167</a></span><br />
<br />
Beaucourt, M., i. <a href="#Page_297">297</a>, <a href="#Page_357">357</a>, <a href="#Page_439">439</a><br />
<br />
Bedstead, a German, i. <a href="#Page_128">128</a><br />
<br />
Begging letters, Dickens's answers to, i. <a href="#Page_148">148</a>-<a href="#Page_150">150</a><br />
<br />
Bicknell, Henry, i. <a href="#Page_215">215</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">letter to, i. <a href="#Page_229">229</a></span><br />
<br />
Biographers, Dickens on, i. <a href="#Page_190">190</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">his opinion of John Forster as a biographer, i. <a href="#Page_188">188</a>-<a href="#Page_191">191</a></span><br />
<br />
Birthday wishes, i. <a href="#Page_51">51</a><br />
<br />
"Black-eyed Susan," Dickens as T. P. Cooke in, i. <a href="#Page_113">113</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">a new version of, i. <a href="#Page_114">114</a></span><br />
<br />
Blanchard, Laman, letter to, i. <a href="#Page_99">99</a><br />
<br />
"Bleak House," commenced, i. <a href="#Page_241">241</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">publication of, i. <a href="#Page_272">272</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dickens's opinion of, i. <a href="#Page_279">279</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">circulation of, i. <a href="#Page_289">289</a>, <a href="#Page_309">309</a>, <a href="#Page_317">317</a></span><br />
<br />
Blessington, Lady, i. <a href="#Page_171">171</a><br />
<br />
Bobadil, Captain, Dickens plays, i. <a href="#Page_134">134</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dickens's remarks on, i. <a href="#Page_144">144</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">a letter after, i. <a href="#Page_195">195</a></span><br />
<br />
Book-backs, Dickens's imitation, i. <a href="#Page_265">265</a>, <a href="#Page_266">266</a><br />
<br />
Book Clubs, established, i. <a href="#Page_94">94</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dickens on, i. <a href="#Page_104">104</a></span><br />
<br />
<a name="Boulogne" id="Boulogne"></a>Boulogne, Dickens at, i. <a href="#Page_271">271</a>, <a href="#Page_297">297</a>, <a href="#Page_304">304</a>-<a href="#Page_312">312</a>, <a href="#Page_341">341</a>, <a href="#Page_414">414</a>, <a href="#Page_439">439</a>-<a href="#Page_448">448</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">a Shakespearian performance at, i. <a href="#Page_308">308</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>en f&ecirc;te</i>, i. <a href="#Page_315">315</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">illuminations at, on the occasion of the Prince Consort's visit, i. <a href="#Page_362">362</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">fire at, i. <a href="#Page_364">364</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">condition of, during the Crimean war, i. <a href="#Page_365">365</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">letters descriptive of, i. <a href="#Page_305">305</a>, <a href="#Page_306">306</a>, <a href="#Page_309">309</a>, <a href="#Page_312">312</a>, <a href="#Page_357">357</a>, <a href="#Page_358">358</a>, <a href="#Page_360">360</a>, <a href="#Page_372">372</a></span><br />
<br />
Boxall, Sir William, i. <a href="#Page_233">233</a>, <a href="#Page_237">237</a><br />
<br />
Boyle, Miss Mary, i. <a href="#Page_211">211</a>, <a href="#Page_214">214</a>, <a href="#Page_227">227</a>, <a href="#Page_414">414</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">and see <a href="#letters">Letters</a></span><br />
<br />
Breach of Promise, a new sort of, i. <a href="#Page_179">179</a><br />
<br />
Breakfast, a Yorkshire, i. <a href="#Page_9">9</a><br />
<br />
<a name="broadstairs" id="broadstairs"></a>Broadstairs, Dickens at, i. <a href="#Page_4">4</a>, <a href="#Page_6">6</a>, <a href="#Page_17">17</a>, <a href="#Page_28">28</a>, <a href="#Page_36">36</a>, <a href="#Page_53">53</a>, <a href="#Page_134">134</a>, <a href="#Page_170">170</a>, <a href="#Page_185">185</a>, <a href="#Page_213">213</a>, <a href="#Page_240">240</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">description of lodgings at, i. <a href="#Page_33">33</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">amusements of, i. <a href="#Page_180">180</a>, <a href="#Page_182">182</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">size of Fort House at, i. <a href="#Page_254">254</a></span><br />
<br />
<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_453i" id="Page_453i">[453]</a></span>Browne, H. K., i. <a href="#Page_6">6</a>, <a href="#Page_13">13</a><br />
<br />
Buckstone, J. B., i. <a href="#Page_360">360</a><br />
<br />
<a name="Burnett" id="Burnett"></a>Burnett, Mrs., i. <a href="#Page_185">185</a><br />
<br />
<br />
Cabin, a, on board ship, i. <a href="#Page_56">56</a><br />
<br />
Capital punishment, Dickens's views on, i. <a href="#Page_209">209</a><br />
<br />
<a name="carlisle" id="carlisle"></a>Carlisle, the Earl of, letters to, i. <a href="#Page_253">253</a>, <a href="#Page_281">281</a>;<br />
<br />
Castlereagh, Lord, i. <a href="#Page_245">245</a><br />
<br />
Cat-hunting, i. <a href="#Page_449">449</a><br />
<br />
Cattermole, George, i. <a href="#Page_42">42</a>, <a href="#Page_143">143</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">and see <a href="#letters">Letters</a></span><br />
<br />
Chancery, Dickens on the Court of, i. <a href="#Page_450">450</a><br />
<br />
Chapman and Hall, Messrs., i. <a href="#Page_3">3</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">letter to, i. <a href="#Page_55">55</a></span><br />
<br />
"Chimes, The," written, i. <a href="#Page_95">95</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">an attack on cant, i. <a href="#Page_118">118</a>, <a href="#Page_129">129</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dickens's opinion of, i. <a href="#Page_129">129</a>, <a href="#Page_133">133</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dickens gives a private reading of, i. <a href="#Page_133">133</a></span><br />
<br />
"Christmas Carol, The," publication of, i. <a href="#Page_85">85</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">criticisms on, i. <a href="#Page_99">99</a></span><br />
<br />
Christmas greetings, i. <a href="#Page_167">167</a><br />
<br />
Cockspur Street Society, the, i. <a href="#Page_85">85</a>-<a href="#Page_87">87</a><br />
<br />
Cold, effects of a, i. <a href="#Page_92">92</a>, <a href="#Page_93">93</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">remedy for a, i. <a href="#Page_168">168</a></span><br />
<br />
Colden, David, i. <a href="#Page_64">64</a><br />
<br />
Collins, Wilkie, i. <a href="#Page_241">241</a>, <a href="#Page_272">272</a>, <a href="#Page_297">297</a>, <a href="#Page_332">332</a>, <a href="#Page_359">359</a>, <a href="#Page_376">376</a>, <a href="#Page_385">385</a>, <a href="#Page_388">388</a>, <a href="#Page_413">413</a>, <a href="#Page_414">414</a>, <a href="#Page_447">447</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">and see <a href="#letters">Letters</a></span><br />
<br />
Comedy, Mr. Webster's offer for a prize, Dickens an imaginary competitor, i. <a href="#Page_86">86</a>, <a href="#Page_90">90</a><br />
<br />
Conjuring feats, i. <a href="#Page_96">96</a>;<br />
<br />
Cooke, T. P., i. <a href="#Page_113">113</a>;<br />
<br />
Copyright, i. <a href="#Page_13">13</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dickens's struggles to secure English, in America, i. <a href="#Page_71">71</a>, <a href="#Page_73">73</a>, <a href="#Page_74">74</a></span><br />
<br />
Costello, Dudley, i. <a href="#Page_241">241</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">letters to, i. <a href="#Page_104">104</a>, <a href="#Page_205">205</a></span><br />
<br />
Cottage, a cheap, i. <a href="#Page_18">18</a><br />
<br />
Coutts, Miss, i. <a href="#Page_410">410</a><br />
<br />
Covent Garden Theatre, Macready retires from management of, i. <a href="#Page_18">18</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">ruins of, i. <a href="#Page_430">430</a>;</span><br />
<br />
"Cricket on the Hearth, The," i. <a href="#Page_135">135</a>, <a href="#Page_145">145</a><br />
<br />
Croker, J. Crofton, i. <a href="#Page_272">272</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">letter to, i. <a href="#Page_275">275</a></span><br />
<br />
Cruikshank, George, i. <a href="#Page_170">170</a><br />
<br />
Cunningham, Peter, i. <a href="#Page_186">186</a>, <a href="#Page_407">407</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">letters to, i. <a href="#Page_195">195</a>, <a href="#Page_270">270</a>, <a href="#Page_312">312</a>, <a href="#Page_356">356</a></span><br />
<br />
<br />
<i>Daily News, The</i>, started, i. <a href="#Page_135">135</a><br />
<br />
"David Copperfield," dedication of, i. <a href="#Page_147">147</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">purpose of Little Emily in, i. <a href="#Page_211">211</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">success of, i. <a href="#Page_211">211</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">reading of, i. <a href="#Page_377">377</a>, <a href="#Page_382">382</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dickens's favourite work, i. <a href="#Page_382">382</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">and see i. <a href="#Page_204">204</a>, <a href="#Page_221">221</a>, <a href="#Page_227">227</a>, <a href="#Page_279">279</a></span><br />
<br />
Deane, F. H., letter to, i. <a href="#Page_68">68</a><br />
<br />
Delane, John, i. <a href="#Page_298">298</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">letter to, i. <a href="#Page_314">314</a></span><br />
<br />
Devonshire, the Duke of, letters to, i. <a href="#Page_437">437</a>, <a href="#Page_443">443</a>, <a href="#Page_457">457</a><br />
<br />
Devrient, Emil, i. <a href="#Page_277">277</a><br />
<br />
Dickens, Charles, at Furnival's Inn, i. <a href="#Page_1">1</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">his marriage, i. <a href="#Page_1">1</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">employed as a parliamentary reporter, i. <a href="#Page_1">1</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">spends his honeymoon at Chalk, Kent, i. <a href="#Page_1">1</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">employed on <i>The Morning Chronicle</i>, i. <a href="#Page_2">2</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">removes to Doughty Street, i. <a href="#Page_4">4</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">writes for the stage, i. <a href="#Page_4">4</a>, <a href="#Page_5">5</a>, <a href="#Page_7">7</a>, <a href="#Page_16">16</a>, <a href="#Page_17">17</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">his visit to the Yorkshire schools, i. <a href="#Page_6">6</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">at Twickenham Park, i. <a href="#Page_6">6</a>;</span><br />
<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_454i" id="Page_454i">[454]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">his visits to Broadstairs, see <a href="#broadstairs">Broadstairs</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">his visit to Stratford-on-Avon and Kenilworth, i. <a href="#Page_6">6</a>, <a href="#Page_12">12</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">in Shakespeare's room, i. <a href="#Page_13">13</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">elected at the Athen&aelig;um Club, i. <a href="#Page_12">12</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">removes to Devonshire Terrace, i. <a href="#Page_17">17</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">portraits of, see <a href="#portraits">Portraits</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">visits to Scotland, i. <a href="#Page_36">36</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">personal feeling of for his characters, i. <a href="#Page_36">36</a>, <a href="#Page_37">37</a>, <a href="#Page_42">42</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">declines to enter Parliament, i. <a href="#Page_37">37</a>, <a href="#Page_44">44</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">public dinners to, i. <a href="#Page_36">36</a>, <a href="#Page_53">53</a>, <a href="#Page_273">273</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">an enemy of cant, i. <a href="#Page_88">88</a>, <a href="#Page_118">118</a>, <a href="#Page_129">129</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">visits of to America, see <a href="#america">America</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">expedition of to Cornwall, i. <a href="#Page_54">54</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">his travels in Italy, see <a href="#italy">Italy</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">political opinions of, i. <a href="#Page_62">62</a>, <a href="#Page_63">63</a>, <a href="#Page_88">88</a>, <a href="#Page_104">104</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">fancy signatures to letters of, i. <a href="#Page_91">91</a>, <a href="#Page_146">146</a>, <a href="#Page_152">152</a>, <a href="#Page_181">181</a>, <a href="#Page_206">206</a>, <a href="#Page_237">237</a>, <a href="#Page_425">425</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">takes the chair at the opening of the Liverpool Mechanics' Institute, i. <a href="#Page_94">94</a>, and see i. <a href="#Page_100">100</a>-<a href="#Page_102">102</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">his theatrical performances, see <a href="#theatrical">Theatrical Performances</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">effects of work on, i. <a href="#Page_121">121</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>The Daily News</i>, started by, i. <a href="#Page_135">135</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">his visits to Lausanne and Switzerland, i. <a href="#Page_147">147</a>, <a href="#Page_297">297</a>, and see <a href="#switzerland">Switzerland</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">his visits to Paris, see <a href="#paris">Paris</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">as a stage, manager, i. <a href="#Page_163">163</a>, <a href="#Page_167">167</a>, <a href="#Page_231">231</a>, <a href="#Page_232">232</a>, <a href="#Page_237">237</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">at Chester Place, Regent's Park, i. <a href="#Page_169">169</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">takes the chair at the opening of the Leeds Mechanics' Institute, and of the Glasgow Athen&aelig;um, i. <a href="#Page_170">170</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">at Brighton, i. <a href="#Page_185">185</a>, <a href="#Page_213">213</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">at Bonchurch, i, <a href="#Page_204">204</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">purchases Tavistock House, i. <a href="#Page_240">240</a>, and see <a href="#tavistock">Tavistock House</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">as an editor, i. <a href="#Page_246">246</a>, <a href="#Page_259">259</a>, <a href="#Page_269">269</a>, <a href="#Page_270">270</a>, <a href="#Page_285">285</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">his readings, see <a href="#readings">Readings</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">illnesses of, i. <a href="#Page_14">14</a>, <a href="#Page_297">297</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">his visits to Boulogne, see <a href="#Boulogne">Boulogne</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">presentation of plate to, at Birmingham, i. <a href="#Page_348">348</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">purchases Gad's Hill, i. <a href="#Page_377">377</a>, <a href="#Page_414">414</a>, and see <a href="#Gad">Gad's Hill</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">delivers a speech on Administrative Reform, i. <a href="#Page_377">377</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">at Folkestone, i. <a href="#Page_377">377</a>, <a href="#Page_378">378</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">restlessness of, when at work, i. <a href="#Page_402">402</a>, <a href="#Page_425">425</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">and see <a href="#letters">Letters</a> of</span><br />
<br />
Dickens, Mrs. Charles, marriage of, i. <a href="#Page_1">1</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">visit of, to America, i. <a href="#Page_53">53</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">at Rome, i. <a href="#Page_135">135</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">accident to, i. <a href="#Page_215">215</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">at Malvern, i. <a href="#Page_239">239</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">present to, at Birmingham, i. <a href="#Page_298">298</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">and see <a href="#letters">Letters</a></span><br />
<br />
Dickens, Charles, jun., birth of, i. <a href="#Page_4">4</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">nickname of, i. <a href="#Page_76">76</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">at Eton, i. <a href="#Page_212">212</a>, <a href="#Page_240">240</a>, <a href="#Page_243">243</a>, <a href="#Page_255">255</a>, <a href="#Page_258">258</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">at Leipsic, i. <a href="#Page_297">297</a>, <a href="#Page_310">310</a>, <a href="#Page_319">319</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">at Barings', i. <a href="#Page_455">455</a>;</span><br />
<br />
Dickens, Kate, nickname of, i. <a href="#Page_76">76</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">letters to, i. <a href="#Page_178">178</a>;</span><br />
<br />
Dickens, Mamie, nickname of, i. <a href="#Page_76">76</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">illnesses of, i. <a href="#Page_363">363</a>, <a href="#Page_436">436</a>;</span><br />
<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_455i" id="Page_455i">[455]</a></span><br />
Dickens, Walter, nickname of, i. <a href="#Page_76">76</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">and see i. <a href="#Page_268">268</a>, <a href="#Page_314">314</a>, <a href="#Page_378">378</a>, <a href="#Page_443">443</a></span><br />
<br />
Dickens, Frank, nickname of, i. <a href="#Page_126">126</a>;<br />
<br />
Dickens, Sydney, birth of, i. <a href="#Page_169">169</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">nickname of, i. <a href="#Page_170">170</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">death of, i. <a href="#Page_171">171</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">story of, i. <a href="#Page_223">223</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">and see i. <a href="#Page_363">363</a>;</span><br />
<br />
Dickens, Edward, nicknames of, i. <a href="#Page_322">322</a>, <a href="#Page_338">338</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 2em;">and see i. <a href="#Page_353">353</a>, <a href="#Page_359">359</a>, <a href="#Page_365">365</a>, <a href="#Page_403">403</a>, <a href="#Page_420">420</a>, <a href="#Page_426">426</a>, <a href="#Page_439">439</a>;</span><br />
<br />
Dickens, Dora, birth of, i. <a href="#Page_213">213</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">death of, i. <a href="#Page_240">240</a></span><br />
<br />
Dickens, Alfred, sen., i. <a href="#Page_184">184</a>, <a href="#Page_410">410</a>;<br />
<br />
Dickens, Fanny, see <a href="#Burnett">Mrs. Burnett</a><br />
<br />
Dickens, Frederick, i. <a href="#Page_9">9</a><br />
<br />
Dickens, John, i. <a href="#Page_240">240</a>, <a href="#Page_437">437</a>;<br />
<br />
Dickson, David, letter to, i. <a href="#Page_89">89</a><br />
<br />
Diezman, S. A., letter to, i. <a href="#Page_32">32</a><br />
<br />
Dinner, a search for a, i. <a href="#Page_326">326</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">ladies at public dinners, i. <a href="#Page_103">103</a></span><br />
<br />
Dogs, Dickens's, i. <a href="#Page_67">67</a>, <a href="#Page_109">109</a>, <a href="#Page_110">110</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">a plague of, i. <a href="#Page_292">292</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">stories of, i. <a href="#Page_109">109</a>, <a href="#Page_352">352</a>, <a href="#Page_354">354</a>, <a href="#Page_455">455</a></span><br />
<br />
"Dombey and Son," i. <a href="#Page_147">147</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">success of, i. <a href="#Page_156">156</a>, <a href="#Page_176">176</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">sale of, i. <a href="#Page_162">162</a></span><br />
<br />
D'Orsay, Comte, i. <a href="#Page_171">171</a>, <a href="#Page_244">244</a><br />
<br />
Driver, Dickens's estimate of himself as a, i. <a href="#Page_2">2</a><br />
<br />
Drury Lane Theatre, the saloon at, i. <a href="#Page_37">37</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">suggestions for the saloon at, i. <a href="#Page_52">52</a>, <a href="#Page_53">53</a></span><br />
<br />
<br />
Education, Dickens an advocate of, for the people, i. <a href="#Page_104">104</a><br />
<br />
Eeles, Mr., letters to, i. <a href="#Page_265">265</a>, <a href="#Page_269">269</a><br />
<br />
Egg, Augustus, i. <a href="#Page_170">170</a>, <a href="#Page_172">172</a>, <a href="#Page_226">226</a>, <a href="#Page_297">297</a>, <a href="#Page_320">320</a>, <a href="#Page_332">332</a><br />
<br />
Elliotson, Dr., i. <a href="#Page_37">37</a>, <a href="#Page_149">149</a>,<br />
<br />
Elton, Mr., i. <a href="#Page_85">85</a>, <a href="#Page_92">92</a><br />
<br />
Ely, Miss, letter to, i. <a href="#Page_153">153</a><br />
<br />
Emery, Mr., i. <a href="#Page_429">429</a><br />
<br />
England, state of, in 1855, i. <a href="#Page_391">391</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">politically, i. <a href="#Page_406">406</a></span><br />
<br />
Epitaph, Dickens's, on a little child, i. <a href="#Page_68">68</a><br />
<br />
Executions, Dickens on public, i. <a href="#Page_209">209</a>, <a href="#Page_212">212</a><br />
<br />
Exhibition, an infant school at the, i. <a href="#Page_257">257</a><br />
<br />
<br />
Fairy Tales, Dickens on, i. <a href="#Page_307">307</a><br />
<br />
Fielding, Henry, i. <a href="#Page_394">394</a><br />
<br />
<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_456i" id="Page_456i">[456]</a></span>
Forgues, M., i. <a href="#Page_415">415</a>, <a href="#Page_421">421</a><br />
<br />
Forster, John, i. <a href="#Page_7">7</a>, <a href="#Page_10">10</a>, <a href="#Page_134">134</a>, <a href="#Page_143">143</a>, <a href="#Page_225">225</a>, <a href="#Page_240">240</a>, <a href="#Page_268">268</a>, <a href="#Page_428">428</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">and see <a href="#letters">Letters</a></span><br />
<br />
Franklin, Sir John, i. <a href="#Page_373">373</a><br />
<br />
French portraits of the English, i. <a href="#Page_175">175</a><br />
<br />
Friday, Dickens's lucky day, i. <a href="#Page_414">414</a>, <a href="#Page_429">429</a><br />
<br />
Frith, W. P., letters to, i. <a href="#Page_79">79</a><br />
<br />
Funerals, Dickens on state, i. <a href="#Page_290">290</a><br />
<br />
<br />
<a name="Gad" id="Gad"></a>Gad's Hill, purchase of, i. <a href="#Page_377">377</a>, <a href="#Page_378">378</a>, <a href="#Page_414">414</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">letters concerning, i. <a href="#Page_384">384</a>, <a href="#Page_410">410</a>, <a href="#Page_429">429</a></span><br />
<br />
Gaskell, Mrs., i. <a href="#Page_214">214</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">and see <a href="#letters">Letters</a></span><br />
<br />
Germany, esteem felt for Dickens in, i. <a href="#Page_32">32</a><br />
<br />
Gibson, M., i. <a href="#Page_315">315</a><br />
<br />
Goldsmith, Oliver, Dickens on Forster's Life of, i. <a href="#Page_188">188</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">on the works of, i. <a href="#Page_380">380</a></span><br />
<br />
Grief, the perversity of, exemplified, i. <a href="#Page_18">18</a><br />
<br />
Grimaldi, Life of, edited by Dickens, i. <a href="#Page_4">4</a><br />
<br />
Guild of Literature and Art, i. <a href="#Page_239">239</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">theatrical performances in aid of the, i. <a href="#Page_239">239</a>, <a href="#Page_241">241</a>, <a href="#Page_248">248</a>, <a href="#Page_252">252</a>, <a href="#Page_268">268</a>, <a href="#Page_271">271</a>;</span><br />
<br />
<br />
Haldimand, Mr., i. <a href="#Page_147">147</a>, <a href="#Page_169">169</a>, <a href="#Page_212">212</a>, <a href="#Page_380">380</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">letters to, i. <a href="#Page_157">157</a>, <a href="#Page_254">254</a></span><br />
<br />
Halleck, <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'Fitzgreene'">Fitz-Greene</ins>, i. <a href="#Page_59">59</a><br />
<br />
"Hard Times," i. <a href="#Page_341">341</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">satire of, explained, i. <a href="#Page_349">349</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">letters concerning, i. <a href="#Page_355">355</a>, <a href="#Page_371">371</a></span><br />
<br />
Harley, J. P., letters to, i. <a href="#Page_5">5</a>, <a href="#Page_23">23</a><br />
<br />
Harness, Rev. W., letters to, i. <a href="#Page_37">37</a>, <a href="#Page_76">76</a>, <a href="#Page_361">361</a><br />
<br />
"Haunted Man, The," i. <a href="#Page_170">170</a>, <a href="#Page_185">185</a>, <a href="#Page_241">241</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">subjects for illustrations in, described, i. <a href="#Page_200">200</a>, <a href="#Page_201">201</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">dramatisation of, i. <a href="#Page_203">203</a></span><br />
<br />
Hewett, Captain, i. <a href="#Page_57">57</a><br />
<br />
"History of England, The Child's," i. <a href="#Page_297">297</a><br />
<br />
Hogarth, Mary, i. <a href="#Page_4">4</a>, <a href="#Page_9">9</a><br />
<br />
Hogarth, Georgina, i. <a href="#Page_425">425</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">and see <a href="#letters">Letters</a></span><br />
<br />
Holland, Lady, i. <a href="#Page_11">11</a><br />
<br />
Home, longings for, i. <a href="#Page_64">64</a>, <a href="#Page_70">70</a><br />
<br />
Hood, Tom, i. <a href="#Page_287">287</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">letter to, i. <a href="#Page_80">80</a></span><br />
<br />
Horne, Mrs., letter to, i. <a href="#Page_456">456</a><br />
<br />
Horne, R. H., letter to, i. <a href="#Page_93">93</a><br />
<br />
Hospital, a dinner at a, i. <a href="#Page_88">88</a><br />
<br />
Houghton, Lord, letter to, i. <a href="#Page_41">41</a><br />
<br />
"Household Words," i. <a href="#Page_148">148</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">scheme of, i. <a href="#Page_216">216</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">suggested titles for, i. <a href="#Page_219">219</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">success of, i. <a href="#Page_221">221</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Christmas numbers of, i. <a href="#Page_241">241</a>, <a href="#Page_288">288</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"The Golden Mary," i. <a href="#Page_414">414</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">letters concerning, i. <a href="#Page_219">219</a>, <a href="#Page_221">221</a>, <a href="#Page_250">250</a>, <a href="#Page_285">285</a>, <a href="#Page_286">286</a>, <a href="#Page_291">291</a>-<a href="#Page_293">293</a>, <a href="#Page_295">295</a>, <a href="#Page_299">299</a>, <a href="#Page_301">301</a>, <a href="#Page_334">334</a>, <a href="#Page_335">335</a>, <a href="#Page_353">353</a>, <a href="#Page_423">423</a>, <a href="#Page_452">452</a></span><br />
<br />
Hughes, Master Hastings, letter to, i. <a href="#Page_14">14</a><br />
<br />
Hullah, John, i. <a href="#Page_5">5</a><br />
<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_457i" id="Page_457i">[457]</a></span><br />
<br />
<br />
<i>Illustrated London News</i>, offers to Dickens from, i. <a href="#Page_150">150</a><br />
<br />
Illustrations of Dickens's works, his descriptions for, i. <a href="#Page_38">38</a>-<a href="#Page_40">40</a>, <a href="#Page_45">45</a>, <a href="#Page_46">46</a>, <a href="#Page_50">50</a>, <a href="#Page_51">51</a>, <a href="#Page_200">200</a>-<a href="#Page_203">203</a><br />
<br />
<a name="italy" id="italy"></a>Italy, Dickens's first visit to, i. <a href="#Page_94">94</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">the sky of, i. <a href="#Page_106">106</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">the colouring of, i. <a href="#Page_106">106</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">a sunset in, i. <a href="#Page_106">106</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">twilight in, i. <a href="#Page_107">107</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">frescoes in, i. <a href="#Page_107">107</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">churches in, i. <a href="#Page_108">108</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">fruit in, i. <a href="#Page_109">109</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">climate of, i. <a href="#Page_111">111</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">a coastguard in, i. <a href="#Page_116">116</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dickens at Albaro, i. <a href="#Page_105">105</a>-<a href="#Page_117">117</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">at Genoa, i. <a href="#Page_120">120</a>-<a href="#Page_122">122</a>, <a href="#Page_134">134</a>, <a href="#Page_321">321</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">at Venice and Verona, i. <a href="#Page_119">119</a>-<a href="#Page_121">121</a>, <a href="#Page_337">337</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">at Naples, i. <a href="#Page_134">134</a>-<a href="#Page_141">141</a>, <a href="#Page_322">322</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">an ascent of Vesuvius, i. <a href="#Page_137">137</a>-<a href="#Page_141">141</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">at Rome, i. <a href="#Page_134">134</a>, <a href="#Page_135">135</a>, <a href="#Page_325">325</a>-<a href="#Page_333">333</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">and see i. <a href="#Page_297">297</a>, <a href="#Page_346">346</a></span><br />
<br />
<br />
Jeffrey, Lord, i. <a href="#Page_184">184</a>, <a href="#Page_218">218</a><br />
<br />
Jerrold, Douglas, i. <a href="#Page_134">134</a>, <a href="#Page_225">225</a>, <a href="#Page_268">268</a>, <a href="#Page_390">390</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">and see <a href="#letters">Letters</a></span><br />
<br />
Joll, Miss, letter to, i. <a href="#Page_209">209</a><br />
<br />
<br />
Keeley, Robert, i. <a href="#Page_165">165</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">letter to, i. <a href="#Page_105">105</a></span><br />
<br />
Kelly, Miss, i. <a href="#Page_302">302</a>, <a href="#Page_303">303</a><br />
<br />
Kent, W. Charles, i. <a href="#Page_186">186</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">and see <a href="#letters">Letters</a></span><br />
<br />
Kinkel, Dr., i. <a href="#Page_230">230</a><br />
<br />
Knight, Charles, i. <a href="#Page_94">94</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">and see <a href="#letters">Letters</a></span><br />
<br />
Knowles, Sheridan, i. <a href="#Page_214">214</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">letter to, i. <a href="#Page_215">215</a></span><br />
<br />
<br />
Lamartine, i. <a href="#Page_187">187</a><br />
<br />
Landor, Walter Savage, i. <a href="#Page_268">268</a>, <a href="#Page_337">337</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">and see <a href="#letters">Letters</a></span><br />
<br />
Landseer, Edwin, letter to, i. <a href="#Page_103">103</a><br />
<br />
Landseer, Tom, i. <a href="#Page_27">27</a><br />
<br />
Lansdowne, Lord, i. <a href="#Page_275">275</a><br />
<br />
Layard, A. H., i. <a href="#Page_377">377</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">letters to, i. <a href="#Page_390">390</a>, <a href="#Page_391">391</a></span><br />
<br />
Lectures, Dickens on public, i. <a href="#Page_97">97</a><br />
<br />
Leech, John, i. <a href="#Page_134">134</a>, <a href="#Page_186">186</a>, <a href="#Page_225">225</a>, <a href="#Page_226">226</a>, <a href="#Page_239">239</a><br />
<br />
Le Gros, Mr., i. <a href="#Page_140">140</a>, <a href="#Page_332">332</a><br />
<br />
Lema&icirc;tre, M., i. <a href="#Page_386">386</a><br />
<br />
Lemon, Mark, i. <a href="#Page_134">134</a>, <a href="#Page_186">186</a>, <a href="#Page_225">225</a>, <a href="#Page_226">226</a>, <a href="#Page_376">376</a>, <a href="#Page_390">390</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">and see <a href="#letters">Letters</a></span><br />
<br />
Lemon, Mrs., i. <a href="#Page_419">419</a><br />
<br />
<span class="smcap"><a name="letters" id="letters"></a>Letters of Charles Dickens to</span>:<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ainsworth, W. H., i. <a href="#Page_43">43</a>, <a href="#Page_75">75</a>, <a href="#Page_92">92</a></span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Anonymous, i. <a href="#Page_277">277</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Austin, Henry, i. <a href="#Page_2">2</a>, <a href="#Page_69">69</a>-<a href="#Page_73">73</a>, <a href="#Page_76">76</a>, <a href="#Page_262">262</a>-<a href="#Page_264">264</a>, <a href="#Page_266">266</a>, <a href="#Page_361">361</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Babbage, Charles, i. <a href="#Page_86">86</a>, <a href="#Page_87">87</a>, <a href="#Page_186">186</a></span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Banks, G., i. <a href="#Page_296">296</a></span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bicknell, H., i. <a href="#Page_229">229</a></span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Blanchard, Laman, i. <a href="#Page_99">99</a></span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Boyle, Miss, i. <a href="#Page_224">224</a>, <a href="#Page_225">225</a>, <a href="#Page_227">227</a>, <a href="#Page_245">245</a>, <a href="#Page_265">265</a>, <a href="#Page_279">279</a>, <a href="#Page_345">345</a>, <a href="#Page_381">381</a>, <a href="#Page_423">423</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Carlisle, the Earl of, i. <a href="#Page_253">253</a>, <a href="#Page_281">281</a>;</span><br />
<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_458i" id="Page_458i">[458]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Cattermole, George, i. <a href="#Page_22">22</a>, <a href="#Page_28">28</a>-<a href="#Page_30">30</a>, <a href="#Page_31">31</a>, <a href="#Page_33">33</a>-<a href="#Page_36">36</a>, <a href="#Page_38">38</a>, <a href="#Page_39">39</a>, <a href="#Page_42">42</a>, <a href="#Page_43">43</a>, <a href="#Page_45">45</a>-<a href="#Page_48">48</a>, <a href="#Page_50">50</a>, <a href="#Page_51">51</a>, <a href="#Page_81">81</a>, <a href="#Page_143">143</a></span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Cerjat, M. de, i. <a href="#Page_161">161</a>, <a href="#Page_210">210</a>, <a href="#Page_346">346</a>, <a href="#Page_378">378</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Chapman and Hall, i. <a href="#Page_55">55</a></span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Collins, Wilkie, i. <a href="#Page_294">294</a>, <a href="#Page_358">358</a>, <a href="#Page_362">362</a>, <a href="#Page_397">397</a>, <a href="#Page_400">400</a>, <a href="#Page_403">403</a>, <a href="#Page_419">419</a>, <a href="#Page_437">437</a>, <a href="#Page_448">448</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Costello, Dudley, i. <a href="#Page_104">104</a>, <a href="#Page_205">205</a></span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Croker, J. Crofton, i. <a href="#Page_275">275</a></span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Cunningham, Peter, i. <a href="#Page_195">195</a>, <a href="#Page_270">270</a>, <a href="#Page_312">312</a>, <a href="#Page_356">356</a></span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Deane, F. H., i. <a href="#Page_68">68</a></span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Delane, John, i. <a href="#Page_314">314</a></span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Devonshire, the Duke of, i. <a href="#Page_437">437</a>, <a href="#Page_443">443</a>, <a href="#Page_457">457</a></span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dickens, Mrs. Charles, i. <a href="#Page_12">12</a>, <a href="#Page_100">100</a>, <a href="#Page_123">123</a>, <a href="#Page_127">127</a>, <a href="#Page_130">130</a>, <a href="#Page_132">132</a>, <a href="#Page_165">165</a>, <a href="#Page_166">166</a>, <a href="#Page_206">206</a>, <a href="#Page_223">223</a>, <a href="#Page_244">244</a>, <a href="#Page_249">249</a>, <a href="#Page_267">267</a>, <a href="#Page_330">330</a>, <a href="#Page_406">406</a>, <a href="#Page_433">433</a></span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dickens, Miss Kate, i. <a href="#Page_178">178</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dickens, Miss, i. <a href="#Page_176">176</a>, <a href="#Page_178">178</a>, <a href="#Page_182">182</a>, <a href="#Page_199">199</a>, <a href="#Page_205">205</a>, <a href="#Page_453">453</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dickson, David, i. <a href="#Page_89">89</a></span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Diezman, S. A., i. <a href="#Page_32">32</a></span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Eeles, Mr., i. <a href="#Page_265">265</a>, <a href="#Page_269">269</a></span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ely, Miss, i. <a href="#Page_153">153</a></span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Forster, John, i. <a href="#Page_167">167</a>, <a href="#Page_188">188</a>, <a href="#Page_393">393</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Frith, W. P., i. <a href="#Page_79">79</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Gaskell, Mrs., i. <a href="#Page_216">216</a>, <a href="#Page_269">269</a>, <a href="#Page_270">270</a>, <a href="#Page_292">292</a>, <a href="#Page_293">293</a>, <a href="#Page_301">301</a>, <a href="#Page_355">355</a>, <a href="#Page_360">360</a>, <a href="#Page_381">381</a></span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Haldimand, Mr., i. <a href="#Page_157">157</a></span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Halleck, <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'Fitzgreene'">Fitz-Greene</ins>, i. <a href="#Page_59">59</a></span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Harley, J. P., i. <a href="#Page_5">5</a>, <a href="#Page_23">23</a></span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Harness, Rev. W., i. <a href="#Page_37">37</a>, <a href="#Page_76">76</a>, <a href="#Page_361">361</a></span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hogarth, Catherine, i. <a href="#Page_3">3</a></span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hogarth, Miss, i. <a href="#Page_135">135</a>, <a href="#Page_177">177</a>, <a href="#Page_183">183</a>, <a href="#Page_319">319</a>, <a href="#Page_320">320</a>, <a href="#Page_322">322</a>, <a href="#Page_325">325</a>, <a href="#Page_337">337</a>, <a href="#Page_359">359</a>, <a href="#Page_385">385</a>, <a href="#Page_426">426</a>, <a href="#Page_428">428</a>, <a href="#Page_429">429</a>, <a href="#Page_435">435</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hood, Tom, i. <a href="#Page_80">80</a></span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Horne, Mrs., i. <a href="#Page_456">456</a></span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Horne, R. H., i. <a href="#Page_93">93</a></span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Hughes, Master, i. <a href="#Page_14">14</a></span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Jerrold, Douglas, i. <a href="#Page_87">87</a>, <a href="#Page_90">90</a>, <a href="#Page_118">118</a>, <a href="#Page_154">154</a>, <a href="#Page_427">427</a></span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Joll, Miss, i. <a href="#Page_209">209</a></span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Keeley, Robert, i. <a href="#Page_105">105</a></span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Kent, W. Charles, i. <a href="#Page_188">188</a>, <a href="#Page_461">461</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Knight, Charles, i. <a href="#Page_104">104</a>, <a href="#Page_152">152</a>, <a href="#Page_218">218</a>, <a href="#Page_259">259</a>, <a href="#Page_277">277</a>, <a href="#Page_280">280</a>, <a href="#Page_349">349</a>, <a href="#Page_351">351</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Knowles, Sheridan, i. <a href="#Page_215">215</a></span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Landor, Walter Savage, i. <a href="#Page_157">157</a>, <a href="#Page_230">230</a>, <a href="#Page_313">313</a>, <a href="#Page_343">343</a>, <a href="#Page_441">441</a></span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Landseer, Edwin, i. <a href="#Page_103">103</a></span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Layard, A. H., i. <a href="#Page_390">390</a>, <a href="#Page_391">391</a></span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lemon, Mark, i. <a href="#Page_192">192</a>, <a href="#Page_203">203</a>, <a href="#Page_207">207</a>, <a href="#Page_243">243</a>, <a href="#Page_281">281</a>, <a href="#Page_394">394</a>, <a href="#Page_396">396</a>, <a href="#Page_416">416</a>, <a href="#Page_439">439</a>, <a href="#Page_440">440</a></span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Longman, Thomas, i. <a href="#Page_73">73</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Longman, William, i. <a href="#Page_24">24</a></span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Lovejoy, G., i. <a href="#Page_44">44</a></span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Maclise, Daniel, i. <a href="#Page_33">33</a>, <a href="#Page_105">105</a></span><br />
<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_459i" id="Page_459i">[459]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Macready, W. C., i. <a href="#Page_5">5</a>, <a href="#Page_16">16</a>, <a href="#Page_17">17</a>, <a href="#Page_18">18</a>, <a href="#Page_24">24</a>, <a href="#Page_26">26</a>, <a href="#Page_27">27</a>, <a href="#Page_49">49</a>, <a href="#Page_52">52</a>, <a href="#Page_60">60</a>, <a href="#Page_77">77</a>, <a href="#Page_79">79</a>, <a href="#Page_95">95</a>, <a href="#Page_117">117</a>, <a href="#Page_129">129</a>, <a href="#Page_141">141</a>, <a href="#Page_144">144</a>, <a href="#Page_146">146</a>, <a href="#Page_154">154</a>, <a href="#Page_183">183</a>, <a href="#Page_187">187</a>, <a href="#Page_194">194</a>, <a href="#Page_195">195</a>, <a href="#Page_198">198</a>, <a href="#Page_247">247</a>, <a href="#Page_252">252</a>, <a href="#Page_273">273</a>, <a href="#Page_283">283</a>, <a href="#Page_300">300</a>, <a href="#Page_307">307</a>, <a href="#Page_368">368</a>, <a href="#Page_399">399</a>, <a href="#Page_404">404</a>, <a href="#Page_430">430</a>, <a href="#Page_431">431</a>, <a href="#Page_446">446</a>, <a href="#Page_451">451</a>, <a href="#Page_459">459</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Milnes, R. Monckton, i. <a href="#Page_41">41</a></span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mitton, Thomas, i. <a href="#Page_10">10</a>, <a href="#Page_19">19</a>, <a href="#Page_56">56</a>, <a href="#Page_58">58</a>, <a href="#Page_65">65</a>, <a href="#Page_121">121</a>, <a href="#Page_136">136</a>, <a href="#Page_458">458</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Morpeth, Viscount, i. <a href="#Page_92">92</a>, <a href="#Page_146">146</a>,</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Pardoe, Miss, i. <a href="#Page_73">73</a></span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Poole, John, i. <a href="#Page_236">236</a></span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Power, Miss, i. <a href="#Page_179">179</a>, <a href="#Page_181">181</a>, <a href="#Page_460">460</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Procter, Adelaide, i. <a href="#Page_374">374</a></span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Procter, B. W., i. <a href="#Page_354">354</a></span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Regnier, Monsieur, i. <a href="#Page_302">302</a>, <a href="#Page_303">303</a>, <a href="#Page_383">383</a>, <a href="#Page_411">411</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Roberts, David, i. <a href="#Page_215">215</a>, <a href="#Page_246">246</a>, <a href="#Page_248">248</a>, <a href="#Page_389">389</a></span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Russell, Lord John, i. <a href="#Page_277">277</a>, <a href="#Page_316">316</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ryland, Arthur, i. <a href="#Page_349">349</a>, <a href="#Page_382">382</a>, <a href="#Page_388">388</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sandys, William, i. <a href="#Page_178">178</a></span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Saunders, John, i. <a href="#Page_366">366</a></span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Smith, H. P., i. <a href="#Page_74">74</a>, <a href="#Page_179">179</a>, <a href="#Page_181">181</a></span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Stanfield, Clarkson, i. <a href="#Page_92">92</a>, <a href="#Page_102">102</a>, <a href="#Page_113">113</a>, <a href="#Page_144">144</a>, <a href="#Page_151">151</a>, <a href="#Page_205">205</a>, <a href="#Page_299">299</a>, <a href="#Page_373">373</a>, <a href="#Page_394">394</a>, <a href="#Page_395">395</a>, <a href="#Page_398">398</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Stone, Marcus, i. <a href="#Page_340">340</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Stone, Frank, i. <a href="#Page_199">199</a>-<a href="#Page_201">201</a>, <a href="#Page_206">206</a>, <a href="#Page_259">259</a>, <a href="#Page_261">261</a>, <a href="#Page_295">295</a>, <a href="#Page_305">305</a>, <a href="#Page_355">355</a>, <a href="#Page_365">365</a>, <a href="#Page_396">396</a>, <a href="#Page_397">397</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"<i>Sun, The</i>," the editor of, i. <a href="#Page_187">187</a></span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tagart, Edward, i. <a href="#Page_111">111</a>, <a href="#Page_173">173</a></span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Talfourd, Miss Mary, i. <a href="#Page_51">51</a></span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Talfourd, Serjeant, i. <a href="#Page_10">10</a></span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tennent, Sir James Emerson, i. <a href="#Page_329">329</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Tomlin, John, i. <a href="#Page_40">40</a></span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Trollope, Mrs., i. <a href="#Page_81">81</a>, <a href="#Page_397">397</a></span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Viardot, Madame, i. <a href="#Page_412">412</a></span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Watkins, John, i. <a href="#Page_287">287</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Watson, Hon. Mrs., i. <a href="#Page_171">171</a>, <a href="#Page_196">196</a>, <a href="#Page_209">209</a>, <a href="#Page_226">226</a>, <a href="#Page_228">228</a>, <a href="#Page_231">231</a>, <a href="#Page_234">234</a>, <a href="#Page_237">237</a>, <a href="#Page_242">242</a>, <a href="#Page_254">254</a>, <a href="#Page_276">276</a>, <a href="#Page_282">282</a>, <a href="#Page_289">289</a>, <a href="#Page_309">309</a>, <a href="#Page_317">317</a>, <a href="#Page_343">343</a>, <a href="#Page_370">370</a>, <a href="#Page_402">402</a>, <a href="#Page_412">412</a>, <a href="#Page_453">453</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Watson, Hon. R., i. <a href="#Page_159">159</a></span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">White, Rev. James, i. <a href="#Page_149">149</a>, <a href="#Page_193">193</a>, <a href="#Page_208">208</a>, <a href="#Page_217">217</a>, <a href="#Page_220">220</a>, <a href="#Page_288">288</a>, <a href="#Page_291">291</a>, <a href="#Page_292">292</a>, <a href="#Page_350">350</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wills, W. H., i. <a href="#Page_148">148</a>-<a href="#Page_150">150</a>, <a href="#Page_219">219</a>, <a href="#Page_221">221</a>, <a href="#Page_222">222</a>, <a href="#Page_244">244</a>, <a href="#Page_250">250</a>, <a href="#Page_285">285</a>, <a href="#Page_286">286</a>, <a href="#Page_292">292</a>, <a href="#Page_295">295</a>, <a href="#Page_299">299</a>, <a href="#Page_303">303</a>, <a href="#Page_304">304</a>, <a href="#Page_307">307</a>, <a href="#Page_315">315</a>, <a href="#Page_333">333</a>, <a href="#Page_334">334</a>, <a href="#Page_352">352</a>, <a href="#Page_357">357</a>, <a href="#Page_384">384</a>, <a href="#Page_387">387</a>, <a href="#Page_401">401</a>, <a href="#Page_407">407</a>, <a href="#Page_408">408</a>, <a href="#Page_410">410</a>, <a href="#Page_415">415</a>, <a href="#Page_433">433</a>, <a href="#Page_450">450</a>, <a href="#Page_452">452</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Wilson, Effingham, i. <a href="#Page_199">199</a></span><br />
<br />
Lewes, G. H., i. <a href="#Page_170">170</a><br />
<br />
"Lighthouse, The," the play of, i. <a href="#Page_337">337</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dickens's prologue to, i. <a href="#Page_461">461</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dickens's "Song of the Wreck" in, i. <a href="#Page_461">461</a>;</span><br />
<br />
Lion, a chained, i. <a href="#Page_144">144</a><br />
<br />
"Little Dorrit," i. <a href="#Page_378">378</a>, <a href="#Page_413">413</a>, <a href="#Page_415">415</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">proposed name of, i. <a href="#Page_402">402</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">sale of, i. <a href="#Page_426">426</a>;</span><br />
<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_460i" id="Page_460i">[460]</a></span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">letters concerning, i. <a href="#Page_402">402</a>, <a href="#Page_403">403</a>, <a href="#Page_406">406</a>, <a href="#Page_426">426</a></span><br />
<br />
London, the Mayor of, from a French point of view, i. <a href="#Page_175">175</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">in September, i. <a href="#Page_318">318</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dickens's opinion of the Corporation of, i. <a href="#Page_389">389</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">facetious advice to country visitors to, i. <a href="#Page_252">252</a></span><br />
<br />
Longman, Thomas, letters to, i. <a href="#Page_73">73</a>;<br />
<br />
Longman, William, letter to, i. <a href="#Page_24">24</a><br />
<br />
Lovejoy, G., i. <a href="#Page_44">44</a><br />
<br />
Lyndhurst, Lord, i. <a href="#Page_147">147</a>;<br />
<br />
Lynn, Miss, i. <a href="#Page_378">378</a><br />
<br />
<ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'Lyttleton'">Lyttelton</ins>, Hon. Spencer, i. <a href="#Page_239">239</a>, <a href="#Page_245">245</a><br />
<br />
Lytton, the first Lord, i. <a href="#Page_214">214</a>, <a href="#Page_239">239</a>;<br />
<br />
<br />
Maclise, Daniel, i. <a href="#Page_18">18</a>, <a href="#Page_23">23</a>, <a href="#Page_80">80</a>, <a href="#Page_177">177</a>, <a href="#Page_370">370</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">letters to, i. <a href="#Page_33">33</a>, <a href="#Page_105">105</a></span><br />
<br />
Macready, W. C., i. <a href="#Page_94">94</a>, <a href="#Page_133">133</a>, <a href="#Page_239">239</a>, <a href="#Page_413">413</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">and see <a href="#letters">Letters</a></span><br />
<br />
Macready, Benvenuta, i. <a href="#Page_431">431</a>;<br />
<br />
Macready, Kate, i. <a href="#Page_415">415</a>;<br />
<br />
Macready, Nina, i. <a href="#Page_195">195</a><br />
<br />
Martineau, i. <a href="#Page_61">61</a>, <a href="#Page_229">229</a><br />
<br />
"Martin Chuzzlewit," i. <a href="#Page_53">53</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">dramatised, i. <a href="#Page_95">95</a>, <a href="#Page_105">105</a>;</span><br />
<br />
"Master Humphrey's Clock," i. <a href="#Page_28">28</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">the plan of, described, i. <a href="#Page_29">29</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">letters concerning illustrations for, i. <a href="#Page_29">29</a>-<a href="#Page_31">31</a>, <a href="#Page_33">33</a>-<a href="#Page_36">36</a>, <a href="#Page_38">38</a>-<a href="#Page_40">40</a>, <a href="#Page_45">45</a>-<a href="#Page_47">47</a>, <a href="#Page_50">50</a>-<a href="#Page_51">51</a></span><br />
<br />
"M&eacute;moires du Diable, Les," i. <a href="#Page_444">444</a><br />
<br />
Missionaries, Dickens on, i. <a href="#Page_227">227</a><br />
<br />
Mitton, Thomas, see <a href="#letters">Letters</a><br />
<br />
Monuments, Dickens on, i. <a href="#Page_287">287</a>, <a href="#Page_356">356</a><br />
<br />
Moore, Tom, i. <a href="#Page_163">163</a><br />
<br />
Morley, Mr., i. <a href="#Page_399">399</a><br />
<br />
Morpeth, Viscount, letters to, i. <a href="#Page_92">92</a>, <a href="#Page_146">146</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">and see <a href="#carlisle">Carlisle</a>, The Earl of</span><br />
<br />
Mulgrave, Earl of, i. <a href="#Page_57">57</a><br />
<br />
<br />
Narrative, i. <a href="#Page_1">1</a>, <a href="#Page_4">4</a>, <a href="#Page_6">6</a>, <a href="#Page_17">17</a>, <a href="#Page_28">28</a>, <a href="#Page_36">36</a>, <a href="#Page_53">53</a>, <a href="#Page_57">57</a>, <a href="#Page_85">85</a>, <a href="#Page_94">94</a>, <a href="#Page_134">134</a>, <a href="#Page_147">147</a>, <a href="#Page_169">169</a>, <a href="#Page_185">185</a>, <a href="#Page_204">204</a>, <a href="#Page_213">213</a>, <a href="#Page_239">239</a>, <a href="#Page_271">271</a>, <a href="#Page_296">296</a>, <a href="#Page_341">341</a>, <a href="#Page_376">376</a>, <a href="#Page_413">413</a><br />
<br />
Nathan, Messrs. H. and L., i. <a href="#Page_232">232</a>, <a href="#Page_233">233</a>, <a href="#Page_235">235</a><br />
<br />
"Nicholas Nickleby," publication of, i. <a href="#Page_6">6</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">rewards and punishments of characters in, i. <a href="#Page_14">14</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dickens at work on, i. <a href="#Page_16">16</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">dedication of, i, <a href="#Page_26">26</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">the Kenwigs in, i, <a href="#Page_25">25</a>;</span><br />
<br />
Nicknames, Dickens's, of George Cattermole, i. <a href="#Page_42">42</a>, <a href="#Page_143">143</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">of his children, i. <a href="#Page_76">76</a>, <a href="#Page_126">126</a>, <a href="#Page_170">170</a>, <a href="#Page_322">322</a>, <a href="#Page_338">338</a>, <a href="#Page_453">453</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">nautical, i. <a href="#Page_152">152</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">of himself, i. <a href="#Page_198">198</a>, <a href="#Page_206">206</a>, <a href="#Page_307">307</a>, <a href="#Page_362">362</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">of Frank Stone, i. <a href="#Page_214">214</a>, <a href="#Page_305">305</a></span><br />
<br />
Noviomagians, the, i. <a href="#Page_272">272</a><br />
<br />
<br />
"Old Curiosity Shop, The," Dickens engaged on, i. <a href="#Page_28">28</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">scenes in, described by Dickens for illustration, i. <a href="#Page_21">21</a>, <a href="#Page_33">33</a>-<a href="#Page_37">37</a>, <a href="#Page_42">42</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dickens heartbroken over the story, i. <a href="#Page_36">36</a>, <a href="#Page_37">37</a>, <a href="#Page_42">42</a></span><br />
<br />
"Oliver Twist," publication of, i. <a href="#Page_4">4</a>;<br />
<br />
Organs, street, i. <a href="#Page_104">104</a><br />
<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_461i" id="Page_461i">[461]</a></span><br />
Overs, i. <a href="#Page_37">37</a>, <a href="#Page_49">49</a><br />
<br />
<br />
Pardoe, Miss, letter to, i. <a href="#Page_73">73</a><br />
<br />
<a name="paris" id="paris"></a>Paris, Dickens at, i. <a href="#Page_130">130</a>, <a href="#Page_131">131</a>, <a href="#Page_147">147</a>, <a href="#Page_157">157</a>-<a href="#Page_161">161</a>, <a href="#Page_169">169</a>, <a href="#Page_174">174</a>, <a href="#Page_239">239</a>, <a href="#Page_376">376</a>, <a href="#Page_378">378</a>, <a href="#Page_385">385</a>-<a href="#Page_387">387</a>, <a href="#Page_413">413</a>, <a href="#Page_406">406</a>-<a href="#Page_425">425</a>, <a href="#Page_430">430</a>, <a href="#Page_431">431</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">house-hunting in, i. <a href="#Page_158">158</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">description of Dickens's house in, i. <a href="#Page_159">159</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">state of, in 1846, i. <a href="#Page_160">160</a>, <a href="#Page_161">161</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">feeling of people of, for Dickens, i. <a href="#Page_411">411</a>;</span><br />
<br />
Parrots, human, i. <a href="#Page_87">87</a>, <a href="#Page_121">121</a><br />
<br />
"Patrician's Daughter, The," prologue to, written by Dickens, i. <a href="#Page_55">55</a>, <a href="#Page_77">77</a><br />
<br />
Paxton, Sir Joseph, i. <a href="#Page_446">446</a><br />
<br />
Phelps, J., i. <a href="#Page_366">366</a><br />
<br />
"Pickwick," origin and publication of, i. <a href="#Page_1">1</a>, <a href="#Page_3">3</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">first mention of Jingle, i. <a href="#Page_3">3</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">conclusion of, celebrated, i. <a href="#Page_5">5</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">the design of the Shepherd in, explained, i. <a href="#Page_85">85</a>, <a href="#Page_89">89</a></span><br />
<br />
Picnic, a, of the elements, i, <a href="#Page_116">116</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">with Eton boys, i. <a href="#Page_255">255</a>, <a href="#Page_258">258</a></span><br />
<br />
Plessy, Madame, i. <a href="#Page_412">412</a><br />
<br />
Poole, John, i. <a href="#Page_298">298</a>, <a href="#Page_317">317</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">letter to, i. <a href="#Page_236">236</a></span><br />
<br />
"Poor Travellers, The," i. <a href="#Page_378">378</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">sale of, i. <a href="#Page_379">379</a></span><br />
<br />
<a name="portraits" id="portraits"></a>Portraits of Dickens, by Maclise, i. <a href="#Page_18">18</a>, <a href="#Page_23">23</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">by Ary Scheffer, i. <a href="#Page_414">414</a>, <a href="#Page_434">434</a></span><br />
<br />
Postman, an Albaro, i. <a href="#Page_112">112</a>, <a href="#Page_117">117</a><br />
<br />
Power, Miss, i. <a href="#Page_442">442</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">and see <a href="#letters">Letters</a></span><br />
<br />
Power, Nelly, i. <a href="#Page_443">443</a><br />
<br />
Press, the, freedom of, i. <a href="#Page_49">49</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">in America, i. <a href="#Page_97">97</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">taxation of the, i. <a href="#Page_274">274</a></span><br />
<br />
Procter, Adelaide, i. <a href="#Page_341">341</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">letter to, i. <a href="#Page_374">374</a></span><br />
<br />
Procter, B. W., i. <a href="#Page_341">341</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">and see <a href="#letters">Letters</a></span><br />
<br />
Publishing system, how to improve the, i. <a href="#Page_86">86</a><br />
<br />
Purse, the power of the, i. <a href="#Page_88">88</a><br />
<br />
<br />
Queen, the, Dickens's theatrical performance before, i. <a href="#Page_239">239</a>;<br />
<br />
<br />
Rae, Dr., i. <a href="#Page_373">373</a><br />
<br />
<a name="readings" id="readings"></a>Readings, Dickens's public, for charities, i. <a href="#Page_297">297</a>, <a href="#Page_341">341</a>, <a href="#Page_377">377</a><br />
<br />
Reform, Dickens speaks on Administrative, i. <a href="#Page_377">377</a>, <a href="#Page_399">399</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">association for, i. <a href="#Page_399">399</a>;</span><br />
<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_462i" id="Page_462i">[462]</a></span><br />
Refreshment rooms, i. <a href="#Page_424">424</a><br />
<br />
Regnier, M., i. <a href="#Page_298">298</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">and see <a href="#letters">Letters</a></span><br />
<br />
Richardson, Samuel, Dickens's opinion of, i. <a href="#Page_175">175</a><br />
<br />
"Rivals, The," a scene from, rewritten, i. <a href="#Page_345">345</a><br />
<br />
Roberts, David, i. <a href="#Page_214">214</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">letters to, i. <a href="#Page_215">215</a>, <a href="#Page_246">246</a>, <a href="#Page_248">248</a>, <a href="#Page_389">389</a></span><br />
<br />
"Robinson Crusoe," Dickens on, i. <a href="#Page_443">443</a><br />
<br />
Robson, F., i. <a href="#Page_451">451</a><br />
<br />
Roche, Dickens's courier, i. <a href="#Page_95">95</a>, <a href="#Page_122">122</a>-<a href="#Page_126">126</a>, <a href="#Page_139">139</a><br />
<br />
Russell, Lord John, i. <a href="#Page_272">272</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">and see <a href="#letters">Letters</a></span><br />
<br />
<br />
Sanatorium for art-students, i. <a href="#Page_102">102</a><br />
<br />
Sand, Georges, i. <a href="#Page_420">420</a><br />
<br />
Sandys, William, letter to, i. <a href="#Page_178">178</a><br />
<br />
Saunders, John, i. <a href="#Page_341">341</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">letter to, i. <a href="#Page_366">366</a></span><br />
<br />
Savage, i. <a href="#Page_271">271</a><br />
<br />
Scheffer, Ary, i. <a href="#Page_414">414</a>, <a href="#Page_434">434</a><br />
<br />
Schoolmistress, a Yorkshire, i. <a href="#Page_8">8</a><br />
<br />
Scott, Sir Walter, i. <a href="#Page_22">22</a>, <a href="#Page_254">254</a><br />
<br />
Scribe, Eug&egrave;ne, i. <a href="#Page_430">430</a>, <a href="#Page_432">432</a><br />
<br />
Seaside, the, in wet weather, i. <a href="#Page_90">90</a><br />
<br />
Sea voyage, a, i. <a href="#Page_322">322</a><br />
<br />
Shakespeare, Dickens in room of, i. <a href="#Page_13">13</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dickens's criticisms of Charles Knight's biography of, i. <a href="#Page_152">152</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">and see i. <a href="#Page_178">178</a></span><br />
<br />
Shower-bath, a perpetual, i. <a href="#Page_207">207</a><br />
<br />
"Sketches," publication of the, i. <a href="#Page_1">1</a><br />
<br />
Smith, H. P., letters to, i. <a href="#Page_74">74</a>, <a href="#Page_179">179</a>, <a href="#Page_181">181</a><br />
<br />
Smith, Sydney, i. <a href="#Page_24">24</a><br />
<br />
Smollett, Dickens on the works of, i. <a href="#Page_356">356</a><br />
<br />
Snevellicci, Miss, in real life, i. <a href="#Page_13">13</a><br />
<br />
Snore, a mighty, i. <a href="#Page_158">158</a><br />
<br />
Songs by Dickens: on Mark Lemon, i. <a href="#Page_207">207</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">of "The Wreck" in "The Lighthouse," i. <a href="#Page_461">461</a></span><br />
<br />
Spencer, Lord, i. <a href="#Page_242">242</a><br />
<br />
Spider, a fearful, i. <a href="#Page_180">180</a><br />
<br />
Spiritualism, Dickens on, i. <a href="#Page_350">350</a>, <a href="#Page_397">397</a><br />
<br />
Stage suggestions, i. <a href="#Page_79">79</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">a stage mob, i. <a href="#Page_174">174</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">a piece of stage business, i. <a href="#Page_156">156</a></span><br />
<br />
Stanfield, Clarkson, i. <a href="#Page_370">370</a>, <a href="#Page_377">377</a>, <a href="#Page_429">429</a>, <a href="#Page_435">435</a>, <a href="#Page_454">454</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">and see <a href="#letters">Letters</a></span><br />
<br />
Steele, Sir Richard, Dickens on Forster's essay on, i. <a href="#Page_393">393</a><br />
<br />
Stone, Arthur, i. <a href="#Page_436">436</a><br />
<br />
Stone, Frank, i. <a href="#Page_134">134</a>, <a href="#Page_143">143</a>, <a href="#Page_225">225</a>, <a href="#Page_240">240</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">and see <a href="#letters">Letters</a></span><br />
<br />
Stone, Marcus, i. <a href="#Page_299">299</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">letters to, i. <a href="#Page_340">340</a></span><br />
<br />
"Strange Gentleman, The," farce written by Dickens and produced, i. <a href="#Page_4">4</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">price of, i. <a href="#Page_5">5</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">sent to Macready, i. <a href="#Page_16">16</a></span><br />
<br />
Strikes, Dickens on, i. <a href="#Page_416">416</a><br />
<br />
<i>Sun, The</i>, letter to editor of, i. <a href="#Page_187">187</a></span><br />
<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_463i" id="Page_463i">[463]</a></span><br />
<a name="switzerland" id="switzerland"></a>Switzerland, the Simplon Pass in, i. <a href="#Page_127">127</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">pleasant recollections of, i. <a href="#Page_197">197</a>, <a href="#Page_218">218</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dickens at Lausanne in, i. <a href="#Page_147">147</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">a revolution in, i. <a href="#Page_155">155</a>, <a href="#Page_175">175</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">friends in, i. <a href="#Page_157">157</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dickens's love for, i. <a href="#Page_158">158</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">letters concerning Lausanne in, i. <a href="#Page_147">147</a>, <a href="#Page_154">154</a>, <a href="#Page_160">160</a>, <a href="#Page_172">172</a>, <a href="#Page_179">179</a></span><br />
<br />
Sympathy, letters of, i. <a href="#Page_193">193</a>, <a href="#Page_265">265</a>, <a href="#Page_282">282</a>, <a href="#Page_283">283</a>, <a href="#Page_394">394</a><br />
<br />
<br />
Tagart, Edward, letters to, i. <a href="#Page_111">111</a>, <a href="#Page_173">173</a><br />
<br />
Talfourd, Miss Mary, letter to, i. <a href="#Page_51">51</a><br />
<br />
Talfourd, Mr. Justice, i. <a href="#Page_7">7</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">letter to, i. <a href="#Page_10">10</a></span><br />
<br />
Ta&uuml;chnitz, Baron, i. <a href="#Page_188">188</a>, <a href="#Page_195">195</a><br />
<br />
<a name="tavistock" id="tavistock"></a>Tavistock House, purchase of, i. <a href="#Page_240">240</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">letters concerning, i. <a href="#Page_259">259</a>, <a href="#Page_261">261</a>-<a href="#Page_266">266</a></span><br />
<br />
Taxation, Dickens on, i. <a href="#Page_218">218</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">of newspapers, i. <a href="#Page_273">273</a></span><br />
<br />
Telegraph, the dramatic side of the, i. <a href="#Page_417">417</a><br />
<br />
Tennent, Sir James Emerson, i. <a href="#Page_298">298</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">letters to, i. <a href="#Page_329">329</a>;</span><br />
<br />
Tenniel, John, i. <a href="#Page_241">241</a><br />
<br />
Theatre, Dickens at the, i. <a href="#Page_13">13</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Phiz's laughter at the, i. <a href="#Page_13">13</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">the saloon at Drury Lane, i. <a href="#Page_37">37</a>, <a href="#Page_52">52</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">scents of a, i. <a href="#Page_96">96</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">story of a, i. <a href="#Page_144">144</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">proposal for a national, i. <a href="#Page_199">199</a>;</span><br />
<br />
<a name="theatrical" id="theatrical"></a>Theatrical performances of Charles Dickens:<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">at Montreal, i. <a href="#Page_72">72</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">at Miss Kelly's Theatre, i. <a href="#Page_134">134</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Fortunio" at Tavistock House, i. <a href="#Page_376">376</a>, <a href="#Page_381">381</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"The Lighthouse," i. <a href="#Page_377">377</a>, <a href="#Page_394">394</a>-<a href="#Page_397">397</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"The Frozen Deep," i. <a href="#Page_414">414</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">before the Queen, i. <a href="#Page_239">239</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">and see i. <a href="#Page_170">170</a>, <a href="#Page_185">185</a>, <a href="#Page_239">239</a>, <a href="#Page_241">241</a>, <a href="#Page_271">271</a>, <a href="#Page_376">376</a>, <a href="#Page_377">377</a>, <a href="#Page_414">414</a>;</span><br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">letters concerning the, i. <a href="#Page_141">141</a>, <a href="#Page_143">143</a>, <a href="#Page_144">144</a>, <a href="#Page_146">146</a>, <a href="#Page_181">181</a>, <a href="#Page_192">192</a>, <a href="#Page_196">196</a>, <a href="#Page_224">224</a>-<a href="#Page_228">228</a>, <a href="#Page_231">231</a>, <a href="#Page_232">232</a>, <a href="#Page_234">234</a>, <a href="#Page_244">244</a>, <a href="#Page_268">268</a>, <a href="#Page_398">398</a>, <a href="#Page_433">433</a>, <a href="#Page_453">453</a>, <a href="#Page_454">454</a>, <a href="#Page_457">457</a>, <a href="#Page_459">459</a>, <a href="#Page_460">460</a></span><br />
<br />
Tomlin, John, letter to, i. <a href="#Page_40">40</a><br />
<br />
Topham, F. W., i. <a href="#Page_241">241</a>, <a href="#Page_269">269</a><br />
<br />
Trollope, Mrs., letters to, i. <a href="#Page_80">80</a>, <a href="#Page_397">397</a><br />
<br />
<br />
"Uncle Tom's Cabin," Dickens on, i. <a href="#Page_289">289</a><br />
<br />
<br />
Viardot, Madame, letter to, i. <a href="#Page_412">412</a><br />
<br />
"Village Coquettes, The," operetta written by Dickens, i. <a href="#Page_5">5</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">and see i. <a href="#Page_93">93</a></span><br />
<br />
<br />
Waistcoat, a wonderful, i. <a href="#Page_102">102</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">the loan by Dickens of Macready's, i. <a href="#Page_146">146</a></span><br />
<br />
War, Dickens on the Russian, i. <a href="#Page_379">379</a><br />
<br />
Ward, E. M., i. <a href="#Page_341">341</a><br />
<br />
Watkins, John, i. <a href="#Page_415">415</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">letters to, i. <a href="#Page_287">287</a></span><br />
<br />
Watson, Hon. R., i. <a href="#Page_147">147</a>, <a href="#Page_280">280</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">letter to, i. <a href="#Page_159">159</a></span><br />
<br />
Watson, Hon. Mrs., i. <a href="#Page_147">147</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">and see <a href="#letters">Letters</a></span><br />
<br />
Welcome home, a, i. <a href="#Page_117">117</a><br />
<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_464i" id="Page_464i">[464]</a></span><br />
Whewell, Dr., i. <a href="#Page_372">372</a><br />
<br />
White, Rev. James, i. <a href="#Page_149">149</a>, <a href="#Page_413">413</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">and see <a href="#letters">Letters</a></span><br />
<br />
Wigan, Alfred, i. <a href="#Page_429">429</a><br />
<br />
Wills, W. H., i. <a href="#Page_148">148</a>, <a href="#Page_241">241</a>, <a href="#Page_375">375</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">and see <a href="#letters">Letters</a></span><br />
<br />
Wilson, Effingham, letter to, i. <a href="#Page_199">199</a><br />
<br />
<br />
Yates, Edmund, i. <a href="#Page_414">414</a>, <a href="#Page_426">426</a>;<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;">and see <a href="#letters">Letters</a></span><br />
<br />
</div>


<h2>THE END.</h2>






















<div class="footnotes"><h3>FOOTNOTES:</h3>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> The little dog&mdash;a white Havana spaniel&mdash;<i>was</i> brought home and renamed,
after an incidental character in "Nicholas Nickleby," "Mr. Snittle
Timbery." This was shortened to "Timber," and under that name the
little dog lived to be very old, and accompanied the family in all its
migrations, including the visits to Italy and Switzerland.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_2_2" id="Footnote_2_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> Life Insurance Office.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_3_3" id="Footnote_3_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_3"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> Mr. Macready's&mdash;so pronounced by one of Charles Dickens's little
children.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_4_4" id="Footnote_4_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_4"><span class="label">[4]</span></a> T. P. Cooke, the celebrated actor of "William" in Douglas Jerrold's play of
"Black-eyed Susan."</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_5_5" id="Footnote_5_5"></a><a href="#FNanchor_5_5"><span class="label">[5]</span></a> This alludes to a theatrical story of a second-rate actor, who described
himself as a "chained lion," in a theatre where he had to play inferior parts
to Mr. Macready.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_6_6" id="Footnote_6_6"></a><a href="#FNanchor_6_6"><span class="label">[6]</span></a> "The Battle of Life."</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_7_7" id="Footnote_7_7"></a><a href="#FNanchor_7_7"><span class="label">[7]</span></a></p> <div class='center'>LETTER OF BARON TA&Uuml;CHNITZ.</div>

<p>Having had the privilege to see a letter which the late Mr. Charles Dickens
wrote to the author of this work upon its first appearance, and which there
was no intention to publish in England, it became my lively wish to make
it known to the readers of my edition.</p>
<p>I therefore addressed an earnest request to Mr. Forster, that he would
permit the letter to be prefixed to a reprint not designed for circulation in
England, where I could understand his reluctance to sanction its publication.
Its varied illustration of the subject of the book, and its striking
passages of personal feeling and character, led me also to request that I
might be allowed to present it in facsimile.</p>
<p>Mr. Forster complied; and I am most happy to be thus enabled to give to
my public, on the following pages, so attractive and so interesting a letter,
reproduced in the exact form in which it was written, by the most popular
and admired-of writers&mdash;too early gone.</p>
<div class='sig'>
<span class="smcap">Ta&uuml;chnitz.</span><br /></div>
<p>Leipsic,<br />
<span style="margin-left: 1em;"><i>May 23, 1873.</i></span></p>
</div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_8_8" id="Footnote_8_8"></a><a href="#FNanchor_8_8"><span class="label">[8]</span></a> The last illness of Mrs. White's mother.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_9_9" id="Footnote_9_9"></a><a href="#FNanchor_9_9"><span class="label">[9]</span></a> Dr. Gottfried Kinkel, a distinguished scholar and Professor in the
University of Bonn, who was at that time undergoing very rigorous State
imprisonment in Prussia, for political reasons. Dr. Kinkel was afterwards
well known as a teacher and lecturer on Art in London, where he resided
for many years.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_10_10" id="Footnote_10_10"></a><a href="#FNanchor_10_10"><span class="label">[10]</span></a> The part of the lawyer in "Used Up." It was <i>not</i> played after all by
Mr. Watson, but by Mr. (now Sir William) Boxall, R.A., a very old and
intimate friend of Mr. and Mrs. Watson, and of Charles Dickens.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_11_11" id="Footnote_11_11"></a><a href="#FNanchor_11_11"><span class="label">[11]</span></a> This part, finally, was played by Charles Dickens, junior.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_12_12" id="Footnote_12_12"></a><a href="#FNanchor_12_12"><span class="label">[12]</span></a> Mr. Stafford and Mr. Stopford, who both acted in the plays at Rockingham.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_13_13" id="Footnote_13_13"></a><a href="#FNanchor_13_13"><span class="label">[13]</span></a> Mr. Charles Knight was writing a series of papers in "Household
Words," called "Shadows."</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_14_14" id="Footnote_14_14"></a><a href="#FNanchor_14_14"><span class="label">[14]</span></a> The great Duke of Wellington's funeral.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_15_15" id="Footnote_15_15"></a><a href="#FNanchor_15_15"><span class="label">[15]</span></a> Meaning Mr. W. H. Wills himself.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_16_16" id="Footnote_16_16"></a><a href="#FNanchor_16_16"><span class="label">[16]</span></a> The poet "Barry Cornwall."</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_17_17" id="Footnote_17_17"></a><a href="#FNanchor_17_17"><span class="label">[17]</span></a> "Hide and Seek."</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_18_18" id="Footnote_18_18"></a><a href="#FNanchor_18_18"><span class="label">[18]</span></a> On the occasion of the Prince Consort's visit to the camp at Boulogne.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_19_19" id="Footnote_19_19"></a><a href="#FNanchor_19_19"><span class="label">[19]</span></a> Mr. Egg.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_20_20" id="Footnote_20_20"></a><a href="#FNanchor_20_20"><span class="label">[20]</span></a> The inscription on the house in Rochester known as "Watts's Charity"
is to the effect that it furnishes a night's lodging for six poor travellers&mdash;"not
being Rogues or Proctors."</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_21_21" id="Footnote_21_21"></a><a href="#FNanchor_21_21"><span class="label">[21]</span></a> Captain Cavendish Boyle was governor of the military prison at Weedon.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_22_22" id="Footnote_22_22"></a><a href="#FNanchor_22_22"><span class="label">[22]</span></a> Wife of the late Sir Joseph Olliffe, Physician to the British Embassy.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_23_23" id="Footnote_23_23"></a><a href="#FNanchor_23_23"><span class="label">[23]</span></a> Of Mr. Wilkie Collins.</p></div>

<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_24_24" id="Footnote_24_24"></a><a href="#FNanchor_24_24"><span class="label">[24]</span></a> This note was written after hearing from Mr. Forster of his intended
marriage.</p></div>
</div>
<p><br /><br />&nbsp;</p>
<div class='tnote'><h3>Transcriber's Notes:</h3>

<p>The index for this volume was originally located at the end of
Volume II. To aid the reader, the parts referring to Volume I were
extracted from that index and appended to the end of this html text. The
original index can be found in its entirety at the end of the plain text
version of these volumes.</p>
<p>Pages 454-455, entries for "Dickens, Mamie" and "Dickens, Kate" were originally not in alphabetically order. This was corrected.</p>
<p>Obvious punctuation errors repaired.</p>

<p>The remaining corrections made are indicated by dotted lines under the corrections. Scroll the mouse over the word and the original text will <ins title="Transcriber's Note: original reads 'apprear'">appear</ins>.</p></div>







<pre>





End of Project Gutenberg's The Letters of Charles Dickens, by Charles Dickens

*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE LETTERS OF CHARLES DICKENS ***

***** This file should be named 25852-h.htm or 25852-h.zip *****
This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:
        http://www.gutenberg.org/2/5/8/5/25852/

Produced by Susan Skinner, Emmy and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net


Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions
will be renamed.

Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no
one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation
(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without
permission and without paying copyright royalties.  Special rules,
set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to
copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to
protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark.  Project
Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you
charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission.  If you
do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the
rules is very easy.  You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose
such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and
research.  They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do
practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks.  Redistribution is
subject to the trademark license, especially commercial
redistribution.



*** START: FULL LICENSE ***

THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK

To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free
distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project
Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project
Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at
http://gutenberg.org/license).


Section 1.  General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm
electronic works

1.A.  By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm
electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
(trademark/copyright) agreement.  If you do not agree to abide by all
the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy
all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession.
If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the
terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or
entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.

1.B.  "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark.  It may only be
used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement.  There are a few
things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
even without complying with the full terms of this agreement.  See
paragraph 1.C below.  There are a lot of things you can do with Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement
and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
works.  See paragraph 1.E below.

1.C.  The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation"
or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic works.  Nearly all the individual works in the
collection are in the public domain in the United States.  If an
individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are
located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from
copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative
works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg
are removed.  Of course, we hope that you will support the Project
Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by
freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of
this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with
the work.  You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by
keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project
Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others.

1.D.  The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
what you can do with this work.  Copyright laws in most countries are in
a constant state of change.  If you are outside the United States, check
the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement
before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or
creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project
Gutenberg-tm work.  The Foundation makes no representations concerning
the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United
States.

1.E.  Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:

1.E.1.  The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate
access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently
whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the
phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project
Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed,
copied or distributed:

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org

1.E.2.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived
from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is
posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied
and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees
or charges.  If you are redistributing or providing access to a work
with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the
work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1
through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the
Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or
1.E.9.

1.E.3.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted
with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional
terms imposed by the copyright holder.  Additional terms will be linked
to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the
permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.

1.E.4.  Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm
License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.

1.E.5.  Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
Gutenberg-tm License.

1.E.6.  You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any
word processing or hypertext form.  However, if you provide access to or
distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than
"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version
posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org),
you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a
copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon
request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other
form.  Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm
License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.

1.E.7.  Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works
unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.

1.E.8.  You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided
that

- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
     the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method
     you already use to calculate your applicable taxes.  The fee is
     owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he
     has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the
     Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.  Royalty payments
     must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you
     prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax
     returns.  Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and
     sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the
     address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to
     the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation."

- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
     you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
     does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm
     License.  You must require such a user to return or
     destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium
     and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of
     Project Gutenberg-tm works.

- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any
     money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
     electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days
     of receipt of the work.

- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
     distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.

1.E.9.  If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm
electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set
forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from
both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael
Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark.  Contact the
Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.

1.F.

1.F.1.  Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm
collection.  Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain
"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or
corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual
property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a
computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by
your equipment.

1.F.2.  LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right
of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
fees.  YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3.  YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
DAMAGE.

1.F.3.  LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
written explanation to the person you received the work from.  If you
received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with
your written explanation.  The person or entity that provided you with
the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a
refund.  If you received the work electronically, the person or entity
providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to
receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund.  If the second copy
is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further
opportunities to fix the problem.

1.F.4.  Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER
WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO
WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.

1.F.5.  Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages.
If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the
law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be
interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by
the applicable state law.  The invalidity or unenforceability of any
provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.

1.F.6.  INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance
with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production,
promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works,
harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees,
that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do
or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm
work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any
Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause.


Section  2.  Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm

Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of
electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers
including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers.  It exists
because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from
people in all walks of life.

Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's
goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will
remain freely available for generations to come.  In 2001, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations.
To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4
and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org.


Section 3.  Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive
Foundation

The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit
501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
Revenue Service.  The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification
number is 64-6221541.  Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at
http://pglaf.org/fundraising.  Contributions to the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent
permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws.

The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S.
Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered
throughout numerous locations.  Its business office is located at
809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email
business@pglaf.org.  Email contact links and up to date contact
information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official
page at http://pglaf.org

For additional contact information:
     Dr. Gregory B. Newby
     Chief Executive and Director
     gbnewby@pglaf.org


Section 4.  Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
Literary Archive Foundation

Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide
spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of
increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest
array of equipment including outdated equipment.  Many small donations
($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
status with the IRS.

The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
States.  Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
with these requirements.  We do not solicit donations in locations
where we have not received written confirmation of compliance.  To
SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any
particular state visit http://pglaf.org

While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
approach us with offers to donate.

International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
outside the United States.  U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.

Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation
methods and addresses.  Donations are accepted in a number of other
ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations.
To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate


Section 5.  General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
works.

Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm
concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared
with anyone.  For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project
Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.


Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed
editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S.
unless a copyright notice is included.  Thus, we do not necessarily
keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.


Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility:

     http://www.gutenberg.org

This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm,
including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.


</pre>

</body>
</html>
generated by cgit v1.2.3 (git 2.25.1) at 2026-08-22 15:10:16 +0000