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diff --git a/824-0.txt b/824-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..515cd8c --- /dev/null +++ b/824-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,9880 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Speeches of Charles Dickens, by Charles +Dickens + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most +other parts of the world 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. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have +to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. + + + + +Title: Speeches of Charles Dickens + Literary and Social + + +Author: Charles Dickens + + + +Release Date: December 18, 2014 [eBook #824] +[This file was first posted on March 1, 1997] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SPEECHES OF CHARLES DICKENS*** + + +Transcribed from the 1880 Chatto and Windus edition by David Price, email +ccx074@pglaf.org + + [Picture: Book cover] + + + + +SPEECHES +_LITERARY AND SOCIAL_ + + + BY + CHARLES DICKENS + + WITH CHAPTERS ON “CHARLES DICKENS AS A LETTER WRITER, + POET, AND PUBLIC READER.” + + [Picture: Drawing of Charles Dickens] + + _A NEW EDITION_ + + London + CHATTO AND WINDUS, PICCADILLY + 1880 + + + + +INTRODUCTION. + + +CHARLES DICKENS was born at Landport, Portsmouth, on February 7, 1812. +At that time his father, Mr. John Dickens, held an office in the Navy Pay +Department, the duties of which obliged him to reside alternately at the +principal naval stations of England. But on the conclusion of peace in +1815 a considerable reduction was made by Government in this branch of +the public service. Mr. John Dickens, among others, was pensioned off, +and he removed to London with his wife and children, when his son Charles +was hardly four years of age. + +No doubt the varied bustling scenes of life witnessed by Charles Dickens +in his early years, had an influence on his mind that gave him a taste +for observing the manners and mental peculiarities of different classes +of people engaged in the active pursuits of life, and quickened a +naturally lively perception of the ridiculous, for which he was +distinguished even in boyhood. + +It is curious to observe how similar opportunities of becoming acquainted +practically with life, and the busy actors on its varied scenes, in very +early life, appear to influence the minds of thinking and imaginative men +in after-years. Goldsmith’s pedestrian excursions on the Continent, +Bulwer’s youthful rambles on foot in England, and equestrian expeditions +in France, and Maclise’s extensive walks in boyhood over his native +county, and the mountains and valleys of Wicklow a little later, were +fraught with similar results. + +Charles Dickens was intended by his father to be an attorney. Nature and +Mr. John Dickens happily differed on that point. London law may have +sustained little injury in losing Dickens for “a limb.” English +literature would have met with an irreparable loss, had she been deprived +of him whom she delights to own as a favourite son. + +Dickens, having decided against the law, began his career in “the +gallery,” as a reporter on _The True Sun_; and from the first made +himself distinguished and distinguishable among “the corps,” for his +ability, promptness, and punctuality. + +Remaining for a short term on the staff of this periodical, he seceded to +_The Mirror of Parliament_, which was started with the express object of +furnishing _verbatim_ reports of the debates. It only lived, however, +for two sessions. + +The influence of his father, who on settling in the metropolis, had +become connected with the London press, procured for Charles Dickens an +appointment as short-hand reporter on the _Morning Chronicle_. To this +period of his life he has made some graceful and interesting allusions in +a speech delivered at the Second Anniversary of the Newspaper Press Fund, +about five years ago. + +It was in _The Monthly Magazine_ of January, 1834, before he had quite +attained his twenty-second year, that Charles Dickens made his first +appearance in print as a story-teller. {7} Neither the editor of the +magazine, nor the readers, nor even the ardent and gratified young author +himself (who has described in the preface to the “Pickwick Papers” his +sensations on finding his little contribution accepted), then dreamt that +he would become in five short years from that time one of the most +popular and widely-read of English authors, that his name would shortly +become familiar as a household word, and that his praise would be on +every tongue on both sides of the Atlantic. + +Encouraged by his success, Charles Dickens continued to send sketches in +the same vein, and for the next twelve months was a tolerably constant +contributor to the _Magazine_. All, or nearly all, of these little +papers were reprinted in the collection of _Sketches by Boz_; but as it +will perhaps be interesting to some of our readers to trace their +original appearance in the magazine, we give a list of them here:— + +February, 1834, Horatio Sparkins. + Marriage a-la-Mode. +April „ The Bloomsbury Christening. +May „ The Boarding-House. +August „ _Ibid._ (No II.) {8a} +September „ The Goings-on at Bramsby Hall. +October „ The Steam Excursion. +January, 1835. Passage in the Life of Mr. Watkins Tottle. +February „ _Ib._ Chapter Second. + +A similar series was afterwards contributed to the evening edition of +_The Morning Chronicle_, {8b} then edited by Mr. John Black, and on which +Dickens was engaged as parliamentary reporter. + +While writing the “Sketches,” a strong inclination towards the stage +induced Mr. Charles Dickens to test his powers as a dramatist, and his +first piece, a farce called _The Strange Gentleman_, was produced at the +St. James’s Theatre on the opening night of the season, September 29, +1836. The late Mr. Harley was the hero of the farce, which was received +with great favour. This was followed by an opera, called _The Village +Coquettes_, for which Mr. Hullah composed the music, and which was +brought out at the same establishment, on Tuesday, December 6, 1836. The +quaint humour, unaffected pathos, and graceful lyrics of this production +found prompt recognition, and the piece enjoyed a prosperous run. _The +Village Coquettes_ took its title from two village girls, Lucy and Rose, +led away by vanity, coquetting with men above them in station, and +discarding their humble, though worthy lovers. Before, however, it is +too late they see their error, and the piece terminates happily. Miss +Rainforth and Miss Julia Smith were the heroines, and Mr. Bennet and Mr. +Gardner were their betrothed lovers. Braham was the Lord of the Manor, +who would have led astray the fair Lucy. There was a capital scene, +where he was detected by Lucy’s father, played by Strickland, urging an +elopement. Harley had a trifling part in the piece, rendered highly +amusing by his admirable acting. + +On March 6, 1837, was brought out at the St. James’s Theatre a farce, +called _Is She His Wife_; _or_, _Something Singular_, in which Harley +played the principal character, Felix Tapkins, a flirting bachelor, and +sang a song in the character of Pickwick, “written expressly for him by +Boz.” + +Under the pseudonym of Timothy Sparks Charles Dickens published about +this time a wholesome, wise, and cleverly written little pamphlet against +Sabbatarianism, in which he cogently and forcibly advocated more liberal +views respecting the observance of Sunday than generally obtain in this +country. {10} + +In March, 1836, appeared the first number of “Pickwick,” with +illustrations by Seymour. It was continued in monthly shilling numbers +until its completion, and this has been Mr. Dickens’s favourite and usual +form of publication ever since. The success and popularity of the +work—which, in freshness and vigour, he has never surpassed in his later +and maturer writings—were unmistakeable. Several playwrights dramatised +it, with more or less success; and a swarm of obscure scribblers flooded +the town with imitations and sequels, which, like Avanelleda’s second +part of “Don Quixote,” came mostly to grief, and were quickly forgotten. + +Before the work had reached its third number, the talented artist who had +undertaken the illustrations, and who has immortalised the features of +Mr. Pickwick, was unfortunately removed by death, and Mr. Hablot Browne +(the well-known _Phiz_) was chosen to replace him, and continued to +illustrate most of Mr. Dickens’s novels for many years after. During the +years 1837–1838, Mr. Dickens carried on the editorship of _Bentley’s +Miscellany_, where his novel of “Oliver Twist” (illustrated by George +Cruikshank) first appeared. To this magazine, during the time that he +conducted it, he also contributed some humorous papers, entitled “Full +Report of the Meetings of the Mudfog Association for the Advancement of +Everything.” But, finding his editorial office irksome, he soon +abandoned it. + +During his engagement with Mr. Bentley, he edited and partly wrote the +“Memoirs of Joseph Grimaldi,” {11} a book now almost forgotten, though +not without passages of pathos and humour. Dickens, in the introductory +chapter (dated February, 1838), gives the following account of his share +in the work:— + + “For about a year before his death, Grimaldi was employed in writing + a full account of his life and adventures, and as people who write + their own lives often find time to extend them to a most inordinate + length, it is no wonder that his account of himself was exceedingly + voluminous. + + “This manuscript was confided to Mr. Thomas Egerton Wilks, to alter + and revise, with a view to its publication. While he was thus + engaged, Grimaldi died; and Mr. Wilks having, by the commencement of + September (1837), concluded his labours, offered the manuscript to + Mr. Bentley, by whom it was shortly afterwards purchased. + + “The present editor of these volumes has felt it necessary to say + thus much in explanation of their origin. His own share in them is + stated in a few words. Being much struck by several incidents in the + manuscript—such as the description of Grimaldi’s infancy, the + burglary, the brother’s return from sea, and many other passages—and + thinking that they might be related in a more attractive manner, he + accepted a proposal from the publisher to edit the book, and _has_ + edited it to the best of his ability, altering its form throughout, + and making such other alterations as he conceived would improve the + narration of the facts, without any departure from the facts + themselves.” + +His next work was “Nicholas Nickleby,” published in monthly numbers. The +following passage from the original preface, which is only to be found in +the old editions, alludes to the great success that attended this story:— + + “It only now remains for the writer of these pages, with that feeling + of regret with which we leave almost any pursuit that has for a long + time occupied us and engaged our thoughts, and which is naturally + augmented in such a case as this, when that pursuit has been + surrounded by all that could animate and cheer him on—it only now + remains for him, before abandoning his task, to bid his readers + farewell.” + +This was followed by “Master Humphrey’s Clock,” the publication of which, +in weekly numbers, with illustrations by Cattermole and Hablot Browne, +was commenced in April, 1840. “Master Humphrey’s Clock” comprised the +two novels of “The Old Curiosity Shop” and “Barnaby Rudge,” which are now +published in a separate form, stripped of the introductory portion +relating to Master Humphrey, and of the intercalary chapters in which Mr. +Pickwick and the two Wellers appear again on the scene. It was pleasant +to meet once more these familiar humorous creations, and it may be a +matter for regret that this portion of the book has been consigned to +oblivion. But the author considered that these passages served only to +interrupt the continuity of the main story, and they were consequently +eliminated. + +These three characters (the Wellers and Mr. Pickwick) have all the same +raciness and inexhaustible humour in this sequel as in the work in which +we were first introduced to them. As the original edition of the work we +are alluding to is now somewhat rare, the reader may not be displeased to +have a few specimens laid before him. Here is Mr. Weller senior’s +opinion of railways:— + + “I con-sider,” said Mr. Weller, “that the rail is unconstitootional + and an inwaser o’ priwileges, and I should wery much like to know + what that ’ere old Carter as once stood up for our liberties and wun + ’em too—I should like to know wot he vould say if he wos alive now, + to Englishmen being locked up with widders, or with anybody, again + their wills. Wot a old Carter would have said, a old Coachman may + say, and I as-sert that in that pint o’ view alone, the rail is an + inwaser. As to the comfort, vere’s the comfort o’ sittin’ in a harm + cheer lookin’ at brick walls or heaps o’ mud, never comin’ to a + public house, never seein’ a glass o’ ale, never goin’ through a + pike, never meetin’ a change o’ no kind (horses or othervise), but + alvays comin’ to a place, ven you come to one at all, the wery picter + o’ the last, vith the same p’leesemen standing about, the same + blessed old bell a ringin’, the same unfort’nate people standing + behind the bars, a waitin’ to be let in; and everythin’ the same + except the name, vich is wrote up in the same sized letters as the + last name and vith the same colors. As to the _h_onour and dignity + o’ travelling vere can that be vithout a coachman; and wot’s the rail + to sich coachmen and guards as is sometimes forced to go by it, but a + outrage and a insult? As to the pace, wot sort o’ pace do you think + I, Tony Veller, could have kept a coach goin’ at, for five hundred + thousand pound a mile, paid in adwance afore the coach was on the + road? And as to the ingein—a nasty wheezin’, creaking, gasping, + puffin, bustin’ monster, alvays out o’ breath, vith a shiny green and + gold back, like a unpleasant beetle in that ’ere gas magnifier—as to + the ingein as is alvays a pourin’ out red hot coals at night, and + black smoke in the day, the sensiblest thing it does in my opinion, + is, ven there’s somethin’ in the vay and it sets up that ’ere + frightful scream vich seems to say, ‘Now here’s two hundred and forty + passengers in the wery greatest extremity o’ danger, and here’s their + two hundred and forty screams in vun!’” {15} + +While Mr. Pickwick is listening to Master Humphrey’s story above, the +Wellers are entertained by the housekeeper in the kitchen, where they +find Mr. Slithers, the barber, to whom Sam Weller, drawing extensively we +may suppose upon his lively imagination, relates the following anecdote:— + + “I never knew,” said Sam, fixing his eyes in a ruminative manner upon + the blushing barber, “I never knew but von o’ your trade, but _he_ + wos worth a dozen, and wos indeed dewoted to his callin’!” + + “Was he in the easy shaving way, sir,” inquired Mr. Slithers; “or in + the cutting and curling line?” + + “Both,” replied Sam; “easy shavin’ was his natur, and cuttin’ and + curlin’ was his pride and glory. His whole delight wos in his trade. + He spent all his money in bears and run in debt for ’em besides, and + there they wos a growling avay down in the front cellar all day long, + and ineffectooally gnashing their teeth, vile the grease o’ their + relations and friends wos being re-tailed in gallipots in the shop + above, and the first-floor winder wos ornamented vith their heads; + not to speak o’ the dreadful aggrawation it must have been to ’em to + see a man alvays a walkin’ up and down the pavement outside, vith the + portrait of a bear in his last agonies, and underneath in large + letters, ‘Another fine animal wos slaughtered yesterday at + Jinkinson’s!’ Hows’ever, there they wos, and there Jinkinson wos, + till he wos took wery ill with some inn’ard disorder, lost the use of + his legs, and wos confined to his bed, vere he laid a wery long time, + but sich wos his pride in his profession even then, that wenever he + wos worse than usual, the doctor used to go down stairs and say, + ‘Jinkinson’s wery low this mornin’; we must give the bears a stir;’ + and as sure as ever they stirred ’em up a bit, and made ’em roar, + Jinkinson opens his eyes if he wos ever so bad, calls out, ‘There’s + the bears!’ and rewives agin. Vun day the doctor happenin’ to say, + ‘I shall look in as usual to-morrow mornin’,’ Jinkinson catches hold + of his hand and says, ‘Doctor,’ he says, ‘will you grant me one + favor?’ ‘I will, Jinkinson,’ says the doctor. ‘Then, doctor,’ says + Jinkinson, ‘vill you come un-shaved, and let me shave you?’ ‘I + will,’ says the doctor. ‘God bless you,’ says Jinkinson. Next day + the doctor came, and arter he’d been shaved all skilful and reg’lar, + he says, ‘Jinkinson,’ he says, ‘it’s wery plain this does you good. + Now,’ he says, ‘I’ve got a coachman as has got a beard that it ’d + warm your heart to work on, and though the footman,’ he says, ‘hasn’t + got much of a beard, still he’s a trying it on vith a pair o’ viskers + to that extent, that razors is christian charity. If they take it in + turns to mind the carriage wen it’s a waitin’ below,’ he says, ‘wot’s + to hinder you from operatin’ on both of ’em ev’ry day as well as upon + me? you’ve got six children,’ he says, ‘wot’s to hinder you from + shavin’ all their heads, and keepin’ ’em shaved? You’ve got two + assistants in the shop down-stairs, wot’s to hinder you from cuttin’ + and curlin’ them as often as you like? Do this,’ he says, ‘and + you’re a man agin.’ Jinkinson squeedged the doctor’s hand, and begun + that wery day; he kept his tools upon the bed, and wenever he felt + his-self gettin’ worse, he turned to at vun o’ the children, who wos + a runnin’ about the house vith heads like clean Dutch cheeses, and + shaved him agin. Vun day the lawyer come to make his vill; all the + time he wos a takin’ it down, Jinkinson was secretly a clippin’ avay + at his hair vith a large pair of scissors. ‘Wot’s that ’ere snippin’ + noise?’ says the lawyer every now and then, ‘it’s like a man havin’ + his hair cut.’ ‘It _is_ wery like a man havin’ his hair cut,’ says + poor Jinkinson, hidin’ the scissors and lookin’ quite innocent. By + the time the lawyer found it out, he was wery nearly bald. Jinkinson + was kept alive in this vay for a long time, but at last vun day he + has in all the children, vun arter another, shaves each on ’em wery + clean, and gives him vun kiss on the crown of his head; then he has + in the two assistants, and arter cuttin’ and curlin’ of ’em in the + first style of elegance, says he should like to hear the woice o’ the + greasiest bear, vich rekvest is immedetly complied with; then he says + that he feels wery happy in his mind, and vishes to be left alone; + and then he dies, prevously cuttin’ his own hair, and makin’ one flat + curl in the wery middle of his forehead.” {18a} + +There is a great deal more in the same vein, not unworthy of the +“Pickwick Papers.” We must leave the curious reader to find it out, +however, for himself. + +During the progress of this publication, it seems that certain officious +persons, mistaking it for a kind of _omnium gatherum_, by “several +hands,” tendered contributions to its pages, and the author was compelled +to issue the following advertisement: + + MASTER HUMPHREY’S CLOCK. + + MR. DICKENS begs to inform all those Ladies and Gentlemen who have + tendered him contributions for this work, and all those who may now + or at any future time have it in contemplation to do so, that he + cannot avail himself of their obliging offers, as it is written + solely by himself, and cannot possibly include any productions from + other hands. + + This announcement will serve for a final answer to all + correspondents, and will render any private communications + unnecessary. + +After “winding up his Clock,” as he termed it, Dickens resolved to make a +tour in the United States. Before he went away, however, some of the +most distinguished citizens of Edinburgh gave him a farewell banquet. +{18b} He was then only twenty-nine years of age, and this was the first +great public recognition of his genius, and the first occasion that was +afforded him of displaying his powers as a public speaker. Professor +Wilson (Christopher North) presided, and spoke of the young author in the +following terms:— + + “Our friend has dealt with the common feelings and passions of + ordinary men in the common and ordinary paths of life. He has not + sought—at least he has not yet sought—to deal with those thoughts and + passions that are made conspicuous from afar by the elevated stations + of those who experience them. He has mingled in the common walks of + life; he has made himself familiar with the lower orders of society. + He has not been deterred by the aspect of vice and wickedness, and + misery and guilt, from seeking a spirit of good in things evil, but + has endeavoured by the might of genius to transmute what was base + into what is precious as the beaten gold. . . . But I shall be + betrayed, if I go on much longer,—which it would be improper for me + to do—into something like a critical delineation of the genius of our + illustrious guest. I shall not attempt that; but I cannot but + express in a few ineffectual words, the delight which every human + bosom feels in the benign spirit which pervades all his creations. + How kind and good a man he is, I need not say; nor what strength of + genius he has acquired by that profound sympathy with his + fellow-creatures, whether in prosperity and happiness, or overwhelmed + with unfortunate circumstances, but who do not yet sink under their + miseries, but trust to their own strength of endurance, to that + principle of truth and honour and integrity which is no stranger to + the uncultivated bosom, which is found in the lowest abodes in as + great strength as in the halls of nobles and the palaces of kings. + + “Mr. Dickens is also a satirist. He satirises human life, but he + does not satirise it to degrade it. He does not wish to pull down + what is high into the neighbourhood of what is low. He does not seek + to represent all virtue as a hollow thing, in which no confidence can + be placed. He satirises only the selfish, and the hard-hearted, and + the cruel; he exposes in a hideous light that principle which, when + acted upon, gives a power to men in the lowest grades to carry on a + more terrific tyranny than if placed upon thrones. I shall not + say—for I do not feel—that our distinguished guest has done full and + entire justice to one subject—that he has entirely succeeded where I + have no doubt he would be most anxious to succeed—in a full and + complete delineation of the female character. But this he has done: + he has not endeavoured to represent women as charming merely by the + aid of accomplishments, however elegant and graceful. He has not + depicted those accomplishments as the essentials of their character, + but has spoken of them rather as always inspired by a love of + domesticity, by fidelity, by purity, by innocence, by charity, and by + hope, which makes them discharge, under the most difficult + circumstances, their duties; and which brings over their path in this + world some glimpses of the light of heaven. Mr. Dickens may be + assured that there is felt for him all over Scotland a sentiment of + kindness, affection, admiration and love; and I know for certain that + the knowledge of these sentiments must make him happy.” + + * * * * * + +Dickens left Liverpool, on his voyage across the Atlantic, in the +“Britannia” steam-packet, Captain Hewett, on the 3rd of January, 1842. +At Boston, Hartford, and New York, he was received with ovations +(Washington Irving on one occasion presiding at a banquet held in his +honour), until he was obliged to decline any further appearance in +public. During this first visit to America, he made three long and +eloquent speeches, which are all given in this volume _in extenso_. In +each of these he referred in an earnest way to the great question of +International Copyright, urging upon his Transatlantic friends the +necessity of doing right and justice in this matter. He returned to +England in the month of June, and a few weeks afterwards addressed the +following circular letter to all the principal English authors:— + + “1, DEVONSHIRE TERRACE, York Gate, Regent’s Park, + “7_th_ _July_, 1842. + + “You may perhaps be aware that, during my stay in America, I lost no + opportunity of endeavouring to awaken the public mind to a sense of + the unjust and iniquitous state of the law in that country, in + reference to the wholesale piracy of British works. Having been + successful in making the subject one of general discussion in the + United States, I carried to Washington, for presentation to Congress + by Mr. Clay, a petition from the whole body of American authors, + earnestly praying for the enactment of an International Copyright + Law. It was signed by Mr. Washington Irving, Mr. Prescott, Mr. + Cooper, and every man who has distinguished himself in the literature + of America; and has since been referred to a Select Committee of the + House of Representatives. To counteract any effect which might be + produced by that petition, a meeting was held in Boston—which, you + will remember, is the seat and stronghold of Learning and Letters in + the United States—at which a memorial against any change in the + existing state of things in this respect was agreed to, with but one + dissentient voice. This document, which, incredible as it may appear + to you, was actually forwarded to Congress and received, deliberately + stated that if English authors were invested with any control over + the re-publication of their own books, it would be no longer possible + for American editors to alter and adapt them (as they do now) to the + American taste! This memorial was, without loss of time, replied to + by Mr. Prescott, who commented, with the natural indignation of a + gentleman, and a man of letters, upon its extraordinary dishonesty. + I am satisfied that this brief mention of its tone and spirit is + sufficient to impress you with the conviction that it becomes all + those who are in any way connected with the literature of England, to + take that high stand, to which the nature of their pursuits, and the + extent of their sphere of usefulness, justly entitle them, to + discourage the upholders of such doctrines by every means in their + power, and to hold themselves aloof from the remotest participation + in a system, from which the moral sense and honourable feeling of all + just men must instinctively recoil. + + “For myself, I have resolved that I will never from this time enter + into any negotiation with any person for the transmission across the + Atlantic of early proofs of anything I may write, and that I will + forego all profit derivable from such a source. I do not venture to + urge this line of proceeding upon you, but I would beg to suggest, + and to lay great stress upon the necessity of observing one other + course of action, to which I cannot too emphatically call your + attention. The persons who exert themselves to mislead the American + public on this question, to put down its discussion, and to suppress + and distort the truth in reference to it in every possible way, are + (as you may easily suppose) those who have a strong interest in the + existing system of piracy and plunder: inasmuch as, so long as it + continues, they can gain a very comfortable living out of the brains + of other men, while they would find it very difficult to earn bread + by the exercise of their own. These are the editors and proprietors + of newspapers almost exclusively devoted to the re-publication of + popular English works. They are, for the most part, men of very low + attainments, and of more than indifferent reputation; and I have + frequently seen them, in the same sheet in which they boast of the + rapid sale of many thousand copies of an English reprint, coarsely + and insolently attacking the author of that very book, and heaping + scurrility and slander upon his head. I would therefore entreat you, + in the name of the honourable pursuit with which you are so + intimately connected, never to hold correspondence with any of these + men, and never to negotiate with them for the sale of early proofs of + any work over which you have control, but to treat on all occasions + with some respectable American publishing house, and with such an + establishment only. Our common interest in this subject, and my + advocacy of it, single-handed, on every occasion that has presented + itself during my absence from Europe, form my excuse for addressing + you. + + “I am, &c., + “CHARLES DICKENS.” + +By his “American Notes,” and by some of the scenes in “Martin +Chuzzlewit,” Dickens gave for a time great offence to the Americans, +though he only satirised some of their foibles (with just a spice of +piquante exaggeration), as he had ours at home. Let the reader hear what +two candid Americans have recently written on this subject:— + + “The ‘American Notes’ are weak, and unworthy of their author; but the + American sketches in ‘Martin Chuzzlewit’ are among the cleverest and + truest things he has ever written. The satire was richly deserved, + well applied, and has done a great deal of good. To claim that it + was mere burlesque and exaggeration, is sheer nonsense, and it is + highly disingenuous to deny the existence of the absurdities upon + which it was founded. Moreover, the popular implication that there + is really nothing now in the country justly to provoke a smile—to + urge with so much complacency that we have changed all that—argues + the continued existence of not a little of the same thin-skinned + tetchiness, the same inability ‘to see ourselves as others see us,’ + which made us so legitimate a target before.” + + “As for certain American portraits painted in Martin Chuzzlewit,” + says an American lady, {24} “I should as soon think of objecting to + them as I should think of objecting to any other discovery in natural + history. To deny the existence of Elijah Pogram, Jefferson Brick, + Colonel Diver, Mrs. Hominy, and Miss Codger, is to deny facts + somewhat exaggerated, that are patent to any keen observer who has + ever travelled through the United States. The character of Elijah + Pogram is so well known as to constantly figure in the world of + illustration; and we can well afford to laugh at foibles of native + growth when Mr. Dickens devotes the greater part of this same novel + to the exposition of English vice and selfishness.” + +The following letter, referring to Martin Chuzzlewit, which was then in +course of publication, was addressed by Mr. Dickens to a friend in +January, 1844:— + + “Devonshire Terrace, + “_January_ 2_d_, 1844. + + MY DEAR SIR, + + “THAT is a very horrible case you tell me of. I would to God I could + get at the parental heart of —, in which event I would so scarify it, + that he should writhe again. But if I were to put such a father as + he into a book, all the fathers going (and especially the bad ones) + would hold up their hands and protest against the unnatural + caricature. I find that a great many people (particularly those who + might have sat for the character) consider even Mr. Pecksniff a + grotesque impossibility, and Mrs. Nickleby herself, sitting bodily + before me in a solid chair, once asked me whether I really believed + there ever was such a woman. + + “So — reviewing his own case, would not believe in Jonas Chuzzlewit. + ‘I like Oliver Twist,’ says —, ‘for I am fond of children. But the + book is unnatural, for who would think of being cruel to poor little + Oliver Twist!’ + + “Nevertheless I will bear the dog in my mind, and if I can hit him + between the eyes so that he shall stagger more than you or I have + done this Christmas under the combined effects of punch and turkey, I + will. + + “Thank you cordially for your note. Excuse this scrap of paper. I + thought it was a whole sheet until I turned it over. + + “My dear Sir, + “Faithfully yours, + “CHARLES DICKENS.” + +To a collection of Sketches and Tales by a Working Man, published in +1844, {26} Charles Dickens was induced to contribute a preface, from +which we select the following passages:— + + “I do not recommend it as a book of surpassing originality or + transcendent merit . . . I do not claim to have discovered, in humble + life, an extraordinary and brilliant genius. I cannot charge mankind + in general with having entered into a conspiracy to neglect the + author of this volume, or to leave him pining in obscurity. I have + not the smallest intention of comparing him with Burns, the + exciseman; or with Bloomfield, the shoemaker; or with Ebenezer + Elliott, the worker in iron; or with James Hogg, the shepherd. I see + no reason to be hot, or bitter, or lowering, or sarcastic, or + indignant, or fierce, or sour, or sharp, in his behalf. I have + nothing to rail at; nothing to exalt; nothing to flourish in the face + of a stony-hearted world; and have but a very short and simple story + to tell. + + “John Overs is, as is set forth in the title-page, a working man. A + man who earns his weekly wages (or who did when he was strong enough) + by plying of the hammer, plane, and chisel. He became known to me + nearly six years ago, when he sent me some songs, appropriate to the + different months of the year, with a letter, stating under what + circumstances they had been composed, and in what manner he was + occupied from morning until night. I was just then relinquishing the + conduct of a monthly periodical, {27} or I would gladly have + published them. As it was, I returned them to him, with a private + expression of the interest I felt in such productions. They were + afterwards accepted, with much readiness and consideration, by Mr. + Tait, of Edinburgh, and were printed in his Magazine. + + “Finding, after some further correspondence with my new friend, that + his authorship had not ceased with his verses, but that he still + occupied his leisure moments in writing, I took occasion to + remonstrate with him seriously against his pursuing that course. I + told him, his persistence in his new calling made me uneasy; and I + advised him to abandon it as strongly as I could. + + “In answer to this dissuasion of mine, he wrote me as manly and + straightforward, but withal, as modest a letter, as ever I read in my + life. He explained to me how limited his ambition was: soaring no + higher than the establishment of his wife in some light business, and + the better education of his children. He set before me the + difference between his evening and holiday studies, such as they + were; and the having no better resource than an ale-house or a + skittle-ground. He told me how every small addition to his stock of + knowledge made his Sunday walks the pleasanter, the hedge-flowers + sweeter, everything more full of interest and meaning to him. + + * * * * * + + “He is very ill; the faintest shadow of the man who came into my + little study for the first time, half-a-dozen years ago, after the + correspondence I have mentioned. He has been very ill for a long + period; his disease is a severe and wasting affection of the lungs, + which has incapacitated him these many months for every kind of + occupation. ‘If I could only do a hard day’s work,’ he said to me + the other day, ‘how happy I should be.’ + + “Having these papers by him, amongst others, he bethought himself + that, if he could get a bookseller to purchase them for publication + in a volume, they would enable him to make some temporary provision + for his sick wife, and very young family. We talked the matter over + together, and that it might be easier of accomplishment I promised + him that I would write an introduction to his book. + + “I would to Heaven that I could do him better service! I would to + Heaven it were an introduction to a long, and vigorous, and useful + life! But Hope will not trim his lamp the less brightly for him and + his, because of this impulse to their struggling fortunes, and trust + me, reader, they deserve her light, and need it sorely. + + “He has inscribed this book to one {28} whose skill will help him, + under Providence, in all that human skill can do. {29} To one who + never could have recognised in any potentate on earth a higher claim + to constant kindness and attention than he has recognized in him. * * + * *” + +The beautiful series of Christmas stories, with which during the last +fifteen years the public have become so familiar, was commenced by Mr. +Dickens in December, 1843, with _A Christmas Carol in Prose_, illustrated +by John Leech. What Jeffrey, what Sydney Smith, what Jerrold, what +Thackeray thought and wrote about this little story is well known. +“Blessings on your kind heart, my dear Dickens,” wrote Jeffrey, “and may +it always be as full and as light as it is kind, and a fountain of +goodness to all within reach of its beatings. We are all charmed with +your Carol; chiefly, I think, for the genuine goodness which breathes all +through it, and is the true inspiring angel by which its genius has been +awakened. The whole scene of the Cratchits is like the dream of a +beneficent angel, in spite of its broad reality, and little Tiny Tim in +life and in death almost as sweet and touching as Nelly. You may be sure +you have done more good, and not only fastened more kindly feelings, but +prompted more positive acts of benevolence by this little publication +than can be traced to all the pulpits and confessionals since Christmas, +1842.” + + “It is the work,” writes Thackeray, {30} “of the master of all the + English humourists now alive; the young man who came and took his + place calmly at the head of the whole tribe, and who has kept it. + Think of all we owe Mr. Dickens since those half-dozen years, the + store of happy hours that he has made us pass, the kindly and + pleasant companions whom he has introduced to us; the harmless + laughter, the generous wit, the frank, manly, human love which he has + taught us to feel! Every month of those years has brought us some + kind token from this delightful genius. His books may have lost in + art, perhaps, but could we afford to wait? Since the days when the + _Spectator_ was produced by a man of kindred mind and temper, what + books have appeared that have taken so affectionate a hold of the + English public as these? + + “Who can listen to objections regarding such a book as this? It + seems to me a national benefit, and to every man or woman who reads + it a personal kindness. The last two people I heard speak of it were + women; neither knew the other, or the author, and both said by way of + criticism, ‘God bless him!’ * * * As for Tiny Tim, there is a certain + passage in the book regarding that young gentleman about which a man + should hardly venture to speak in print or in public, any more than + he would of any other affections of his private heart. There is not + a reader in England but that little creature will be a bond of union + between the author and him; and he will say of Charles Dickens, as + the woman just now, ‘God bless him!’ What a feeling is this for a + writer to be able to inspire, and what a reward to reap.” + +During six years did Mr. Dickens continue to issue at Christmas these +little volumes: “A Christmas Carol” (December, 1843); “The Chimes” +(December, 1844); “The Cricket on the Hearth” (December, 1845); “The +Battle of Life” (December, 1846); “The Haunted Man and the Ghost’s +Bargain” (December, 1848). {31} + +Christmas stories are now grown so much the fashion that, whenever the +season of holly and mistletoe comes round they greet us at every turn, +forcing themselves upon our notice through every species of whimsical and +enticing embellishment. Why is it that, amidst such a satiety of +novelties we turn again and again, with an interest as keen as ever, to a +perusal of the pages where little Dot Peerybingle chirps as brightly as +the cricket on her own hearth, where Trotty Veck listens to the voices of +the chimes, striving to comprehend what it is they say to him, and where +old Scrooge’s heart is softened by his ghostly visitants? It is because +Charles Dickens has made such a study of that human nature we all possess +in common that he is able to strike with a practised hand upon the chords +of our hearts, and draw forth harmony that vibrates from soul to soul. + +It is not, however, our intention here, to follow Mr. Dickens through the +whole of his long and honourable literary career, far less to undertake +the superfluous task of extolling the numerous and brilliant list of +writings that have followed each other in rapid and welcome succession +from his indefatigable pen. All that remains for us to do now, is to +notice briefly two very grave charges that have been made against the +general tendency of his writings, and to bring forward some evidence in +refutation of them. + +These two charges are, 1, a wilful perversion of facts in describing the +political and social condition of our time; 2, an irreverence for and +ridicule of sacred things and persons, which (say the objectors) infuses +a subtle poison through the whole of his works, and unsettles the belief +of the young. We shall take these charges one at a time. + +In some of his later novels, such as “Bleak House,” and “Little Dorrit,” +in which he has endeavoured to grapple with the great social and +political problems of the age, certain critics have accused him of +exaggeration, and even of a wilful perversion of facts. Against their +opinion we are pleased to be able to set that of so good an authority as +the author of “Modern Painters:”— + + “The essential value and truth of Dickens’s writings,” says Mr. + Ruskin, “have been unwisely lost sight of by many thoughtful persons, + merely because he presents his truth with some colour of caricature. + Unwisely, because Dickens’s caricature, though often gross, is never + mistaken. Allowing for his manner of telling them, the things he + tells us are always true. I wish that he could think it right to + limit his brilliant exaggeration to works written only for public + amusement; and when he takes up a subject of high national + importance, such as that which he handled in ‘Hard Times,’ that he + would use severer and more accurate analysis. The usefulness of that + work (to my mind, in several respects the greatest he has written,) + is with many persons seriously diminished, because Mr. Bounderby is a + dramatic monster, instead of a characteristic example of a worldly + master; and Stephen Blackpool a dramatic perfection, instead of a + characteristic example of an honest workman. But let us not lose the + use of Dickens’s wit and insight because he chooses to speak in a + circle of stage fire. He is entirely right in his main drift and + purpose in every book he has written; and all of them, but especially + ‘Hard Times,’ should be studied with close and earnest care by + persons interested in social questions. They will find much that is + partial, and, because partial, apparently unjust; but if they examine + all the evidence on the other side, which Dickens seems to overlook, + it will appear, after all their trouble, that his view was the + finally right one, grossly and sharply told.” {33} + +Secondly, Mr. Dickens is accused of an irreverence for, and unseemly +ridicule of, sacred things. Any attentive reader of Dickens will have +observed that he is not much in the habit of quoting from, or alluding to +the writings of others; but that when he does quote or allude, it is in +the great majority of cases from or to the Holy Scriptures. {34} +Occasionally we come upon a reference to Shakespeare; now and then we +meet with one from Swift, or Scott, or Byron; but these occur so seldom, +that it may be said, once for all, that the source from which Mr. Dickens +is usually in the habit of making quotations, is the Bible only. It is +very interesting to find that so many of Mr. Dickens’s characters are +represented as being in the habit either of regularly reading and +studying the Bible, or of having it read to them by some one else. + +“I ain’t much of a hand at reading writing-hand,” said Betty Higden, +“though I can read my Bible and most print.” Little Nell was in the +constant habit of taking the Bible with her to read while in her quiet +and lonely retreat in the old church, after all her long and weary +wanderings were past. In the happy time which Oliver Twist spent with +Mrs. Maylie and Rose, he used to read, in the evenings, a chapter or two +from the Bible, which he had been studying all the week, and in the +performance of which duty he felt more proud and pleased than if he had +been the clergyman himself. There was Sarah, in the “Sketches by Boz,” +who regularly read the Bible to her old mistress; and in the touching +sketch of “Our Next-door Neighbour” in the same book, we find the mother +of the sick boy engaged in reading the Bible to him when the visitor +called and interrupted her. This incident reminds us of the poor +Chancery prisoner in the Fleet, who, when on his death-bed calmly waiting +the release which would set him free for ever, had the Bible read to him +by an old man in a cobbler’s apron. One of David Copperfield’s earliest +recollections was of a certain Sunday evening, when his mother read aloud +to him and Peggotty the story of Our Saviour raising Lazarus from the +dead. So deep an impression did the story make upon the boy, taken in +connexion with all that had been lately told him about his father’s +funeral, that he requested to be carried up to his bed-room, from the +windows of which he could see the quiet churchyard with the dead all +lying in their graves at rest below the solemn moon. Pip, too, in “Great +Expectations,” was not only in the habit of reading the Bible to the +convict under sentence of death, but of praying with him as well; and +Esther Summerson tells us how she used to come downstairs every evening +at nine o’clock to read the Bible to her god-mother. + +Not a few of the dwellings into which Mr. Dickens conducts us in the +course of some of his best-known stories, have their walls decorated with +prints illustrative of familiar scenes from sacred history. Thus when +Martin Chuzzlewit went away from Pecksniff’s, and was ten good miles on +his way to London, he stopped to breakfast in the parlour of a little +roadside inn, on the walls of which were two or three highly-coloured +pictures, representing the Wise Men at the Manger, and the Prodigal Son +returning to his Father. On the walls of Peggotty’s charming +boat-cottage there were prints, showing the Sacrifice of Isaac, and the +Casting of Daniel into the Den of Lions. When Arthur Clennam came home +after his long absence in the East, he found the Plagues of Egypt still +hanging, framed and glazed, on the same old place in his mother’s +parlour. And who has forgotten the fireplace in old Scrooge’s house, +which “was paved all round with quaint Dutch tiles, designed to +illustrate the Scriptures?” + +Here are a few comparisons. Mr. Larry, in bestowing a bachelor’s +blessing on Miss Cross, before “somebody” came to claim her for his own, +“held the fair face from him to look at the well-remembered expression on +the forehead, and then laid the bright golden hair against his little +brown wig, with a genuine tenderness and delicacy which, if such things +be old-fashioned, were as old as Adam.” As old as Adam here means so +long ago as Adam’s time; while Methuselah suggests great age. Thus Miss +Jellyby relieved her mind to Miss Summerson on the subject of Mr. Quale, +in the following energetic language:—“If he were to come with his great +shining, lumpy forehead, night after night, till he was as old as +Methuselah, I wouldn’t have anything to say to him.” And Mr. Filer, in +his eminently practical remarks on the lamentable ignorance of political +economy on the part of working people in connexion with marriage, +observed to Alderman Cute that a man may live to be as old as Methuselah, +and may labour all his life for the benefit of such people; but there +could be no more hope of persuading them that they had no right or +business to be married, than he could hope to persuade them that they had +no earthly right or business to be born. Miss Betsy Trotwood declared to +Mr. Dick that the natural consequence of David Copperfield’s mother +having married a murderer—or a man with a name very like it—was to set +the boy a-prowling and wandering about the country, “like Cain before he +was grown up.” Joe Gargery’s journeyman, on going away from his work at +night, used to slouch out of the shop like Cain, or the Wandering Jew, as +if he had no idea where he was going, and had no intention of ever coming +back. Describing the state of “the thriving City of Eden,” when Martin +and Mark arrived there, the author of “Martin Chuzzlewit” says—“The +waters of the Deluge might have left it but a week before, so choked with +slime and matted growth was the hideous swamp which bore that name.” The +Deluge suggests Noah’s ark. The following reference to it is from +“Little Dorrit,” descriptive of the gradual approach of darkness up among +the highest ridges of the Alps:—“The ascending night came up the +mountains like a rising water. When at last it rose to the walls of the +convent of the great St. Bernard, it was as if that weather-beaten +structure were another ark, and floated on the shadowy waves.” Here is +something from the Tower of Babel:—“Looming heavy in the black wet night, +the tall chimneys of the Coketown factories rose high into the air, and +looked as if they were so many competing towers of Babel.” When Mortimer +Lightwood inquired of Charley Hexam, with reference to the body of the +man found in the river, whether or not any means had been employed to +restore life, he received this reply:—“You wouldn’t ask, sir, if you knew +his state. Pharoah’s multitude that were drowned in the Red Sea ain’t +more beyond restoring to life.” The boy added, further, “that if Lazarus +were only half as far gone, that was the greatest of all the miracles.” +When the Scotch surgeon was called in professionally to see Mr. Krook’s +unfortunate lodger, the Scotch tongue pronounced him to be “just as dead +as Chairy.” Job’s poverty is not likely to be forgotten among the +comparisons. No, Mr. Mell’s mother was as poor as Job. Nor Samson’s +strength: Dot’s mother had so many infallible recipes for the +preservation of the baby’s health, that had they all been administered, +the said baby must have been done for, though strong as an infant Samson. +Nor Goliath’s importance: John Chivery’s chivalrous feeling towards all +that belonged to Little Dorrit, made him so very respectable, in spite of +his small stature, his weak legs, and his genuine poetic temperament, +that a Goliath might have sat in his place demanding less consideration +at Arthur Clennam’s hands. Nor Solomon’s wisdom: Trotty Veck was so +delighted when the child kissed him that he couldn’t help saying, “She’s +as sensible as Solomon.” Miss Wade having said farewell to her +fellow-travellers in the public room of the hotel at Marseilles, sought +her own apartment. As she passed along the gallery, she heard an angry +sound of muttering and sobbing. A door stood open, and, looking into the +room, she saw therein Pet’s attendant, the maid with the curious name of +Tattycoram. Miss Wade asked what was the matter, and received in reply a +few short and angry words in a deeply-injured, ill-used tone. Then again +commenced the sobs and tears and pinching, tearing fingers, making +altogether such a scene as if she were being “rent by the demons of old.” +Let us close these comparisons by quoting another from the same book, +“Little Dorrit,” descriptive of the evening stillness after a day of +terrific glare and heat at Marseilles:—“The sun went down in a red, +green, golden glory; the stars came out in the heavens, and the +fire-flies mimicked them in the lower air, as men may feebly imitate the +goodness of a better order of beings; the long, dusty roads and the +interminable plains were in repose, and _so deep a hush was on the sea_, +_that it scarcely whispered of the time when it shall give up its dead_.” + +Looking over the familiar pages of “Nicholas Nickleby,” our eye lights +upon a passage, almost at opening, which refers to God’s goodness and +mercy. As Nickleby’s father lay on his death-bed, he embraced his wife +and children, and then “solemnly commended them to One who never deserted +the widow or her fatherless children.” Towards the close of Esther +Summerson’s narrative in “Bleak House” we read these touching, tender +words regarding Ada’s baby:—“The little child who was to have done so +much was born before the turf was planted on its father’s grave. It was +a boy; and I, my husband, and my guardian gave him his father’s name. +The help that my dear counted on did come to her; though it came in the +Eternal Wisdom for another purpose. Though to bless and restore his +mother, not his father, was the errand of this baby, its power was mighty +to do it. When I saw the strength of the weak little hand, and how its +touch could heal my darling’s heart and raise up hopes within her, I felt +a new sense of the goodness and tenderness of God.” After these +illustrations of the great lessons of the goodness of God, and that there +is mercy in even our hardest trials, we come next upon one which teaches +the duty of patience and resignation to God’s will. Mrs. Maylie observed +to Oliver Twist, with reference to the dangerous illness of Rose, that +she had seen and experienced enough to “know that it is not always the +youngest and best who are spared to those that love them; but this should +give us comfort in our sorrow, for Heaven is just, and such things teach +us impressively that there is a brighter world than this, and that the +passage to it is speedy. God’s will be done!” + +Our Saviour’s life and teaching afford so many interesting illustrations +to Charles Dickens that our great difficulty, in the limited space to +which we are now confined, is to make a good selection. Here is a sketch +entitled “A Christmas Tree,” from one of his reprinted pieces, which +contains this simple and beautiful summary of our Lord’s life on +earth:—“The waits are playing, and they break my childish sleep! What +images do I associate with the Christmas music as I see them set forth on +the Christmas Tree? Known before all the others, keeping far apart from +all the others, they gather round my little bed. An angel speaking to a +group of shepherds in a field; some travellers, with eyes uplifted, +following a star; a Baby in a manger; a Child in a spacious temple +talking with grave men; a solemn figure, with a mild and beautiful face, +raising a dead girl by the hand; again, near a city gate, calling back +the son of a widow, on his bier, to life; a crowd of people looking +through the opened roof of a chamber where He sits, and letting down a +sick person on a bed with ropes; the same, in a tempest, walking on the +water to a ship; again, on a sea-shore, teaching a great multitude; +again, with a child upon His knee, and other children round; again, +restoring sight to the blind, speech to the dumb, hearing to the deaf, +health to the sick, strength to the lame, knowledge to the ignorant; +again, dying upon a cross, watched by armed soldiers, a thick darkness +coming on, the earth beginning to shake, and only one voice heard, +‘Forgive them, for they know not what they do.’” + +These passages, which are only a few out of a very much longer list that +might be made, will be sufficient, we trust, to show how much our +greatest living novelist is in the habit of going to the sacred narrative +for illustrations to many of his most touching incidents, and how +reverent and respectful always is the spirit in which every such +illustration is employed. To think of Charles Dickens’s writings as +containing no religious teaching, is to do them a great injustice. + + * * * * * + +The first of Mr. Dickens’s famous public Readings was given at +Birmingham, during the Christmas week of 1853. At a meeting held on +Monday, January 10, 1853, in the theatre of the Philosophical +Institution, “for the purpose of considering the desirableness of +establishing in Birmingham a Scientific and Literary Society upon a +comprehensive plan, having for its object the diffusion,” &c., Mr. Arthur +Ryland read a letter from Mr. Charles Dickens, received by him the day +after the Literary and Artistic Banquet, containing an offer to visit +Birmingham next Christmas, and read his Christmas Carol, in the Town +Hall, for the benefit of the proposed Institution, with the proviso, +however, that as many as possible of the working class should be admitted +free. “It would,” said Mr. Dickens, “take about two hours, with a pause +of ten minutes half-way through. There would be some novelty in the +thing, as I have never done it in public, though I have in private, and +(if I may say so) with a great effect on the hearers. I was so +inexpressibly gratified last night by the warmth and enthusiasm of my +Birmingham friends, that I feel half ashamed this morning of so poor an +offer. But as I had decided on making it to you before I came down +yesterday, I propose it nevertheless.” + +The readings—three in number—came off with great _éclat_ during the last +week of the year, and brought in a net sum of £400 to the Institute. Mr. +Dickens continued from this time to give similar readings, for charitable +purposes, both in the provinces and in London; but it was not till five +years later (1858) that he began to read on his own account. + +As we are writing, that long series of readings—continued through sixteen +years, in both hemispheres—is drawing to a close, and the voice and +figure of Charles Dickens, that have grown so familiar to us all, will +dwell henceforth in the memory alone, but in one of its most honoured +niches. + +We ought not to omit to mention what any reader may well surmise, that +Charles Dickens is inimitable in enlivening correspondence or table-talk +with humorous anecdote, appropriate to the occasion. We subjoin a few +specimens. The first is from one of his letters to Douglas Jerrold, and +is dated Paris, 14th February, 1847:—“I am somehow reminded of a good +story I heard the other night from a man who was a witness of it, and an +actor in it. At a certain German town last autumn there was a tremendous +_furore_ about Jenny Lind, who, after driving the whole place mad, left +it, on her travels, early one morning. The moment her carriage was +outside the gates, a party of rampant students, who had escorted it, +rushed back to the inn, demanded to be shown to her bedroom, swept like a +whirlwind upstairs into the room indicated to them, tore up the sheets, +and wore them in strips as decorations. An hour or two afterwards a bald +old gentleman, of amiable appearance, an Englishman, who was staying in +the hotel, came to breakfast at the _table d’hôte_, and was observed to +be much disturbed in his mind, and to show great terror whenever a +student came near him. At last he said, in a low voice, to some people +who were near him at the table, ‘You are English gentlemen, I observe. +Most extraordinary people, these Germans! Students, as a body, raving +mad, gentlemen!’ ‘Oh, no!’ said somebody else; ‘excitable, but very good +fellows, and very sensible.’ ‘By God, sir!’ returned the old gentleman, +still more disturbed, ‘then there’s something political in it, and I am a +marked man. I went out for a little walk this morning after shaving, and +while I was gone’—he fell into a terrible perspiration as he told +it—‘they burst into my bedroom, tore up my sheets, and are now patrolling +the town in all directions with bits of ’em in their button-holes!’ I +needn’t wind up by adding that they had gone to the wrong chamber.” + +Dickens now and then administers a little gentle rebuke to affectation, +in a pleasant but unmistakable manner. Here is an instance of how he +silenced a bilious young writer, who was inveighing against the world in +a very “forcible feeble manner.” During a pause in this philippic +against the human race, Dickens said across the table, in the most +self-congratulatory of tones:—“I say—what a lucky thing it is you and I +don’t belong to it? It reminds me,” continued the author of Pickwick, +“of the two men, who on a _raised_ scaffold were awaiting the final +delicate attention of the hangman; the notice of one was aroused by +observing that a bull had got into the crowd of spectators, and was +busily employed in tossing one here, and another there; whereupon one of +the criminals said to the other—‘I say, Bill, how _lucky it is_ for us +that we _are up here_.’” + + * * * * * + +Here is a humorous and graphic account which he sent to the leading +newspaper of his sensations during the shock of earthquake that was felt +all over England in October, 1863. It is doubly interesting, as giving a +description of his country-house at Gad’s-hill, near Rochester:— + + “I was awakened by a violent swaying of my bedstead from side to + side, accompanied by a singular heaving motion. It was exactly as if + some great beast had been crouching asleep under the bedstead, and + were now shaking itself and trying to rise. The time by my watch was + twenty minutes past three, and I suppose the shock to have lasted + nearly a minute. The bedstead, a large iron one, standing nearly + north and south, appeared to me to be the only piece of furniture in + the room that was heavily shaken. Neither the doors nor the windows + rattled, though they rattle enough in windy weather, this house + standing alone, on high ground, in the neighbourhood of two great + rivers. There was no noise. The air was very still, and much warmer + than it had been in the earlier part of the night. Although the + previous afternoon had been wet, the glass had not fallen. I had + mentioned my surprise at its standing near the letter ‘i’ in ‘Fair,’ + and having a tendency to rise.” + + * * * * * + +But the thing which, above all others, has characterised Dickens +throughout his career, that has made his world-wide fame, and rendered +his name a household word, is his broad, genial sympathy with life in all +its phases, and with those most who are manfully toiling towards a better +day. To this “enthusiasm of humanity” John Forster has alluded in the +Dedicatory Sonnet to Charles Dickens, prefixed to his “Life of +Goldsmith,” (March, 1848), when he says:— + + “Come with me and behold, + O friend with heart as gentle for distress, + As resolute with wise true thoughts to bind + The happiest to the unhappiest of our kind, + That there is fiercer crowded misery + In garret-toil and London loneliness + Than in cruel islands ’mid the far-off sea.” + +The great heart of Dickens has beat in unison with his age and with the +people, and his name will be dear to all English-speaking races long +after this little island of ours, the old home, shall have become a +summer resort—a curiosity to visit—for the children of the great +Anglo-Saxon Republics that are now growing up in the New and the Southern +Worlds. + +_December_, 1869. + + + + +I. +EDINBURGH, JUNE 25, 1841. + + +[At a public dinner, given in honour of Mr. Dickens, and presided over by +the late Professor Wilson, the Chairman having proposed his health in a +long and eloquent speech, Mr. Dickens returned thanks as follows:—] + +IF I felt your warm and generous welcome less, I should be better able to +thank you. If I could have listened as you have listened to the glowing +language of your distinguished Chairman, and if I could have heard as you +heard the “thoughts that breathe and words that burn,” which he has +uttered, it would have gone hard but I should have caught some portion of +his enthusiasm, and kindled at his example. But every word which fell +from his lips, and every demonstration of sympathy and approbation with +which you received his eloquent expressions, renders me unable to respond +to his kindness, and leaves me at last all heart and no lips, yearning to +respond as I would do to your cordial greeting—possessing, heaven knows, +the will, and desiring only to find the way. + +The way to your good opinion, favour, and support, has been to me very +pleasing—a path strewn with flowers and cheered with sunshine. I feel as +if I stood amongst old friends, whom I had intimately known and highly +valued. I feel as if the deaths of the fictitious creatures, in which +you have been kind enough to express an interest, had endeared us to each +other as real afflictions deepen friendships in actual life; I feel as if +they had been real persons, whose fortunes we had pursued together in +inseparable connexion, and that I had never known them apart from you. + +It is a difficult thing for a man to speak of himself or of his works. +But perhaps on this occasion I may, without impropriety, venture to say a +word on the spirit in which mine were conceived. I felt an earnest and +humble desire, and shall do till I die, to increase the stock of harmless +cheerfulness. I felt that the world was not utterly to be despised; that +it was worthy of living in for many reasons. I was anxious to find, as +the Professor has said, if I could, in evil things, that soul of goodness +which the Creator has put in them. I was anxious to show that virtue may +be found in the bye-ways of the world, that it is not incompatible with +poverty and even with rags, and to keep steadily through life the motto, +expressed in the burning words of your Northern poet— + + “The rank is but the guinea stamp, + The man’s the gowd for a’ that.” + +And in following this track, where could I have better assurance that I +was right, or where could I have stronger assurance to cheer me on than +in your kindness on this to me memorable night? + +I am anxious and glad to have an opportunity of saying a word in +reference to one incident in which I am happy to know you were +interested, and still more happy to know, though it may sound +paradoxical, that you were disappointed—I mean the death of the little +heroine. When I first conceived the idea of conducting that simple story +to its termination, I determined rigidly to adhere to it, and never to +forsake the end I had in view. Not untried in the school of affliction, +in the death of those we love, I thought what a good thing it would be if +in my little work of pleasant amusement I could substitute a garland of +fresh flowers for the sculptured horrors which disgrace the tomb. If I +have put into my book anything which can fill the young mind with better +thoughts of death, or soften the grief of older hearts; if I have written +one word which can afford pleasure or consolation to old or young in time +of trial, I shall consider it as something achieved—something which I +shall be glad to look back upon in after life. Therefore I kept to my +purpose, notwithstanding that towards the conclusion of the story, I +daily received letters of remonstrance, especially from the ladies. God +bless them for their tender mercies! The Professor was quite right when +he said that I had not reached to an adequate delineation of their +virtues; and I fear that I must go on blotting their characters in +endeavouring to reach the ideal in my mind. These letters were, however, +combined with others from the sterner sex, and some of them were not +altogether free from personal invective. But, notwithstanding, I kept to +my purpose, and I am happy to know that many of those who at first +condemned me are now foremost in their approbation. + +If I have made a mistake in detaining you with this little incident, I do +not regret having done so; for your kindness has given me such a +confidence in you, that the fault is yours and not mine. I come once +more to thank you, and here I am in a difficulty again. The distinction +you have conferred upon me is one which I never hoped for, and of which I +never dared to dream. That it is one which I shall never forget, and +that while I live I shall be proud of its remembrance, you must well +know. I believe I shall never hear the name of this capital of Scotland +without a thrill of gratitude and pleasure. I shall love while I have +life her people, her hills, and her houses, and even the very stones of +her streets. And if in the future works which may lie before me you +should discern—God grant you may!—a brighter spirit and a clearer wit, I +pray you to refer it back to this night, and point to that as a Scottish +passage for evermore. I thank you again and again, with the energy of a +thousand thanks in each one, and I drink to you with a heart as full as +my glass, and far easier emptied, I do assure you. + + * * * * * + +Later in the evening, in proposing the health of Professor Wilson, Mr. +Dickens said:— + +I HAVE the honour to be entrusted with a toast, the very mention of which +will recommend itself to you, I know, as one possessing no ordinary +claims to your sympathy and approbation, and the proposing of which is as +congenial to my wishes and feelings as its acceptance must be to yours. +It is the health of our Chairman, and coupled with his name I have to +propose the literature of Scotland—a literature which he has done much to +render famous through the world, and of which he has been for many +years—as I hope and believe he will be for many more—a most brilliant and +distinguished ornament. Who can revert to the literature of the land of +Scott and of Burns without having directly in his mind, as inseparable +from the subject and foremost in the picture, that old man of might, with +his lion heart and sceptred crutch—Christopher North. I am glad to +remember the time when I believed him to be a real, actual, veritable old +gentleman, that might be seen any day hobbling along the High Street with +the most brilliant eye—but that is no fiction—and the greyest hair in all +the world—who wrote not because he cared to write, not because he cared +for the wonder and admiration of his fellow-men, but who wrote because he +could not help it, because there was always springing up in his mind a +clear and sparkling stream of poetry which must have vent, and like the +glittering fountain in the fairy tale, draw what you might, was ever at +the full, and never languished even by a single drop or bubble. I had so +figured him in my mind, and when I saw the Professor two days ago, +striding along the Parliament House, I was disposed to take it as a +personal offence—I was vexed to see him look so hearty. I drooped to see +twenty Christophers in one. I began to think that Scottish life was all +light and no shadows, and I began to doubt that beautiful book to which I +have turned again and again, always to find new beauties and fresh +sources of interest. + + * * * * * + +In proposing the memory of the late Sir David Wilkie, Mr. Dickens said:— + +LESS fortunate than the two gentlemen who have preceded me, it is +confided to me to mention a name which cannot be pronounced without +sorrow, a name in which Scotland had a great triumph, and which England +delighted to honour. One of the gifted of the earth has passed away, as +it were, yesterday; one who was devoted to his art, and his art was +nature—I mean David Wilkie. {53} He was one who made the cottage hearth +a graceful thing—of whom it might truly be said that he found “books in +the running brooks,” and who has left in all he did some breathing of the +air which stirs the heather. But however desirous to enlarge on his +genius as an artist, I would rather speak of him now as a friend who has +gone from amongst us. There is his deserted studio—the empty easel lying +idly by—the unfinished picture with its face turned to the wall, and +there is that bereaved sister, who loved him with an affection which +death cannot quench. He has left a name in fame clear as the bright sky; +he has filled our minds with memories pure as the blue waves which roll +over him. Let us hope that she who more than all others mourns his loss, +may learn to reflect that he died in the fulness of his time, before age +or sickness had dimmed his powers—and that she may yet associate with +feelings as calm and pleasant as we do now the memory of Wilkie. + + + + +II. +JANUARY, 1842. + + +[In presenting Captain Hewett, of the _Britannia_, {55} with a service of +plate on behalf of the passengers, Mr. Dickens addressed him as follows:] + +CAPTAIN HEWETT,—I am very proud and happy to have been selected as the +instrument of conveying to you the heartfelt thanks of my +fellow-passengers on board the ship entrusted to your charge, and of +entreating your acceptance of this trifling present. The ingenious +artists who work in silver do not always, I find, keep their promises, +even in Boston. I regret that, instead of two goblets, which there +should be here, there is, at present, only one. The deficiency, however, +will soon be supplied; and, when it is, our little testimonial will be, +so far, complete. + +You are a sailor, Captain Hewett, in the truest sense of the word; and +the devoted admiration of the ladies, God bless them, is a sailor’s first +boast. I need not enlarge upon the honour they have done you, I am sure, +by their presence here. Judging of you by myself, I am certain that the +recollection of their beautiful faces will cheer your lonely vigils upon +the ocean for a long time to come. + +In all time to come, and in all your voyages upon the sea, I hope you +will have a thought for those who wish to live in your memory by the help +of these trifles. As they will often connect you with the pleasure of +those homes and fire sides from which they once wandered, and which, but +for you, they might never have regained, so they trust that you will +sometimes associate them with your hours of festive enjoyment; and, that, +when you drink from these cups, you will feel that the draught is +commended to your lips by friends whose best wishes you have; and who +earnestly and truly hope for your success, happiness, and prosperity, in +all the undertakings of your life. + + + + +III. +FEBRUARY 1842. + + +[At dinner given to Mr. Dickens by the young men of Boston. The company +consisted of about two hundred, among whom were George Bancroft, +Washington Allston, and Oliver Wendell Holmes. The toast of “Health, +happiness, and a hearty welcome to Charles Dickens,” having been proposed +by the chairman, Mr. Quincy, and received with great applause, Mr. +Dickens responded with the following address:] + +GENTLEMEN,—If you had given this splendid entertainment to anyone else in +the whole wide world—if I were to-night to exult in the triumph of my +dearest friend—if I stood here upon my defence, to repel any unjust +attack—to appeal as a stranger to your generosity and kindness as the +freest people on the earth—I could, putting some restraint upon myself, +stand among you as self-possessed and unmoved as I should be alone in my +own room in England. But when I have the echoes of your cordial greeting +ringing in my ears; when I see your kind faces beaming a welcome so warm +and earnest as never man had—I feel, it is my nature, so vanquished and +subdued, that I have hardly fortitude enough to thank you. If your +President, instead of pouring forth that delightful mixture of humour and +pathos which you have just heard, had been but a caustic, ill-natured +man—if he had only been a dull one—if I could only have doubted or +distrusted him or you, I should have had my wits at my fingers’ ends, +and, using them, could have held you at arm’s-length. But you have given +me no such opportunity; you take advantage of me in the tenderest point; +you give me no chance of playing at company, or holding you at a +distance, but flock about me like a host of brothers, and make this place +like home. Indeed, gentlemen, indeed, if it be natural and allowable for +each of us, on his own hearth, to express his thoughts in the most homely +fashion, and to appear in his plainest garb, I have a fair claim upon you +to let me do so to-night, for you have made my home an Aladdin’s Palace. +You fold so tenderly within your breasts that common household lamp in +which my feeble fire is all enshrined, and at which my flickering torch +is lighted up, that straight my household gods take wing, and are +transported there. And whereas it is written of that fairy structure +that it never moved without two shocks—one when it rose, and one when it +settled down—I can say of mine that, however sharp a tug it took to pluck +it from its native ground, it struck at once an easy, and a deep and +lasting root into this soil; and loved it as its own. I can say more of +it, and say with truth, that long before it moved, or had a chance of +moving, its master—perhaps from some secret sympathy between its timbers, +and a certain stately tree that has its being hereabout, and spreads its +broad branches far and wide—dreamed by day and night, for years, of +setting foot upon this shore, and breathing this pure air. And, trust +me, gentlemen, that, if I had wandered here, unknowing and unknown, I +would—if I know my own heart—have come with all my sympathies clustering +as richly about this land and people—with all my sense of justice as +keenly alive to their high claims on every man who loves God’s image—with +all my energies as fully bent on judging for myself, and speaking out, +and telling in my sphere the truth, as I do now, when you rain down your +welcomes on my head. + +Our President has alluded to those writings which have been my occupation +for some years past; and you have received his allusions in a manner +which assures me—if I needed any such assurance—that we are old friends +in the spirit, and have been in close communion for a long time. + +It is not easy for a man to speak of his own books. I daresay that few +persons have been more interested in mine than I, and if it be a general +principle in nature that a lover’s love is blind, and that a mother’s +love is blind, I believe it may be said of an author’s attachment to the +creatures of his own imagination, that it is a perfect model of constancy +and devotion, and is the blindest of all. But the objects and purposes I +have had in view are very plain and simple, and may be easily told. I +have always had, and always shall have, an earnest and true desire to +contribute, as far as in me lies, to the common stock of healthful +cheerfulness and enjoyment. I have always had, and always shall have, an +invincible repugnance to that mole-eyed philosophy which loves the +darkness, and winks and scowls in the light. I believe that Virtue shows +quite as well in rags and patches, as she does in purple and fine linen. +I believe that she and every beautiful object in external nature, claims +some sympathy in the breast of the poorest man who breaks his scanty loaf +of daily bread. I believe that she goes barefoot as well as shod. I +believe that she dwells rather oftener in alleys and by-ways than she +does in courts and palaces, and that it is good, and pleasant, and +profitable to track her out, and follow her. I believe that to lay one’s +hand upon some of those rejected ones whom the world has too long +forgotten, and too often misused, and to say to the proudest and most +thoughtless—“These creatures have the same elements and capacities of +goodness as yourselves, they are moulded in the same form, and made of +the same clay; and though ten times worse than you, may, in having +retained anything of their original nature amidst the trials and +distresses of their condition, be really ten times better;” I believe +that to do this is to pursue a worthy and not useless vocation. +Gentlemen, that you think so too, your fervent greeting sufficiently +assures me. That this feeling is alive in the Old World as well as in +the New, no man should know better than I—I, who have found such wide and +ready sympathy in my own dear land. That in expressing it, we are but +treading in the steps of those great master-spirits who have gone before, +we know by reference to all the bright examples in our literature, from +Shakespeare downward. + +There is one other point connected with the labours (if I may call them +so) that you hold in such generous esteem, to which I cannot help +adverting. I cannot help expressing the delight, the more than happiness +it was to me to find so strong an interest awakened on this side of the +water, in favour of that little heroine of mine, to whom your president +has made allusion, who died in her youth. I had letters about that +child, in England, from the dwellers in log-houses among the morasses, +and swamps, and densest forests, and deep solitudes of the far west. +Many a sturdy hand, hard with the axe and spade, and browned by the +summer’s sun, has taken up the pen, and written to me a little history of +domestic joy or sorrow, always coupled, I am proud to say, with something +of interest in that little tale, or some comfort or happiness derived +from it, and my correspondent has always addressed me, not as a writer of +books for sale, resident some four or five thousand miles away, but as a +friend to whom he might freely impart the joys and sorrows of his own +fireside. Many a mother—I could reckon them now by dozens, not by +units—has done the like, and has told me how she lost such a child at +such a time, and where she lay buried, and how good she was, and how, in +this or that respect, she resembles Nell. I do assure you that no +circumstance of my life has given me one hundredth part of the +gratification I have derived from this source. I was wavering at the +time whether or not to wind up my Clock, {61} and come and see this +country, and this decided me. I felt as if it were a positive duty, as +if I were bound to pack up my clothes, and come and see my friends; and +even now I have such an odd sensation in connexion with these things, +that you have no chance of spoiling me. I feel as though we were +agreeing—as indeed we are, if we substitute for fictitious characters the +classes from which they are drawn—about third parties, in whom we had a +common interest. At every new act of kindness on your part, I say to +myself “That’s for Oliver; I should not wonder if that was meant for +Smike; I have no doubt that is intended for Nell;” and so I become a much +happier, certainly, but a more sober and retiring man than ever I was +before. + +Gentlemen, talking of my friends in America, brings me back, naturally +and of course, to you. Coming back to you, and being thereby reminded of +the pleasure we have in store in hearing the gentlemen who sit about me, +I arrive by the easiest, though not by the shortest course in the world, +at the end of what I have to say. But before I sit down, there is one +topic on which I am desirous to lay particular stress. It has, or should +have, a strong interest for us all, since to its literature every country +must look for one great means of refining and improving its people, and +one great source of national pride and honour. You have in America great +writers—great writers—who will live in all time, and are as familiar to +our lips as household words. Deriving (as they all do in a greater or +less degree, in their several walks) their inspiration from the +stupendous country that gave them birth, they diffuse a better knowledge +of it, and a higher love for it, all over the civilized world. I take +leave to say, in the presence of some of those gentleman, that I hope the +time is not far distant when they, in America, will receive of right some +substantial profit and return in England from their labours; and when we, +in England, shall receive some substantial profit and return in America +for ours. Pray do not misunderstand me. Securing to myself from day to +day the means of an honourable subsistence, I would rather have the +affectionate regard of my fellow men, than I would have heaps and mines +of gold. But the two things do not seem to me incompatible. They cannot +be, for nothing good is incompatible with justice; there must be an +international arrangement in this respect: England has done her part, and +I am confident that the time is not far distant when America will do +hers. It becomes the character of a great country; _firstly_, because it +is justice; _secondly_, because without it you never can have, and keep, +a literature of your own. + +Gentlemen, I thank you with feelings of gratitude, such as are not often +awakened, and can never be expressed. As I understand it to be the +pleasant custom here to finish with a toast, I would beg to give you: +AMERICA AND ENGLAND, and may they never have any division but the +Atlantic between them. + + + + +IV. +FEBRUARY 7, 1842. + + +GENTLEMEN,—To say that I thank you for the earnest manner in which you +have drunk the toast just now so eloquently proposed to you—to say that I +give you back your kind wishes and good feelings with more than compound +interest; and that I feel how dumb and powerless the best acknowledgments +would be beside such genial hospitality as yours, is nothing. To say +that in this winter season, flowers have sprung up in every footstep’s +length of the path which has brought me here; that no country ever smiled +more pleasantly than yours has smiled on me, and that I have rarely +looked upon a brighter summer prospect than that which lies before me +now, {63} is nothing. + +But it is something to be no stranger in a strange place—to feel, sitting +at a board for the first time, the ease and affection of an old guest, +and to be at once on such intimate terms with the family as to have a +homely, genuine interest in its every member—it is, I say, something to +be in this novel and happy frame of mind. And, as it is of your +creation, and owes its being to you, I have no reluctance in urging it as +a reason why, in addressing you, I should not so much consult the form +and fashion of my speech, as I should employ that universal language of +the heart, which you, and such as you, best teach, and best can +understand. Gentlemen, in that universal language—common to you in +America, and to us in England, as that younger mother-tongue, which, by +the means of, and through the happy union of our two great countries, +shall be spoken ages hence, by land and sea, over the wide surface of the +globe—I thank you. + +I had occasion to say the other night in Boston, as I have more than once +had occasion to remark before, that it is not easy for an author to speak +of his own books. If the task be a difficult one at any time, its +difficulty, certainly, is not diminished when a frequent recurrence to +the same theme has left one nothing new to say. Still, I feel that, in a +company like this, and especially after what has been said by the +President, that I ought not to pass lightly over those labours of love, +which, if they had no other merit, have been the happy means of bringing +us together. + +It has been often observed, that you cannot judge of an author’s personal +character from his writings. It may be that you cannot. I think it very +likely, for many reasons, that you cannot. But, at least, a reader will +rise from the perusal of a book with some defined and tangible idea of +the writer’s moral creed and broad purposes, if he has any at all; and it +is probable enough that he may like to have this idea confirmed from the +author’s lips, or dissipated by his explanation. Gentlemen, my moral +creed—which is a very wide and comprehensive one, and includes all sects +and parties—is very easily summed up. I have faith, and I wish to +diffuse faith in the existence—yes, of beautiful things, even in those +conditions of society, which are so degenerate, degraded, and forlorn, +that, at first sight, it would seem as though they could not be described +but by a strange and terrible reversal of the words of Scripture, “God +said, Let there be light, and there was none.” I take it that we are +born, and that we hold our sympathies, hopes, and energies, in trust for +the many, and not for the few. That we cannot hold in too strong a light +of disgust and contempt, before the view of others, all meanness, +falsehood, cruelty, and oppression, of every grade and kind. Above all, +that nothing is high, because it is in a high place; and that nothing is +low, because it is in a low one. This is the lesson taught us in the +great book of nature. This is the lesson which may be read, alike in the +bright track of the stars, and in the dusty course of the poorest thing +that drags its tiny length upon the ground. This is the lesson ever +uppermost in the thoughts of that inspired man, who tells us that there +are + + “Tongues in the trees, books in the running brooks, + Sermons in stones, and good in everything.” + +Gentlemen, keeping these objects steadily before me, I am at no loss to +refer your favour and your generous hospitality back to the right source. +While I know, on the one hand, that if, instead of being what it is, this +were a land of tyranny and wrong, I should care very little for your +smiles or frowns, so I am sure upon the other, that if, instead of being +what I am, I were the greatest genius that ever trod the earth, and had +diverted myself for the oppression and degradation of mankind, you would +despise and reject me. I hope you will, whenever, through such means, I +give you the opportunity. Trust me, that, whenever you give me the like +occasion, I will return the compliment with interest. + +Gentlemen, as I have no secrets from you, in the spirit of confidence you +have engendered between us, and as I have made a kind of compact with +myself that I never will, while I remain in America, omit an opportunity +of referring to a topic in which I and all others of my class on both +sides of the water are equally interested—equally interested, there is no +difference between us, I would beg leave to whisper in your ear two +words: _International Copyright_. I use them in no sordid sense, believe +me, and those who know me best, best know that. For myself, I would +rather that my children, coming after me, trudged in the mud, and knew by +the general feeling of society that their father was beloved, and had +been of some use, than I would have them ride in their carriages, and +know by their banker’s books that he was rich. But I do not see, I +confess, why one should be obliged to make the choice, or why fame, +besides playing that delightful _reveil_ for which she is so justly +celebrated, should not blow out of her trumpet a few notes of a different +kind from those with which she has hitherto contented herself. + +It was well observed the other night by a beautiful speaker, whose words +went to the heart of every man who heard him, that, if there had existed +any law in this respect, Scott might not have sunk beneath the mighty +pressure on his brain, but might have lived to add new creatures of his +fancy to the crowd which swarm about you in your summer walks, and gather +round your winter evening hearths. + +As I listened to his words, there came back, fresh upon me, that touching +scene in the great man’s life, when he lay upon his couch, surrounded by +his family, and listened, for the last time, to the rippling of the river +he had so well loved, over its stony bed. I pictured him to myself, +faint, wan, dying, crushed both in mind and body by his honourable +struggle, and hovering round him the phantoms of his own +imagination—Waverley, Ravenswood, Jeanie Deans, Rob Roy, Caleb +Balderstone, Dominie Sampson—all the familiar throng—with cavaliers, and +Puritans, and Highland chiefs innumerable overflowing the chamber, and +fading away in the dim distance beyond. I pictured them, fresh from +traversing the world, and hanging down their heads in shame and sorrow, +that, from all those lands into which they had carried gladness, +instruction, and delight for millions, they brought him not one friendly +hand to help to raise him from that sad, sad bed. No, nor brought him +from that land in which his own language was spoken, and in every house +and hut of which his own books were read in his own tongue, one grateful +dollar-piece to buy a garland for his grave. Oh! if every man who goes +from here, as many do, to look upon that tomb in Dryburgh Abbey, would +but remember this, and bring the recollection home! + +Gentlemen, I thank you again, and once again, and many times to that. +You have given me a new reason for remembering this day, which is already +one of mark in my calendar, it being my birthday; and you have given +those who are nearest and dearest to me a new reason for recollecting it +with pride and interest. Heaven knows that, although I should grow ever +so gray, I shall need nothing to remind me of this epoch in my life. But +I am glad to think that from this time you are inseparably connected with +every recurrence of this day; and, that on its periodical return, I shall +always, in imagination, have the unfading pleasure of entertaining you as +my guests, in return for the gratification you have afforded me to-night. + + + + +V. +NEW YORK, FEBRUARY 18, 1842. + + +[At a dinner presided over by Washington Irving, when nearly eight +hundred of the most distinguished citizens of New York were present, +“Charles Dickens, the Literary Guest of the Nation,” having been +“proferred as a sentiment” by the Chairman, Mr. Dickens rose, and spoke +as follows:] + +GENTLEMEN,—I don’t know how to thank you—I really don’t know how. You +would naturally suppose that my former experience would have given me +this power, and that the difficulties in my way would have been +diminished; but I assure you the fact is exactly the reverse, and I have +completely baulked the ancient proverb that “a rolling stone gathers no +moss;” and in my progress to this city I have collected such a weight of +obligations and acknowledgment—I have picked up such an enormous mass of +fresh moss at every point, and was so struck by the brilliant scenes of +Monday night, that I thought I could never by any possibility grow any +bigger. I have made, continually, new accumulations to such an extent +that I am compelled to stand still, and can roll no more! + +Gentlemen, we learn from the authorities, that, when fairy stories, or +balls, or rolls of thread, stopped of their own accord—as I do not—it +presaged some great catastrophe near at hand. The precedent holds good in +this case. When I have remembered the short time I have before me to +spend in this land of mighty interests, and the poor opportunity I can at +best have of acquiring a knowledge of, and forming an acquaintance with +it, I have felt it almost a duty to decline the honours you so generously +heap upon me, and pass more quietly among you. For Argus himself, though +he had but one mouth for his hundred eyes, would have found the reception +of a public entertainment once a-week too much for his greatest activity; +and, as I would lose no scrap of the rich instruction and the delightful +knowledge which meet me on every hand, (and already I have gleaned a +great deal from your hospitals and common jails),—I have resolved to take +up my staff, and go my way rejoicing, and for the future to shake hands +with America, not at parties but at home; and, therefore, gentlemen, I +say to-night, with a full heart, and an honest purpose, and grateful +feelings, that I bear, and shall ever bear, a deep sense of your kind, +your affectionate and your noble greeting, which it is utterly impossible +to convey in words. No European sky without, and no cheerful home or +well-warmed room within shall ever shut out this land from my vision. I +shall often hear your words of welcome in my quiet room, and oftenest +when most quiet; and shall see your faces in the blazing fire. If I +should live to grow old, the scenes of this and other evenings will shine +as brightly to my dull eyes fifty years hence as now; and the honours you +bestow upon me shall be well remembered and paid back in my undying love, +and honest endeavours for the good of my race. + +Gentlemen, one other word with reference to this first person singular, +and then I shall close. I came here in an open, honest, and confiding +spirit, if ever man did, and because I felt a deep sympathy in your land; +had I felt otherwise, I should have kept away. As I came here, and am +here, without the least admixture of one-hundredth part of one grain of +base alloy, without one feeling of unworthy reference to self in any +respect, I claim, in regard to the past, for the last time, my right in +reason, in truth, and in justice, to approach, as I have done on two +former occasions, a question of literary interest. I claim that justice +be done; and I prefer this claim as one who has a right to speak and be +heard. I have only to add that I shall be as true to you as you have +been to me. I recognize in your enthusiastic approval of the creatures +of my fancy, your enlightened care for the happiness of the many, your +tender regard for the afflicted, your sympathy for the downcast, your +plans for correcting and improving the bad, and for encouraging the good; +and to advance these great objects shall be, to the end of my life, my +earnest endeavour, to the extent of my humble ability. Having said thus +much with reference to myself, I shall have the pleasure of saying a few +words with reference to somebody else. + +There is in this city a gentleman who, at the reception of one of my +books—I well remember it was the Old Curiosity Shop—wrote to me in +England a letter so generous, so affectionate, and so manly, that if I +had written the book under every circumstance of disappointment, of +discouragement, and difficulty, instead of the reverse, I should have +found in the receipt of that letter my best and most happy reward. I +answered him, {70} and he answered me, and so we kept shaking hands +autographically, as if no ocean rolled between us. I came here to this +city eager to see him, and [_laying his hand it upon Irving’s shoulder_] +here he sits! I need not tell you how happy and delighted I am to see +him here to-night in this capacity. + +Washington Irving! Why, gentlemen, I don’t go upstairs to bed two nights +out of the seven—as a very creditable witness near at hand can testify—I +say I do not go to bed two nights out of the seven without taking +Washington Irving under my arm; and, when I don’t take him, I take his +own brother, Oliver Goldsmith. Washington Irving! Why, of whom but him +was I thinking the other day when I came up by the Hog’s Back, the Frying +Pan, Hell Gate, and all these places? Why, when, not long ago, I visited +Shakespeare’s birthplace, and went beneath the roof where he first saw +light, whose name but _his_ was pointed out to me upon the wall? +Washington Irving—Diedrich Knickerbocker—Geoffrey Crayon—why, where can +you go that they have not been there before? Is there an English farm—is +there an English stream, an English city, or an English country-seat, +where they have not been? Is there no Bracebridge Hall in existence? +Has it no ancient shades or quiet streets? + +In bygone times, when Irving left that Hall, he left sitting in an old +oak chair, in a small parlour of the Boar’s Head, a little man with a red +nose, and an oilskin hat. When I came away he was sitting there +still!—not a man _like_ him, but the same man—with the nose of immortal +redness and the hat of an undying glaze! Crayon, while there, was on +terms of intimacy with a certain radical fellow, who used to go about, +with a hatful of newspapers, wofully out at elbows, and with a coat of +great antiquity. Why, gentlemen, I know that man—Tibbles the elder, and +he has not changed a hair; and, when I came away, he charged me to give +his best respects to Washington Irving! + +Leaving the town and the rustic life of England—forgetting this man, if +we can—putting out of mind the country church-yard and the broken +heart—let us cross the water again, and ask who has associated himself +most closely with the Italian peasantry and the bandits of the Pyrenees? +When the traveller enters his little chamber beyond the Alps—listening to +the dim echoes of the long passages and spacious corridors—damp, and +gloomy, and cold—as he hears the tempest beating with fury against his +window, and gazes at the curtains, dark, and heavy, and covered with +mould—and when all the ghost-stories that ever were told come up before +him—amid all his thick-coming fancies, whom does he think of? Washington +Irving. + +Go farther still: go to the Moorish Mountains, sparkling full in the +moonlight—go among the water-carriers and the village gossips, living +still as in days of old—and who has travelled among them before you, and +peopled the Alhambra and made eloquent its shadows? Who awakes there a +voice from every hill and in every cavern, and bids legends, which for +centuries have slept a dreamless sleep, or watched unwinkingly, start up +and pass before you in all their life and glory? + +But leaving this again, who embarked with Columbus upon his gallant ship, +traversed with him the dark and mighty ocean, leaped upon the land and +planted there the flag of Spain, but this same man, now sitting by my +side? And being here at home again, who is a more fit companion for +money-diggers? and what pen but his has made Rip Van Winkle, playing at +nine-pins on that thundering afternoon, as much part and parcel of the +Catskill Mountains as any tree or crag that they can boast? + +But these are topics familiar from my boyhood, and which I am apt to +pursue; and lest I should be tempted now to talk too long about them, I +will, in conclusion, give you a sentiment, most appropriate, I am sure, +in the presence of such writers as Bryant, Halleck, and—but I suppose I +must not mention the ladies here— + + THE LITERATURE OF AMERICA: + +She well knows how to do honour to her own literature and to that of +other lands, when she chooses Washington Irving for her representative in +the country of Cervantes. + + + + +VI. +MANCHESTER, OCTOBER 5, 1843. + + +[This address was delivered at a soirée of the members of the Manchester, +Athenæum, at which Mr. Dickens presided. Among the other speakers on the +occasion were Mr. Cobden and Mr. Disraeli.] + +LADIES AND GENTLEMEN,—I am sure I need scarcely tell you that I am very +proud and happy; and that I take it as a great distinction to be asked to +come amongst you on an occasion such as this, when, even with the +brilliant and beautiful spectacle which I see before me, I can hail it as +the most brilliant and beautiful circumstance of all, that we assemble +together here, even here, upon neutral ground, where we have no more +knowledge of party difficulties, or public animosities between side and +side, or between man and man, than if we were a public meeting in the +commonwealth of Utopia. + +Ladies and gentlemen, upon this, and upon a hundred other grounds, this +assembly is not less interesting to me, believe me—although, personally, +almost a stranger here—than it is interesting to you; and I take it, that +it is not of greater importance to all of us than it is to every man who +has learned to know that he has an interest in the moral and social +elevation, the harmless relaxation, the peace, happiness, and +improvement, of the community at large. Not even those who saw the first +foundation of your Athenæum laid, and watched its progress, as I know +they did, almost as tenderly as if it were the progress of a living +creature, until it reared its beautiful front, an honour to the town—not +even they, nor even you who, within its walls, have tasted its +usefulness, and put it to the proof, have greater reason, I am persuaded, +to exult in its establishment, or to hope that it may thrive and prosper, +than scores of thousands at a distance, who—whether consciously or +unconsciously, matters not—have, in the principle of its success and +bright example, a deep and personal concern. + +It well becomes, particularly well becomes, this enterprising town, this +little world of labour, that she should stand out foremost in the +foremost rank in such a cause. It well becomes her, that, among her +numerous and noble public institutions, she should have a splendid temple +sacred to the education and improvement of a large class of those who, in +their various useful stations, assist in the production of our wealth, +and in rendering her name famous through the world. I think it is grand +to know, that, while her factories re-echo with the clanking of +stupendous engines, and the whirl and rattle of machinery, the immortal +mechanism of God’s own hand, the mind, is not forgotten in the din and +uproar, but is lodged and tended in a palace of its own. That it is a +structure deeply fixed and rooted in the public spirit of this place, and +built to last, I have no more doubt, judging from the spectacle I see +before me, and from what I know of its brief history, than I have of the +reality of these walls that hem us in, and the pillars that spring up +about us. + +You are perfectly well aware, I have no doubt, that the Athenæum was +projected at a time when commerce was in a vigorous and flourishing +condition, and when those classes of society to which it particularly +addresses itself were fully employed, and in the receipt of regular +incomes. A season of depression almost without a parallel ensued, and +large numbers of young men employed in warehouses and offices suddenly +found their occupation gone, and themselves reduced to very straitened +and penurious circumstances. This altered state of things led, as I am +told, to the compulsory withdrawal of many of the members, to a +proportionate decrease in the expected funds, and to the incurrence of a +debt of £3,000. By the very great zeal and energy of all concerned, and +by the liberality of those to whom they applied for help, that debt is +now in rapid course of being discharged. A little more of the same +indefatigable exertion on the one hand, and a little more of the same +community of feeling upon the other, and there will be no such thing; the +figures will be blotted out for good and all, and, from that time, the +Athenæum may be said to belong to you, and to your heirs for ever. + +But, ladies and gentlemen, at all times, now in its most thriving, and in +its least flourishing condition—here, with its cheerful rooms, its +pleasant and instructive lectures, its improving library of 6,000 +volumes, its classes for the study of the foreign languages, elocution, +music; its opportunities of discussion and debate, of healthful bodily +exercise, and, though last not least—for by this I set great store, as a +very novel and excellent provision—its opportunities of blameless, +rational enjoyment, here it is, open to every youth and man in this great +town, accessible to every bee in this vast hive, who, for all these +benefits, and the inestimable ends to which they lead, can set aside one +sixpence weekly. I do look upon the reduction of the subscription, and +upon the fact that the number of members has considerably more than +doubled within the last twelve months, as strides in the path of the very +best civilization, and chapters of rich promise in the history of +mankind. + +I do not know whether, at this time of day, and with such a prospect +before us, we need trouble ourselves very much to rake up the ashes of +the dead-and-gone objections that were wont to be urged by men of all +parties against institutions such as this, whose interests we are met to +promote; but their philosophy was always to be summed up in the unmeaning +application of one short sentence. How often have we heard from a large +class of men wise in their generation, who would really seem to be born +and bred for no other purpose than to pass into currency counterfeit and +mischievous scraps of wisdom, as it is the sole pursuit of some other +criminals to utter base coin—how often have we heard from them, as an +all-convincing argument, that “a little learning is a dangerous thing?” +Why, a little hanging was considered a very dangerous thing, according to +the same authorities, with this difference, that, because a little +hanging was dangerous, we had a great deal of it; and, because a little +learning was dangerous, we were to have none at all. Why, when I hear +such cruel absurdities gravely reiterated, I do sometimes begin to doubt +whether the parrots of society are not more pernicious to its interests +than its birds of prey. I should be glad to hear such people’s estimate +of the comparative danger of “a little learning” and a vast amount of +ignorance; I should be glad to know which they consider the most prolific +parent of misery and crime. Descending a little lower in the social +scale, I should be glad to assist them in their calculations, by carrying +them into certain gaols and nightly refuges I know of, where my own heart +dies within me, when I see thousands of immortal creatures condemned, +without alternative or choice, to tread, not what our great poet calls +the “primrose path” to the everlasting bonfire, but one of jaded flints +and stones, laid down by brutal ignorance, and held together, like the +solid rocks, by years of this most wicked axiom. + +Would we know from any honourable body of merchants, upright in deed and +thought, whether they would rather have ignorant or enlightened persons +in their own employment? Why, we have had their answer in this building; +we have it in this company; we have it emphatically given in the +munificent generosity of your own merchants of Manchester, of all sects +and kinds, when this establishment was first proposed. But are the +advantages derivable by the people from institutions such as this, only +of a negative character? If a little learning be an innocent thing, has +it no distinct, wholesome, and immediate influence upon the mind? The +old doggerel rhyme, so often written in the beginning of books, says that + + “When house and lands are gone and spent, + Then learning is most excellent;” + +but I should be strongly disposed to reform the adage, and say that + + “Though house and lands be never got, + Learning can give what they can_not_.” + +And this I know, that the first unpurchasable blessing earned by every +man who makes an effort to improve himself in such a place as the +Athenæum, is self-respect—an inward dignity of character, which, once +acquired and righteously maintained, nothing—no, not the hardest +drudgery, nor the direst poverty—can vanquish. Though he should find it +hard for a season even to keep the wolf—hunger—from his door, let him but +once have chased the dragon—ignorance—from his hearth, and self-respect +and hope are left him. You could no more deprive him of those sustaining +qualities by loss or destruction of his worldly goods, than you could, by +plucking out his eyes, take from him an internal consciousness of the +bright glory of the sun. + +The man who lives from day to day by the daily exercise in his sphere of +hands or head, and seeks to improve himself in such a place as the +Athenæum, acquires for himself that property of soul which has in all +times upheld struggling men of every degree, but self-made men especially +and always. He secures to himself that faithful companion which, while +it has ever lent the light of its countenance to men of rank and eminence +who have deserved it, has ever shed its brightest consolations on men of +low estate and almost hopeless means. It took its patient seat beside +Sir Walter Raleigh in his dungeon-study in the Tower; it laid its head +upon the block with More; but it did not disdain to watch the stars with +Ferguson, the shepherd’s boy; it walked the streets in mean attire with +Crabbe; it was a poor barber here in Lancashire with Arkwright; it was a +tallow-chandler’s son with Franklin; it worked at shoemaking with +Bloomfield in his garret; it followed the plough with Burns; and, high +above the noise of loom and hammer, it whispers courage even at this day +in ears I could name in Sheffield and in Manchester. + +The more the man who improves his leisure in such a place learns, the +better, gentler, kinder man he must become. When he knows how much great +minds have suffered for the truth in every age and time, and to what +dismal persecutions opinion has been exposed, he will become more +tolerant of other men’s belief in all matters, and will incline more +leniently to their sentiments when they chance to differ from his own. +Understanding that the relations between himself and his employers +involve a mutual duty and responsibility, he will discharge his part of +the implied contract cheerfully, satisfactorily, and honourably; for the +history of every useful life warns him to shape his course in that +direction. + +The benefits he acquires in such a place are not of a selfish kind, but +extend themselves to his home, and to those whom it contains. Something +of what he hears or reads within such walls can scarcely fail to become +at times a topic of discourse by his own fireside, nor can it ever fail +to lead to larger sympathies with man, and to a higher veneration for the +great Creator of all the wonders of this universe. It appears to his +home and his homely feeling in other ways; for at certain times he +carries there his wife and daughter, or his sister, or, possibly, some +bright-eyed acquaintance of a more tender description. Judging from what +I see before me, I think it is very likely; I am sure I would if I could. +He takes her there to enjoy a pleasant evening, to be gay and happy. +Sometimes it may possibly happen that he dates his tenderness from the +Athenæum. I think that is a very excellent thing, too, and not the least +among the advantages of the institution. In any case, I am sure the +number of bright eyes and beaming faces which grace this meeting to-night +by their presence, will never be among the least of its excellences in my +recollection. + +Ladies and gentlemen, I shall not easily forget this scene, the pleasing +task your favour has devolved upon me, or the strong and inspiring +confirmation I have to-night, of all the hopes and reliances I have ever +placed upon institutions of this nature. In the latter point of view—in +their bearing upon this latter point—I regard them as of great +importance, deeming that the more intelligent and reflective society in +the mass becomes, and the more readers there are, the more distinctly +writers of all kinds will be able to throw themselves upon the truthful +feeling of the people and the more honoured and the more useful +literature must be. At the same time, I must confess that, if there had +been an Athenæum, and if the people had been readers, years ago, some +leaves of dedication in your library, of praise of patrons which was very +cheaply bought, very dearly sold, and very marketably haggled for by the +groat, would be blank leaves, and posterity might probably have lacked +the information that certain monsters of virtue ever had existence. But +it is upon a much better and wider scale, let me say it once again—it is +in the effect of such institutions upon the great social system, and the +peace and happiness of mankind, that I delight to contemplate them; and, +in my heart, I am quite certain that long after your institution, and +others of the same nature, have crumbled into dust, the noble harvest of +the seed sown in them will shine out brightly in the wisdom, the mercy, +and the forbearance of another race. + + + + +VII. +LIVERPOOL, FEBRUARY 26, 1844. + + +[The following address was delivered at a soirée of the Liverpool +Mechanics’ Institution, at which Mr. Dickens presided.] + +LADIES AND GENTLEMEN,—It was rather hard of you to take away my breath +before I spoke a word; but I would not thank you, even if I could, for +the favour which has set me in this place, or for the generous kindness +which has greeted me so warmly,—because my first strong impulse still +would be, although I had that power, to lose sight of all personal +considerations in the high intent and meaning of this numerous +assemblage, in the contemplation of the noble objects to which this +building is devoted, of its brilliant and inspiring history, of that +rough, upward track, so bravely trodden, which it leaves behind, and that +bright path of steadily-increasing usefulness which lies stretched out +before it. My first strong impulse still would be to exchange +congratulations with you, as the members of one united family, on the +thriving vigour of this strongest child of a strong race. My first +strong impulse still would be, though everybody here had twice as many +hundreds of hands as there are hundreds of persons present, to shake them +in the spirit, everyone, always, allow me to say, excepting those hands +(and there are a few such here), which, with the constitutional infirmity +of human nature, I would rather salute in some more tender fashion. + +When I first had the honour of communicating with your Committee with +reference to this celebration, I had some selfish hopes that the visit +proposed to me might turn out to be one of congratulation, or, at least, +of solicitous inquiry; for they who receive a visitor in any season of +distress are easily touched and moved by what he says, and I entertained +some confident expectation of making a mighty strong impression on you. +But, when I came to look over the printed documents which were forwarded +to me at the same time, and with which you are all tolerably familiar, +these anticipations very speedily vanished, and left me bereft of all +consolation, but the triumphant feeling to which I have referred. For +what do I find, on looking over those brief chronicles of this swift +conquest over ignorance and prejudice, in which no blood has been poured +out, and no treaty signed but that one sacred compact which recognises +the just right of every man, whatever his belief, or however humble his +degree, to aspire, and to have some means of aspiring, to be a better and +a wiser man? I find that, in 1825, certain misguided and turbulent +persons proposed to erect in Liverpool an unpopular, dangerous, +irreligious, and revolutionary establishment, called a Mechanics’ +Institution; that, in 1835, Liverpool having, somehow or other, got on +pretty comfortably in the meantime, in spite of it, the first stone of a +new and spacious edifice was laid; that, in 1837, it was opened; that, it +was afterwards, at different periods, considerably enlarged; that, in +1844, conspicuous amongst the public beauties of a beautiful town, here +it stands triumphant, its enemies lived down, its former students +attesting, in their various useful callings and pursuits, the sound, +practical information it afforded them; its members numbering +considerably more than 3,000, and setting in rapidly for 6,000 at least; +its library comprehending 11,000 volumes, and daily sending forth its +hundreds of books into private homes; its staff of masters and officers, +amounting to half-a-hundred in themselves; its schools, conveying every +sort of instruction, high and low, adapted to the labour, means, +exigencies, and convenience of nearly every class and grade of persons. +I was here this morning, and in its spacious halls I found stores of the +wonders worked by nature in the air, in the forest, in the cavern, and in +the sea—stores of the surpassing engines devised by science for the +better knowledge of other worlds, and the greater happiness of +this—stores of those gentler works of art, which, though achieved in +perishable stone, by yet more perishable hands of dust, are in their +influence immortal. With such means at their command, so well-directed, +so cheaply shared, and so extensively diffused, well may your Committee +say, as they have done in one of their Reports, that the success of this +establishment has far exceeded their most sanguine expectations. + +But, ladies and gentlemen, as that same philosopher whose words they +quote, as Bacon tells us, instancing the wonderful effects of little +things and small beginnings, that the influence of the loadstone was +first discovered in particles of iron, and not in iron bars, so they may +lay it to their hearts, that when they combined together to form the +institution which has risen to this majestic height, they issued on a +field of enterprise, the glorious end of which they cannot even now +discern. Every man who has felt the advantages of, or has received +improvement in this place, carries its benefits into the society in which +he moves, and puts them out at compound interest; and what the blessed +sum may be at last, no man can tell. Ladies and gentlemen, with that +Christian prelate whose name appears on your list of honorary Members; +that good and liberal man who once addressed you within these walls, in a +spirit worthy of his calling, and of his High Master—I look forward from +this place, as from a tower, to the time when high and low, and rich and +poor, shall mutually assist, improve, and educate each other. + +I feel, ladies and gentlemen, that this is not a place, with its 3,200 +members, and at least 3,200 arguments in every one, to enter on any +advocacy of the principle of Mechanics’ Institutions, or to discuss the +subject with those who do or ever did object to them. I should as soon +think of arguing the point with those untutored savages whose mode of +life you last year had the opportunity of witnessing; indeed, I am +strongly inclined to believe them by far the more rational class of the +two. Moreover, if the institution itself be not a sufficient answer to +all such objections, then there is no such thing in fact or reason, human +or divine. Neither will I venture to enter into those details of the +management of this place which struck me most on the perusal of its +papers; but I cannot help saying how much impressed and gratified I was, +as everybody must be who comes to their perusal for the first time, by +the extraordinary munificence with which this institution has been +endowed by certain gentlemen. + +Amongst the peculiar features of management which made the greatest +impression on me, I may observe that that regulation which empowers +fathers, being annual subscribers of one guinea, to introduce their sons +who are minors; and masters, on payment of the astoundingly small sum of +five shillings annually, in like manner their apprentices, is not the +least valuable of its privileges; and, certainly not the one least +valuable to society. And, ladies and gentlemen, I cannot say to you what +pleasure I derived from the perusal of an apparently excellent report in +your local papers of a meeting held here some short time since, in aid of +the formation of a girls’ school in connexion with this institution. +This is a new and striking chapter in the history of these institutions; +it does equal credit to the gallantry and policy of this, and disposes +one to say of it with a slight parody on the words of Burns, that + + “Its ’prentice han’ it tried on man, + And then it _taught_ the lasses, O.” + +That those who are our best teachers, and whose lessons are oftenest +heeded in after life, should be well taught themselves, is a proposition +few reasonable men will gainsay; and, certainly, to breed up good +husbands on the one hand, and good wives on the other, does appear as +reasonable and straightforward a plan as could well be devised for the +improvement of the next generation. + +This, and what I see before me, naturally brings me to our fairer +members, in respect of whom I have no doubt you will agree with me, that +they ought to be admitted to the widest possible extent, and on the +lowest possible terms; and, ladies, let me venture to say to you, that +you never did a wiser thing in all your lives than when you turned your +favourable regard on such an establishment as this—for wherever the light +of knowledge is diffused, wherever the humanizing influence of the arts +and sciences extends itself, wherever there is the clearest perception of +what is beautiful, and good, and most redeeming, amid all the faults and +vices of mankind, there your character, your virtues, your graces, your +better nature, will be the best appreciated, and there the truest homage +will be proudly paid to you. You show best, trust me, in the clearest +light; and every ray that falls upon you at your own firesides, from any +book or thought communicated within these walls, will raise you nearer to +the angels in the eyes you care for most. + +I will not longer interpose myself, ladies and gentlemen, between you and +the pleasure we all anticipate in hearing other gentlemen, and in +enjoying those social pleasures with which it is a main part of the +wisdom of this society to adorn and relieve its graver pursuits. We all +feel, I am sure, being here, that we are truly interested in the cause of +human improvement and rational education, and that we pledge ourselves, +everyone as far as in him lies, to extend the knowledge of the benefits +afforded in this place, and to bear honest witness in its favour. To +those who yet remain without its walls, but have the means of purchasing +its advantages, we make appeal, and in a friendly and forbearing spirit +say, “Come in, and be convinced— + + ‘Who enters here, leaves _doubt_ behind.’” + +If you, happily, have been well taught yourself, and are superior to its +advantages, so much the more should you make one in sympathy with those +who are below you. Beneath this roof we breed the men who, in the time +to come, must be found working for good or evil, in every quarter of +society. If mutual respect and forbearance among various classes be not +found here, where so many men are trained up in so many grades, to enter +on so many roads of life, dating their entry from one common +starting-point, as they are all approaching, by various paths, one common +end, where else can that great lesson be imbibed? Differences of wealth, +of rank, of intellect, we know there must be, and we respect them; but we +would give to all the means of taking out one patent of nobility, and we +define it, in the words of a great living poet, who is one of us, and who +uses his great gifts, as he holds them in trust, for the general welfare— + + “Howe’er it be, it seems to me + ’Tis only noble to be good: + True hearts are more than coronets, + And simple faith than Norman blood.” {88} + + + + +VIII. +BIRMINGHAM, FEBRUARY 28, 1844. + + +[The following speech was delivered at a Conversazione, in aid of the +funds of the Birmingham Polytechnic Institution, at which Mr Dickens +presided.] + +YOU will think it very unwise, or very self-denying in me, in such an +assembly, in such a splendid scene, and after such a welcome, to +congratulate myself on having nothing new to say to you: but I do so, +notwithstanding. To say nothing of places nearer home, I had the honour +of attending at Manchester, shortly before Christmas, and at Liverpool, +only the night before last, for a purpose similar to that which brings +you together this evening; and looking down a short perspective of +similar engagements, I feel gratification at the thought that I shall +very soon have nothing at all to say; in which case, I shall be content +to stake my reputation, like the Spectator of Addison, and that other +great periodical speaker, the Speaker of the House of Commons, on my +powers of listening. + +This feeling, and the earnest reception I have met with, are not the only +reasons why I feel a genuine, cordial, and peculiar interest in this +night’s proceedings. The Polytechnic Institution of Birmingham is in its +infancy—struggling into life under all those adverse and disadvantageous +circumstances which, to a greater or less extent, naturally beset all +infancy; but I would much rather connect myself with it now, however +humble, in its days of difficulty and of danger, than look back on its +origin when it may have become strong, and rich, and powerful. I should +prefer an intimate association with it now, in its early days and +apparent struggles, to becoming its advocate and acquaintance, its +fair-weather friend, in its high and palmy days. I would rather be able +to say I knew it in its swaddling-clothes, than in maturer age. Its two +elder brothers have grown old and died: their chests were weak—about +their cradles nurses shook their heads, and gossips groaned; but the +present institution shot up, amidst the ruin of those which have fallen, +with an indomitable constitution, with vigorous and with steady pulse; +temperate, wise, and of good repute; and by perseverance it has become a +very giant. Birmingham is, in my mind and in the minds of most men, +associated with many giants; and I no more believe that this young +institution will turn out sickly, dwarfish, or of stunted growth, than I +do that when the glass-slipper of my chairmanship shall fall off, and the +clock strike twelve to-night, this hall will be turned into a pumpkin. I +found that strong belief upon the splendid array of grace and beauty by +which I am surrounded, and which, if it only had one-hundredth part of +the effect upon others it has upon me, could do anything it pleased with +anything and anybody. I found my strong conviction, in the second place, +upon the public spirit of the town of Birmingham—upon the name and fame +of its capitalists and working men; upon the greatness and importance of +its merchants and manufacturers; upon its inventions, which are +constantly in progress; upon the skill and intelligence of its artisans, +which are daily developed; and the increasing knowledge of all portions +of the community. All these reasons lead me to the conclusion that your +institution will advance—that it will and must progress, and that you +will not be content with lingering leagues behind. + +I have another peculiar ground of satisfaction in connexion with the +object of this assembly; and it is, that the resolutions about to be +proposed do not contain in themselves anything of a sectarian or class +nature; that they do not confine themselves to any one single +institution, but assert the great and omnipotent principles of +comprehensive education everywhere and under every circumstance. I beg +leave to say that I concur, heart and hand, in those principles, and will +do all in my power for their advancement; for I hold, in accordance with +the imperfect knowledge which I possess, that it is impossible for any +fabric of society to go on day after day, and year after year, from +father to son, and from grandfather to grandson, punishing men for not +engaging in the pursuit of virtue and for the practice of crime, without +showing them what virtue is, and where it best can be found—in justice, +religion, and truth. The only reason that can possibly be adduced +against it is one founded on fiction—namely, the case where an obdurate +old geni, in the “Arabian Nights,” was bound upon taking the life of a +merchant, because he had struck out the eye of his invisible son. I +recollect, likewise, a tale in the same book of charming fancies, which I +consider not inappropriate: it is a case where a powerful spirit has been +imprisoned at the bottom of the sea, in a casket with a leaden cover, and +the seal of Solomon upon it; there he had lain neglected for many +centuries, and during that period had made many different vows: at first, +that he would reward magnificently those who should release him; and at +last, that he would destroy them. Now, there is a spirit of great +power—the Spirit of Ignorance—which is shut up in a vessel of leaden +composition, and sealed with the seal of many, many Solomons, and which +is effectually in the same position: release it in time, and it will +bless, restore, and reanimate society; but let it lie under the rolling +waves of years, and its blind revenge is sure to lead to certain +destruction. That there are classes which, if rightly treated, +constitute strength, and if wrongly, weakness, I hold it impossible to +deny—by these classes I mean industrious, intelligent, and honourably +independent men, in whom the higher classes of Birmingham are especially +interested, and bound to afford them the means of instruction and +improvement, and to ameliorate their mental and moral condition. Far be +it from me (and I wish to be most particularly understood) to attempt to +depreciate the excellent Church Instruction Societies, or the worthy, +sincere, and temperate zeal of those reverend gentlemen by whom they are +usually conducted; on the contrary, I believe that they have done, and +are doing, much good, and are deserving of high praise; but I hope that, +without offence, in a community such as Birmingham, there are other +objects not unworthy in the sight of heaven, and objects of recognised +utility which are worthy of support—principles which are practised in +word and deed in Polytechnic Institutions—principles for the diffusion of +which honest men of all degrees and of every creed might associate +together, on an independent footing and on neutral ground, and at a small +expense, for the better understanding and the greater consideration of +each other, and for the better cultivation of the happiness of all: for +it surely cannot be allowed that those who labour day by day, surrounded +by machinery, shall be permitted to degenerate into machines themselves, +but, on the contrary, they should assert their common origin from their +Creator, at the hands of those who are responsible and thinking men. +There is, indeed, no difference in the main with respect to the dangers +of ignorance and the advantages of knowledge between those who hold +different opinions—for it is to be observed, that those who are most +distrustful of the advantages of education, are always the first to +exclaim against the results of ignorance. This fact was pleasantly +illustrated on the railway, as I came here. In the same carriage with me +there sat an ancient gentleman (I feel no delicacy in alluding to him, +for I know that he is not in the room, having got out far short of +Birmingham), who expressed himself most mournfully as to the ruinous +effects and rapid spread of railways, and was most pathetic upon the +virtues of the slow-going old stage coaches. Now I, entertaining some +little lingering kindness for the road, made shift to express my +concurrence with the old gentleman’s opinion, without any great +compromise of principle. Well, we got on tolerably comfortably together, +and when the engine, with a frightful screech, dived into some dark +abyss, like some strange aquatic monster, the old gentleman said it would +never do, and I agreed with him. When it parted from each successive +station, with a shock and a shriek as if it had had a double-tooth drawn, +the old gentleman shook his head, and I shook mine. When he burst forth +against such new-fangled notions, and said no good could come of them, I +did not contest the point. But I found that when the speed of the engine +was abated, or there was a prolonged stay at any station, up the old +gentleman was at arms, and his watch was instantly out of his pocket, +denouncing the slowness of our progress. Now I could not help comparing +this old gentleman to that ingenious class of persons who are in the +constant habit of declaiming against the vices and crimes of society, and +at the same time are the first and foremost to assert that vice and crime +have not their common origin in ignorance and discontent. + +The good work, however, in spite of all political and party differences, +has been well begun; we are all interested in it; it is advancing, and +cannot be stopped by any opposition, although it may be retarded in this +place or in that, by the indifference of the middle classes, with whom +its successful progress chiefly rests. Of this success I cannot +entertain a doubt; for whenever the working classes have enjoyed an +opportunity of effectually rebutting accusations which falsehood or +thoughtlessness have brought against them, they always avail themselves +of it, and show themselves in their true characters; and it was this +which made the damage done to a single picture in the National Gallery of +London, by some poor lunatic or cripple, a mere matter of newspaper +notoriety and wonder for some few days. This, then, establishes a fact +evident to the meanest comprehension—that any given number of thousands +of individuals, in the humblest walks of life in this country, can pass +through the national galleries or museums in seasons of holiday-making, +without damaging, in the slightest degree, those choice and valuable +collections. I do not myself believe that the working classes ever were +the wanton or mischievous persons they were so often and so long +represented to be; but I rather incline to the opinion that some men take +it into their heads to lay it down as a matter of fact, without being +particular about the premises; and that the idle and the prejudiced, not +wishing to have the trouble of forming opinions for themselves, take it +for granted—until the people have an opportunity of disproving the stigma +and vindicating themselves before the world. + +Now this assertion is well illustrated by what occurred respecting an +equestrian statue in the metropolis, with respect to which a legend +existed that the sculptor hanged himself, because he had neglected to put +a girth to the horse. This story was currently believed for many years, +until it was inspected for altogether a different purpose, and it was +found to have had a girth all the time. + +But surely if, as is stated, the people are ill-disposed and mischievous, +that is the best reason that can be offered for teaching them better; and +if they are not, surely that is a reason for giving them every +opportunity of vindicating their injured reputation; and no better +opportunity could possibly be afforded than that of associating together +voluntarily for such high purposes as it is proposed to carry out by the +establishment of the Birmingham Polytechnic Institution. In any +case—nay, in every case—if we would reward honesty, if we would hold out +encouragement to good, if we would eradicate that which is evil or +correct that which is bad, education—comprehensive, liberal education—is +the one thing needful, and the only effective end. If I might apply to +my purpose, and turn into plain prose some words of Hamlet—not with +reference to any government or party (for party being, for the most part, +an irrational sort of thing, has no connexion with the object we have in +view)—if I might apply those words to education as Hamlet applied them to +the skull of Yorick, I would say—“Now hie thee to the council-chamber, +and tell them, though they lay it on in sounding thoughts and learned +words an inch thick, to this complexion they must come at last.” + + * * * * * + +In answer to a vote of thanks, {95} Mr. Dickens said, at the close of the +meeting— + +Ladies and gentlemen, we are now quite even—for every effect which I may +have made upon you, the compliment has been amply returned to me; but at +the same time I am as little disposed to say to you, ‘go and sin no +more,’ as I am to promise for myself that ‘I will never do so again.’ So +long as I can make you laugh and cry, I will; and you will readily +believe me, when I tell you, you cannot do too much on your parts to show +that we are still cordial and loving friends. To you, ladies of the +Institution, I am deeply and especially indebted. I sometimes [_pointing +to the word_ ‘_Boz_’ _in front of the great gallery_] think there is some +small quantity of magic in that very short name, and that it must consist +in its containing as many letters as the three graces, and they, every +one of them, being of your fair sisterhood. + +A story is told of an eastern potentate of modern times, who, for an +eastern potentate, was a tolerably good man, sometimes bowstringing his +dependants indiscriminately in his moments of anger, but burying them in +great splendour in his moments of penitence, that whenever intelligence +was brought him of a new plot or turbulent conspiracy, his first inquiry +was, ‘Who is she?’ meaning that a woman was at the bottom. Now, in my +small way, I differ from that potentate; for when there is any good to be +attained, the services of any ministering angel required, my first +inquiry is, ‘Where is she?’ and the answer invariably is, ‘Here.’ Proud +and happy am I indeed to thank you for your generosity— + + ‘A thousand times, good night; + A thousand times the worse to want your light.’ + + + + +IX. +GARDENERS AND GARDENING. +LONDON, JUNE 14, 1852. + + +[The Ninth Anniversary Dinner of the Gardeners’ Benevolent Institution +was held on the above date at the London Tavern. The company numbered +more than 150. The dessert was worthy of the occasion, and an admirable +effect was produced by a profuse display of natural flowers upon the +tables and in the decoration of the room. The chair was taken by Mr. +Charles Dickens, who, in proposing the toast of the evening, spoke as +follows:—] + +FOR three times three years the Gardeners’ Benevolent Institution has +been stimulated and encouraged by meetings such as this, and by three +times three cheers we will urge it onward in its prosperous career. +[_The cheers were warmly given_.] + +Occupying the post I now do, I feel something like a counsel for the +plaintiff with nobody on the other side; but even if I had been placed in +that position ninety times nine, it would still be my duty to state a few +facts from the very short brief with which I have been provided. + +This Institution was founded in the year 1838. During the first five +years of its existence, it was not particularly robust, and seemed to +have been placed in rather a shaded position, receiving somewhat more +than its needful allowance of cold water. In 1843 it was removed into a +more favourable position, and grafted on a nobler stock, and it has now +borne fruit, and become such a vigorous tree that at present thirty-five +old people daily sit within the shelter of its branches, and all the +pensioners upon the list have been veritable gardeners, or the wives of +gardeners. It is managed by gardeners, and it has upon its books the +excellent rule that any gardener who has subscribed to it for fifteen +years, and conformed to the rules, may, if he will, be placed upon the +pensioners’ list without election, without canvass, without solicitation, +and as his independent right. I lay very great stress upon that +honourable characteristic of the charity, because the main principle of +any such institution should be to help those who help themselves. That +the Society’s pensioners do not become such so long as they are able to +support themselves, is evinced by the significant fact that the average +age of those now upon the list is seventy-seven; that they are not +wasteful is proved by the fact that the whole sum expended on their +relief is but £500 a-year; that the Institution does not restrict itself +to any narrow confines, is shown by the circumstance, that the pensioners +come from all parts of England, whilst all the expenses are paid from the +annual income and interest on stock, and therefore are not +disproportionate to its means. + +Such is the Institution which appeals to you through me, as a most +unworthy advocate, for sympathy and support, an Institution which has for +its President a nobleman {98} whose whole possessions are remarkable for +taste and beauty, and whose gardener’s laurels are famous throughout the +world. In the list of its vice-presidents there are the names of many +noblemen and gentlemen of great influence and station, and I have been +struck in glancing through the list of its supporters, with the sums +written against the names of the numerous nurserymen and seedsmen therein +comprised. I hope the day will come when every gardener in England will +be a member of the charity. + +The gardener particularly needs such a provision as this Institution +affords. His gains are not great; he knows gold and silver more as being +of the colour of fruits and flowers than by its presence in his pockets; +he is subjected to that kind of labour which renders him peculiarly +liable to infirmity; and when old age comes upon him, the gardener is of +all men perhaps best able to appreciate the merits of such an +institution. + +To all indeed, present and absent, who are descended from the first + + “gardener Adam and his wife,” + +the benefits of such a society are obvious. In the culture of flowers +there cannot, by their very nature, be anything, solitary or exclusive. +The wind that blows over the cottager’s porch, sweeps also over the +grounds of the nobleman; and as the rain descends on the just and on the +unjust, so it communicates to all gardeners, both rich and poor, an +interchange of pleasure and enjoyment; and the gardener of the rich man, +in developing and enhancing a fruitful flavour or a delightful scent, is, +in some sort, the gardener of everybody else. + +The love of gardening is associated with all conditions of men, and all +periods of time. The scholar and the statesman, men of peace and men of +war, have agreed in all ages to delight in gardens. The most ancient +people of the earth had gardens where there is now nothing but solitary +heaps of earth. The poor man in crowded cities gardens still in jugs and +basins and bottles: in factories and workshops people garden; and even +the prisoner is found gardening in his lonely cell, after years and years +of solitary confinement. Surely, then, the gardener who produces shapes +and objects so lovely and so comforting, should have some hold upon the +world’s remembrance when he himself becomes in need of comfort. + +I will call upon you to drink “Prosperity to the Gardeners’ Benevolent +Institution,” and I beg to couple with that toast the name of its noble +President, the Duke of Devonshire, whose worth is written in all his +deeds, and who has communicated to his title and his riches a lustre +which no title and no riches could confer. + + * * * * * + +[Later in the evening, Mr. Dickens said:—] + +My office has compelled me to burst into bloom so often that I could wish +there were a closer parallel between myself and the American aloe. It is +particularly agreeable and appropriate to know that the parents of this +Institution are to be found in the seed and nursery trade; and the seed +having yielded such good fruit, and the nursery having produced such a +healthy child, I have the greatest pleasure in proposing the health of +the parents of the Institution. + + * * * * * + +[In proposing the health of the Treasurers, Mr. Dickens said:—] + +My observation of the signboards of this country has taught me that its +conventional gardeners are always jolly, and always three in number. +Whether that conventionality has reference to the Three Graces, or to +those very significant letters, L., S., D., I do not know. Those mystic +letters are, however, most important, and no society can have officers of +more importance than its Treasurers, nor can it possibly give them too +much to do. + + + + +X. +BIRMINGHAM, JANUARY 6, 1853. + + +[On Thursday, January 6, 1853, at the rooms of the Society of Artists, in +Temple Row, Birmingham, a large company assembled to witness the +presentation of a testimonial to Mr. Charles Dickens, consisting of a +silver-gilt salver and a diamond ring. Mr. Dickens acknowledged the +tribute, and the address which accompanied it, in the following words:—] + +GENTLEMEN, I feel it very difficult, I assure you, to tender my +acknowledgments to you, and through you, to those many friends of mine +whom you represent, for this honour and distinction which you have +conferred upon me. I can most honestly assure you, that it is in the +power of no great representative of numbers of people to awaken such +happiness in me as is inspired by this token of goodwill and remembrance, +coming to me direct and fresh from the numbers themselves. I am truly +sensible, gentlemen, that my friends who have united in this address are +partial in their kindness, and regard what I have done with too great +favour. But I may say, with reference to one class—some members of +which, I presume, are included there—that I should in my own eyes be very +unworthy both of the generous gift and the generous feeling which has +been evinced, and this occasion, instead of pleasure, would give me +nothing but pain, if I was unable to assure them, and those who are in +front of this assembly, that what the working people have found me +towards them in my books, I am throughout my life. Gentlemen, whenever I +have tried to hold up to admiration their fortitude, patience, +gentleness, the reasonableness of their nature, so accessible to +persuasion, and their extraordinary goodness one towards another, I have +done so because I have first genuinely felt that admiration myself, and +have been thoroughly imbued with the sentiment which I sought to +communicate to others. + +Gentlemen, I accept this salver and this ring as far above all price to +me, as very valuable in themselves, and as beautiful specimens of the +workmanship of this town, with great emotion, I assure you, and with the +liveliest gratitude. You remember something, I daresay, of the old +romantic stories of those charmed rings which would lose their brilliance +when their wearer was in danger, or would press his finger reproachfully +when he was going to do wrong. In the very improbable event of my being +in the least danger of deserting the principles which have won me these +tokens, I am sure the diamond in that ring would assume a clouded aspect +to my faithless eye, and would, I know, squeeze a throb of pain out of my +treacherous heart. But I have not the least misgiving on that point; +and, in this confident expectation, I shall remove my own old diamond +ring from my left hand, and in future wear the Birmingham ring on my +right, where its grasp will keep me in mind of the good friends I have +here, and in vivid remembrance of this happy hour. + +Gentlemen, in conclusion, allow me to thank you and the Society to whom +these rooms belong, that the presentation has taken place in an +atmosphere so congenial to me, and in an apartment decorated with so many +beautiful works of art, among which I recognize before me the productions +of friends of mine, whose labours and triumphs will never be subjects of +indifference to me. I thank those gentlemen for giving me the +opportunity of meeting them here on an occasion which has some connexion +with their own proceedings; and, though last not least, I tender my +acknowledgments to that charming presence, without which nothing +beautiful can be complete, and which is endearingly associated with rings +of a plainer description, and which, I must confess, awakens in my mind +at the present moment a feeling of regret that I am not in a condition to +make an offer of these testimonials. I beg you, gentlemen, to commend me +very earnestly and gratefully to our absent friends, and to assure them +of my affectionate and heartfelt respect. + + * * * * * + +The company then adjourned to Dee’s Hotel, where a banquet took place, at +which about 220 persons were present, among whom were some of the most +distinguished of the Royal Academicians. To the toast of “The Literature +of England,” Mr. Dickens responded as follows:— + +Mr. Mayor and Gentlemen, I am happy, on behalf of many labourers in that +great field of literature to which you have pledged the toast, to thank +you for the tribute you have paid to it. Such an honour, rendered by +acclamation in such a place as this, seems to me, if I may follow on the +same side as the venerable Archdeacon (Sandford) who lately addressed +you, and who has inspired me with a gratification I can never forget—such +an honour, gentlemen, rendered here, seems to me a two-sided illustration +of the position that literature holds in these latter and, of course, +“degenerate” days. To the great compact phalanx of the people, by whose +industry, perseverance, and intelligence, and their result in +money-wealth, such places as Birmingham, and many others like it, have +arisen—to that great centre of support, that comprehensive experience, +and that beating heart, literature has turned happily from individual +patrons—sometimes munificent, often sordid, always few—and has there +found at once its highest purpose, its natural range of action, and its +best reward. Therefore it is right also, as it seems to me, not only +that literature should receive honour here, but that it should render +honour, too, remembering that if it has undoubtedly done good to +Birmingham, Birmingham has undoubtedly done good to it. From the shame +of the purchased dedication, from the scurrilous and dirty work of Grub +Street, from the dependent seat on sufferance at my Lord Duke’s table +to-day, and from the sponging-house or Marshalsea to-morrow—from that +venality which, by a fine moral retribution, has degraded statesmen even +to a greater extent than authors, because the statesman entertained a low +belief in the universality of corruption, while the author yielded only +to the dire necessity of his calling—from all such evils the people have +set literature free. And my creed in the exercise of that profession is, +that literature cannot be too faithful to the people in return—cannot too +ardently advocate the cause of their advancement, happiness, and +prosperity. I have heard it sometimes said—and what is worse, as +expressing something more cold-blooded, I have sometimes seen it +written—that literature has suffered by this change, that it has +degenerated by being made cheaper. I have not found that to be the case: +nor do I believe that you have made the discovery either. But let a good +book in these “bad” times be made accessible,—even upon an abstruse and +difficult subject, so that it be one of legitimate interest to +mankind,—and my life on it, it shall be extensively bought, read, and +well considered. + +Why do I say this? Because I believe there are in Birmingham at this +moment many working men infinitely better versed in Shakespeare and in +Milton than the average of fine gentlemen in the days of bought-and-sold +dedications and dear books. I ask anyone to consider for himself who, at +this time, gives the greatest relative encouragement to the dissemination +of such useful publications as “Macaulay’s History,” “Layard’s +Researches,” “Tennyson’s Poems,” “The Duke of Wellington’s published +Despatches,” or the minutest truths (if any truth can be called minute) +discovered by the genius of a Herschel or a Faraday? It is with all +these things as with the great music of Mendelssohn, or a lecture upon +art—if we had the good fortune to listen to one to-morrow—by my +distinguished friend the President of the Royal Academy. However small +the audience, however contracted the circle in the water, in the first +instance, the people are nearer the wider range outside, and the Sister +Arts, while they instruct them, derive a wholesome advantage and +improvement from their ready sympathy and cordial response. I may +instance the case of my friend Mr. Ward’s magnificent picture; {105} and +the reception of that picture here is an example that it is not now the +province of art in painting to hold itself in monastic seclusion, that it +cannot hope to rest on a single foundation for its great temple,—on the +mere classic pose of a figure, or the folds of a drapery—but that it must +be imbued with human passions and action, informed with human right and +wrong, and, being so informed, it may fearlessly put itself upon its +trial, like the criminal of old, to be judged by God and its country. + +Gentlemen, to return and conclude, as I shall have occasion to trouble +you again. For this time I have only once again to repeat what I have +already said. As I begun with literature, I shall end with it. I would +simply say that I believe no true man, with anything to tell, need have +the least misgiving, either for himself or his message, before a large +number of hearers—always supposing that he be not afflicted with the +coxcombical idea of writing down to the popular intelligence, instead of +writing the popular intelligence up to himself, if, perchance, he be +above it;—and, provided always that he deliver himself plainly of what is +in him, which seems to be no unreasonable stipulation, it being supposed +that he has some dim design of making himself understood. On behalf of +that literature to which you have done so much honour, I beg to thank you +most cordially, and on my own behalf, for the most flattering reception +you have given to one whose claim is, that he has the distinction of +making it his profession. + + * * * * * + +Later in the evening, Mr. Dickens gave as a toast, “The Educational +Institutions of Birmingham,” in the following speech: + +I am requested to propose—or, according to the hypothesis of my friend, +Mr. Owen, I am in the temporary character of a walking advertisement to +advertise to you—the Educational Institutions of Birmingham; an +advertisement to which I have the greatest pleasure in calling your +attention, Gentlemen, it is right that I should, in so many words, +mention the more prominent of these institutions, not because your local +memories require any prompting, but because the enumeration implies what +has been done here, what you are doing, and what you will yet do. I +believe the first is the King Edward’s Grammar School, with its various +branches, and prominent among them is that most admirable means of +training the wives of working men to be good wives and working wives, the +prime ornament of their homes, and the cause of happiness to others—I +mean those excellent girls’ schools in various parts of the town, which, +under the excellent superintendence of the principal, I should most +sincerely desire to see in every town in England. Next, I believe, is +the Spring Hill College, a learned institution belonging to the body of +Independents, foremost among whose professors literature is proud to hail +Mr. Henry Rogers as one of the soundest and ablest contributors to the +Edinburgh Review. The next is the Queen’s College, which, I may say, is +only a newly-born child; but, in the hands of such an admirable Doctor, +we may hope to see it arrive at a vigorous maturity. The next is the +School of Design, which, as has been well observed by my friend Sir +Charles Eastlake, is invaluable in such a place as this; and, lastly, +there is the Polytechnic Institution, with regard to which I had long ago +occasion to express my profound conviction that it was of unspeakable +importance to such a community as this, when I had the honour to be +present, under the auspices of your excellent representative, Mr. +Scholefield. This is the last of what has been done in an educational +way. They are all admirable in their kind; but I am glad to find that +more is yet doing. A few days ago I received a Birmingham newspaper, +containing a most interesting account of a preliminary meeting for the +formation of a Reformatory School for juvenile delinquents. You are not +exempt here from the honour of saving these poor, neglected, and wretched +outcasts. I read of one infant, six years old, who has been twice as +many times in the hands of the police as years have passed over his +devoted head. These are the eggs from which gaol-birds are hatched; if +you wish to check that dreadful brood, you must take the young and +innocent, and have them reared by Christian hands. + +Lastly, I am rejoiced to find that there is on foot a scheme for a new +Literary and Scientific Institution, which would be worthy even of this +place, if there was nothing of the kind in it—an institution, as I +understand it, where the words “exclusion” and “exclusiveness” shall be +quite unknown—where all classes may assemble in common trust, respect, +and confidence—where there shall be a great gallery of painting and +statuary open to the inspection and admiration of all comers—where there +shall be a museum of models in which industry may observe its various +sources of manufacture, and the mechanic may work out new combinations, +and arrive at new results—where the very mines under the earth and under +the sea shall not be forgotten, but presented in little to the inquiring +eye—an institution, in short, where many and many of the obstacles which +now inevitably stand in the rugged way of the poor inventor shall be +smoothed away, and where, if he have anything in him, he will find +encouragement and hope. + +I observe with unusual interest and gratification, that a body of +gentlemen are going for a time to lay aside their individual +prepossessions on other subjects, and, as good citizens, are to be +engaged in a design as patriotic as well can be. They have the intention +of meeting in a few days to advance this great object, and I call upon +you, in drinking this toast, to drink success to their endeavour, and to +make it the pledge by all good means to promote it. + +If I strictly followed out the list of educational institutions in +Birmingham, I should not have done here, but I intend to stop, merely +observing that I have seen within a short walk of this place one of the +most interesting and practical Institutions for the Deaf and Dumb that +has ever come under my observation. I have seen in the factories and +workshops of Birmingham such beautiful order and regularity, and such +great consideration for the workpeople provided, that they might justly +be entitled to be considered educational too. I have seen in your +splendid Town Hall, when the cheap concerts are going on there, also an +admirable educational institution. I have seen their results in the +demeanour of your working people, excellently balanced by a nice +instinct, as free from servility on the one hand, as from self-conceit on +the other. It is a perfect delight to have need to ask a question, if +only from the manner of the reply—a manner I never knew to pass unnoticed +by an observant stranger. Gather up those threads, and a great marry +more I have not touched upon, and weaving all into one good fabric, +remember how much is included under the general head of the Educational +Institutions of your town. + + + + +XI. +LONDON, APRIL 30, 1853. + + +[At the annual Dinner of the Royal Academy, the President, Sir Charles +Eastlake, proposed as a toast, “The Interests of Literature,” and +selected for the representatives of the world of letters, the Dean of St. +Paul’s and Mr. Charles Dickens. Dean Milman having returned thanks.] + +MR DICKENS then addressed the President, who, it should be mentioned, +occupied a large and handsome chair, the back covered with crimson +velvet, placed just before Stanfield’s picture of _The Victory_. + +Mr. Dickens, after tendering his acknowledgments of the toast, and the +honour done him in associating his name with it, said that those +acknowledgments were not the less heartfelt because he was unable to +recognize in this toast the President’s usual disinterestedness; since +English literature could scarcely be remembered in any place, and, +certainly, not in a school of art, without a very distinct remembrance of +his own tasteful writings, to say nothing of that other and better part +of himself, which, unfortunately, was not visible upon these occasions. + +If, like the noble Lord, the Commander-in-Chief (Viscount Hardinge), he +(Mr. Dickens) might venture to illustrate his brief thanks with one word +of reference to the noble picture painted by a very dear friend of his, +which was a little eclipsed that evening by the radiant and rubicund +chair which the President now so happily toned down, he would beg leave +to say that, as literature could nowhere be more appropriately honoured +than in that place, so he thought she could nowhere feel a higher +gratification in the ties that bound her to the sister arts. He ever +felt in that place that literature found, through their instrumentality, +always a new expression, and in a universal language. + + + + +XII. +LONDON, MAY 1, 1853. + + +[At a dinner given by the Lord Mayor at the Mansion House, on the above +date, Mr. Justice Talfourd proposed as a toast “Anglo-Saxon Literature,” +and alluded to Mr. Dickens as having employed fiction as a means of +awakening attention to the condition of the oppressed and suffering +classes:—] + +“MR. DICKENS replied to this toast in a graceful and playful strain. In +the former part of the evening, in reply to a toast on the chancery +department, Vice-Chancellor Wood, who spoke in the absence of the Lord +Chancellor, made a sort of defence of the Court of Chancery, not +distinctly alluding to Bleak House, but evidently not without reference +to it. The amount of what he said was, that the Court had received a +great many more hard opinions than it merited; that they had been +parsimoniously obliged to perform a great amount of business by a very +inadequate number of judges; but that more recently the number of judges +had been increased to seven, and there was reason to hope that all +business brought before it would now be performed without unnecessary +delay. + +“Mr. Dickens alluded playfully to this item of intelligence; said he was +exceedingly happy to hear it, as he trusted now that a suit, in which he +was greatly interested, would speedily come to an end. I heard a little +by-conversation between Mr. Dickens and a gentleman of the bar, who sat +opposite me, in which the latter seemed to be reiterating the same +assertions, and I understood him to say, that a case not extraordinarily +complicated might be got through with in three months. Mr. Dickens said +he was very happy to hear it; but I fancied there was a little shade of +incredulity in his manner; however, the incident showed one thing, that +is, that the chancery were not insensible to the representations of +Dickens; but the whole tone of the thing was quite good-natured and +agreeable.” {113} + + + + +XIII. +BIRMINGHAM, DECEMBER 30, 1853. + + +[The first of the Readings generously given by Mr. Charles Dickens on +behalf of the Birmingham and Midland Institute, took place on Tuesday +evening, December 27, 1853, at the Birmingham Town Hall, where, +notwithstanding the inclemency of the weather, nearly two thousand +persons had assembled. The work selected was the _Christmas Carol_. The +high mimetic powers possessed by Mr. Dickens enabled him to personate +with remarkable force the various characters of the story, and with +admirable skill to pass rapidly from the hard, unbelieving Scrooge, to +trusting and thankful Bob Cratchit, and from the genial fulness of +Scrooge’s nephew, to the hideous mirth of the party assembled in Old Joe +the Ragshop-keeper’s parlour. The reading occupied more than three +hours, but so interested were the audience, that only one or two left the +Hall previously to its termination, and the loud and frequent bursts of +applause attested the successful discharge of the reader’s arduous task. +On Thursday evening Mr. Dickens read _The Cricket on the Hearth_. The +Hall was again well ruled, and the tale, though deficient in the dramatic +interest of the _Carol_, was listened to with attention, and rewarded +with repeated applause. On Friday evening, the _Christmas Carol_ was +read a second time to a large assemblage of work-people, for whom, at Mr. +Dickens’s special request, the major part of the vast edifice was +reserved. Before commencing the tale, Mr. Dickens delivered the +following brief address, almost every sentence of which was received with +loudly expressed applause.] + +MY GOOD FRIENDS,—When I first imparted to the committee of the projected +Institute my particular wish that on one of the evenings of my readings +here the main body of my audience should be composed of working men and +their families, I was animated by two desires; first, by the wish to have +the great pleasure of meeting you face to face at this Christmas time, +and accompany you myself through one of my little Christmas books; and +second, by the wish to have an opportunity of stating publicly in your +presence, and in the presence of the committee, my earnest hope that the +Institute will, from the beginning, recognise one great principle—strong +in reason and justice—which I believe to be essential to the very life of +such an Institution. It is, that the working man shall, from the first +unto the last, have a share in the management of an Institution which is +designed for his benefit, and which calls itself by his name. + +I have no fear here of being misunderstood—of being supposed to mean too +much in this. If there ever was a time when any one class could of +itself do much for its own good, and for the welfare of society—which I +greatly doubt—that time is unquestionably past. It is in the fusion of +different classes, without confusion; in the bringing together of +employers and employed; in the creating of a better common understanding +among those whose interests are identical, who depend upon each other, +who are vitally essential to each other, and who never can be in +unnatural antagonism without deplorable results, that one of the chief +principles of a Mechanics’ Institution should consist. In this world a +great deal of the bitterness among us arises from an imperfect +understanding of one another. Erect in Birmingham a great Educational +Institution, properly educational; educational of the feelings as well as +of the reason; to which all orders of Birmingham men contribute; in which +all orders of Birmingham men meet; wherein all orders of Birmingham men +are faithfully represented—and you will erect a Temple of Concord here +which will be a model edifice to the whole of England. + +Contemplating as I do the existence of the Artisans’ Committee, which not +long ago considered the establishment of the Institute so sensibly, and +supported it so heartily, I earnestly entreat the gentlemen—earnest I +know in the good work, and who are now among us,—by all means to avoid +the great shortcoming of similar institutions; and in asking the working +man for his confidence, to set him the great example and give him theirs +in return. You will judge for yourselves if I promise too much for the +working man, when I say that he will stand by such an enterprise with the +utmost of his patience, his perseverance, sense, and support; that I am +sure he will need no charitable aid or condescending patronage; but will +readily and cheerfully pay for the advantages which it confers; that he +will prepare himself in individual cases where he feels that the adverse +circumstances around him have rendered it necessary; in a word, that he +will feel his responsibility like an honest man, and will most honestly +and manfully discharge it. I now proceed to the pleasant task to which I +assure you I have looked forward for a long time. + + * * * * * + +At the close of the reading Mr. Dickens received a vote of thanks, and +“three cheers, with three times three.” As soon as the enthusiasm of the +audience would allow him to speak, Mr. Dickens said:— + +You have heard so much of my voice since we met to-night, that I will +only say, in acknowledgment of this affecting mark of your regard, that I +am truly and sincerely interested in you; that any little service I have +rendered to you I have freely rendered from my heart; that I hope to +become an honorary member of your great Institution, and will meet you +often there when it becomes practically useful; that I thank you most +affectionately for this new mark of your sympathy and approval; and that +I wish you many happy returns of this great birthday-time, and many +prosperous years. + + + + +XIV. +COMMERCIAL TRAVELLERS. +LONDON, DECEMBER 30, 1854. + + +[The following speech was made by Mr. Dickens at the Anniversary Dinner +in commemoration of the foundation of the Commercial Travellers’ Schools, +held at the London Tavern on the above date. Mr. Dickens presided on +this occasion, and proposed the toasts.] + +I THINK it may be assumed that most of us here present know something +about travelling. I do not mean in distant regions or foreign countries, +although I dare say some of us have had experience in that way, but at +home, and within the limits of the United Kingdom. I dare say most of us +have had experience of the extinct “fast coaches,” the “Wonders,” +“Taglionis,” and “Tallyhos,” of other days. I daresay most of us +remember certain modest postchaises, dragging us down interminable roads, +through slush and mud, to little country towns with no visible +population, except half-a-dozen men in smock-frocks, half-a-dozen women +with umbrellas and pattens, and a washed-out dog or so shivering under +the gables, to complete the desolate picture. We can all discourse, I +dare say, if so minded, about our recollections of the “Talbot,” the +“Queen’s Head,” or the “Lion” of those days. We have all been to that +room on the ground floor on one side of the old inn yard, not quite free +from a certain fragrant smell of tobacco, where the cruets on the +sideboard were usually absorbed by the skirts of the box-coats that hung +from the wall; where awkward servants waylaid us at every turn, like so +many human man-traps; where county members, framed and glazed, were +eternally presenting that petition which, somehow or other, had made +their glory in the county, although nothing else had ever come of it. +Where the books in the windows always wanted the first, last, and middle +leaves, and where the one man was always arriving at some unusual hour in +the night, and requiring his breakfast at a similarly singular period of +the day. I have no doubt we could all be very eloquent on the comforts +of our favourite hotel, wherever it was—its beds, its stables, its vast +amount of posting, its excellent cheese, its head waiter, its capital +dishes, its pigeon-pies, or its 1820 port. Or possibly we could recal +our chaste and innocent admiration of its landlady, or our fraternal +regard for its handsome chambermaid. A celebrated domestic critic once +writing of a famous actress, renowned for her virtue and beauty, gave her +the character of being an “eminently gatherable-to-one’s-arms sort of +person.” Perhaps some one amongst us has borne a somewhat similar +tribute to the mental charms of the fair deities who presided at our +hotels. + +With the travelling characteristics of later times, we are all, no doubt, +equally familiar. We know all about that station to which we must take +our ticket, although we never get there; and the other one at which we +arrive after dark, certain to find it half a mile from the town, where +the old road is sure to have been abolished, and the new road is going to +be made—where the old neighbourhood has been tumbled down, and the new +one is not half built up. We know all about that party on the platform +who, with the best intentions, can do nothing for our luggage except +pitch it into all sorts of unattainable places. We know all about that +short omnibus, in which one is to be doubled up, to the imminent danger +of the crown of one’s hat; and about that fly, whose leading peculiarity +is never to be there when it is wanted. We know, too, how +instantaneously the lights of the station disappear when the train +starts, and about that grope to the new Railway Hotel, which will be an +excellent house when the customers come, but which at present has nothing +to offer but a liberal allowance of damp mortar and new lime. + +I record these little incidents of home travel mainly with the object of +increasing your interest in the purpose of this night’s assemblage. +Every traveller has a home of his own, and he learns to appreciate it the +more from his wandering. If he has no home, he learns the same lesson +unselfishly by turning to the homes of other men. He may have his +experiences of cheerful and exciting pleasures abroad; but home is the +best, after all, and its pleasures are the most heartily and enduringly +prized. Therefore, ladies and gentlemen, every one must be prepared to +learn that commercial travellers, as a body, know how to prize those +domestic relations from which their pursuits so frequently sever them; +for no one could possibly invent a more delightful or more convincing +testimony to the fact than they themselves have offered in founding and +maintaining a school for the children of deceased or unfortunate members +of their own body; those children who now appeal to you in mute but +eloquent terms from the gallery. + +It is to support that school, founded with such high and friendly +objects, so very honourable to your calling, and so useful in its solid +and practical results, that we are here to-night. It is to roof that +building which is to shelter the children of your deceased friends with +one crowning ornament, the best that any building can have, namely, a +receipt stamp for the full amount of the cost. It is for this that your +active sympathy is appealed to, for the completion of your own good work. +You know how to put your hands to the plough in earnest as well as any +men in existence, for this little book informs me that you raised last +year no less a sum than £8000, and while fully half of that sum consisted +of new donations to the building fund, I find that the regular revenue of +the charity has only suffered to the extent of £30. After this, I most +earnestly and sincerely say that were we all authors together, I might +boast, if in my profession were exhibited the same unity and +steadfastness I find in yours. + +I will not urge on you the casualties of a life of travel, or the +vicissitudes of business, or the claims fostered by that bond of +brotherhood which ought always to exist amongst men who are united in a +common pursuit. You have already recognized those claims so nobly, that +I will not presume to lay them before you in any further detail. Suffice +it to say that I do not think it is in your nature to do things by +halves. I do not think you could do so if you tried, and I have a moral +certainty that you never will try. To those gentlemen present who are +not members of the travellers’ body, I will say in the words of the +French proverb, “Heaven helps those who help themselves.” The Commercial +Travellers having helped themselves so gallantly, it is clear that the +visitors who come as a sort of celestial representatives ought to bring +that aid in their pockets which the precept teaches us to expect from +them. With these few remarks, I beg to give you as a toast, “Success to +the Commercial Travellers’ School.” + + * * * * * + +In proposing the health of the Army in the Crimea, Mr. Dickens said:— + +IT does not require any extraordinary sagacity in a commercial assembly +to appreciate the dire evils of war. The great interests of trade +enfeebled by it, the enterprise of better times paralysed by it, all the +peaceful arts bent down before it, too palpably indicate its character +and results, so that far less practical intelligence than that by which I +am surrounded would be sufficient to appreciate the horrors of war. But +there are seasons when the evils of peace, though not so acutely felt, +are immeasurably greater, and when a powerful nation, by admitting the +right of any autocrat to do wrong, sows by such complicity the seeds of +its own ruin, and overshadows itself in time to come with that fatal +influence which great and ambitious powers are sure to exercise over +their weaker neighbours. + +Therefore it is, ladies and gentlemen, that the tree has not its root in +English ground from which the yard wand can be made that will measure—the +mine has not its place in English soil that will supply the material of a +pair of scales to weigh the influence that may be at stake in the war in +which we are now straining all our energies. That war is, at any time +and in any shape, a most dreadful and deplorable calamity, we need no +proverb to tell us; but it is just because it is such a calamity, and +because that calamity must not for ever be impending over us at the fancy +of one man against all mankind, that we must not allow that man to darken +from our view the figures of peace and justice between whom and us he now +interposes. + +Ladies and gentlemen, if ever there were a time when the true spirits of +two countries were really fighting in the cause of human advancement and +freedom—no matter what diplomatic notes or other nameless botherations, +from number one to one hundred thousand and one, may have preceded their +taking the field—if ever there were a time when noble hearts were +deserving well of mankind by exposing themselves to the obedient bayonets +of a rash and barbarian tyrant, it is now, when the faithful children of +England and France are fighting so bravely in the Crimea. Those faithful +children are the admiration and wonder of the world, so gallantly are +they discharging their duty; and therefore I propose to an assembly, +emphatically representing the interests and arts of peace, to drink the +health of the Allied Armies of England and France, with all possible +honours. + + * * * * * + +In proposing the health of the Treasurer, Mr. Dickens said:— + +If the President of this Institution had been here, I should possibly +have made one of the best speeches you ever heard; but as he is not here, +I shall turn to the next toast on my list:—“The health of your worthy +Treasurer, Mr. George Moore,” a name which is a synonym for integrity, +enterprise, public spirit, and benevolence. He is one of the most +zealous officers I ever saw in my life; he appears to me to have been +doing nothing during the last week but rushing into and out of +railway-carriages, and making eloquent speeches at all sorts of public +dinners in favour of this charity. Last evening he was at Manchester, +and this evening he comes here, sacrificing his time and convenience, and +exhausting in the meantime the contents of two vast leaden inkstands and +no end of pens, with the energy of fifty bankers’ clerks rolled into one. +But I clearly foresee that the Treasurer will have so much to do +to-night, such gratifying sums to acknowledge and such large lines of +figures to write in his books, that I feel the greatest consideration I +can show him is to propose his health without further observation, +leaving him to address you in his own behalf. I propose to you, +therefore, the health of Mr. George Moore, the Treasurer of this charity, +and I need hardly add that it is one which is to be drunk with all the +honours. + + * * * * * + +[Later in the evening, Mr. Dickens rose and said:—] + +So many travellers have been going up Mont Blanc lately, both in fact and +in fiction, that I have heard recently of a proposal for the +establishment of a Company to employ Sir Joseph Paxton to take it down. +Only one of those travellers, however, has been enabled to bring Mont +Blanc to Piccadilly, and, by his own ability and good humour, so to thaw +its eternal ice and snow, as that the most timid lady may ascend it twice +a-day, “during the holidays,” without the smallest danger or fatigue. +Mr. Albert Smith, who is present amongst us to-night, is undoubtedly “a +traveller.” I do not know whether he takes many orders, but this I can +testify, on behalf of the children of his friends, that he gives them in +the most liberal manner. + +We have also amongst us my friend Mr. Peter Cunningham, who is also a +traveller, not only in right of his able edition of Goldsmith’s +“Traveller,” but in right of his admirable Handbook, which proves him to +be a traveller in the right spirit through all the labyrinths of London. +We have also amongst us my friend Horace Mayhew, very well known also for +his books, but especially for his genuine admiration of the company at +that end of the room [_Mr. Dickens here pointed to the ladies gallery_], +and who, whenever the fair sex is mentioned, will be found to have the +liveliest personal interest in the conversation. + +Ladies and gentlemen, I am about to propose to you the health of these +three distinguished visitors. They are all admirable speakers, but Mr. +Albert Smith has confessed to me, that on fairly balancing his own merits +as a speaker and a singer, he rather thinks he excels in the latter art. +I have, therefore, yielded to his estimate of himself, and I have now the +pleasure of informing you that he will lead off the speeches of the other +two gentlemen with a song. Mr. Albert Smith has just said to me in an +earnest tone of voice, “What song would you recommend?” and I replied, +“Galignani’s Messenger.” Ladies and gentlemen, I therefore beg to +propose the health of Messrs. Albert Smith, Peter Cunningham, and Horace +Mayhew, and call on the first-named gentleman for a song. + + + + +XV. +ADMINISTRATIVE REFORM. + + + THEATRE ROYAL, DRURY LANE, WEDNESDAY, JUNE 27, 1855. + +I CANNOT, I am sure, better express my sense of the kind reception +accorded to me by this great assembly, than by promising to compress what +I shall address to it within the closest possible limits. It is more +than eighteen hundred years ago, since there was a set of men who +“thought they should be heard for their much speaking.” As they have +propagated exceedingly since that time, and as I observe that they +flourish just now to a surprising extent about Westminster, I will do my +best to avoid adding to the numbers of that prolific race. The noble +lord at the head of the Government, when he wondered in Parliament about +a week ago, that my friend, Mr. Layard, did not blush for having stated +in this place what the whole country knows perfectly well to be true, and +what no man in it can by possibility better know to be true than those +disinterested supporters of that noble lord, who had the advantage of +hearing him and cheering him night after night, when he first became +premier—I mean that he did officially and habitually joke, at a time when +this country was plunged in deep disgrace and distress—I say, that noble +lord, when he wondered so much that the man of this age, who has, by his +earnest and adventurous spirit, done the most to distinguish himself and +it, did not blush for the tremendous audacity of having so come between +the wind and his nobility, turned an airy period with reference to the +private theatricals at Drury Lane Theatre. Now, I have some slight +acquaintance with theatricals, private and public, and I will accept that +figure of the noble lord. I will not say that if I wanted to form a +company of Her Majesty’s servants, I think I should know where to put my +hand on “the comic old gentleman;” nor, that if I wanted to get up a +pantomime, I fancy I should know what establishment to go to for the +tricks and changes; also, for a very considerable host of +supernumeraries, to trip one another up in that contention with which +many of us are familiar, both on these and on other boards, in which the +principal objects thrown about are loaves and fishes. But I will try to +give the noble lord the reason for these private theatricals, and the +reason why, however ardently he may desire to ring the curtain down upon +them, there is not the faintest present hope of their coming to a +conclusion. It is this:—The public theatricals which the noble lord is +so condescending as to manage are so intolerably bad, the machinery is so +cumbrous, the parts so ill-distributed, the company so full of “walking +gentlemen,” the managers have such large families, and are so bent upon +putting those families into what is theatrically called “first +business”—not because of their aptitude for it, but because they _are_ +their families, that we find ourselves obliged to organize an opposition. +We have seen the _Comedy of Errors_ played so dismally like a tragedy +that we really cannot bear it. We are, therefore, making bold to get up +the _School of Reform_, and we hope, before the play is out, to improve +that noble lord by our performance very considerably. If he object that +we have no right to improve him without his license, we venture to claim +that right in virtue of his orchestra, consisting of a very powerful +piper, whom we always pay. + +Sir, as this is the first political meeting I have ever attended, and as +my trade and calling is not associated with politics, perhaps it may be +useful for me to show how I came to be here, because reasons similar to +those which have influenced me may still be trembling in the balance in +the minds of others. I want at all times, in full sincerity, to do my +duty by my countrymen. If _I_ feel an attachment towards them, there is +nothing disinterested or meritorious in that, for I can never too +affectionately remember the confidence and friendship that they have long +reposed in me. My sphere of action—which I shall never change—I shall +never overstep, further than this, or for a longer period than I do +to-night. By literature I have lived, and through literature I have been +content to serve my country; and I am perfectly well aware that I cannot +serve two masters. In my sphere of action I have tried to understand the +heavier social grievances, and to help to set them right. When the +_Times_ newspaper proved its then almost incredible case, in reference to +the ghastly absurdity of that vast labyrinth of misplaced men and +misdirected things, which had made England unable to find on the face of +the earth, an enemy one-twentieth part so potent to effect the misery and +ruin of her noble defenders as she has been herself, I believe that the +gloomy silence into which the country fell was by far the darkest aspect +in which a great people had been exhibited for many years. With shame +and indignation lowering among all classes of society, and this new +element of discord piled on the heaving basis of ignorance, poverty and +crime, which is always below us—with little adequate expression of the +general mind, or apparent understanding of the general mind, in +Parliament—with the machinery of Government and the legislature going +round and round, and the people fallen from it and standing aloof, as if +they left it to its last remaining function of destroying itself, when it +had achieved the destruction of so much that was dear to them—I did and +do believe that the only wholesome turn affairs so menacing could +possibly take, was, the awaking of the people, the outspeaking of the +people, the uniting of the people in all patriotism and loyalty to effect +a great peaceful constitutional change in the administration of their own +affairs. At such a crisis this association arose; at such a crisis I +joined it: considering its further case to be—if further case could +possibly be needed—that what is everybody’s business is nobody’s +business, that men must be gregarious in good citizenship as well as in +other things, and that it is a law in nature that there must be a centre +of attraction for particles to fly to, before any serviceable body with +recognised functions can come into existence. This association has +arisen, and we belong to it. What are the objections to it? I have +heard in the main but three, which I will now briefly notice. It is said +that it is proposed by this association to exercise an influence, through +the constituencies, on the House of Commons. I have not the least +hesitation in saying that I have the smallest amount of faith in the +House of Commons at present existing and that I consider the exercise of +such influence highly necessary to the welfare and honour of this +country. I was reading no later than yesterday the book of Mr. Pepys, +which is rather a favourite of mine, in which he, two hundred years ago, +writing of the House of Commons, says: + + “My cousin Roger Pepys tells me that it is matter of the greatest + grief to him in the world that he should be put upon this trust of + being a Parliament man; because he says nothing is done, that he can + see, out of any truth and sincerity, but mere envy and design.” + +Now, how it comes to pass that after two hundred years, and many years +after a Reform Bill, the house of Commons is so little changed, I will +not stop to inquire. I will not ask how it happens that bills which +cramp and worry the people, and restrict their scant enjoyments, are so +easily passed, and how it happens that measures for their real interests +are so very difficult to be got through Parliament. I will not analyse +the confined air of the lobby, or reduce to their primitive gases its +deadening influences on the memory of that Honourable Member who was once +a candidate for the honour of your—and my—independent vote and interest. +I will not ask what is that Secretarian figure, full of blandishments, +standing on the threshold, with its finger on its lips. I will not ask +how it comes that those personal altercations, involving all the removes +and definitions of Shakespeare’s Touchstone—the retort courteous—the quip +modest—the reply churlish—the reproof valiant—the countercheck +quarrelsome—the lie circumstantial and the lie direct—are of immeasurably +greater interest in the House of Commons than the health, the taxation, +and the education, of a whole people. I will not penetrate into the +mysteries of that secret chamber in which the Bluebeard of Party keeps +his strangled public questions, and with regard to which, when he gives +the key to his wife, the new comer, he strictly charges her on no account +to open the door. I will merely put it to the experience of everybody +here, whether the House of Commons is not occasionally a little hard of +hearing, a little dim of sight, a little slow of understanding, and +whether, in short, it is not in a sufficiency invalided state to require +close watching, and the occasional application of sharp stimulants; and +whether it is not capable of considerable improvement? I believe that, +in order to preserve it in a state of real usefulness and independence, +the people must be very watchful and very jealous of it; and it must have +its memory jogged; and be kept awake when it happens to have taken too +much Ministerial narcotic; it must be trotted about, and must be bustled +and pinched in a friendly way, as is the usage in such cases. I hold +that no power can deprive us of the right to administer our functions as +a body comprising electors from all parts of the country, associated +together because their country is dearer to them than drowsy twaddle, +unmeaning routine, or worn-out conventionalities. + +This brings me to objection number two. It is stated that this +Association sets class against class. Is this so? (_Cries of_ “No.”) +No, it finds class set against class, and seeks to reconcile them. I +wish to avoid placing in opposition those two words—Aristocracy and +People. I am one who can believe in the virtues and uses of both, and +would not on any account deprive either of a single just right belonging +to it. I will use, instead of these words, the terms, the governors and +the governed. These two bodies the Association finds with a gulf between +them, in which are lying, newly-buried, thousands on thousands of the +bravest and most devoted men that even England ever bred. It is to +prevent the recurrence of innumerable smaller evils, of which, unchecked, +that great calamity was the crowning height and the necessary +consummation, and to bring together those two fronts looking now so +strangely at each other, that this Association seeks to help to bridge +over that abyss, with a structure founded on common justice and supported +by common sense. Setting class against class! That is the very parrot +prattle that we have so long heard. Try its justice by the following +example:—A respectable gentleman had a large establishment, and a great +number of servants, who were good for nothing, who, when he asked them to +give his children bread, gave them stones; who, when they were told to +give those children fish, gave them serpents. When they were ordered to +send to the East, they sent to the West; when they ought to have been +serving dinner in the North, they were consulting exploded cookery books +in the South; who wasted, destroyed, tumbled over one another when +required to do anything, and were bringing everything to ruin. At last +the respectable gentleman calls his house steward, and says, even then +more in sorrow than in anger, “This is a terrible business; no fortune +can stand it—no mortal equanimity can bear it! I must change my system; +I must obtain servants who will do their duty.” The house steward throws +up his eyes in pious horror, ejaculates “Good God, master, you are +setting class against class!” and then rushes off into the servants’ +hall, and delivers a long and melting oration on that wicked feeling. + +I now come to the third objection, which is common among young gentlemen +who are not particularly fit for anything but spending money which they +have not got. It is usually comprised in the observation, “How very +extraordinary it is that these Administrative Reform fellows can’t mind +their own business.” I think it will occur to all that a very sufficient +mode of disposing of this objection is to say, that it is our own +business we mind when we come forward in this way, and it is to prevent +it from being mismanaged by them. I observe from the Parliamentary +debates—which have of late, by-the-bye, frequently suggested to me that +there is this difference between the bull of Spain the bull of Nineveh, +that, whereas, in the Spanish case, the bull rushes at the scarlet, in +the Ninevite case, the scarlet rushes at the bull—I have observed from +the Parliamentary debates that, by a curious fatality, there has been a +great deal of the reproof valiant and the counter-check quarrelsome, in +reference to every case, showing the necessity of Administrative Reform, +by whomsoever produced, whensoever, and wheresoever. I daresay I should +have no difficulty in adding two or three cases to the list, which I know +to be true, and which I have no doubt would be contradicted, but I +consider it a work of supererogation; for, if the people at large be not +already convinced that a sufficient general case has been made out for +Administrative Reform, I think they never can be, and they never will be. +There is, however, an old indisputable, very well known story, which has +so pointed a moral at the end of it that I will substitute it for a new +case: by doing of which I may avoid, I hope, the sacred wrath of St. +Stephen’s. Ages ago a savage mode of keeping accounts on notched sticks +was introduced into the Court of Exchequer, and the accounts were kept, +much as Robinson Crusoe kept his calendar on the desert island. In the +course of considerable revolutions of time, the celebrated Cocker was +born, and died; Walkinghame, of the Tutor’s Assistant, and well versed in +figures, was also born, and died; a multitude of accountants, +book-keepers, and actuaries, were born, and died. Still official routine +inclined to these notched sticks, as if they were pillars of the +constitution, and still the Exchequer accounts continued to be kept on +certain splints of elm wood called “tallies.” In the reign of George +III. an inquiry was made by some revolutionary spirit, whether pens, ink, +and paper, slates and pencils, being in existence, this obstinate +adherence to an obsolete custom ought to be continued, and whether a +change ought not to be effected. + +All the red tape in the country grew redder at the bare mention of this +bold and original conception, and it took till 1826 to get these sticks +abolished. In 1834 it was found that there was a considerable +accumulation of them; and the question then arose, what was to be done +with such worn-out, worm-eaten, rotten old bits of wood? I dare say +there was a vast amount of minuting, memoranduming, and despatch-boxing, +on this mighty subject. The sticks were housed at Westminster, and it +would naturally occur to any intelligent person that nothing could be +easier than to allow them to be carried away for fire-wood by the +miserable people who live in that neighbourhood. However, they never had +been useful, and official routine required that they never should be, and +so the order went forth that they were to be privately and confidentially +burnt. It came to pass that they were burnt in a stove in the House of +Lords. The stove, overgorged with these preposterous sticks, set fire to +the panelling; the panelling set fire to the House of Lords; the House of +Lords set fire to the House of Commons; the two houses were reduced to +ashes; architects were called in to build others; we are now in the +second million of the cost thereof; the national pig is not nearly over +the stile yet; and the little old woman, Britannia, hasn’t got home +to-night. + +Now, I think we may reasonably remark, in conclusion, that all obstinate +adherence to rubbish which the time has long outlived, is certain to have +in the soul of it more or less that is pernicious and destructive; and +that will some day set fire to something or other; which, if given boldly +to the winds would have been harmless; but which, obstinately retained, +is ruinous. I believe myself that when Administrative Reform goes up it +will be idle to hope to put it down, on this or that particular instance. +The great, broad, and true cause that our public progress is far behind +our private progress, and that we are not more remarkable for our private +wisdom and success in matters of business than we are for our public +folly and failure, I take to be as clearly established as the sun, moon, +and stars. To set this right, and to clear the way in the country for +merit everywhere: accepting it equally whether it be aristocratic or +democratic, only asking whether it be honest or true, is, I take it, the +true object of this Association. This object it seeks to promote by +uniting together large numbers of the people, I hope, of all conditions, +to the end that they may better comprehend, bear in mind, understand +themselves, and impress upon others, the common public duty. Also, of +which there is great need, that by keeping a vigilant eye on the +skirmishers thrown out from time to time by the Party of Generals, they +may see that their feints and manœuvres do not oppress the small +defaulters and release the great, and that they do not gull the public +with a mere field-day Review of Reform, instead of an earnest, +hard-fought Battle. I have had no consultation with any one upon the +subject, but I particularly wish that the directors may devise some means +of enabling intelligent working men to join this body, on easier terms +than subscribers who have larger resources. I could wish to see great +numbers of them belong to us, because I sincerely believe that it would +be good for the common weal. + +Said the noble Lord at the head of the Government, when Mr. Layard asked +him for a day for his motion, “Let the hon. gentleman find a day for +himself.” + + “Now, in the names of all the gods at once, + Upon what meat doth this our Cæsar feed + That he is grown so great?” + +If our Cæsar will excuse me, I would take the liberty of reversing that +cool and lofty sentiment, and I would say, “First Lord, your duty it is +to see that no man is left to find a day for himself. See you, who take +the responsibility of government, who aspire to it, live for it, intrigue +for it, scramble for it, who hold to it tooth-and-nail when you can get +it, see you that no man is left to find a day for himself. In this old +country, with its seething hard-worked millions, its heavy taxes, its +swarms of ignorant, its crowds of poor, and its crowds of wicked, woe the +day when the dangerous man shall find a day for himself, because the head +of the Government failed in his duty in not anticipating it by a brighter +and a better one! Name you the day, First Lord; make a day; work for a +day beyond your little time, Lord Palmerston, and History in return may +then—not otherwise—find a day for you; a day equally associated with the +contentment of the loyal, patient, willing-hearted English people, and +with the happiness of your Royal Mistress and her fair line of children.” + + + + +XVI. +SHEFFIELD, DECEMBER 22, 1855. + + +[On Saturday Evening Mr. Charles Dickens read his Christmas Carol in the +Mechanics’ Hall in behalf of the funds of the Institute. + +After the reading the Mayor said, he had been charged by a few gentlemen +in Sheffield to present to Mr. Dickens for his acceptance a very handsome +service of table cutlery, a pair of razors, and a pair of fish carvers, +as some substantial manifestation of their gratitude to Mr. Dickens for +his kindness in coming to Sheffield. Henceforth the Christmas of 1855 +would be associated in his mind with the name of that gentleman.] + +MR. CHARLES DICKENS, in receiving the presentation, said, he accepted +with heartfelt delight and cordial gratitude such beautiful specimens of +Sheffield-workmanship; and he begged to assure them that the kind +observations which had been made by the Mayor, and the way in which they +had been responded to by that assembly, would never be obliterated from +his remembrance. The present testified not only to the work of Sheffield +hands, but to the warmth and generosity of Sheffield hearts. It was his +earnest desire to do right by his readers, and to leave imaginative and +popular literature associated with the private homes and public rights of +the people of England. The case of cutlery with which he had been so +kindly presented, should be retained as an heirloom in his family; and he +assured them that he should ever be faithful to his death to the +principles which had earned for him their approval. In taking his +reluctant leave of them, he wished them many merry Christmases, and many +happy new years. + + + + +XVII. +LONDON, FEBRUARY 9, 1858. + + +[At the Anniversary Festival of the Hospital for Sick Children, on +Tuesday, February the 9th, 1858, about one hundred and fifty gentlemen +sat down to dinner, in the Freemasons’ Hall. Later in the evening all +the seats in the gallery were filled with ladies interested in the +success of the Hospital. After the usual loyal and other toasts, the +Chairman, Mr. Dickens, proposed “Prosperity to the Hospital for Sick +Children,” and said:—] + +LADIES AND GENTLEMEN,—It is one of my rules in life not to believe a man +who may happen to tell me that he feels no interest in children. I hold +myself bound to this principle by all kind consideration, because I know, +as we all must, that any heart which could really toughen its affections +and sympathies against those dear little people must be wanting in so +many humanising experiences of innocence and tenderness, as to be quite +an unsafe monstrosity among men. Therefore I set the assertion down, +whenever I happen to meet with it—which is sometimes, though not often—as +an idle word, originating possibly in the genteel languor of the hour, +and meaning about as much as that knowing social lassitude, which has +used up the cardinal virtues and quite found out things in general, +usually does mean. I suppose it may be taken for granted that we, who +come together in the name of children and for the sake of children, +acknowledge that we have an interest in them; indeed, I have observed +since I sit down here that we are quite in a childlike state altogether, +representing an infant institution, and not even yet a grown-up company. +A few years are necessary to the increase of our strength and the +expansion of our figure; and then these tables, which now have a few +tucks in them, will be let out, and then this hall, which now sits so +easily upon us, will be too tight and small for us. Nevertheless, it is +likely that even we are not without our experience now and then of spoilt +children. I do not mean of our own spoilt children, because nobody’s own +children ever were spoilt, but I mean the disagreeable children of our +particular friends. We know by experience what it is to have them down +after dinner, and, across the rich perspective of a miscellaneous dessert +to see, as in a black dose darkly, the family doctor looming in the +distance. We know, I have no doubt we all know, what it is to assist at +those little maternal anecdotes and table entertainments illustrated with +imitations and descriptive dialogue which might not be inaptly called, +after the manner of my friend Mr. Albert Smith, the toilsome ascent of +Miss Mary and the eruption (cutaneous) of Master Alexander. We know what +it is when those children won’t go to bed; we know how they prop their +eyelids open with their forefingers when they will sit up; how, when they +become fractious, they say aloud that they don’t like us, and our nose is +too long, and why don’t we go? And we are perfectly acquainted with +those kicking bundles which are carried off at last protesting. An +eminent eye-witness told me that he was one of a company of learned +pundits who assembled at the house of a very distinguished philosopher of +the last generation to hear him expound his stringent views concerning +infant education and early mental development, and he told me that while +the philosopher did this in very beautiful and lucid language, the +philosopher’s little boy, for his part, edified the assembled sages by +dabbling up to the elbows in an apple pie which had been provided for +their entertainment, having previously anointed his hair with the syrup, +combed it with his fork, and brushed it with his spoon. It is probable +that we also have our similar experiences sometimes, of principles that +are not quite practice, and that we know people claiming to be very wise +and profound about nations of men who show themselves to be rather weak +and shallow about units of babies. + +But, ladies and gentlemen, the spoilt children whom I have to present to +you after this dinner of to-day are not of this class. I have glanced at +these for the easier and lighter introduction of another, a very +different, a far more numerous, and a far more serious class. The spoilt +children whom I must show you are the spoilt children of the poor in this +great city, the children who are, every year, for ever and ever +irrevocably spoilt out of this breathing life of ours by tens of +thousands, but who may in vast numbers be preserved if you, assisting and +not contravening the ways of Providence, will help to save them. The two +grim nurses, Poverty and Sickness, who bring these children before you, +preside over their births, rock their wretched cradles, nail down their +little coffins, pile up the earth above their graves. Of the annual +deaths in this great town, their unnatural deaths form more than +one-third. I shall not ask you, according to the custom as to the other +class—I shall not ask you on behalf of these children to observe how good +they are, how pretty they are, how clever they are, how promising they +are, whose beauty they most resemble—I shall only ask you to observe how +weak they are, and how like death they are! And I shall ask you, by the +remembrance of everything that lies between your own infancy and that so +miscalled second childhood when the child’s graces are gone and nothing +but its helplessness remains; I shall ask you to turn your thoughts to +_these_ spoilt children in the sacred names of Pity and Compassion. + +Some years ago, being in Scotland, I went with one of the most humane +members of the humane medical profession, on a morning tour among some of +the worst lodged inhabitants of the old town of Edinburgh. In the closes +and wynds of that picturesque place—I am sorry to remind you what fast +friends picturesqueness and typhus often are—we saw more poverty and +sickness in an hour than many people would believe in a life. Our way +lay from one to another of the most wretched dwellings, reeking with +horrible odours; shut out from the sky, shut out from the air, mere pits +and dens. In a room in one of these places, where there was an empty +porridge-pot on the cold hearth, with a ragged woman and some ragged +children crouching on the bare ground near it—where, I remember as I +speak, that the very light, refracted from a high damp-stained and +time-stained house-wall, came trembling in, as if the fever which had +shaken everything else there had shaken even it—there lay, in an old +egg-box which the mother had begged from a shop, a little feeble, wasted, +wan, sick child. With his little wasted face, and his little hot, worn +hands folded over his breast, and his little bright, attentive eyes, I +can see him now, as I have seen him for several years, look in steadily +at us. There he lay in his little frail box, which was not at all a bad +emblem of the little body from which he was slowly parting—there he lay, +quite quiet, quite patient, saying never a word. He seldom cried, the +mother said; he seldom complained; “he lay there, seemin’ to woonder what +it was a’ aboot.” God knows, I thought, as I stood looking at him, he +had his reasons for wondering—reasons for wondering how it could possibly +come to be that he lay there, left alone, feeble and full of pain, when +he ought to have been as bright and as brisk as the birds that never got +near him—reasons for wondering how he came to be left there, a little +decrepid old man pining to death, quite a thing of course, as if there +were no crowds of healthy and happy children playing on the grass under +the summer’s sun within a stone’s throw of him, as if there were no +bright, moving sea on the other side of the great hill overhanging the +city; as if there were no great clouds rushing over it; as if there were +no life, and movement, and vigour anywhere in the world—nothing but +stoppage and decay. There he lay looking at us, saying, in his silence, +more pathetically than I have ever heard anything said by any orator in +my life, “Will you please to tell me what this means, strange man? and if +you can give me any good reason why I should be so soon, so far advanced +on my way to Him who said that children were to come into His presence +and were not to be forbidden, but who scarcely meant, I think, that they +should come by this hard road by which I am travelling; pray give that +reason to me, for I seek it very earnestly and wonder about it very +much;” and to my mind he has been wondering about it ever since. Many a +poor child, sick and neglected, I have seen since that time in this +London; many a poor sick child I have seen most affectionately and kindly +tended by poor people, in an unwholesome house and under untoward +circumstances, wherein its recovery was quite impossible; but at all such +times I have seen my poor little drooping friend in his egg-box, and he +has always addressed his dumb speech to me, and I have always found him +wondering what it meant, and why, in the name of a gracious God, such +things should be! + +Now, ladies and gentlemen, such things need not be, and will not be, if +this company, which is a drop of the life-blood of the great +compassionate public heart, will only accept the means of rescue and +prevention which it is mine to offer. Within a quarter of a mile of this +place where I speak, stands a courtly old house, where once, no doubt, +blooming children were born, and grew up to be men and women, and +married, and brought their own blooming children back to patter up the +old oak staircase which stood but the other day, and to wonder at the old +oak carvings on the chimney-pieces. In the airy wards into which the old +state drawing-rooms and family bedchambers of that house are now +converted are such little patients that the attendant nurses look like +reclaimed giantesses, and the kind medical practitioner like an amiable +Christian ogre. Grouped about the little low tables in the centre of the +rooms are such tiny convalescents that they seem to be playing at having +been ill. On the doll’s beds are such diminutive creatures that each +poor sufferer is supplied with its tray of toys; and, looking round, you +may see how the little tired, flushed cheek has toppled over half the +brute creation on its way into the ark; or how one little dimpled arm has +mowed down (as I saw myself) the whole tin soldiery of Europe. On the +walls of these rooms are graceful, pleasant, bright, childish pictures. +At the bed’s heads, are pictures of the figure which is the universal +embodiment of all mercy and compassion, the figure of Him who was once a +child himself, and a poor one. Besides these little creatures on the +beds, you may learn in that place that the number of small Out-patients +brought to that house for relief is no fewer than ten thousand in the +compass of one single year. In the room in which these are received, you +may see against the wall a box, on which it is written, that it has been +calculated, that if every grateful mother who brings a child there will +drop a penny into it, the Hospital funds may possibly be increased in a +year by so large a sum as forty pounds. And you may read in the Hospital +Report, with a glow of pleasure, that these poor women are so respondent +as to have made, even in a toiling year of difficulty and high prices, +this estimated forty, fifty pounds. In the printed papers of this same +Hospital, you may read with what a generous earnestness the highest and +wisest members of the medical profession testify to the great need of it; +to the immense difficulty of treating children in the same hospitals with +grown-up people, by reason of their different ailments and requirements, +to the vast amount of pain that will be assuaged, and of life that will +be saved, through this Hospital; not only among the poor, observe, but +among the prosperous too, by reason of the increased knowledge of +children’s illnesses, which cannot fail to arise from a more systematic +mode of studying them. Lastly, gentlemen, and I am sorry to say, worst +of all—(for I must present no rose-coloured picture of this place to +you—I must not deceive you;) lastly, the visitor to this Children’s +Hospital, reckoning up the number of its beds, will find himself perforce +obliged to stop at very little over thirty; and will learn, with sorrow +and surprise, that even that small number, so forlornly, so miserably +diminutive, compared with this vast London, cannot possibly be +maintained, unless the Hospital be made better known; I limit myself to +saying better known, because I will not believe that in a Christian +community of fathers and mothers, and brothers and sisters, it can fail, +being better known, to be well and richly endowed. + +Now, ladies and gentlemen, this, without a word of adornment—which I +resolved when I got up not to allow myself—this is the simple case. This +is the pathetic case which I have to put to you; not only on behalf of +the thousands of children who annually die in this great city, but also +on behalf of the thousands of children who live half developed, racked +with preventible pain, shorn of their natural capacity for health and +enjoyment. If these innocent creatures cannot move you for themselves, +how can I possibly hope to move you in their name? The most delightful +paper, the most charming essay, which the tender imagination of Charles +Lamb conceived, represents him as sitting by his fireside on a winter +night telling stories to his own dear children, and delighting in their +society, until he suddenly comes to his old, solitary, bachelor self, and +finds that they were but dream-children who might have been, but never +were. “We are nothing,” they say to him; “less than nothing, and dreams. +We are only what might have been, and we must wait upon the tedious shore +of Lethe, millions of ages, before we have existence and a name.” “And +immediately awaking,” he says, “I found myself in my arm chair.” The +dream-children whom I would now raise, if I could, before every one of +you, according to your various circumstances, should be the dear child +you love, the dearer child you have lost, the child you might have had, +the child you certainly have been. Each of these dream-children should +hold in its powerful hand one of the little children now lying in the +Child’s Hospital, or now shut out of it to perish. Each of these +dream-children should say to you, “O, help this little suppliant in my +name; O, help it for my sake!” Well!—And immediately awaking, you should +find yourselves in the Freemasons’ Hall, happily arrived at the end of a +rather long speech, drinking “Prosperity to the Hospital for Sick +Children,” and thoroughly resolved that it shall flourish. + + + + +XVIII. +EDINBURGH, MARCH, 26, 1858. + + +[On the above date Mr. Dickens gave a reading of his Christmas Carol in +the Music Hall, before the members and subscribers of the Philosophical +Institution. At the conclusion of the reading the Lord Provost of +Edinburgh presented him with a massive silver wassail cup. Mr. Dickens +acknowledged the tribute as follows:] + +MY LORD PROVOST, ladies, and gentlemen, I beg to assure you I am deeply +sensible of your kind welcome, and of this beautiful and great surprise; +and that I thank you cordially with all my heart. I never have +forgotten, and I never can forget, that I have the honour to be a burgess +and guild-brother of the Corporation of Edinburgh. As long as sixteen or +seventeen years ago, the first great public recognition and encouragement +I ever received was bestowed on me in this generous and magnificent +city—in this city so distinguished in literature and so distinguished in +the arts. You will readily believe that I have carried into the various +countries I have since traversed, and through all my subsequent career, +the proud and affectionate remembrance of that eventful epoch in my life; +and that coming back to Edinburgh is to me like coming home. + +Ladies and gentlemen, you have heard so much of my voice to-night, that I +will not inflict on you the additional task of hearing any more. I am +better reconciled to limiting myself to these very few words, because I +know and feel full well that no amount of speech to which I could give +utterance could possibly express my sense of the honour and distinction +you have conferred on me, or the heartfelt gratification I derive from +this reception. + + + + +XIX. +LONDON, MARCH 29, 1858. + + +[At the thirteenth anniversary festival of the General Theatrical Fund, +held at the Freemasons’ Tavern, at which Thackeray presided, Mr. Dickens +made the following speech:] + +IN our theatrical experience as playgoers we are all equally accustomed +to predict by certain little signs and portents on the stage what is +going to happen there. When the young lady, an admiral’s daughter, is +left alone to indulge in a short soliloquy, and certain smart +spirit-rappings are heard to proceed immediately from beneath her feet, +we foretell that a song is impending. When two gentlemen enter, for +whom, by a happy coincidence, two chairs, and no more, are in waiting, we +augur a conversation, and that it will assume a retrospective +biographical character. When any of the performers who belong to the +sea-faring or marauding professions are observed to arm themselves with +very small swords to which are attached very large hilts, we predict that +the affair will end in a combat. Carrying out the association of ideas, +it may have occurred to some that when I asked my old friend in the chair +to allow me to propose a toast I had him in my eye; and I have him now on +my lips. + +The duties of a trustee of the Theatrical Fund, an office which I hold, +are not so frequent or so great as its privileges. He is in fact a mere +walking gentleman, with the melancholy difference that he has no one to +love. If this advantage could be added to his character it would be one +of a more agreeable nature than it is, and his forlorn position would be +greatly improved. His duty is to call every half year at the bankers’, +when he signs his name in a large greasy inconvenient book, to certain +documents of which he knows nothing, and then he delivers it to the +property man and exits anywhere. + +He, however, has many privileges. It is one of his privileges to watch +the steady growth of an institution in which he takes great interest; it +is one of his privileges to bear his testimony to the prudence, the +goodness, the self-denial, and the excellence of a class of persons who +have been too long depreciated, and whose virtues are too much denied, +out of the depths of an ignorant and stupid superstition. And lastly, it +is one of his privileges sometimes to be called on to propose the health +of the chairman at the annual dinners of the institution, when that +chairman is one for whose genius he entertains the warmest admiration, +and whom he respects as a friend, and as one who does honour to +literature, and in whom literature is honoured. I say when that is the +case, he feels that this last privilege is a great and high one. From +the earliest days of this institution I have ventured to impress on its +managers, that they would consult its credit and success by choosing its +chairmen as often as possible within the circle of literature and the +arts; and I will venture to say that no similar institution has been +presided over by so many remarkable and distinguished men. I am sure, +however, that it never has had, and that it never will have, simply +because it cannot have, a greater lustre cast upon it than by the +presence of the noble English writer who fills the chair to-night. + +It is not for me at this time, and in this place, to take on myself to +flutter before you the well-thumbed pages of Mr. Thackeray’s books, and +to tell you to observe how full they are of wit and wisdom, how +out-speaking, and how devoid of fear or favour; but I will take leave to +remark, in paying my due homage and respect to them, that it is fitting +that such a writer and such an institution should be brought together. +Every writer of fiction, although he may not adopt the dramatic form, +writes in effect for the stage. He may never write plays; but the truth +and passion which are in him must be more or less reflected in the great +mirror which he holds up to nature. Actors, managers, and authors are +all represented in this company, and it maybe supposed that they all have +studied the deep wants of the human heart in many theatres; but none of +them could have studied its mysterious workings in any theatre to greater +advantage than in the bright and airy pages of _Vanity Fair_. To this +skilful showman, who has so often delighted us, and who has charmed us +again to-night, we have now to wish God speed, and that he may continue +for many years {150} to exercise his potent art. To him fill a bumper +toast, and fervently utter, God bless him! + + + + +XX. +LONDON, APRIL 29, 1858. + + +[The reader will already have observed that in the Christmas week of +1853, and on several subsequent occasions, Mr. Dickens had read the +_Christmas Carol_ and the _Chimes_ before public audiences, but always in +aid of the funds of some institution, or for other benevolent purposes. +The first reading he ever gave for his own benefit took place on the +above date, in St. Martin’s Hall, (now converted into the Queen’s +Theatre). This reading Mr. Dickens prefaced with the following speech:—] + +LADIES AND GENTLEMEN,—It may perhaps be in known to you that, for a few +years past, I have been accustomed occasionally to read some of my +shorter books, to various audiences, in aid of a variety of good objects, +and at some charge to myself, both in time and money. It having at +length become impossible in any reason to comply with these always +accumulating demands, I have had definitively to choose between now and +then reading on my own account, as one of my recognised occupations, or +not reading at all. I have had little or no difficulty in deciding on +the former course. The reasons that have led me to it—besides the +consideration that it necessitates no departure whatever from the chosen +pursuits of my life—are threefold: firstly, I have satisfied myself that +it can involve no possible compromise of the credit and independence of +literature; secondly, I have long held the opinion, and have long acted +on the opinion, that in these times whatever brings a public man and his +public face to face, on terms of mutual confidence and respect, is a good +thing; thirdly, I have had a pretty large experience of the interest my +hearers are so generous as to take in these occasions, and of the delight +they give to me, as a tried means of strengthening those relations—I may +almost say of personal friendship—which it is my great privilege and +pride, as it is my great responsibility, to hold with a multitude of +persons who will never hear my voice nor see my face. Thus it is that I +come, quite naturally, to be here among you at this time; and thus it is +that I proceed to read this little book, quite as composedly as I might +proceed to write it, or to publish it in any other way. + + + + +XXI. +LONDON, MAY 1, 1858. + + +[The following short speech was made at the Banquet of the Royal Academy, +after the health of Mr. Dickens and Mr. Thackeray had been proposed by +the President, Sir Charles Eastlake:—] + +FOLLOWING the order of your toast, I have to take the first part in the +duet to be performed in acknowledgment of the compliment you have paid to +literature. In this home of art I feel it to be too much an interchange +of compliments, as it were, between near relations, to enter into any +lengthened expression of our thanks for the honour you have done us. I +feel that it would be changing this splendid assembly into a sort of +family party. I may, however, take leave to say that your sister, whom I +represent, is strong and healthy; that she has a very great affection +for, and an undying interest in you, and that it is always a very great +gratification to her to see herself so well remembered within these +walls, and to know that she is an honoured guest at your hospitable +board. + + + + +XXII. +LONDON, JULY 21, 1858. + + +[On the above date, a public meeting was held at the Princess’s Theatre, +for the purpose of establishing the now famous Royal Dramatic College. +Mr. Charles Kean was the chairman, and Mr. Dickens delivered the +following speech:] + +LADIES AND GENTLEMEN,—I think I may venture to congratulate you +beforehand on the pleasant circumstance that the movers and seconders of +the resolutions which will be submitted to you will, probably, have very +little to say. Through the Report which you have heard read, and through +the comprehensive address of the chairman, the cause which brings us +together has been so very clearly stated to you, that it can stand in +need of very little, if of any further exposition. But, as I have the +honour to move the first resolution which this handsome gift, and the +vigorous action that must be taken upon it, necessitate, I think I shall +only give expression to what is uppermost in the general mind here, if I +venture to remark that, many as the parts are in which Mr. Kean has +distinguished himself on these boards, he has never appeared in one in +which the large spirit of an artist, the feeling of a man, and the grace +of a gentleman, have been more admirably blended than in this day’s +faithful adherence to the calling of which he is a prosperous ornament, +and in this day’s manly advocacy of its cause. + +Ladies and gentlemen, the resolution entrusted to me is: + +“That the Report of the provisional committee be adopted, and that this +meeting joyfully accepts, and gratefully acknowledges, the gift of five +acres of land referred to in the said Report.” {153} + +It is manifest, I take it, that we are all agreed upon this acceptance +and acknowledgment, and that we all know very well that this generous +gift can inspire but one sentiment in the breast of every lover of the +dramatic art. As it is far too often forgotten by those who are indebted +to it for many a restorative flight out of this working-day world, that +the silks, and velvets, and elegant costumes of its professors must be +every night exchanged for the hideous coats and waistcoats of the present +day, in which we have now the honour and the misfortune of appearing +before you, so when we do meet with a nature so considerably generous as +this donor’s, and do find an interest in the real life and struggles of +the people who have delighted it, so very spontaneous and so very +liberal, we have nothing to do but to accept and to admire, we have no +duty left but to “take the goods the gods provide us,” and to make the +best and the most of them. Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to remark, +that in this mode of turning a good gift to the highest account, lies the +truest gratitude. + +In reference to this, I could not but reflect, whilst Mr. Kean was +speaking, that in an hour or two from this time, the spot upon which we +are now assembled will be transformed into the scene of a crafty and a +cruel bond. I know that, a few hours hence, the Grand Canal of Venice +will flow, with picturesque fidelity, on the very spot where I now stand +dryshod, and that “the quality of mercy” will be beautifully stated to +the Venetian Council by a learned young doctor from Padua, on these very +boards on which we now enlarge upon the quality of charity and sympathy. +Knowing this, it came into my mind to consider how different the real +bond of to-day from the ideal bond of to-night. Now, all generosity, all +forbearance, all forgetfulness of little jealousies and unworthy +divisions, all united action for the general good. Then, all +selfishness, all malignity, all cruelty, all revenge, and all evil,—now +all good. Then, a bond to be broken within the compass of a few—three or +four—swiftly passing hours,—now, a bond to be valid and of good effect +generations hence. + +Ladies and gentlemen, of the execution and delivery of this bond, between +this generous gentleman on the one hand, and the united members of a too +often and too long disunited art upon the other, be you the witnesses. +Do you attest of everything that is liberal and free in spirit, that is +“so nominated in the bond;” and of everything that is grudging, +self-seeking, unjust, or unfair, that it is by no sophistry ever to be +found there. I beg to move the resolution which I have already had the +pleasure of reading. + + + + +XXIII. +MANCHESTER, DECEMBER 3, 1858. + + +[The following speech was delivered at the annual meeting of the +Institutional Association of Lancashire and Cheshire, held in the +Free-trade Hall on the evening of the above day, at which Mr. Dickens +presided.] + +IT has of late years become noticeable in England that the autumn season +produces an immense amount of public speaking. I notice that no sooner +do the leaves begin to fall from the trees, than pearls of great price +begin to fall from the lips of the wise men of the east, and north, and +west, and south; and anybody may have them by the bushel, for the picking +up. Now, whether the comet has this year had a quickening influence on +this crop, as it is by some supposed to have had upon the corn-harvest +and the vintage, I do not know; but I do know that I have never observed +the columns of the newspapers to groan so heavily under a pressure of +orations, each vying with the other in the two qualities of having little +or nothing to do with the matter in hand, and of being always addressed +to any audience in the wide world rather than the audience to which it +was delivered. + +The autumn having gone, and the winter come, I am so sanguine as to hope +that we in our proceedings may break through this enchanted circle and +deviate from this precedent; the rather as we have something real to do, +and are come together, I am sure, in all plain fellowship and +straightforwardness, to do it. We have no little straws of our own to +throw up to show us which way any wind blows, and we have no oblique +biddings of our own to make for anything outside this hall. + +At the top of the public announcement of this meeting are the words, +“Institutional Association of Lancashire and Cheshire.” Will you allow +me, in reference to the meaning of those words, to present myself before +you as the embodied spirit of ignorance recently enlightened, and to put +myself through a short, voluntary examination as to the results of my +studies. To begin with: the title did not suggest to me anything in the +least like the truth. I have been for some years pretty familiar with +the terms, “Mechanics’ Institutions,” and “Literary Societies,” but they +have, unfortunately, become too often associated in my mind with a body +of great pretensions, lame as to some important member or other, which +generally inhabits a new house much too large for it, which is seldom +paid for, and which takes the name of the mechanics most grievously in +vain, for I have usually seen a mechanic and a dodo in that place +together. + +I, therefore, began my education, in respect of the meaning of this +title, very coldly indeed, saying to myself, “Here’s the old story.” But +the perusal of a very few lines of my book soon gave me to understand +that it was not by any means the old story; in short, that this +association is expressly designed to correct the old story, and to +prevent its defects from becoming perpetuated. I learnt that this +Institutional Association is the union, in one central head, of one +hundred and fourteen local Mechanics’ Institutions and Mutual Improvement +Societies, at an expense of no more than five shillings to each society; +suggesting to all how they can best communicate with and profit by the +fountain-head and one another; keeping their best aims steadily before +them; advising them how those aims can be best attained; giving a direct +end and object to what might otherwise easily become waste forces; and +sending among them not only oral teachers, but, better still, boxes of +excellent books, called “Free Itinerating Libraries.” I learned that +these books are constantly making the circuit of hundreds upon hundreds +of miles, and are constantly being read with inexpressible relish by +thousands upon thousands of toiling people, but that they are never +damaged or defaced by one rude hand. These and other like facts lead me +to consider the immense importance of the fact, that no little cluster of +working men’s cottages can arise in any Lancashire or Cheshire valley, at +the foot of any running stream which enterprise hunts out for +water-power, but it has its educational friend and companion ready for +it, willing for it, acquainted with its thoughts and ways and turns of +speech even before it has come into existence. + +Now, ladies and gentlemen, this is the main consideration that has +brought me here. No central association at a distance could possibly do +for those working men what this local association does. No central +association at a distance could possibly understand them as this local +association does. No central association at a distance could possibly +put them in that familiar and easy communication one with another, as +that I, man or boy, eager for knowledge, in that valley seven miles off, +should know of you, man or boy, eager for knowledge, in that valley +twelve miles off, and should occasionally trudge to meet you, that you +may impart your learning in one branch of acquisition to me, whilst I +impart mine in another to you. Yet this is distinctly a feature, and a +most important feature, of this society. + +On the other hand, it is not to be supposed that these honest men, +however zealous, could, as a rule, succeed in establishing and +maintaining their own institutions of themselves. It is obvious that +combination must materially diminish their cost, which is in time a vital +consideration; and it is equally obvious that experience, essential to +the success of all combination, is especially so when its object is to +diffuse the results of experience and of reflection. + +Well, ladies and gentlemen, the student of the present profitable history +of this society does not stop here in his learning; when he has got so +far, he finds with interest and pleasure that the parent society at +certain stated periods invites the more eager and enterprising members of +the local society to submit themselves to voluntary examination in +various branches of useful knowledge, of which examination it takes the +charge and arranges the details, and invites the successful candidates to +come to Manchester to receive the prizes and certificates of merit which +it impartially awards. The most successful of the competitors in the +list of these examinations are now among us, and these little marks of +recognition and encouragement I shall have the honour presently of giving +them, as they come before you, one by one, for that purpose. + +I have looked over a few of those examination papers, which have +comprised history, geography, grammar, arithmetic, book-keeping, decimal +coinage, mensuration, mathematics, social economy, the French language—in +fact, they comprise all the keys that open all the locks of knowledge. I +felt most devoutly gratified, as to many of them, that they had not been +submitted to me to answer, for I am perfectly sure that if they had been, +I should have had mighty little to bestow upon myself to-night. And yet +it is always to be observed and seriously remembered that these +examinations are undergone by people whose lives have been passed in a +continual fight for bread, and whose whole existence, has been a constant +wrestle with + + “Those twin gaolers of the daring heart— + Low birth and iron fortune.” {161} + +I could not but consider, with extraordinary admiration, that these +questions have been replied to, not by men like myself, the business of +whose life is with writing and with books, but by men, the business of +whose life is with tools and with machinery. + +Let me endeavour to recall, as well as my memory will serve me, from +among the most interesting cases of prize-holders and certificate-gainers +who will appear before you, some two or three of the most conspicuous +examples. There are two poor brothers from near Chorley, who work from +morning to night in a coal-pit, and who, in all weathers, have walked +eight miles a-night, three nights a-week, to attend the classes in which +they have gained distinction. There are two poor boys from Bollington, +who begin life as piecers at one shilling or eighteen-pence a-week, and +the father of one of whom was cut to pieces by the machinery at which he +worked, but not before he had himself founded the institution in which +this son has since come to be taught. These two poor boys will appear +before you to-night, to take the second-class prize in chemistry. There +is a plasterer from Bury, sixteen years of age, who took a third-class +certificate last year at the hands of Lord Brougham; he is this year +again successful in a competition three times as severe. There is a +wagon-maker from the same place, who knew little or absolutely nothing +until he was a grown man, and who has learned all he knows, which is a +great deal, in the local institution. There is a chain-maker, in very +humble circumstances, and working hard all day, who walks six miles +a-night, three nights a-week, to attend the classes in which he has won +so famous a place. There is a moulder in an iron foundry, who, whilst he +was working twelve hours a day before the furnace, got up at four o’clock +in the morning to learn drawing. “The thought of my lads,” he writes in +his modest account of himself, “in their peaceful slumbers above me, gave +me fresh courage, and I used to think that if I should never receive any +personal benefit, I might instruct them when they came to be of an age to +understand the mighty machines and engines which have made our country, +England, pre-eminent in the world’s history.” There is a piecer at +mule-frames, who could not read at eighteen, who is now a man of little +more than thirty, who is the sole support of an aged mother, who is +arithmetical teacher in the institution in which he himself was taught, +who writes of himself that he made the resolution never to take up a +subject without keeping to it, and who has kept to it with such an +astonishing will, that he is now well versed in Euclid and Algebra, and +is the best French scholar in Stockport. The drawing-classes in that +same Stockport are taught by a working blacksmith; and the pupils of that +working blacksmith will receive the highest honours of to-night. Well +may it be said of that good blacksmith, as it was written of another of +his trade, by the American poet: + + “Toiling, rejoicing, sorrowing, + Onward through life he goes; + Each morning sees some task begun, + Each evening sees its clause. + Something attempted, something done, + Has earn’d a night’s repose.” + +To pass from the successful candidates to the delegates from local +societies now before me, and to content myself with one instance from +amongst them. There is among their number a most remarkable man, whose +history I have read with feelings that I could not adequately express +under any circumstances, and least of all when I know he hears me, who +worked when he was a mere baby at hand-loom weaving until he dropped from +fatigue: who began to teach himself as soon as he could earn five +shillings a-week: who is now a botanist, acquainted with every production +of the Lancashire valley: who is a naturalist, and has made and preserved +a collection of the eggs of British birds, and stuffed the birds: who is +now a conchologist, with a very curious, and in some respects an original +collection of fresh-water shells, and has also preserved and collected +the mosses of fresh water and of the sea: who is worthily the president +of his own local Literary Institution, and who was at his work this time +last night as foreman in a mill. + +So stimulating has been the influence of these bright examples, and many +more, that I notice among the applications from Blackburn for preliminary +test examination papers, one from an applicant who gravely fills up the +printed form by describing himself as ten years of age, and who, with +equal gravity, describes his occupation as “nursing a little child.” Nor +are these things confined to the men. The women employed in factories, +milliners’ work, and domestic service, have begun to show, as it is +fitting they should, a most decided determination not to be outdone by +the men; and the women of Preston in particular, have so honourably +distinguished themselves, and shown in their examination papers such an +admirable knowledge of the science of household management and household +economy, that if I were a working bachelor of Lancashire or Cheshire, and +if I had not cast my eye or set my heart upon any lass in particular, I +should positively get up at four o’clock in the morning with the +determination of the iron-moulder himself, and should go to Preston in +search of a wife. + +Now, ladies and gentlemen, these instances, and many more, daily +occurring, always accumulating, are surely better testimony to the +working of this Association, than any number of speakers could possibly +present to you. Surely the presence among us of these indefatigable +people is the Association’s best and most effective triumph in the +present and the past, and is its noblest stimulus to effort in the +future. As its temporary mouth-piece, I would beg to say to that portion +of the company who attend to receive the prizes, that the institution can +never hold itself apart from them;—can never set itself above them; that +their distinction and success must be its distinction and success; and +that there can be but one heart beating between them and it. In +particular, I would most especially entreat them to observe that nothing +will ever be further from this Association’s mind than the impertinence +of patronage. The prizes that it gives, and the certificates that it +gives, are mere admiring assurances of sympathy with so many striving +brothers and sisters, and are only valuable for the spirit in which they +are given, and in which they are received. The prizes are money prizes, +simply because the Institution does not presume to doubt that persons who +have so well governed themselves, know best how to make a little money +serviceable—because it would be a shame to treat them like grown-up +babies by laying it out for them, and because it knows it is given, and +knows it is taken, in perfect clearness of purpose, perfect trustfulness, +and, above all, perfect independence. + +Ladies and Gentlemen, reverting once more to the whole collective +audience before me, I will, in another two minutes, release the hold +which your favour has given me on your attention. Of the advantages of +knowledge I have said, and I shall say, nothing. Of the certainty with +which the man who grasps it under difficulties rises in his own respect +and in usefulness to the community, I have said, and I shall say, +nothing. In the city of Manchester, in the county of Lancaster, both of +them remarkable for self-taught men, that were superfluous indeed. For +the same reason I rigidly abstain from putting together any of the +shattered fragments of that poor clay image of a parrot, which was once +always saying, without knowing why, or what it meant, that knowledge was +a dangerous thing. I should as soon think of piecing together the +mutilated remains of any wretched Hindoo who has been blown from an +English gun. Both, creatures of the past, have been—as my friend Mr. +Carlyle vigorously has it—“blasted into space;” and there, as to this +world, is an end of them. + +So I desire, in conclusion, only to sound two strings. In the first +place, let me congratulate you upon the progress which real mutual +improvement societies are making at this time in your neighbourhood, +through the noble agency of individual employers and their families, whom +you can never too much delight to honour. Elsewhere, through the agency +of the great railway companies, some of which are bestirring themselves +in this matter with a gallantry and generosity deserving of all praise. +Secondly and lastly, let me say one word out of my own personal heart, +which is always very near to it in this connexion. Do not let us, in the +midst of the visible objects of nature, whose workings we can tell of in +figures, surrounded by machines that can be made to the thousandth part +of an inch, acquiring every day knowledge which can be proved upon a +slate or demonstrated by a microscope—do not let us, in the laudable +pursuit of the facts that surround us, neglect the fancy and the +imagination which equally surround us as a part of the great scheme. Let +the child have its fables; let the man or woman into which it changes, +always remember those fables tenderly. Let numerous graces and ornaments +that cannot be weighed and measured, and that seem at first sight idle +enough, continue to have their places about us, be we never so wise. The +hardest head may co-exist with the softest heart. The union and just +balance of those two is always a blessing to the possessor, and always a +blessing to mankind. The Divine Teacher was as gentle and considerate as +He was powerful and wise. You all know how He could still the raging of +the sea, and could hush a little child. As the utmost results of the +wisdom of men can only be at last to help to raise this earth to that +condition to which His doctrine, untainted by the blindnesses and +passions of men, would have exalted it long ago; so let us always +remember that He set us the example of blending the understanding and the +imagination, and that, following it ourselves, we tread in His steps, and +help our race on to its better and best days. Knowledge, as all +followers of it must know, has a very limited power indeed, when it +informs the head alone; but when it informs the head and the heart too, +it has a power over life and death, the body and the soul, and dominates +the universe. + + + + +XXIV. +COVENTRY, DECEMBER 4, 1858. + + +[On the above evening, a public dinner was held at the Castle Hotel, on +the occasion of the presentation to Mr. Charles Dickens of a gold watch, +as a mark of gratitude for the reading of his Christmas Carol, given in +December of the previous year, in aid of the funds of the Coventry +Institute. The chair was taken by C. W. Hoskyns, Esq. Mr. Dickens +ackowledged the testimonial in the following words:] + +MR. CHAIRMAN, Mr. Vice-chairman, and Gentlemen,—I hope your minds will be +greatly relieved by my assuring you that it is one of the rules of my +life never to make a speech about myself. If I knowingly did so, under +any circumstances, it would be least of all under such circumstances as +these, when its effect on my acknowledgment of your kind regard, and this +pleasant proof of it, would be to give me a certain constrained air, +which I fear would contrast badly with your greeting, so cordial, so +unaffected, so earnest, and so true. Furthermore, your Chairman has +decorated the occasion with a little garland of good sense, good feeling, +and good taste; so that I am sure that any attempt at additional ornament +would be almost an impertinence. + +Therefore I will at once say how earnestly, how fervently, and how deeply +I feel your kindness. This watch, with which you have presented me, +shall be my companion in my hours of sedentary working at home, and in my +wanderings abroad. It shall never be absent from my side, and it shall +reckon off the labours of my future days; and I can assure you that after +this night the object of those labours will not less than before be to +uphold the right and to do good. And when I have done with time and its +measurement, this watch shall belong to my children; and as I have seven +boys, and as they have all begun to serve their country in various ways, +or to elect into what distant regions they shall roam, it is not only +possible, but probable, that this little voice will be heard scores of +years hence, who knows? in some yet unfounded city in the wilds of +Australia, or communicating Greenwich time to Coventry Street, Japan. + +Once again, and finally, I thank you; and from my heart of hearts, I can +assure you that the memory of to-night, and of your picturesque and +interesting city, will never be absent from my mind, and I can never more +hear the lightest mention of the name of Coventry without having inspired +in my breast sentiments of unusual emotion and unusual attachment. + + * * * * * + +[Later in the evening, in proposing the health of the Chairman, Mr. +Dickens said:] + +THERE may be a great variety of conflicting opinions with regard to +farming, and especially with reference to the management of a clay farm; +but, however various opinions as to the merits of a clay farm may be, +there can be but one opinion as to the merits of a clay farmer,—and it is +the health of that distinguished agriculturist which I have to propose. + +In my ignorance of the subject, I am bound to say that it may be, for +anything I know, indeed I am ready to admit that it _is_, exceedingly +important that a clay farm should go for a number of years to waste; but +I claim some knowledge as to the management of a clay farmer, and I +positively object to his ever lying fallow. In the hope that this very +rich and teeming individual may speedily be ploughed up, and that, we +shall gather into our barns and store-houses the admirable crop of +wisdom, which must spring up when ever he is sown, I take leave to +propose his health, begging to assure him that the kind manner in which +he offered to me your very valuable present, I can never forget. + + + + +XXV. +LONDON, MARCH 29, 1862. + + +[At a Dinner of the Artists’ General Benevolent Institution, the +following Address was delivered by Mr. Charles Dickens from the chair:—] + +SEVEN or eight years ago, without the smallest expectation of ever being +called upon to fill the chair at an anniversary festival of the Artists’ +General Benevolent Institution, and without the remotest reference to +such an occasion, I selected the administration of that Charity as the +model on which I desired that another should be reformed, both as +regarded the mode in which the relief was afforded, and the singular +economy with which its funds were administered. As a proof of the latter +quality during the past year, the cost of distributing £1,126 among the +recipients of the bounty of the Charity amounted to little more than +£100, inclusive of all office charges and expenses. The experience and +knowledge of those entrusted with the management of the funds are a +guarantee that the last available farthing of the funds will be +distributed among proper and deserving recipients. Claiming, on my part, +to be related in some degree to the profession of an artist, I disdain to +stoop to ask for charity, in the ordinary acceptation of the term, on +behalf of the Artists. In its broader and higher signification of +generous confidence, lasting trustfulness, love and confiding belief, I +very readily associate that cardinal virtue with art. I decline to +present the artist to the notice of the public as a grown-up child, or as +a strange, unaccountable, moon-stricken person, waiting helplessly in the +street of life to be helped over the road by the crossing-sweeper; on the +contrary, I present the artist as a reasonable creature, a sensible +gentleman, and as one well acquainted with the value of his time, and +that of other people, as if he were in the habit of going on high ’Change +every day. The Artist whom I wish to present to the notice of the +Meeting is one to whom the perfect enjoyment of the five senses is +essential to every achievement of his life. He can gain no wealth nor +fame by buying something which he never touched, and selling it to +another who would also never touch or see it, but was compelled to strike +out for himself every spark of fire which lighted, burned, and perhaps +consumed him. He must win the battle of life with his own hand, and with +his own eyes, and was obliged to act as general, captain, ensign, +non-commissioned officer, private, drummer, great arms, small arms, +infantry, cavalry, all in his own unaided self. When, therefore, I ask +help for the artist, I do not make my appeal for one who was a cripple +from his birth, but I ask it as part payment of a great debt which all +sensible and civilised creatures owe to art, as a mark of respect to art, +as a decoration—not as a badge—as a remembrance of what this land, or any +land, would be without art, and as the token of an appreciation of the +works of the most successful artists of this country. With respect to +the society of which I am the advocate, I am gratified that it is so +liberally supported by the most distinguished artists, and that it has +the confidence of men who occupy the highest rank as artists, above the +reach of reverses, and the most distinguished in success and fame, and +whose support is above all price. Artists who have obtained wide-world +reputation know well that many deserving and persevering men, or their +widows and orphans, have received help from this fund, and some of the +artists who have received this help are now enrolled among the +subscribers to the Institution. + + + + +XXVI. +LONDON, MAY 20, 1862. + + +[The following speech was made by Mr. Dickens, in his capacity as +chairman, at the annual Festival of the Newsvendors’ and Provident +Institution, held at the Freemasons’ Tavern on the above date.] + +WHEN I had the honour of being asked to preside last year, I was +prevented by indisposition, and I besought my friend, Mr. Wilkie Collins, +to reign in my stead. He very kindly complied, and made an excellent +speech. Now I tell you the truth, that I read that speech with +considerable uneasiness, for it inspired me with a strong misgiving that +I had better have presided last year with neuralgia in my face and my +subject in my head, rather than preside this year with my neuralgia all +gone and my subject anticipated. Therefore, I wish to preface the toast +this evening by making the managers of this Institution one very solemn +and repentant promise, and it is, if ever I find myself obliged to +provide a substitute again, they may rely upon my sending the most +speechless man of my acquaintance. + +The Chairman last year presented you with an amiable view of the +universality of the newsman’s calling. Nothing, I think, is left for me +but to imagine the newsman’s burden itself, to unfold one of those +wonderful sheets which he every day disseminates, and to take a +bird’s-eye view of its general character and contents. So, if you +please, choosing my own time—though the newsman cannot choose his time, +for he must be equally active in winter or summer, in sunshine or sleet, +in light or darkness, early or late—but, choosing my own time, I shall +for two or three moments start off with the newsman on a fine May +morning, and take a view of the wonderful broadsheets which every day he +scatters broadcast over the country. Well, the first thing that occurs +to me following the newsman is, that every day we are born, that every +day we are married—some of us—and that every day we are dead; +consequently, the first thing the newsvendor’s column informs me is, that +Atkins has been born, that Catkins has been married, and that Datkins is +dead. But the most remarkable thing I immediately discover in the next +column, is that Atkins has grown to be seventeen years old, and that he +has run away; for, at last, my eye lights on the fact that William A., +who is seventeen years old, is adjured immediately to return to his +disconsolate parents, and everything will be arranged to the satisfaction +of everyone. I am afraid he will never return, simply because, if he had +meant to come back, he would never have gone away. Immediately below, I +find a mysterious character in such a mysterious difficulty that it is +only to be expressed by several disjointed letters, by several figures, +and several stars; and then I find the explanation in the intimation that +the writer has given his property over to his uncle, and that the +elephant is on the wing. Then, still glancing over the shoulder of my +industrious friend, the newsman, I find there are great fleets of ships +bound to all parts of the earth, that they all want a little more +stowage, a little more cargo, that they have a few more berths to let, +that they have all the most spacious decks, that they are all built of +teak, and copper-bottomed, that they all carry surgeons of experience, +and that they are all A1 at Lloyds’, and anywhere else. Still glancing +over the shoulder of my friend the newsman, I find I am offered all kinds +of house-lodging, clerks, servants, and situations, which I can possibly +or impossibly want. I learn, to my intense gratification, that I need +never grow old, that I may always preserve the juvenile bloom of my +complexion; that if ever I turn ill it is entirely my own fault; that if +I have any complaint, and want brown cod-liver oil or Turkish baths, I am +told where to get them, and that, if I want an income of seven pounds +a-week, I may have it by sending half-a-crown in postage-stamps. Then I +look to the police intelligence, and I can discover that I may bite off a +human living nose cheaply, but if I take off the dead nose of a pig or a +calf from a shop-window, it will cost me exceedingly dear. I also find +that if I allow myself to be betrayed into the folly of killing an +inoffensive tradesman on his own door-step, that little incident will not +affect the testimonials to my character, but that I shall be described as +a most amiable young man, and as, above all things, remarkable for the +singular inoffensiveness of my character and disposition. Then I turn my +eye to the Fine Arts, and, under that head, I see that a certain “J. O.” +has most triumphantly exposed a certain “J. O. B.,” which “J. O. B.” was +remarkable for this particular ugly feature, that I was requested to +deprive myself of the best of my pictures for six months; that for that +time it was to be hung on a wet wall, and that I was to be requited for +my courtesy in having my picture most impertinently covered with a wet +blanket. To sum up the results of a glance over my newsman’s shoulder, +it gives a comprehensive knowledge of what is going on over the continent +of Europe, and also of what is going on over the continent of America, to +say nothing of such little geographical regions as India and China. + +Now, my friends, this is the glance over the newsman’s shoulders from the +whimsical point of view, which is the point, I believe, that most +promotes digestion. The newsman is to be met with on steamboats, railway +stations, and at every turn. His profits are small, he has a great +amount of anxiety and care, and no little amount of personal wear and +tear. He is indispensable to civilization and freedom, and he is looked +for with pleasurable excitement every day, except when he lends the paper +for an hour, and when he is punctual in calling for it, which is +sometimes very painful. I think the lesson we can learn from our newsman +is some new illustration of the uncertainty of life, some illustration of +its vicissitudes and fluctuations. Mindful of this permanent lesson, +some members of the trade originated this society, which affords them +assistance in time of sickness and indigence. The subscription is +infinitesimal. It amounts annually to five shillings. Looking at the +returns before me, the progress of the society would seem to be slow, but +it has only been slow for the best of all reasons, that it has been sure. +The pensions granted are all obtained from the interest on the funded +capital, and, therefore, the Institution is literally as safe as the +Bank. It is stated that there are several newsvendors who are not +members of this society; but that is true in all institutions which have +come under my experience. The persons who are most likely to stand in +need of the benefits which an institution confers, are usually the +persons to keep away until bitter experience comes to them too late. + + + + +XXVII. +LONDON, MAY 11, 1864. + + +[On the above date Mr. Dickens presided at the Adelphi Theatre, at a +public meeting, for the purpose of founding the Shakespeare Schools, in +connexion with the Royal Dramatic College, and delivered the following +address:] + +LADIES AND GENTLEMEN—Fortunately for me, and fortunately for you, it is +the duty of the Chairman on an occasion of this nature, to be very +careful that he does not anticipate those speakers who come after him. +Like Falstaff, with a considerable difference, he has to be the cause of +speaking in others. It is rather his duty to sit and hear speeches with +exemplary attention than to stand up to make them; so I shall confine +myself, in opening these proceedings as your business official, to as +plain and as short an exposition as I can possibly give you of the +reasons why we come together. + +First of all I will take leave to remark that we do not come together in +commemoration of Shakespeare. We have nothing to do with any +commemoration, except that we are of course humble worshippers of that +mighty genius, and that we propose by-and-by to take his name, but by no +means to take it in vain. If, however, the Tercentenary celebration were +a hundred years hence, or a hundred years past, we should still be +pursuing precisely the same object, though we should not pursue it under +precisely the same circumstances. The facts are these: There is, as you +know, in existence an admirable institution called the Royal Dramatic +College, which is a place of honourable rest and repose for veterans in +the dramatic art. The charter of this college, which dates some five or +six years back, expressly provides for the establishment of schools in +connexion with it; and I may venture to add that this feature of the +scheme, when it was explained to him, was specially interesting to his +Royal Highness the late Prince Consort, who hailed it as evidence of the +desire of the promoters to look forward as well as to look back; to found +educational institutions for the rising generation, as well as to +establish a harbour of refuge for the generation going out, or at least +having their faces turned towards the setting sun. The leading members +of the dramatic art, applying themselves first to the more pressing +necessity of the two, set themselves to work on the construction of their +harbour of refuge, and this they did with the zeal, energy, good-will, +and good faith that always honourably distinguish them in their efforts +to help one another. Those efforts were very powerfully aided by the +respected gentleman {177} under whose roof we are assembled, and who, I +hope, may be only half as glad of seeing me on these boards as I always +am to see him here. With such energy and determination did Mr. Webster +and his brothers and sisters in art proceed with their work, that at this +present time all the dwelling-houses of the Royal Dramatic College are +built, completely furnished, fitted with every appliance, and many of +them inhabited. The central hall of the College is built, the grounds +are beautifully planned and laid out, and the estate has become the +nucleus of a prosperous neighbourhood. This much achieved, Mr. Webster +was revolving in his mind how he should next proceed towards the +establishment of the schools, when, this Tercentenary celebration being +in hand, it occurred to him to represent to the National Shakespeare +Committee their just and reasonable claim to participate in the results +of any subscription for a monument to Shakespeare. He represented to the +committee that the social recognition and elevation of the followers of +Shakespeare’s own art, through the education of their children, was +surely a monument worthy even of that great name. He urged upon the +committee that it was certainly a sensible, tangible project, which the +public good sense would immediately appreciate and approve. This claim +the committee at once acknowledged; but I wish you distinctly to +understand that if the committee had never been in existence, if the +Tercentenary celebration had never been attempted, those schools, as a +design anterior to both, would still have solicited public support. + +Now, ladies and gentlemen, what it is proposed to do is, in fact, to find +a new self-supporting public school; with this additional feature, that +it is to be available for both sexes. This, of course, presupposes two +separate distinct schools. As these schools are to be built on land +belonging to the Dramatic College, there will be from the first no +charge, no debt, no incumbrance of any kind under that important head. +It is, in short, proposed simply to establish a new self-supporting +public school, in a rapidly increasing neighbourhood, where there is a +large and fast accumulating middle-class population, and where property +in land is fast rising in value. But, inasmuch as the project is a +project of the Royal Dramatic College, and inasmuch as the schools are to +be built on their estate, it is proposed evermore to give their schools +the great name of Shakespeare, and evermore to give the followers of +Shakespeare’s art a prominent place in them. With this view, it is +confidently believed that the public will endow a foundation, say, for +forty foundation scholars—say, twenty girls and twenty boys—who shall +always receive their education gratuitously, and who shall always be the +children of actors, actresses, or dramatic writers. This school, you +will understand, is to be equal to the best existing public school. It +is to be made to impart a sound, liberal, comprehensive education, and it +is to address the whole great middle class at least as freely, as widely, +and as cheaply as any existing public school. + +Broadly, ladies and gentlemen, this is the whole design. There are +foundation scholars at Eton, foundation scholars at nearly all our old +schools, and if the public, in remembrance of a noble part of our +standard national literature, and in remembrance of a great humanising +art, will do this thing for these children, it will at the same time be +doing a wise and good thing for itself, and will unquestionably find its +account in it. Taking this view of the case—and I cannot be satisfied to +take any lower one—I cannot make a sorry face about “the poor player.” I +think it is a term very much misused and very little understood—being, I +venture to say, appropriated in a wrong sense by players themselves. +Therefore, ladies and gentlemen, I can only present the player to you +exceptionally in this wise—that he follows a peculiar and precarious +vocation, a vocation very rarely affording the means of accumulating +money—that that vocation must, from the nature of things, have in it many +undistinguished men and women to one distinguished one—that it is not a +vocation the exerciser of which can profit by the labours of others, but +in which he must earn every loaf of his bread in his own person, with the +aid of his own face, his own limbs, his own voice, his own memory, and +his own life and spirits; and these failing, he fails. Surely this is +reason enough to render him some little help in opening for his children +their paths through life. I say their paths advisedly, because it is not +often found, except under the pressure of necessity, or where there is +strong hereditary talent—which is always an exceptional case—that the +children of actors and actresses take to the stage. Persons therefore +need not in the least fear that by helping to endow these schools they +would help to overstock the dramatic market. They would do directly the +reverse, for they would divert into channels of public distinction and +usefulness those good qualities which would otherwise languish in that +market’s over-rich superabundance. + +This project has received the support of the head of the most popular of +our English public schools. On the committee stands the name of that +eminent scholar and gentleman, the Provost of Eton. You justly admire +this liberal spirit, and your admiration—which I cordially share—brings +me naturally to what I wish to say, that I believe there is not in +England any institution so socially liberal as a public school. It has +been called a little cosmos of life outside, and I think it is so, with +the exception of one of life’s worst foibles—for, as far as I know, +nowhere in this country is there so complete an absence of servility to +mere rank, to mere position, to mere riches as in a public school. A boy +there is always what his abilities or his personal qualities make him. +We may differ about the curriculum and other matters, but of the frank, +free, manly, independent spirit preserved in our public schools, I +apprehend there can be no kind of question. It has happened in these +later times that objection has been made to children of dramatic artists +in certain little snivelling private schools—but in public schools never. +Therefore, I hold that the actors are wise, and gratefully wise, in +recognizing the capacious liberality of a public school, in seeking not a +little hole-and-corner place of education for their children exclusively, +but in addressing the whole of the great middle class, and proposing to +them to come and join them, the actors, on their own property, in a +public school, in a part of the country where no such advantage is now to +be found. + +I have now done. The attempt has been a very timid one. I have +endeavoured to confine myself within my means, or, rather, like the +possessor of an extended estate, to hand it down in an unembarrassed +condition. I have laid a trifle of timber here and there, and grubbed up +a little brushwood, but merely to open the view, and I think I can descry +in the eye of the gentleman who is to move the first resolution that he +distinctly sees his way. Thanking you for the courtesy with which you +have heard me, and not at all doubting that we shall lay a strong +foundation of these schools to-day, I will call, as the mover of the +first resolution, on Mr. Robert Bell. + + + + +XXVIII. +LONDON, MAY 9, 1865. + + +[On the above date Mr. Dickens presided at the Annual Festival of the +Newsvendors’ Benevolent and Provident Association, and, in proposing the +toast of the evening, delivered the following speech.] + +LADIES AND GENTLEMEN,—Dr. Johnson’s experience of that club, the members +of which have travelled over one another’s minds in every direction, is +not to be compared with the experience of the perpetual president of a +society like this. Having on previous occasions said everything about it +that he could possibly find to say, he is again produced, with the same +awful formalities, to say everything about it that he cannot possibly +find to say. It struck me, when Dr. F. Jones was referring just now to +Easter Monday, that the case of such an ill-starred president is very +like that of the stag at Epping Forest on Easter Monday. That +unfortunate animal when he is uncarted at the spot where the meet takes +place, generally makes a point, I am told, of making away at a cool trot, +venturesomely followed by the whole field, to the yard where he lives, +and there subsides into a quiet and inoffensive existence, until he is +again brought out to be again followed by exactly the same field, under +exactly the same circumstances, next Easter Monday. + +The difficulties of the situation—and here I mean the president and not +the stag—are greatly increased in such an instance as this by the +peculiar nature of the institution. In its unpretending solidity, +reality, and usefulness, believe me—for I have carefully considered the +point—it presents no opening whatever of an oratorical nature. If it +were one of those costly charities, so called, whose yield of wool bears +no sort of proportion to their cry for cash, I very likely might have a +word or two to say on the subject. If its funds were lavished in +patronage and show, instead of being honestly expended in providing small +annuities for hard-working people who have themselves contributed to its +funds—if its management were intrusted to people who could by no +possibility know anything about it, instead of being invested in plain, +business, practical hands—if it hoarded when it ought to spend—if it got +by cringing and fawning what it never deserved, I might possibly impress +you very much by my indignation. If its managers could tell me that it +was insolvent, that it was in a hopeless condition, that its accounts had +been kept by Mr. Edmunds—or by “Tom,”—if its treasurer had run away with +the money-box, then I might have made a pathetic appeal to your feelings. +But I have no such chance. Just as a nation is happy whose records are +barren, so is a society fortunate that has no history—and its president +unfortunate. I can only assure you that this society continues its +plain, unobtrusive, useful career. I can only assure you that it does a +great deal of good at a very small cost, and that the objects of its care +and the bulk of its members are faithful working servants of the +public—sole ministers of their wants at untimely hours, in all seasons, +and in all weathers; at their own doors, at the street-corners, at every +railway train, at every steam-boat; through the agency of every +establishment and the tiniest little shops; and that, whether regarded as +master or as man, their profits are very modest and their risks numerous, +while their trouble and responsibility are very great. + +The newsvendors and newsmen are a very subordinate part of that wonderful +engine—the newspaper press. Still I think we all know very well that +they are to the fountain-head what a good service of water pipes is to a +good water supply. Just as a goodly store of water at Watford would be a +tantalization to thirsty London if it were not brought into town for its +use, so any amount of news accumulated at Printing-house Square, or Fleet +Street, or the Strand, would be if there were no skill and enterprise +engaged in its dissemination. + +We are all of us in the habit of saying in our every-day life, that “We +never know the value of anything until we lose it.” Let us try the +newsvendors by the test. A few years ago we discovered one morning that +there was a strike among the cab-drivers. Now, let us imagine a strike +of newsmen. Imagine the trains waiting in vain for the newspapers. +Imagine all sorts and conditions of men dying to know the shipping news, +the commercial news, the foreign news, the legal news, the criminal news, +the dramatic news. Imagine the paralysis on all the provincial +exchanges; the silence and desertion of all the newsmen’s exchanges in +London. Imagine the circulation of the blood of the nation and of the +country standing still,—the clock of the world. Why, even Mr. Reuter, +the great Reuter—whom I am always glad to imagine slumbering at night by +the side of Mrs. Reuter, with a galvanic battery under his bolster, bell +and wires to the head of his bed, and bells at each ear—think how even he +would click and flash those wondrous dispatches of his, and how they +would become mere nothing without the activity and honesty which catch up +the threads and stitches of the electric needle, and scatter them over +the land. + +It is curious to consider—and the thought occurred to me this day, when I +was out for a stroll pondering over the duties of this evening, which +even then were looming in the distance, but not quite so far off as I +could wish—I found it very curious to consider that though the newsman +must be allowed to be a very unpicturesque rendering of Mercury, or Fame, +or what-not conventional messenger from the clouds, and although we must +allow that he is of this earth, and has a good deal of it on his boots, +still that he has two very remarkable characteristics, to which none of +his celestial predecessors can lay the slightest claim. One is that he +is always the messenger of civilization; the other that he is at least +equally so—not only in what he brings, but in what he ceases to bring. +Thus the time was, and not so many years ago either, when the newsman +constantly brought home to our doors—though I am afraid not to our +hearts, which were custom-hardened—the most terrific accounts of murders, +of our fellow-creatures being publicly put to death for what we now call +trivial offences, in the very heart of London, regularly every Monday +morning. At the same time the newsman regularly brought to us the +infliction of other punishments, which were demoralising to the innocent +part of the community, while they did not operate as punishments in +deterring offenders from the perpetration of crimes. In those same days, +also, the newsman brought to us daily accounts of a regularly accepted +and received system of loading the unfortunate insane with chains, +littering them down on straw, starving them on bread and water, damaging +their clothes, and making periodical exhibitions of them at a small +charge; and that on a Sunday one of our public resorts was a kind of +demoniacal zoological gardens. They brought us accounts at the same time +of some damage done to the machinery which was destined to supply the +operative classes with employment. In the same time they brought us +accounts of riots for bread, which were constantly occurring, and +undermining society and the state; of the most terrible explosions of +class against class, and of the habitual employment of spies for the +discovery—if not for the origination—of plots, in which both sides found +in those days some relief. In the same time the same newsmen were +apprising us of a state of society all around us in which the grossest +sensuality and intemperance were the rule; and not as now, when the +ignorant, the wicked, and the wretched are the inexcusably vicious +exceptions—a state of society in which the professional bully was +rampant, and when deadly duels were daily fought for the most absurd and +disgraceful causes. All this the newsman has ceased to tell us of. This +state of society has discontinued in England for ever; and when we +remember the undoubted truth, that the change could never have been +effected without the aid of the load which the newsman carries, surely it +is not very romantic to express the hope on his behalf that the public +will show to him some little token of the sympathetic remembrance which +we are all of us glad to bestow on the bearers of happy tidings—the +harbingers of good news. + +Now, ladies and gentlemen, you will be glad to hear that I am coming to a +conclusion; for that conclusion I have a precedent. You all of you know +how pleased you are on your return from a morning’s walk to learn that +the collector has called. Well, I am the collector for this district, +and I hope you will bear in mind that I have respectfully called. +Regarding the institution on whose behalf I have presented myself, I need +only say technically two things. First, that its annuities are granted +out of its funded capital, and therefore it is safe as the Bank; and, +secondly, that they are attainable by such a slight exercise of prudence +and fore-thought, that a payment of 25_s._ extending over a period of +five years, entitles a subscriber—if a male—to an annuity of £16 a-year, +and a female to £12 a-year. Now, bear in mind that this is an +institution on behalf of which the collector has called, leaving behind +his assurance that what you can give to one of the most faithful of your +servants shall be well bestowed and faithfully applied to the purposes to +which you intend them, and to those purposes alone. + + + + +XXIX. +NEWSPAPER PRESS FUND. +LONDON, MAY 20, 1865. + + +[At the second annual dinner of the Institution, held at the Freemasons’ +Tavern, on Saturday, the 20th May, 1865, the following speech was +delivered by the chairman, Mr. Charles Dickens, in proposing the toast of +the evening:] + +LADIES AND GENTLEMEN,—When a young child is produced after dinner to be +shown to a circle of admiring relations and friends, it may generally be +observed that their conversation—I suppose in an instinctive remembrance +of the uncertainty of infant life—takes a retrospective turn. As how +much the child has grown since the last dinner; what a remarkably fine +child it is, to have been born only two or three years ago, how much +stronger it looks now than before it had the measles, and so forth. When +a young institution is produced after dinner, there is not the same +uncertainty or delicacy as in the case of the child, and it may be +confidently predicted of it that if it deserve to live it will surely +live, and that if it deserve to die it will surely die. The proof of +desert in such a case as this must be mainly sought, I suppose, firstly, +in what the society means to do with its money; secondly, in the extent +to which it is supported by the class with whom it originated, and for +whose benefit it is designed; and, lastly, in the power of its hold upon +the public. I add this lastly, because no such institution that ever I +heard of ever yet dreamed of existing apart from the public, or ever yet +considered it a degradation to accept the public support. + +Now, what the Newspaper Press Fund proposes to do with its money is to +grant relief to members in want or distress, and to the widows, families, +parents, or other near relatives of deceased members in right of a +moderate provident annual subscription—commutable, I observe, for a +moderate provident life subscription—and its members comprise the whole +paid class of literary contributors to the press of the United Kingdom, +and every class of reporters. The number of its members at this time +last year was something below 100. At the present time it is somewhat +above 170, not including 30 members of the press who are regular +subscribers, but have not as yet qualified as regular members. This +number is steadily on the increase, not only as regards the metropolitan +press, but also as regards the provincial throughout the country. I have +observed within these few days that many members of the press at +Manchester have lately at a meeting expressed a strong brotherly interest +in this Institution, and a great desire to extend its operations, and to +strengthen its hands, provided that something in the independent nature +of life assurance and the purchase of deferred annuities could be +introduced into its details, and always assuming that in it the +metropolis and the provinces stand on perfectly equal ground. This +appears to me to be a demand so very moderate, that I can hardly have a +doubt of a response on the part of the managers, or of the beneficial and +harmonious results. It only remains to add, on this head of desert, the +agreeable circumstance that out of all the money collected in aid of the +society during the last year more than one-third came exclusively from +the press. + +Now, ladies and gentlemen, in regard to the last claim—the last point of +desert—the hold upon the public—I think I may say that probably not one +single individual in this great company has failed to-day to see a +newspaper, or has failed to-day to hear something derived from a +newspaper which was quite unknown to him or to her yesterday. Of all +those restless crowds that have this day thronged the streets of this +enormous city, the same may be said as the general gigantic rule. It may +be said almost equally, of the brightest and the dullest, the largest and +the least provincial town in the empire; and this, observe, not only as +to the active, the industrious, and the healthy among the population, but +also to the bedridden, the idle, the blind, and the deaf and dumb. Now, +if the men who provide this all-pervading presence, this wonderful, +ubiquitous newspaper, with every description of intelligence on every +subject of human interest, collected with immense pains and immense +patience, often by the exercise of a laboriously-acquired faculty united +to a natural aptitude, much of the work done in the night, at the +sacrifice of rest and sleep, and (quite apart from the mental strain) by +the constant overtasking of the two most delicate of the senses, sight +and hearing—I say, if the men who, through the newspapers, from day to +day, or from night to night, or from week to week, furnish the public +with so much to remember, have not a righteous claim to be remembered by +the public in return, then I declare before God I know no working class +of the community who have. + +It would be absurd, it would be impertinent, in such an assembly as this, +if I were to attempt to expatiate upon the extraordinary combination of +remarkable qualities involved in the production of any newspaper. But +assuming the majority of this associated body to be composed of +reporters, because reporters, of one kind or other, compose the majority +of the literary staff of almost every newspaper that is not a +compilation, I would venture to remind you, if I delicately may, in the +august presence of members of Parliament, how much we, the public, owe to +the reporters if it were only for their skill in the two great sciences +of condensation and rejection. Conceive what our sufferings, under an +Imperial Parliament, however popularly constituted, under however +glorious a constitution, would be if the reporters could not skip. Dr. +Johnson, in one of his violent assertions, declared that “the man who was +afraid of anything must be a scoundrel, sir.” By no means binding myself +to this opinion—though admitting that the man who is afraid of a +newspaper will generally be found to be rather something like it, I must +still freely own that I should approach my Parliamentary debate with +infinite fear and trembling if it were so unskilfully served up for my +breakfast. Ever since the time when the old man and his son took their +donkey home, which were the old Greek days, I believe, and probably ever +since the time when the donkey went into the ark—perhaps he did not like +his accommodation there—but certainly from that time downwards, he has +objected to go in any direction required of him—from the remotest periods +it has been found impossible to please everybody. + +I do not for a moment seek to conceal that I know this Institution has +been objected to. As an open fact challenging the freëst discussion and +inquiry, and seeking no sort of shelter or favour but what it can win, it +has nothing, I apprehend, but itself, to urge against objection. No +institution conceived in perfect honesty and good faith has a right to +object to being questioned to any extent, and any institution so based +must be in the end the better for it. Moreover, that this society has +been questioned in quarters deserving of the most respectful attention I +take to be an indisputable fact. Now, I for one have given that +respectful attention, and I have come out of the discussion to where you +see me. The whole circle of the arts is pervaded by institutions between +which and this I can descry no difference. The painters’ art has four or +five such institutions. The musicians’ art, so generously and charmingly +represented here, has likewise several such institutions. In my own art +there is one, concerning the details of which my noble friend the +president of the society and myself have torn each other’s hair to a +considerable extent, and which I would, if I could, assimilate more +nearly to this. In the dramatic art there are four, and I never yet +heard of any objection to their principle, except, indeed, in the cases +of some famous actors of large gains, who having through the whole period +of their successes positively refused to establish a right in them, +became, in their old age and decline, repentant suppliants for their +bounty. Is it urged against this particular Institution that it is +objectionable because a parliamentary reporter, for instance, might +report a subscribing M.P. in large, and a non-subscribing M.P. in little? +Apart from the sweeping nature of this charge, which, it is to be +observed, lays the unfortunate member and the unfortunate reporter under +pretty much the same suspicion—apart from this consideration, I reply +that it is notorious in all newspaper offices that every such man is +reported according to the position he can gain in the public eye, and +according to the force and weight of what he has to say. And if there +were ever to be among the members of this society one so very foolish to +his brethren, and so very dishonourable to himself, as venally to abuse +his trust, I confidently ask those here, the best acquainted with +journalism, whether they believe it possible that any newspaper so +ill-conducted as to fail instantly to detect him could possibly exist as +a thriving enterprise for one single twelvemonth? No, ladies and +gentlemen, the blundering stupidity of such an offence would have no +chance against the acute sagacity of newspaper editors. But I will go +further, and submit to you that its commission, if it be to be dreaded at +all, is far more likely on the part of some recreant camp-follower of a +scattered, disunited, and half-recognized profession, than when there is +a public opinion established in it, by the union of all classes of its +members for the common good: the tendency of which union must in the +nature of things be to raise the lower members of the press towards the +higher, and never to bring the higher members to the lower level. + +I hope I may be allowed in the very few closing words that I feel a +desire to say in remembrance of some circumstances, rather special, +attending my present occupation of this chair, to give those words +something of a personal tone. I am not here advocating the case of a +mere ordinary client of whom I have little or no knowledge. I hold a +brief to-night for my brothers. I went into the gallery of the House of +Commons as a parliamentary reporter when I was a boy not eighteen, and I +left it—I can hardly believe the inexorable truth—nigh thirty years ago. +I have pursued the calling of a reporter under circumstances of which +many of my brethren at home in England here, many of my modern +successors, can form no adequate conception. I have often transcribed +for the printer, from my shorthand notes, important public speeches in +which the strictest accuracy was required, and a mistake in which would +have been to a young man severely compromising, writing on the palm of my +hand, by the light of a dark lantern, in a post-chaise and four, +galloping through a wild country, and through the dead of the night, at +the then surprising rate of fifteen miles an hour. The very last time I +was at Exeter, I strolled into the castle yard there to identify, for the +amusement of a friend, the spot on which I once “took,” as we used to +call it, an election speech of my noble friend Lord Russell, in the midst +of a lively fight maintained by all the vagabonds in that division of the +county, and under such a pelting rain, that I remember two goodnatured +colleagues, who chanced to be at leisure, held a pocket-handkerchief over +my notebook, after the manner of a state canopy in an ecclesiastical +procession. I have worn my knees by writing on them on the old back row +of the old gallery of the old House of Commons; and I have worn my feet +by standing to write in a preposterous pen in the old House of Lords, +where we used to be huddled together like so many sheep—kept in waiting, +say, until the woolsack might want re-stuffing. Returning home from +excited political meetings in the country to the waiting press in London, +I do verily believe I have been upset in almost every description of +vehicle known in this country. I have been, in my time, belated on miry +by-roads, towards the small hours, forty or fifty miles from London, in a +wheelless carriage, with exhausted horses and drunken postboys, and have +got back in time for publication, to be received with never-forgotten +compliments by the late Mr. Black, coming in the broadest of Scotch from +the broadest of hearts I ever knew. + +Ladies and gentlemen, I mention these trivial things as an assurance to +you that I never have forgotten the fascination of that old pursuit. The +pleasure that I used to feel in the rapidity and dexterity of its +exercise has never faded out of my breast. Whatever little cunning of +hand or head I took to it, or acquired in it, I have so retained as that +I fully believe I could resume it to-morrow, very little the worse from +long disuse. To this present year of my life, when I sit in this hall, +or where not, hearing a dull speech, the phenomenon does occur—I +sometimes beguile the tedium of the moment by mentally following the +speaker in the old, old way; and sometimes, if you can believe me, I even +find my hand going on the table-cloth, taking an imaginary note of it +all. Accept these little truths as a confirmation of what I know; as a +confirmation of my undying interest in this old calling. Accept them as +a proof that my feeling for the location of my youth is not a sentiment +taken up to-night to be thrown away to-morrow—but is a faithful sympathy +which is a part of myself. I verily believe—I am sure—that if I had +never quitted my old calling I should have been foremost and zealous in +the interests of this Institution, believing it to be a sound, a +wholesome, and a good one. Ladies and gentlemen, I am to propose to you +to drink “Prosperity to the Newspaper Press Fund,” with which toast I +will connect, as to its acknowledgment, a name that has shed new +brilliancy on even the foremost newspaper in the world—the illustrious +name of Mr. Russell. + + + + +XXX. +KNEBWORTH, JULY 29, 1865. + + +[On the above date the members of the “Guild of Literature and Art” +proceeded to the neighbourhood of Stevenage, near the magnificent seat of +the President, Lord Lytton, to inspect three houses built in the Gothic +style, on the ground given by him for the purpose. After their survey, +the party drove to Knebworth to partake of the hospitality of Lord +Lytton. Mr. Dickens, who was one of the guests, proposed the health of +the host in the following words:] + +LADIES AND GENTLEMEN,—It was said by a very sagacious person, whose +authority I am sure my friend of many years will not impugn, seeing that +he was named Augustus Tomlinson, the kind friend and philosopher of Paul +Clifford—it was said by that remarkable man, “Life is short, and why +should speeches be long?” An aphorism so sensible under all +circumstances, and particularly in the circumstances in which we are +placed, with this delicious weather and such charming gardens near us, I +shall practically adopt on the present occasion; and the rather so +because the speech of my friend was exhaustive of the subject, as his +speeches always are, though not in the least exhaustive of his audience. +In thanking him for the toast which he has done us the honour to propose, +allow me to correct an error into which he has fallen. Allow me to state +that these houses never could have been built but for his zealous and +valuable co-operation, and also that the pleasant labour out of which +they have arisen would have lost one of its greatest charms and strongest +impulses, if it had lost his ever ready sympathy with that class in which +he has risen to the foremost rank, and of which he is the brightest +ornament. + +Having said this much as simply due to my friend, I can only say, on +behalf of my associates, that the ladies and gentlemen whom we shall +invite to occupy the houses we have built will never be placed under any +social disadvantage. They will be invited to occupy them as artists, +receiving them as a mark of the high respect in which they are held by +their fellow-workers. As artists I hope they will often exercise their +calling within those walls for the general advantage; and they will +always claim, on equal terms, the hospitality of their generous +neighbour. + +Now I am sure I shall be giving utterance to the feelings of my brothers +and sisters in literature in proposing “Health, long life, and prosperity +to our distinguished host.” Ladies and gentlemen, you know very well +that when the health, life, and beauty now overflowing these halls shall +have fled, crowds of people will come to see the place where he lived and +wrote. Setting aside the orator and statesman—for happily we know no +party here but this agreeable party—setting aside all, this you know very +well, that this is the home of a very great man whose connexion with +Hertfordshire every other county in England will envy for many long years +to come. You know that when this hall is dullest and emptiest you can +make it when you please brightest and fullest by peopling it with the +creations of his brilliant fancy. Let us all wish together that they may +be many more—for the more they are the better it will be, and, as he +always excels himself, the better they will be. I ask you to listen to +their praises and not to mine, and to let them, not me, propose his +health. + + + + +XXXI. +LONDON, FEBRUARY 14, 1866. + + +[On this occasion Mr. Dickens officiated as Chairman at the annual dinner +of the Dramatic, Equestrian, and Musical Fund, at Willis’s Rooms, where +he made the following speech:] + +LADIES, before I couple you with the gentlemen, which will be at least +proper to the inscription over my head (St. Valentine’s day)—before I do +so, allow me, on behalf of my grateful sex here represented, to thank you +for the great pleasure and interest with which your gracious presence at +these festivals never fails to inspire us. There is no English custom +which is so manifestly a relic of savage life as that custom which +usually excludes you from participation in similar gatherings. And +although the crime carries its own heavy punishment along with it, in +respect that it divests a public dinner of its most beautiful ornament +and of its most fascinating charm, still the offence is none the less to +be severely reprehended on every possible occasion, as outraging equally +nature and art. I believe that as little is known of the saint whose +name is written here as can well be known of any saint or sinner. We, +your loyal servants, are deeply thankful to him for having somehow gained +possession of one day in the year—for having, as no doubt he has, +arranged the almanac for 1866—expressly to delight us with the enchanting +fiction that we have some tender proprietorship in you which we should +scarcely dare to claim on a less auspicious occasion. Ladies, the utmost +devotion sanctioned by the saint we beg to lay at your feet, and any +little innocent privileges to which we may be entitled by the same +authority we beg respectfully but firmly to claim at your hands. + +Now, ladies and gentlemen, you need no ghost to inform you that I am +going to propose “Prosperity to the Dramatic, Musical, and Equestrian +Sick Fund Association,” and, further, that I should be going to ask you +actively to promote that prosperity by liberally contributing to its +funds, if that task were not reserved for a much more persuasive speaker. +But I rest the strong claim of the society for its useful existence and +its truly charitable functions on a very few words, though, as well as I +can recollect, upon something like six grounds. First, it relieves the +sick; secondly, it buries the dead; thirdly, it enables the poor members +of the profession to journey to accept new engagements whenever they find +themselves stranded in some remote, inhospitable place, or when, from +other circumstances, they find themselves perfectly crippled as to +locomotion for want of money; fourthly, it often finds such engagements +for them by acting as their honest, disinterested agent; fifthly, it is +its principle to act humanely upon the instant, and never, as is too +often the case within my experience, to beat about the bush till the bush +is withered and dead; lastly, the society is not in the least degree +exclusive, but takes under its comprehensive care the whole range of the +theatre and the concert-room, from the manager in his room of state, or +in his caravan, or at the drum-head—down to the theatrical housekeeper, +who is usually to be found amongst the cobwebs and the flies, or down to +the hall porter, who passes his life in a thorough draught—and, to the +best of my observation, in perpetually interrupted endeavours to eat +something with a knife and fork out of a basin, by a dusty fire, in that +extraordinary little gritty room, upon which the sun never shines, and on +the portals of which are inscribed the magic words, “stage-door.” + +Now, ladies and gentlemen, this society administers its benefits +sometimes by way of loan; sometimes by way of gift; sometimes by way of +assurance at very low premiums; sometimes to members, oftener to +non-members; always expressly, remember, through the hands of a secretary +or committee well acquainted with the wants of the applicants, and +thoroughly versed, if not by hard experience at least by sympathy, in the +calamities and uncertainties incidental to the general calling. One must +know something of the general calling to know what those afflictions are. +A lady who had been upon the stage from her earliest childhood till she +was a blooming woman, and who came from a long line of provincial actors +and actresses, once said to me when she was happily married; when she was +rich, beloved, courted; when she was mistress of a fine house—once said +to me at the head of her own table, surrounded by distinguished guests of +every degree, “Oh, but I have never forgotten the hard time when I was on +the stage, and when my baby brother died, and when my poor mother and I +brought the little baby from Ireland to England, and acted three nights +in England, as we had acted three nights in Ireland, with the pretty +creature lying upon the only bed in our lodging before we got the money +to pay for its funeral.” + +Ladies and gentlemen, such things are, every day, to this hour; but, +happily, at this day and in this hour this association has arisen to be +the timely friend of such great distress. + +It is not often the fault of the sufferers that they fall into these +straits. Struggling artists must necessarily change from place to place, +and thus it frequently happens that they become, as it were, strangers in +every place, and very slight circumstances—a passing illness, the +sickness of the husband, wife, or child, a serious town, an +anathematising expounder of the gospel of gentleness and forbearance—any +one of these causes may often in a few hours wreck them upon a rock in +the barren ocean; and then, happily, this society, with the swift +alacrity of the life-boat, dashes to the rescue, and takes them off. +Looking just now over the last report issued by this society, and +confining my scrutiny to the head of illness alone, I find that in one +year, I think, 672 days of sickness had been assuaged by its means. In +nine years, which then formed the term of its existence, as many as 5,500 +and odd. Well, I thought when I saw 5,500 and odd days of sickness, this +is a very serious sum, but add the nights! Add the nights—those long, +dreary hours in the twenty-four when the shadow of death is darkest, when +despondency is strongest, and when hope is weakest, before you gauge the +good that is done by this institution, and before you gauge the good that +really will be done by every shilling that you bestow here to-night. +Add, more than all, that the improvidence, the recklessness of the +general multitude of poor members of this profession, I should say is a +cruel, conventional fable. Add that there is no class of society the +members of which so well help themselves, or so well help each other. +Not in the whole grand chapters of Westminster Abbey and York Minster, +not in the whole quadrangle of the Royal Exchange, not in the whole list +of members of the Stock Exchange, not in the Inns of Court, not in the +College of Physicians, not in the College of Surgeons, can there possibly +be found more remarkable instances of uncomplaining poverty, of cheerful, +constant self-denial, of the generous remembrance of the claims of +kindred and professional brotherhood, than will certainly be found in the +dingiest and dirtiest concert room, in the least lucid theatre—even in +the raggedest tent circus that was ever stained by weather. + +I have been twitted in print before now with rather flattering actors +when I address them as one of their trustees at their General Fund +dinner. Believe me, I flatter nobody, unless it be sometimes myself; +but, in such a company as the present, I always feel it my manful duty to +bear my testimony to this fact—first, because it is opposed to a stupid, +unfeeling libel; secondly, because my doing so may afford some slight +encouragement to the persons who are unjustly depreciated; and lastly, +and most of all, because I know it is the truth. + +Now, ladies and gentlemen, it is time we should what we professionally +call “ring down” on these remarks. If you, such members of the general +public as are here, will only think the great theatrical curtain has +really fallen and been taken up again for the night on that dull, dark +vault which many of us know so well; if you will only think of the +theatre or other place of entertainment as empty; if you will only think +of the “float,” or other gas-fittings, as extinguished; if you will only +think of the people who have beguiled you of an evening’s care, whose +little vanities and almost childish foibles are engendered in their +competing face to face with you for your favour—surely it may be said +their feelings are partly of your making, while their virtues are all +their own. If you will only do this, and follow them out of that sham +place into the real world, where it rains real rain, snows real snow, and +blows real wind; where people sustain themselves by real money, which is +much harder to get, much harder to make, and very much harder to give +away than the pieces of tobacco-pipe in property bags—if you will only do +this, and do it in a really kind, considerate spirit, this society, then +certain of the result of the night’s proceedings, can ask no more. I beg +to propose to you to drink “Prosperity to the Dramatic, Equestrian, and +Musical Sick Fund Association.” + + * * * * * + +[Mr. Dickens, in proposing the next toast, said:—] + +Gentlemen: as I addressed myself to the ladies last time, so I address +you this time, and I give you the delightful assurance that it is +positively my last appearance but one on the present occasion. A certain +Mr. Pepys, who was Secretary for the Admiralty in the days of Charles +II., who kept a diary well in shorthand, which he supposed no one could +read, and which consequently remains to this day the most honest diary +known to print—Mr. Pepys had two special and very strong likings, the +ladies and the theatres. But Mr. Pepys, whenever he committed any slight +act of remissness, or any little peccadillo which was utterly and wholly +untheatrical, used to comfort his conscience by recording a vow that he +would abstain from the theatres for a certain time. In the first part of +Mr. Pepys’ character I have no doubt we fully agree with him; in the +second I have no doubt we do not. + +I learn this experience of Mr. Pepys from remembrance of a passage in his +diary that I was reading the other night, from which it appears that he +was not only curious in plays, but curious in sermons; and that one night +when he happened to be walking past St. Dunstan’s Church, he turned, went +in, and heard what he calls “a very edifying discourse;” during the +delivery of which discourse, he notes in his diary—“I stood by a pretty +young maid, whom I did attempt to take by the hand.” But he adds—“She +would not; and I did perceive that she had pins in her pocket with which +to prick me if I should touch her again—and was glad that I spied her +design.” Afterwards, about the close of the same edifying discourse, Mr. +Pepys found himself near another pretty, fair young maid, who would seem +upon the whole to have had no pins, and to have been more impressible. + +Now, the moral of this story which I wish to suggest to you is, that we +have been this evening in St. James’s much more timid than Mr. Pepys was +in St. Dunstan’s, and that we have conducted ourselves very much better. +As a slight recompense to us for our highly meritorious conduct, and as a +little relief to our over-charged hearts, I beg to propose that we devote +this bumper to invoking a blessing on the ladies. It is the privilege of +this society annually to hear a lady speak for her own sex. Who so +competent to do this as Mrs. Stirling? Surely one who has so gracefully +and captivatingly, with such an exquisite mixture of art, and fancy, and +fidelity, represented her own sex in innumerable charities, under an +infinite variety of phases, cannot fail to represent them well in her own +character, especially when it is, amidst her many triumphs, the most +agreeable of all. I beg to propose to you “The Ladies,” and I will +couple with that toast the name of Mrs. Stirling. + + + + +XXXII. +LONDON, MARCH 28, 1866. + + +[The following speech was made by Mr. Dickens at the Annual Festival of +the Royal General Theatrical Fund, held at the Freemasons’ Tavern, in +proposing the health of the Lord Mayor (Sir Benjamin Phillips), who +occupied the chair.] + +GENTLEMEN, in my childish days I remember to have had a vague but +profound admiration for a certain legendary person called the Lord +Mayor’s fool. I had the highest opinion of the intellectual capacity of +that suppositious retainer of the Mansion House, and I really regarded +him with feelings approaching to absolute veneration, because my nurse +informed me on every gastronomic occasion that the Lord Mayor’s fool +liked everything that was good. You will agree with me, I have no doubt, +that if this discriminating jester had existed at the present time he +could not fail to have liked his master very much, seeing that so good a +Lord Mayor is very rarely to be found, and that a better Lord Mayor could +not possibly be. + +You have already divined, gentlemen, that I am about to propose to you to +drink the health of the right honourable gentleman in the chair. As one +of the Trustees of the General Theatrical Fund, I beg officially to +tender him my best thanks for lending the very powerful aid of his +presence, his influence, and his personal character to this very +deserving Institution. As his private friends we ventured to urge upon +him to do us this gracious act, and I beg to assure you that the perfect +simplicity, modesty, cordiality, and frankness with which he assented, +enhanced the gift one thousand fold. I think it must also be very +agreeable to a company like this to know that the President of the night +is not ceremoniously pretending, “positively for this night only,” to +have an interest in the drama, but that he has an unusual and thorough +acquaintance with it, and that he has a living and discerning knowledge +of the merits of the great old actors. It is very pleasant to me to +remember that the Lord Mayor and I once beguiled the tedium of a journey +by exchanging our experiences upon this subject. I rather prided myself +on being something of an old stager, but I found the Lord Mayor so +thoroughly up in all the stock pieces, and so knowing and yet so fresh +about the merits of those who are most and best identified with them, +that I readily recognised in him what would be called in fistic language, +a very ugly customer—one, I assure you, by no means to be settled by any +novice not in thorough good theatrical training. + +Gentlemen, we have all known from our earliest infancy that when the +giants in Guildhall hear the clock strike one, they come down to dinner. +Similarly, when the City of London shall hear but one single word in just +disparagement of its present Lord Mayor, whether as its enlightened chief +magistrate, or as one of its merchants, or as one of its true gentlemen, +he will then descend from the high personal place which he holds in the +general honour and esteem. Until then he will remain upon his pedestal, +and my private opinion, between ourselves, is that the giants will come +down long before him. + +Gentlemen, in conclusion, I would remark that when the Lord Mayor made +his truly remarkable, and truly manly, and unaffected speech, I could not +but be struck by the odd reversal of the usual circumstances at the +Mansion House, which he presented to our view, for whereas it is a very +common thing for persons to be brought tremblingly before the Lord Mayor, +the Lord Mayor presented himself as being brought tremblingly before us. +I hope that the result may hold still further, for whereas it is a common +thing for the Lord Mayor to say to a repentant criminal who does not seem +to have much harm in him, “let me never see you here again,” so I would +propose that we all with one accord say to the Lord Mayor, “Let us by all +means see you here again on the first opportunity.” Gentlemen, I beg to +propose to you to drink, with all the honours, “The health of the right +hon. the Lord Mayor.” + + + + +XXXIII. +LONDON, MAY 7, 1866. + + +[The Members of the Metropolitan Rowing Clubs dining together at the +London Tavern, on the above date, Mr. Dickens, as President of the +Nautilus Rowing Club, occupied the chair. The Speech that follows was +made in proposing “Prosperity to the Rowing Clubs of London.” Mr. +Dickens said that:—] + +HE could not avoid the remembrance of what very poor things the amateur +rowing clubs on the Thames were in the early days of his noviciate; not +to mention the difference in the build of the boats. He could not get on +in the beginning without being a pupil under an anomalous creature called +a “fireman waterman,” who wore an eminently tall hat, and a perfectly +unaccountable uniform, of which it might be said that if it was less +adapted for one thing than another, that thing was fire. He recollected +that this gentleman had on some former day won a King’s prize wherry, and +they used to go about in this accursed wherry, he and a partner, doing +all the hard work, while the fireman drank all the beer. The river was +very much clearer, freër, and cleaner in those days than these; but he +was persuaded that this philosophical old boatman could no more have +dreamt of seeing the spectacle which had taken place on Saturday (the +procession of the boats of the Metropolitan Amateur Rowing Clubs), or of +seeing these clubs matched for skill and speed, than he (the Chairman) +should dare to announce through the usual authentic channels that he was +to be heard of at the bar below, and that he was perfectly prepared to +accommodate Mr. James Mace if he meant business. Nevertheless, he could +recollect that he had turned out for a spurt a few years ago on the River +Thames with an occasional Secretary, who should be nameless, and some +other Eton boys, and that he could hold his own against them. More +recently still, the last time that he rowed down from Oxford he was +supposed to cover himself with honour, though he must admit that he found +the “locks” so picturesque as to require much examination for the +discovery of their beauty. But what he wanted to say was this, that +though his “fireman waterman” was one of the greatest humbugs that ever +existed, he yet taught him what an honest, healthy, manly sport this was. +Their waterman would bid them pull away, and assure them that they were +certain of winning in some race. And here he would remark that aquatic +sports never entailed a moment’s cruelty, or a moment’s pain, upon any +living creature. Rowing men pursued recreation under circumstances which +braced their muscles, and cleared the cobwebs from their minds. He +assured them that he regarded such clubs as these as a “national +blessing.” They owed, it was true, a vast deal to steam power—as was +sometimes proved at matches on the Thames—but, at the same time, they +were greatly indebted to all that tended to keep up a healthy, manly +tone. He understood that there had been a committee selected for the +purpose of arranging a great amateur regatta, which was to take place off +Putney in the course of the season that was just begun. He could not +abstain from availing himself of this occasion to express a hope that the +committee would successfully carry on its labours to a triumphant result, +and that they should see upon the Thames, in the course of this summer, +such a brilliant sight as had never been seen there before. To secure +this there must be some hard work, skilful combinations, and rather large +subscriptions. But although the aggregate result must be great, it by no +means followed that it need be at all large in its individual details. + +[In conclusion, Mr. Dickens made a laughable comparison between the +paying off or purification of the national debt and the purification of +the River Thames.] + + + + +XXXIV. +LONDON, JUNE 5, 1867. + + +[On the above date Mr. Dickens presided at the Ninth Anniversary Festival +of the Railway Benevolent Society, at Willis’s Rooms, and in proposing +the toast of the evening, made the following speech.] + +ALTHOUGH we have not yet left behind us by the distance of nearly fifty +years the time when one of the first literary authorities of this country +insisted upon the speed of the fastest railway train that the Legisture +might disastrously sanction being limited by Act of Parliament to ten +miles an hour, yet it does somehow happen that this evening, and every +evening, there are railway trains running pretty smoothly to Ireland and +to Scotland at the rate of fifty miles an hour; much as it was objected +in its time to vaccination, that it must have a tendency to impart to +human children something of the nature of the cow, whereas I believe to +this very time vaccinated children are found to be as easily defined from +calves as they ever were, and certainly they have no cheapening influence +on the price of veal; much as it was objected that chloroform was a +contravention of the will of Providence, because it lessened +providentially-inflicted pain, which would be a reason for your not +rubbing your face if you had the tooth-ache, or not rubbing your nose if +it itched; so it was evidently predicted that the railway system, even if +anything so absurd could be productive of any result, would infallibly +throw half the nation out of employment; whereas, you observe that the +very cause and occasion of our coming here together to-night is, apart +from the various tributary channels of occupation which it has opened +out, that it has called into existence a specially and directly employed +population of upwards of 200,000 persons. + +Now, gentlemen, it is pretty clear and obvious that upwards of 200,000 +persons engaged upon the various railways of the United Kingdom cannot be +rich; and although their duties require great care and great exactness, +and although our lives are every day, humanly speaking, in the hands of +many of them, still, for the most of these places there will be always +great competition, because they are not posts which require skilled +workmen to hold. Wages, as you know very well, cannot be high where +competition is great, and you also know very well that railway directors, +in the bargains they make, and the salaries which they pay, have to deal +with the money of the shareholders, to whom they are accountable. Thus +it necessarily happens that railway officers and servants are not +remunerated on the whole by any means splendidly, and that they cannot +hope in the ordinary course of things to do more than meet the ordinary +wants and hazards of life. But it is to be observed that the general +hazards are in their case, by reason of the dangerous nature of their +avocations, exceptionally great, so very great, I find, as to be +stateable, on the authority of a parliamentary paper, by the very +startling round of figures, that whereas one railway traveller in +8,000,000 of passengers is killed, one railway servant in every 2,000 is +killed. + +Hence, from general, special, as well, no doubt, for the usual prudential +and benevolent considerations, there came to be established among railway +officers and servants, nine years ago, the Railway Benevolent +Association. I may suppose, therefore, as it was established nine years +ago, that this is the ninth occasion of publishing from this chair the +banns between this institution and the public. Nevertheless, I feel +bound individually to do my duty the same as if it had never been done +before, and to ask whether there is any just cause or impediment why +these two parties—the institution and the public—should not be joined +together in holy charity. As I understand the society, its objects are +five-fold—first, to guarantee annuities which, it is always to be +observed, is paid out of the interest of invested capital, so that those +annuities may be secure and safe—annual pensions, varying from £10 to +£25, to distressed railway officers and servants incapacitated by age, +sickness, or accident; secondly, to guarantee small pensions to +distressed widows; thirdly, to educate and maintain orphan children; +fourthly, to provide temporary relief for all those classes till lasting +relief can be guaranteed out of funds sufficiently large for the purpose; +lastly, to induce railway officers and servants to assure their lives in +some well-established office by sub-dividing the payment of the premiums +into small periodical sums, and also by granting a reversionary bonus of +£10 per cent. on the amount assured from the funds of the institution. + +This is the society we are met to assist—simple, sympathetic, practical, +easy, sensible, unpretending. The number of its members is large, and +rapidly on the increase: they number 12,000; the amount of invested +capital is very nearly £15,000; it has done a world of good and a world +of work in these first nine years of its life; and yet I am proud to say +that the annual cost of the maintenance of the institution is no more +than £250. And now if you do not know all about it in a small compass, +either I do not know all about it myself, or the fault must be in my +“packing.” + +One naturally passes from what the institution is and has done, to what +it wants. Well, it wants to do more good, and it cannot possibly do more +good until it has more money. It cannot safely, and therefore it cannot +honourably, grant more pensions to deserving applicants until it grows +richer, and it cannot grow rich enough for its laudable purpose by its +own unaided self. The thing is absolutely impossible. The means of +these railway officers and servants are far too limited. Even if they +were helped to the utmost by the great railway companies, their means +would still be too limited; even if they were helped—and I hope they +shortly will be—by some of the great corporations of this country, whom +railways have done so much to enrich. These railway officers and +servants, on their road to a very humble and modest superannuation, can +no more do without the help of the great public, than the great public, +on their road from Torquay to Aberdeen, can do without them. Therefore, +I desire to ask the public whether the servants of the great +railways—who, in fact, are their servants, their ready, zealous, +faithful, hard-working servants—whether they have not established, +whether they do not every day establish, a reasonable claim to liberal +remembrance. + +Now, gentlemen, on this point of the case there is a story once told me +by a friend of mine, which seems to my mind to have a certain +application. My friend was an American sea-captain, and, therefore, it +is quite unnecessary to say his story was quite true. He was captain and +part owner of a large American merchant liner. On a certain voyage out, +in exquisite summer weather, he had for cabin passengers one beautiful +young lady, and ten more or less beautiful young gentlemen. Light winds +or dead calms prevailing, the voyage was slow. They had made half their +distance when the ten young gentlemen were all madly in love with the +beautiful young lady. They had all proposed to her, and bloodshed among +the rivals seemed imminent pending the young lady’s decision. On this +extremity the beautiful young lady confided in my friend the captain, who +gave her discreet advice. He said: “If your affections are disengaged, +take that one of the young gentlemen whom you like the best and settle +the question.” To this the beautiful young lady made reply, “I cannot do +that because I like them all equally well.” My friend, who was a man of +resource, hit upon this ingenious expedient, said he, “To-morrow morning +at mid-day, when lunch is announced, do you plunge bodily overboard, head +foremost. I will be alongside in a boat to rescue you, and take the one +of the ten who rushes to your rescue, and then you can afterwards have +him.” The beautiful young lady highly approved, and did accordingly. +But after she plunged in, nine out of the ten more or less beautiful +young gentlemen plunged in after her; and the tenth remained and shed +tears, looking over the side of the vessel. They were all picked up, and +restored dripping to the deck. The beautiful young lady upon seeing them +said, “What am I to do? See what a plight they are in. How can I +possibly choose, because every one of them is equally wet?” Then said my +friend the captain, acting upon a sudden inspiration, “Take the dry one.” +I am sorry to say that she did so, and they lived happy ever afterwards. + +Now, gentleman, in my application of this story, I exactly reverse my +friend the captain’s anecdote, and I entreat the public in looking about +to consider who are fit subjects for their bounty, to give each his hand +with something in it, and not award a dry hand to the industrious railway +servant who is always at his back. And I would ask any one with a doubt +upon this subject to consider what his experience of the railway servant +is from the time of his departure to his arrival at his destination. I +know what mine is. Here he is, in velveteen or in a policeman’s dress, +scaling cabs, storming carriages, finding lost articles by a sort of +instinct, binding up lost umbrellas and walking sticks, wheeling trucks, +counselling old ladies, with a wonderful interest in their affairs—mostly +very complicated—and sticking labels upon all sorts of articles. I look +around—there he is, in a station-master’s uniform, directing and +overseeing, with the head of a general, and with the courteous manners of +a gentleman; and then there is the handsome figure of the guard, who +inspires confidence in timid passengers. I glide out of the station, and +there he is again with his flags in his hand at his post in the open +country, at the level crossing, at the cutting, at the tunnel mouth, and +at every station on the road until our destination is reached. In +regard, therefore, to the railway servants with whom we do come into +contact, we may surely have some natural sympathy, and it is on their +behalf that I this night appeal to you. I beg now to propose “Success to +the Railway Benevolent Society.” + + + + +XXXV. +LONDON, SEPTEMBER 17, 1867. + + +[On presiding at a public Meeting of the Printers’ Readers, held at the +Salisbury Hotel, on the above date, Mr. Dickens said:—] + +THAT as the meeting was convened, not to hear him, but to hear a +statement of facts and figures very nearly affecting the personal +interests of the great majority of those present, his preface to the +proceedings need be very brief. Of the details of the question he knew, +of his own knowledge, absolutely nothing; but he had consented to occupy +the chair on that occasion at the request of the London Association of +Correctors of the Press for two reasons—first, because he thought that +openness and publicity in such cases were a very wholesome example very +much needed at this time, and were highly becoming to a body of men +associated with that great public safeguard—the Press; secondly, because +he knew from some slight practical experience, what the duties of +correctors of the press were, and how their duties were usually +discharged; and he could testify, and did testify, that they were not +mechanical, that they were not mere matters of manipulation and routine; +but that they required from those who performed them much natural +intelligence, much super-added cultivation, readiness of reference, +quickness of resource, an excellent memory, and a clear understanding. +He most gratefully acknowledged that he had never gone through the sheets +of any book that he had written, without having presented to him by the +correctors of the press something that he had overlooked, some slight +inconsistency into which he had fallen, some little lapse he had made—in +short, without having set down in black and white some unquestionable +indication that he had been closely followed through the work by a +patient and trained mind, and not merely by a skilful eye. And in this +declaration he had not the slightest doubt that the great body of his +brother and sister writers would, as a plain act of justice, readily +concur. For these plain reasons he was there; and being there he begged +to assure them that every one present—that every speaker—would have a +patient hearing, whatever his opinions might be. + + * * * * * + +[The proceedings concluded with a very cordial and hearty vote of thanks +to Mr. Dickens for taking the chair on the occasion.] + +Mr. Dickens briefly returned thanks, and expressed the belief that their +very calm and temperate proceedings would finally result in the +establishment of relations of perfect amity between the employers and the +employed, and consequently conduce to the general welfare of both. + + + + +XXXVI. +LONDON, NOVEMBER 2, 1867. + + +[On Saturday evening, November 2, 1867, a grand complimentary farewell +dinner was given to Mr. Dickens at the Freemasons’ Tavern on the occasion +of his revisiting the United States of America. Lord Lytton officiated +as chairman, and proposed as a toast—“A Prosperous Voyage, Health, and +Long Life to our Illustrious Guest and Countryman, Charles Dickens”. The +toast was drunk with all the honours, and one cheer more. Mr. Dickens +then rose, and spoke as follows:] + +NO thanks that I can offer you can express my sense of my reception by +this great assemblage, or can in the least suggest to you how deep the +glowing words of my friend the chairman, and your acceptance of them, +have sunk into my heart. But both combined have so greatly shaken the +composure which I am used to command before an audience, that I hope you +may observe in me some traces of an eloquence more expressive than the +richest words. To say that I am fervently grateful to you is to say +nothing; to say that I can never forget this beautiful sight, is to say +nothing; to say that it brings upon me a rush of emotion not only in the +present, but in the thought of its remembrance in the future by those who +are dearest to me, is to say nothing; but to feel all this for the +moment, even almost to pain, is very much indeed. Mercutio says of the +wound in his breast, dealt him by the hand of a foe, that—“’Tis not so +deep as a well, nor so wide as a church door; but ’tis enough, ’twill +serve.” {220} I may say of the wound in my breast, newly dealt to me by +the hands of my friends, that it is deeper than the soundless sea, and +wider than the whole Catholic Church. I may safely add that it has for +the moment almost stricken me dumb. I should be more than human, and I +assure you I am very human indeed, if I could look around upon this +brilliant representative company and not feel greatly thrilled and +stirred by the presence of so many brother artists, not only in +literature, but also in the sister arts, especially painting, among whose +professors living and unhappily dead, are many of my oldest and best +friends. I hope that I may, without presumption, regard this thronging +of my brothers around me as a testimony on their part that they believe +that the cause of art generally has been safe in my keeping, and that it +has never been falsely dealt with by me. Your resounding cheers just now +would have been but so many cruel reproaches to me if I could not here +declare that, from the earliest days of my career down to this proud +night, I have always tried to be true to my calling. Never unduly to +assert it, on the one hand, and never, on any pretence or consideration, +to permit it to be patronized in my person, has been the steady endeavour +of my life; and I have occasionally been vain enough to hope that I may +leave its social position in England better than I found it. Similarly, +and equally I hope without presumption, I trust that I may take this +general representation of the public here, through so many orders, +pursuits, and degrees, as a token that the public believe that, with a +host of imperfections and shortcomings on my head, I have as a writer, in +my soul and conscience, tried to be as true to them as they have ever +been true to me. And here, in reference to the inner circle of the arts +and the outer circle of the public, I feel it a duty to-night to offer +two remarks. I have in my duty at odd times heard a great deal about +literary sets and cliques, and coteries and barriers; about keeping this +man up, and keeping that man down; about sworn disciples and sworn +unbelievers, and mutual admiration societies, and I know not what other +dragons in the upward path. I began to tread it when I was very young, +without influence, without money, without companion, introducer, or +adviser, and I am bound to put in evidence in this place that I never +lighted on these dragons yet. So have I heard in my day, at divers other +odd times, much generally to the effect that the English people have +little or no love of art for its own sake, and that they do not greatly +care to acknowledge or do honour to the artist. My own experience has +uniformly been exactly the reverse. I can say that of my countrymen, +though I cannot say that of my country. + +And now passing to the immediate occasion of your doing me this great +honour, the story of my going again to America is very easily and briefly +told. Since I was there before a vast and entirely new generation has +arisen in the United States. Since I was there before most of the best +known of my books have been written and published; the new generation and +the books have come together and have kept together, until at length +numbers of those who have so widely and constantly read me; naturally +desiring a little variety in the relationship between us, have expressed +a strong wish that I should read myself. This wish, at first conveyed to +me through public channels and business channels, has gradually become +enforced by an immense accumulation of letters from individuals and +associations of individuals, all expressing in the same hearty, homely, +cordial unaffected way, a kind of personal interest in me—I had almost +said a kind of personal affection for me, which I am sure you would agree +with me it would be dull insensibility on my part not to prize. Little +by little this pressure has become so great that, although, as Charles +Lamb says, my household gods strike a terribly deep root, I have torn +them from their places, and this day week, at this hour, shall be upon +the sea. You will readily conceive that I am inspired besides by a +natural desire to see for myself the astonishing change and progress of a +quarter of a century over there, to grasp the hands of many faithful +friends whom I left there, to see the faces of the multitude of new +friends upon whom I have never looked, and last, not least, to use my +best endeavour to lay down a third cable of intercommunication and +alliance between the old world and the new. Twelve years ago, when +Heaven knows I little thought I should ever be bound upon the voyage +which now lies before me, I wrote in that form of my writings which +obtains by far the most extensive circulation, these words of the +American nation:—“I know full well, whatever little motes my beamy eyes +may have descried in theirs, that they are a kind, large-hearted, +generous, and great people.” In that faith I am going to see them again; +in that faith I shall, please God, return from them in the spring; in +that same faith to live and to die. I told you in the beginning that I +could not thank you enough, and Heaven knows I have most thoroughly kept +my word. If I may quote one other short sentence from myself, let it +imply all that I have left unsaid, and yet most deeply feel. Let it, +putting a girdle round the earth, comprehend both sides of the Atlantic +at once in this moment, and say, as Tiny Tim observes, “God bless us +every one.” + + + + +XXXVII. +BOSTON, APRIL 8, 1868. + + +[Mr. Dickens gave his last Reading at Boston, on the above date. On his +entrance a surprise awaited him. His reading-stand had been decorated +with flowers and palm-leaves by some of the ladies of the city. He +acknowledged this graceful tribute in the following words:—“Before +allowing Dr. Marigold to tell his story in his own peculiar way, I kiss +the kind, fair hands unknown, which have so beautifully decorated my +table this evening.” After the Reading, Mr. Dickens attempted in vain to +retire. Persistent hands demanded “one word more.” Returning to his +desk, pale, with a tear in his eye, that found its way to his voice, he +spoke as follows:—] + +LADIES AND GENTLEMEN,—My gracious and generous welcome in America, which +can never be obliterated from my remembrance, began here. My departure +begins here, too; for I assure you that I have never until this moment +really felt that I am going away. In this brief life of ours, it is sad +to do almost anything for the last time, and I cannot conceal from you, +although my face will so soon be turned towards my native land, and to +all that makes it dear, that it is a sad consideration with me that in a +very few moments from this time, this brilliant hall and all that it +contains, will fade from my view—for ever more. But it is my consolation +that the spirit of the bright faces, the quick perception, the ready +response, the generous and the cheering sounds that have made this place +delightful to me, will remain; and you may rely upon it that that spirit +will abide with me as long as I have sense and sentiment left. + +I do not say this with any limited reference to private friendships that +have for years upon years made Boston a memorable and beloved spot to me, +for such private references have no business in this public place. I say +it purely in remembrance of, and in homage to, the great public heart +before me. + +Ladies and gentlemen, I beg most earnestly, most gratefully, and most +affectionately, to bid you, each and all, farewell. + + + + +XXXVIII. +NEW YORK, APRIL 18, 1863. + + +[On the above date Mr. Dickens was entertained at a farewell dinner at +Delmonico’s Hotel, previous to his return to England. Two hundred +gentlemen sat down to it; Mr. Horace Greeley presiding. In +acknowledgment of the toast of his health, proposed by the chairman, Mr. +Dickens rose and said:—] + +GENTLEMEN,—I cannot do better than take my cue to from your distinguished +president, and refer in my first remarks to his remarks in connexion with +the old, natural, association between you and me. When I received an +invitation from a private association of working members of the press of +New York to dine with them to-day, I accepted that compliment in grateful +remembrance of a calling that was once my own, and in loyal sympathy +towards a brotherhood which, in the spirit, I have never quieted. To the +wholesome training of severe newspaper work, when I was a very young man, +I constantly refer my first successes; and my sons will hereafter testify +of their father that he was always steadily proud of that ladder by which +he rose. If it were otherwise, I should have but a very poor opinion of +their father, which, perhaps, upon the whole, I have not. Hence, +gentlemen, under any circumstances, this company would have been +exceptionally interesting and gratifying to me. But whereas I supposed +that, like the fairies’ pavilion in the “Arabian Nights,” it would be but +a mere handful, and I find it turn out, like the same elastic pavilion, +capable of comprehending a multitude, so much the more proud am I of the +honour of being your guest; for you will readily believe that the more +widely representative of the press in America my entertainers are, the +more I must feel the good-will and the kindly sentiments towards me of +that vast institution. + +Gentlemen, so much of my voice has lately been heard in the land, and I +have for upwards of four hard winter months so contended against what I +have been sometimes quite admiringly assured was “a true American catarrh +”—a possession which I have throughout highly appreciated, though I might +have preferred to be naturalised by any other outward and visible signs—I +say, gentlemen, so much of my voice has lately been heard, that I might +have been contented with troubling you no further from my present +standing-point, were it not a duty with which I henceforth charge myself, +not only here but on every suitable occasion whatsoever and wheresoever, +to express my high and grateful sense of my second reception in America, +and to bear my honest testimony to the national generosity and +magnanimity. Also, to declare how astounded I have been by the amazing +changes that I have seen around me on every side—changes moral, changes +physical, changes in the amount of land subdued and peopled, changes in +the rise of vast new cities, changes in the growth of older cities almost +out of recognition, changes in the graces and amenities of life, changes +in the press, without whose advancement no advancement can be made +anywhere. Nor am I, believe me, so arrogant as to suppose that in +five-and-twenty years there have been no changes in me, and that I had +nothing to learn and no extreme impressions to correct when I was here +first. + +And, gentlemen, this brings me to a point on which I have, ever since I +landed here last November, observed a strict silence, though tempted +sometimes to break it, but in reference to which I will, with your good +leave, take you into my confidence now. Even the press, being human, may +be sometimes mistaken or misinformed, and I rather think that I have in +one or two rare instances known its information to be not perfectly +accurate with reference to myself. Indeed, I have now and again been +more surprised by printed news that I have read of myself than by any +printed news that I have ever read in my present state of existence. +Thus, the vigour and perseverance with which I have for some months past +been collecting materials for and hammering away at a new book on America +have much astonished me, seeing that all that time it has been perfectly +well known to my publishers on both sides of the Atlantic that I +positively declared that no consideration on earth should induce me to +write one. But what I have intended, what I have resolved upon (and this +is the confidence I seek to place in you) is, on my return to England, in +my own person, to bear, for the behoof of my countrymen, such testimony +to the gigantic changes in this country as I have hinted at to-night. +Also, to record that wherever I have been, in the smallest places equally +with the largest, I have been received with unsurpassable politeness, +delicacy, sweet temper, hospitality, consideration, and with +unsurpassable respect for the privacy daily enforced upon me by the +nature of my avocation here, and the state of my health. This testimony, +so long as I live, and so long as my descendants have any legal right in +my books, I shall cause to be re-published, as an appendix to every copy +of those two books of mine in which I have referred to America. And this +I will do and cause to be done, not in mere love and thankfulness, but +because I regard it as an act of plain justice and honour. + +Gentlemen, the transition from my own feelings towards and interest in +America to those of the mass of my countrymen seems to be a natural one; +but, whether or no, I make it with an express object. I was asked in +this very city, about last Christmas time, whether an American was not at +some disadvantage in England as a foreigner. The notion of an American +being regarded in England as a foreigner at all, of his ever being +thought of or spoken of in that character, was so uncommonly incongruous +and absurd to me, that my gravity was, for the moment, quite overpowered. +As soon as it was restored, I said that for years and years past I hoped +I had had as many American friends and had received as many American +visitors as almost any Englishman living, and that my unvarying +experience, fortified by theirs, was that it was enough in England to be +an American to be received with the readiest respect and recognition +anywhere. Hereupon, out of half-a-dozen people, suddenly spoke out two, +one an American gentleman, with a cultivated taste for art, who, finding +himself on a certain Sunday outside the walls of a certain historical +English castle, famous for its pictures, was refused admission there, +according to the strict rules of the establishment on that day, but who, +on merely representing that he was an American gentleman, on his travels, +had, not to say the picture gallery, but the whole castle, placed at his +immediate disposal. The other was a lady, who, being in London, and +having a great desire to see the famous reading-room of the British +Museum, was assured by the English family with whom she stayed that it +was unfortunately impossible, because the place was closed for a week, +and she had only three days there. Upon that lady’s going to the Museum, +as she assured me, alone to the gate, self-introduced as an American +lady, the gate flew open, as it were magically. I am unwillingly bound +to add that she certainly was young and exceedingly pretty. Still, the +porter of that institution is of an obese habit, and, according to the +best of my observation of him, not very impressible. + +Now, gentlemen, I refer to these trifles as a collateral assurance to you +that the Englishman who shall humbly strive, as I hope to do, to be in +England as faithful to America as to England herself, has no previous +conceptions to contend against. Points of difference there have been, +points of difference there are, points of difference there probably +always will be between the two great peoples. But broadcast in England +is sown the sentiment that those two peoples are essentially one, and +that it rests with them jointly to uphold the great Anglo-Saxon race, to +which our president has referred, and all its great achievements before +the world. And if I know anything of my countrymen—and they give me +credit for knowing something—if I know anything of my countrymen, +gentlemen, the English heart is stirred by the fluttering of those Stars +and Stripes, as it is stirred by no other flag that flies except its own. +If I know my countrymen, in any and every relation towards America, they +begin, not as Sir Anthony Absolute recommended that lovers should begin, +with “a little aversion,” but with a great liking and a profound respect; +and whatever the little sensitiveness of the moment, or the little +official passion, or the little official policy now, or then, or here, or +there, may be, take my word for it, that the first enduring, great, +popular consideration in England is a generous construction of justice. + +Finally, gentlemen, and I say this subject to your correction, I do +believe that from the great majority of honest minds on both sides, there +cannot be absent the conviction that it would be better for this globe to +be riven by an earthquake, fired by a comet, overrun by an iceberg, and +abandoned to the Arctic fox and bear, than that it should present the +spectacle of these two great nations, each of which has, in its own way +and hour, striven so hard and so successfully for freedom, ever again +being arrayed the one against the other. Gentlemen, I cannot thank your +president enough or you enough for your kind reception of my health, and +of my poor remarks, but, believe me, I do thank you with the utmost +fervour of which my soul is capable. + + + + +XXXIX. +NEW YORK, APRIL 20, 1868. + + +[Mr. Dickens’s last Reading in the United States was given at the +Steinway Hall on the above date. The task finished he was about to +retire, but a tremendous burst of applause stopped him. He came forward +and spoke thus:—] + +LADIES AND GENTLEMEN,—The shadow of one word has impended over me this +evening, and the time has come at length when the shadow must fall. It +is but a very short one, but the weight of such things is not measured by +their length, and two much shorter words express the round of our human +existence. When I was reading “David Copperfield” a few evenings since, +I felt there was more than usual significance in the words of Peggotty, +“My future life lies over the sea.” And when I closed this book just +now, I felt most keenly that I was shortly to establish such an _alibi_ +as would have satisfied even the elder Mr. Weller. The relations which +have been set up between us, while they have involved for me something +more than mere devotion to a task, have been by you sustained with the +readiest sympathy and the kindest acknowledgment. + +Those relations must now be broken for ever. Be assured, however, that +you will not pass from my mind. I shall often realise you as I see you +now, equally by my winter fire and in the green English summer weather. +I shall never recall you as a mere public audience, but rather as a host +of personal friends, and ever with the greatest gratitude, tenderness, +and consideration. Ladies and gentlemen, I beg to bid you farewell. God +bless you, and God bless the land in which I leave you. + + + + +XL. +LIVERPOOL, APRIL 10, 1869. + + +[The following speech was delivered by Mr. Dickens at a Banquet held in +his honour at St. George’s Hall, Liverpool, after his health had been +proposed by Lord Dufferin.] + +MR. MAYOR, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, although I have been so well accustomed +of late to the sound of my own voice in this neighbourhood as to hear it +with perfect composure, the occasion is, believe me, very, very different +in respect of those overwhelming voices of yours. As Professor Wilson +once confided to me in Edinburgh that I had not the least idea, from +hearing him in public, what a magnificent speaker he found himself to be +when he was quite alone—so you can form no conception, from the specimen +before you, of the eloquence with which I shall thank you again and again +in some of the innermost moments of my future life. Often and often, +then, God willing, my memory will recall this brilliant scene, and will +re-illuminate this banquet-hall. I, faithful to this place in its +present aspect, will observe it exactly as it stands—not one man’s seat +empty, not one woman’s fair face absent, while life and memory abide by +me. + +Mr. Mayor, Lord Dufferin in his speech so affecting to me, so eloquently +uttered, and so rapturously received, made a graceful and gracious +allusion to the immediate occasion of my present visit to your noble +city. It is no homage to Liverpool, based upon a moment’s untrustworthy +enthusiasm, but it is the solid fact built upon the rock of experience +that when I first made up my mind, after considerable deliberation, +systematically to meet my readers in large numbers, face to face, and to +try to express myself to them through the breath of life, Liverpool stood +foremost among the great places out of London to which I looked with +eager confidence and pleasure. And why was this? Not merely because of +the reputation of its citizens for generous estimation of the arts; not +merely because I had unworthily filled the chair of its great +self-educational institution long ago; not merely because the place had +been a home to me since the well-remembered day when its blessed roofs +and steeples dipped into the Mersey behind me on the occasion of my first +sailing away to see my generous friends across the Atlantic twenty-seven +years ago. Not for one of those considerations, but because it had been +my happiness to have a public opportunity of testing the spirit of its +people. I had asked Liverpool for help towards the worthy preservation +of Shakespeare’s house. On another occasion I had ventured to address +Liverpool in the names of Leigh Hunt and Sheridan Knowles. On still +another occasion I had addressed it in the cause of the brotherhood and +sisterhood of letters and the kindred arts, and on each and all the +response had been unsurpassably spontaneous, open-handed, and munificent. + +Mr. Mayor, and ladies and gentlemen, if I may venture to take a small +illustration of my present position from my own peculiar craft, I would +say that there is this objection in writing fiction to giving a story an +autobiographical form, that through whatever dangers the narrator may +pass, it is clear unfortunately to the reader beforehand that he must +have come through them somehow else he could not have lived to tell the +tale. Now, in speaking fact, when the fact is associated with such +honours as those with which you have enriched me, there is this singular +difficulty in the way of returning thanks, that the speaker must +infallibly come back to himself through whatever oratorical disasters he +may languish on the road. Let me, then, take the plainer and simpler +middle course of dividing my subject equally between myself and you. Let +me assure you that whatever you have accepted with pleasure, either by +word of pen or by word of mouth, from me, you have greatly improved in +the acceptance. As the gold is said to be doubly and trebly refined +which has seven times passed the furnace, so a fancy may be said to +become more and more refined each time it passes through the human heart. +You have, and you know you have, brought to the consideration of me that +quality in yourselves without which I should but have beaten the air. +Your earnestness has stimulated mine, your laughter has made me laugh, +and your tears have overflowed my eyes. All that I can claim for myself +in establishing the relations which exist between us is constant fidelity +to hard work. My literary fellows about me, of whom I am so proud to see +so many, know very well how true it is in all art that what seems the +easiest done is oftentimes the most difficult to do, and that the +smallest truth may come of the greatest pains—much, as it occurred to me +at Manchester the other day, as the sensitive touch of Mr. Whitworth’s +measuring machine, comes at last, of Heaven and Manchester and its mayor +only know how much hammering—my companions-in-arms know thoroughly well, +and I think it only right the public should know too, that in our careful +toil and trouble, and in our steady striving for excellence—not in any +little gifts, misused by fits and starts—lies our highest duty at once to +our calling, to one another, to ourselves, and to you. + +Ladies and gentlemen, before sitting down I find that I have to clear +myself of two very unexpected accusations. The first is a most singular +charge preferred against me by my old friend Lord Houghton, that I have +been somewhat unconscious of the merits of the House of Lords. Now, +ladies and gentlemen, seeing that I have had some few not altogether +obscure or unknown personal friends in that assembly, seeing that I had +some little association with, and knowledge of, a certain obscure peer +lately known in England by the name of Lord Brougham; seeing that I +regard with some admiration and affection another obscure peer wholly +unknown in literary circles, called Lord Lytton; seeing also that I have +had for some years some slight admiration of the extraordinary judicial +properties and amazingly acute mind of a certain Lord Chief Justice +popularly known by the name of Cockburn; and also seeing that there is no +man in England whom I respect more in his public capacity, whom I love +more in his private capacity, or from whom I have received more +remarkable proofs of his honour and love of literature than another +obscure nobleman called Lord Russell; taking these circumstances into +consideration, I was rather amazed by my noble friend’s accusation. When +I asked him, on his sitting down, what amazing devil possessed him to +make this charge, he replied that he had never forgotten the days of Lord +Verisopht. Then, ladies and gentlemen, I understood it all. Because it +is a remarkable fact that in the days when that depreciative and +profoundly unnatural character was invented there was no Lord Houghton in +the House of Lords. And there was in the House of Commons a rather +indifferent member called Richard Monckton Milnes. + +Ladies and gentlemen, to conclude, for the present, I close with the +other charge of my noble friend, and here I am more serious, and I may be +allowed perhaps to express my seriousness in half a dozen plain words. +When I first took literature as my profession in England, I calmly +resolved within myself that, whether I succeeded or whether I failed, +literature should be my sole profession. It appeared to me at that time +that it was not so well understood in England as it was in other +countries that literature was a dignified profession, by which any man +might stand or fall. I made a compact with myself that in my person +literature should stand, and by itself, of itself, and for itself; and +there is no consideration on earth which would induce me to break that +bargain. + +Ladies and gentlemen, finally allow me to thank you for your great +kindness, and for the touching earnestness with which you have drunk my +health. I should have thanked you with all my heart if it had not so +unfortunately happened that, for many sufficient reasons, I lost my heart +at between half-past six and half-past seven to-night. + + + + +THE OXFORD AND HARVARD BOAT RACE. +SYDENHAM, AUGUST 30, 1869. + + +[The International University Boat Race having taken place on August 27, +the London Rowing Club invited the Crews to a Dinner at the Crystal +Palace on the following Monday. The dinner was followed by a grand +display of pyrotechnics. Mr. Dickens, in proposing the health of the +Crews, made the following speech:] + +GENTLEMEN, flushed with fireworks, I can warrant myself to you as about +to imitate those gorgeous illusions by making a brief spirt and then +dying out. And, first of all, as an invited visitor of the London Rowing +Club on this most interesting occasion, I will beg, in the name of the +other invited visitors present—always excepting the distinguished guests +who are the cause of our meeting—to thank the president for the modesty +and the courtesy with which he has deputed to one of us the most +agreeable part of his evening’s duty. It is the more graceful in him to +do this because he can hardly fail to see that he might very easily do it +himself, as this is a case of all others in which it is according to good +taste and the very principles of things that the great social vice, +speech-making, should hide it diminished head before the great social +virtue action. However, there is an ancient story of a lady who threw +her glove into an arena full of wild beasts to tempt her attendant lover +to climb down and reclaim it. The lover, rightly inferring from the +action the worth of the lady, risked his life for the glove, and then +threw it rightly in her face as a token of his eternal adieu. {239} I +take up the President’s glove, on the contrary, as a proof of his much +higher worth, and of my real interest in the cause in which it was thrown +down, and I now profess my readiness to do even injustice to the duty +which he has assigned me. + +Gentlemen, a very remarkable and affecting volume was published in the +United States within a short time before my last visit to that hospitable +land, containing ninety-five biographies of young men, for the most part +well-born and well nurtured, and trained in various peaceful pursuits of +life, who, when the flag of their country waved them from those quiet +paths in which they were seeking distinction of various kinds, took arms +in the dread civil war which elicited so much bravery on both sides, and +died in the defence of their country. These great spirits displayed +extraordinary aptitude in the acquisition, even in the invention, of +military tactics, in the combining and commanding of great masses of men, +in surprising readiness of self-resource for the general good, in +humanely treating the sick and the wounded, and in winning to themselves +a very rare amount of personal confidence and trust. They had all risen +to be distinguished soldiers; they had all done deeds of great heroism; +they had all combined with their valour and self-devotion a serene +cheerfulness, a quiet modesty, and a truly Christian spirit; and they had +all been educated in one school—Harvard University. + +Gentlemen, nothing was more remarkable in these fine descendants of our +forefathers than the invincible determination with which they fought +against odds, and the undauntable spirit with which they resisted defeat. +I ask you, who will say after last Friday that Harvard University is less +true to herself in peace than she was in war? I ask you, who will not +recognise in her boat’s crew the leaven of her soldiers, and who does not +feel that she has now a greater right than ever to be proud of her sons, +and take these sons to her breast when they return with resounding +acclamations? It is related of the Duke of Wellington that he once told +a lady who foolishly protested that she would like to see a great victory +that there was only one thing worse than a great victory, and that was a +great defeat. + +But, gentlemen, there is another sense in which to use the term a great +defeat. Such is the defeat of a handful of daring fellows who make a +preliminary dash of three or four thousand stormy miles to meet great +conquerors on their own domain—who do not want the stimulus of friends +and home, but who sufficiently hear and feel their own dear land in the +shouts and cheers of another—and who strive to the last with a desperate +tenacity that makes the beating of them a new feather in the proudest +cap. Gentlemen, you agree with me that such a defeat is a great, noble +part of a manly, wholesome action; and I say that it is in the essence +and life-blood of such a defeat to become at last sure victory. + +Now, gentlemen, you know perfectly well the toast I am going to propose, +and you know equally well that in thus glancing first towards our friends +of the white stripes, I merely anticipate and respond to the instinctive +courtesy of Oxford towards our brothers from a distance—a courtesy +extending, I hope, and I do not doubt, to any imaginable limits except +allowing them to take the first place in last Friday’s match, if they +could by any human and honourable means be kept in the second. I will +not avail myself of the opportunity provided for me by the absence of the +greater part of the Oxford crew—indeed, of all but one, and that, its +most modest and devoted member—I will not avail myself of the golden +opportunity considerately provided for me to say a great deal in honour +of the Oxford crew. I know that the gentleman who attends here attends +under unusual anxieties and difficulties, and that if he were less in +earnest his filial affection could not possibly allow him to be here. + +It is therefore enough for me, gentlemen, and enough for you, that I +should say here, and now, that we all unite with one accord in regarding +the Oxford crew as the pride and flower of England—and that we should +consider it very weak indeed to set anything short of England’s very best +in opposition to or competition with America; though it certainly must be +confessed—I am bound in common justice and honour to admit it—it must be +confessed in disparagement of the Oxford men, as I heard a discontented +gentleman remark—last Friday night, about ten o’clock, when he was +baiting a very small horse in the Strand—he was one of eleven with pipes +in a chaise cart—I say it must be admitted in disparagement of the Oxford +men on the authority of this gentleman, that they have won so often that +they could afford to lose a little now, and that “they ought to do it, +but they won’t.” + +Gentlemen, in drinking to both crews, and in offering the poor testimony +of our thanks in acknowledgment of the gallant spectacle which they +presented to countless thousands last Friday, I am sure I express not +only your feeling, and my feeling, and the feeling of the Blue, but also +the feeling of the whole people of England, when I cordially give them +welcome to our English waters and English ground, and also bid them “God +speed” in their voyage home. As the greater includes the less, and the +sea holds the river, so I think it is no very bold augury to predict that +in the friendly contests yet to come and to take place, I hope, on both +sides of the Atlantic—there are great river triumphs for Harvard +University yet in store. Gentlemen, I warn the English portion of this +audience that these are very dangerous men. Remember that it was an +undergraduate of Harvard University who served as a common seaman two +years before the mast, {242} and who wrote about the best sea book in the +English tongue. Remember that it was one of those young American +gentlemen who sailed his mite of a yacht across the Atlantic in +mid-winter, and who sailed in her to sink or swim with the men who +believed in him. + +And now, gentlemen, in conclusion, animated by your cordial acquiescence, +I will take upon myself to assure our brothers from a distance that the +utmost enthusiasm with which they can be received on their return home +will find a ready echo in every corner of England—and further, that none +of their immediate countrymen—I use the qualifying term immediate, for we +are, as our president said, fellow countrymen, thank God—that none of +their compatriots who saw, or who will read of, what they did in this +great race, can be more thoroughly imbued with a sense of their +indomitable courage and their high deserts than are their rivals and +their hosts to-night. Gentlemen, I beg to propose to you to drink the +crews of Harvard and Oxford University, and I beg to couple with that +toast the names of Mr. Simmons and Mr. Willan. + + + + +XLII. +BIRMINGHAM, SEPTEMBER 27, 1869. + + +[Inaugural Address on the opening of the Winter Session of the Birmingham +and Midland Institute. + +One who was present during the delivery of the following speech, informs +the editor that “no note of any kind was referred to by Mr. +Dickens—except the Quotation from Sydney Smith. The address, evidently +carefully prepared, was delivered without a single pause, in Mr. +Dickens’s best manner, and was a very great success.”] + +LADIES AND GENTLEMEN,—We often hear of our common country that it is an +over-populated one, that it is an over-pauperized one, that it is an +over-colonizing one, and that it is an over-taxed one. Now, I entertain, +especially of late times, the heretical belief that it is an over-talked +one, and that there is a deal of public speech-making going about in +various directions which might be advantageously dispensed with. If I +were free to act upon this conviction, as president for the time being of +the great institution so numerously represented here, I should +immediately and at once subside into a golden silence, which would be of +a highly edifying, because of a very exemplary character. But I happen +to be the institution’s willing servant, not its imperious master, and it +exacts tribute of mere silver or copper speech—not to say brazen—from +whomsoever it exalts to my high office. Some African tribes—not to draw +the comparison disrespectfully—some savage African tribes, when they make +a king require him perhaps to achieve an exhausting foot-race under the +stimulus of considerable popular prodding and goading, or perhaps to be +severely and experimentally knocked about the head by his Privy Council, +or perhaps to be dipped in a river full of crocodiles, or perhaps to +drink immense quantities of something nasty out of a calabash—at all +events, to undergo some purifying ordeal in presence of his admiring +subjects. + +I must confess that I became rather alarmed when I was duly warned by +your constituted authorities that whatever I might happen to say here +to-night would be termed an inaugural address on the entrance upon a new +term of study by the members of your various classes; for, besides that, +the phrase is something high-sounding for my taste, I avow that I do look +forward to that blessed time when every man shall inaugurate his own work +for himself, and do it. I believe that we shall then have inaugurated a +new era indeed, and one in which the Lord’s Prayer will become a +fulfilled prophecy upon this earth. Remembering, however, that you may +call anything by any name without in the least changing its +nature—bethinking myself that you may, if you be so minded, call a +butterfly a buffalo, without advancing a hair’s breadth towards making it +one—I became composed in my mind, and resolved to stick to the very +homely intention I had previously formed. This was merely to tell you, +the members, students, and friends of the Birmingham and Midland +Institute—firstly, what you cannot possibly want to know, (this is a very +popular oratorical theme); secondly, what your institution has done; and, +thirdly, what, in the poor opinion of its President for the time being, +remains for it to do and not to do. + +Now, first, as to what you cannot possibly want to know. You cannot need +from me any oratorical declamation concerning the abstract advantages of +knowledge or the beauties of self-improvement. If you had any such +requirement you would not be here. I conceive that you are here because +you have become thoroughly penetrated with such principles, either in +your own persons or in the persons of some striving fellow-creatures, on +whom you have looked with interest and sympathy. I conceive that you are +here because you feel the welfare of the great chiefly adult educational +establishment, whose doors stand really open to all sorts and conditions +of people, to be inseparable from the best welfare of your great town and +its neighbourhood. Nay, if I take a much wider range than that, and say +that we all—every one of us here—perfectly well know that the benefits of +such an establishment must extend far beyond the limits of this midland +county—its fires and smoke,—and must comprehend, in some sort, the whole +community, I do not strain the truth. It was suggested by Mr. Babbage, +in his ninth “Bridgewater Treatise,” that a mere spoken word—a single +articulated syllable thrown into the air—may go on reverberating through +illimitable space for ever and for ever, seeing that there is no rim +against which it can strike—no boundary at which it can possibly arrive. +Similarly it may be said—not as an ingenious speculation, but as a +stedfast and absolute fact—that human calculation cannot limit the +influence of one atom of wholesome knowledge patiently acquired, modestly +possessed, and faithfully used. + +As the astronomers tell us that it is probable that there are in the +universe innumerable solar systems besides ours, to each of which myriads +of utterly unknown and unseen stars belong, so it is certain that every +man, however obscure, however far removed from the general recognition, +is one of a group of men impressible for good, and impressible for evil, +and that it is in the eternal nature of things that he cannot really +improve himself without in some degree improving other men. And observe, +this is especially the case when he has improved himself in the teeth of +adverse circumstances, as in a maturity succeeding to a neglected or an +ill-taught youth, in the few daily hours remaining to him after ten or +twelve hours’ labour, in the few pauses and intervals of a life of toil; +for then his fellows and companions have assurance that he can have known +no favouring conditions, and that they can do what he has done, in +wresting some enlightenment and self-respect from what Lord Lytton finely +calls— + + “Those twin gaolers of the daring heart, + Low birth and iron fortune.” + +As you have proved these truths in your own experience or in your own +observation, and as it may be safely assumed that there can be very few +persons in Birmingham, of all places under heaven, who would contest the +position that the more cultivated the employed the better for the +employer, and the more cultivated the employer the better for the +employed; therefore, my references to what you do not want to know shall +here cease and determine. + +Next, with reference to what your institution has done on my summary, +which shall be as concise and as correct as my information and my +remembrance of it may render possible, I desire to lay emphatic stress. +Your institution, sixteen years old, and in which masters and workmen +study together, has outgrown the ample edifice in which it receives its +2,500 or 2,600 members and students. It is a most cheering sign of its +vigorous vitality that of its industrial-students almost half are +artisans in the receipt of weekly wages. I think I am correct in saying +that 400 others are clerks, apprentices, tradesmen, or tradesmen’s sons. +I note with particular pleasure the adherence of a goodly number of the +gentler sex, without whom no institution whatever can truly claim to be +either a civilising or a civilised one. The increased attendance at your +educational classes is always greatest on the part of the artisans—the +class within my experience the least reached in any similar institutions +elsewhere, and whose name is the oftenest and the most constantly taken +in vain. But it is specially reached here, not improbably because it is, +as it should be, specially addressed in the foundation of the industrial +department, in the allotment of the direction of the society’s affairs, +and in the establishment of what are called its penny classes—a bold, +and, I am happy to say, a triumphantly successful experiment, which +enables the artisan to obtain sound evening instruction in subjects +directly bearing upon his daily usefulness or on his daily happiness, as +arithmetic (elementary and advanced), chemistry, physical geography, and +singing, on payment of the astoundingly low fee of a single penny every +time he attends the class. I beg emphatically to say that I look upon +this as one of the most remarkable schemes ever devised for the +educational behoof of the artisan, and if your institution had done +nothing else in all its life, I would take my stand by it on its having +done this. + +Apart, however, from its industrial department, it has its general +department, offering all the advantages of a first-class literary +institution. It has its reading-rooms, its library, its chemical +laboratory, its museum, its art department, its lecture hall, and its +long list of lectures on subjects of various and comprehensive interest, +delivered by lecturers of the highest qualifications. Very well. But it +may be asked, what are the practical results of all these appliances? +Now, let us suppose a few. Suppose that your institution should have +educated those who are now its teachers. That would be a very remarkable +fact. Supposing, besides, it should, so to speak, have educated +education all around it, by sending forth numerous and efficient teachers +into many and divers schools. Suppose the young student, reared +exclusively in its laboratory, should be presently snapped up for the +laboratory of the great and famous hospitals. Suppose that in nine years +its industrial students should have carried off a round dozen of the much +competed for prizes awarded by the Society of Arts and the Government +department, besides two local prizes originating in the generosity of a +Birmingham man. Suppose that the Town Council, having it in trust to +find an artisan well fit to receive the Whitworth prizes, should find him +here. Suppose that one of the industrial students should turn his +chemical studies to the practical account of extracting gold from waste +colour water, and of taking it into custody, in the very act of running +away with hundreds of pounds down the town drains. Suppose another +should perceive in his books, in his studious evenings, what was amiss +with his master’s until then inscrutably defective furnace, and should go +straight—to the great annual saving of that master—and put it right. +Supposing another should puzzle out the means, until then quite unknown +in England, of making a certain description of coloured glass. Supposing +another should qualify himself to vanquish one by one, as they daily +arise, all the little difficulties incidental to his calling as an +electro-plater, and should be applied to by his companions in the shop in +all emergencies under the name of the “Encyclopædia.” Suppose a long +procession of such cases, and then consider that these are not +suppositions at all, but are plain, unvarnished facts, culminating in the +one special and significant fact that, with a single solitary exception, +every one of the institution’s industrial students who have taken its +prizes within ten years, have since climbed to higher situations in their +way of life. + +As to the extent to which the institution encourages the artisan to +think, and so, for instance, to rise superior to the little shackling +prejudices and observances perchance existing in his trade when they will +not bear the test of inquiry, that is only to be equalled by the extent +to which it encourages him to feel. There is a certain tone of modest +manliness pervading all the little facts which I have looked through +which I found remarkably impressive. The decided objection on the part +of industrial students to attend classes in their working clothes, +breathes this tone, as being a graceful and at the same time perfectly +independent recognition of the place and of one another. And this tone +is admirably illustrated in a different way, in the case of a poor +bricklayer, who, being in temporary reverses through the illness of his +family, and having consequently been obliged to part with his best +clothes, and being therefore missed from his classes, in which he had +been noticed as a very hard worker, was persuaded to attend them in his +working clothes. He replied, “No, it was not possible. It must not be +thought of. It must not come into question for a moment. It would be +supposed, or it might be thought, that he did it to attract attention.” +And the same man being offered by one of the officers a loan of money to +enable him to rehabilitate his appearance, positively declined it, on the +ground that he came to the institution to learn and to know better how to +help himself, not otherwise to ask help, or to receive help from any man. +Now, I am justified in calling this the tone of the institution, because +it is no isolated instance, but is a fair and honourable sample of the +spirit of the place, and as such I put it at the conclusion—though last +certainly not least—of my references to what your institution has +indubitably done. + +Well, ladies and gentlemen, I come at length to what, in the humble +opinion of the evanescent officer before you, remains for the institution +to do, and not to do. As Mr. Carlyle has it towards the closing pages of +his grand history of the French Revolution, “This we are now with due +brevity to glance at; and then courage, oh listener, I see land!” {250} +I earnestly hope—and I firmly believe—that your institution will do +henceforth as it has done hitherto; it can hardly do better. I hope and +believe that it will know among its members no distinction of persons, +creed, or party, but that it will conserve its place of assemblage as a +high, pure ground, on which all such considerations shall merge into the +one universal, heaven-sent aspiration of the human soul to be wiser and +better. I hope and believe that it will always be expansive and elastic; +for ever seeking to devise new means of enlarging the circle of its +members, of attracting to itself the confidence of still greater and +greater numbers, and never evincing any more disposition to stand still +than time does, or life does, or the seasons do. And above all things, I +hope, and I feel confident from its antecedents, that it will never allow +any consideration on the face of the earth to induce it to patronise or +to be patronised, for I verily believe that the bestowal and receipt of +patronage in such wise has been a curse in England, and that it has done +more to prevent really good objects, and to lower really high character, +than the utmost efforts of the narrowest antagonism could have effected +in twice the time. + +I have no fear that the walls of the Birmingham and Midland Institute +will ever tremble responsive to the croakings of the timid opponents of +intellectual progress; but in this connexion generally I cannot forbear +from offering a remark which is much upon my mind. It is commonly +assumed—much too commonly—that this age is a material age, and that a +material age is an irreligious age. I have been pained lately to see +this assumption repeated in certain influential quarters for which I have +a high respect, and desire to have a higher. I am afraid that by dint of +constantly being reiterated, and reiterated without protest, this +assumption—which I take leave altogether to deny—may be accepted by the +more unthinking part of the public as unquestionably true; just as +caricaturists and painters, professedly making a portrait of some public +man, which was not in the least like him to begin with, have gone on +repeating and repeating it until the public came to believe that it must +be exactly like him, simply because it was like itself, and really have +at last, in the fulness of time, grown almost disposed to resent upon him +their tardy discovery—really to resent upon him their late discovery—that +he was not like it. I confess, standing here in this responsible +situation, that I do not understand this much-used and much-abused +phrase—the “material age.” I cannot comprehend—if anybody can I very +much doubt—its logical signification. For instance, has electricity +become more material in the mind of any sane or moderately insane man, +woman, or child, because of the discovery that in the good providence of +God it could be made available for the service and use of man to an +immeasurably greater extent than for his destruction? Do I make a more +material journey to the bed-side of my dying parent or my dying child +when I travel there at the rate of sixty miles an hour, than when I +travel thither at the rate of six? Rather, in the swiftest case, does +not my agonised heart become over-fraught with gratitude to that Supreme +Beneficence from whom alone could have proceeded the wonderful means of +shortening my suspense? What is the materiality of the cable or the wire +compared with the materiality of the spark? What is the materiality of +certain chemical substances that we can weigh or measure, imprison or +release, compared with the materiality of their appointed affinities and +repulsions presented to them from the instant of their creation to the +day of judgment? When did this so-called material age begin? With the +use of clothing; with the discovery of the compass; with the invention of +the art of printing? Surely, it has been a long time about; and which is +the more material object, the farthing tallow candle that will not give +me light, or that flame of gas which will? + +No, ladies and gentlemen, do not let us be discouraged or deceived by any +fine, vapid, empty words. The true material age is the stupid Chinese +age, in which no new or grand revelations of nature are granted, because +they are ignorantly and insolently repelled, instead of being diligently +and humbly sought. The difference between the ancient fiction of the mad +braggart defying the lightning and the modern historical picture of +Franklin drawing it towards his kite, in order that he might the more +profoundly study that which was set before him to be studied (or it would +not have been there), happily expresses to my mind the distinction +between the much-maligned material sages—material in one sense, I +suppose, but in another very immaterial sages—of the Celestial Empire +school. Consider whether it is likely or unlikely, natural or unnatural, +reasonable or unreasonable, that I, a being capable of thought, and +finding myself surrounded by such discovered wonders on every hand, +should sometimes ask myself the question—should put to myself the solemn +consideration—can these things be among those things which might have +been disclosed by divine lips nigh upon two thousand years ago, but that +the people of that time could not bear them? And whether this be so or +no, if I am so surrounded on every hand, is not my moral responsibility +tremendously increased thereby, and with it my intelligence and +submission as a child of Adam and of the dust, before that Shining Source +which equally of all that is granted and all that is withheld holds in +His mighty hands the unapproachable mysteries of life and death. + +To the students of your industrial classes generally I have had it in my +mind, first, to commend the short motto, in two words, +“Courage—Persevere.” This is the motto of a friend and worker. Not +because the eyes of Europe are upon them, for I don’t in the least +believe it; nor because the eyes of even England are upon them, for I +don’t in the least believe it; not because their doings will be +proclaimed with blast of trumpet at street corners, for no such musical +performances will take place; not because self-improvement is at all +certain to lead to worldly success, but simply because it is good and +right of itself, and because, being so, it does assuredly bring with it +its own resources and its own rewards. I would further commend to them a +very wise and witty piece of advice on the conduct of the understanding +which was given more than half a century ago by the Rev. Sydney +Smith—wisest and wittiest of the friends I have lost. He says—and he is +speaking, you will please understand, as I speak, to a school of +volunteer students—he says: “There is a piece of foppery which is to be +cautiously guarded against, the foppery of universality, of knowing all +sciences and excelling in all arts—chymistry, mathematics, algebra, +dancing, history, reasoning, riding, fencing, Low Dutch, High Dutch, and +natural philosophy. In short, the modern precept of education very often +is, ‘Take the Admirable Crichton for your model, I would have you +ignorant of nothing.’ Now,” says he, “my advice, on the contrary, is to +have the courage to be ignorant of a great number of things, in order +that you may avoid the calamity of being ignorant of everything.” + +To this I would superadd a little truth, which holds equally good of my +own life and the life of every eminent man I have ever known. The one +serviceable, safe, certain, remunerative, attainable quality in every +study and in every pursuit is the quality of attention. My own invention +or imagination, such as it is, I can most truthfully assure you, would +never have served me as it has, but for the habit of commonplace, humble, +patient, daily, toiling, drudging attention. Genius, vivacity, quickness +of penetration, brilliancy in association of ideas—such mental qualities, +like the qualities of the apparition of the externally armed head in +_Macbeth_, will not be commanded; but attention, after due term of +submissive service, always will. Like certain plants which the poorest +peasant may grow in the poorest soil, it can be cultivated by any one, +and it is certain in its own good season to bring forth flowers and +fruit. I can most truthfully assure you by-the-by, that this eulogium on +attention is so far quite disinterested on my part as that it has not the +least reference whatever to the attention with which you have honoured +me. + +Well, ladies and gentlemen, I have done. I cannot but reflect how often +you have probably heard within these walls one of the foremost men, and +certainly one of the very best speakers, if not the very best, in +England. I could not say to myself, when I began just now, in +Shakespeare’s line— + + “I will be BRIGHT and shining gold,” + +but I could say to myself, and I did say to myself, “I will be as natural +and easy as I possibly can,” because my heart has all been in my subject, +and I bear an old love towards Birmingham and Birmingham men. I have +said that I bear an old love towards Birmingham and Birmingham men; let +me amend a small omission, and add “and Birmingham women.” This ring I +wear on my finger now is an old Birmingham gift, and if by rubbing it I +could raise the spirit that was obedient to Aladdin’s ring, I heartily +assure you that my first instruction to that genius on the spot should be +to place himself at Birmingham’s disposal in the best of causes. + + * * * * * + +[In acknowledging the vote of thanks, Mr. Dickens said:—] + +Ladies and gentlemen, as I hope it is more than possible that I shall +have the pleasure of meeting you again before Christmas is out, and shall +have the great interest of seeing the faces and touching the bands of the +successful competitors in your lists, I will not cast upon that +anticipated meeting the terrible foreshadowing of dread which must +inevitably result from a second speech. I thank you most heartily, and I +most sincerely and fervently say to you, “Good night, and God bless you.” +In reference to the appropriate and excellent remarks of Mr. Dixon, I +will now discharge my conscience of my political creed, which is +contained in two articles, and has no reference to any party or persons. +My faith in the people governing is, on the whole, infinitesimal; my +faith in the People governed is, on the whole, illimitable. + + + + +XLIII. +BIRMINGHAM, JANUARY 6, 1870. + + +[On the evening of the above date, Mr. Dickens, as President of the +Birmingham and Midland Institute, distributed the prizes and certificates +awarded to the most successful students in the first year. The +proceedings took place in the Town Hall: Mr. Dickens entered at eight +o’clock, accompanied by the officers of the Institute, and was received +with loud applause. After the lapse of a minute or two, he rose and +said:—] + +LADIES AND GENTLEMEN,—When I last had the honour to preside over a +meeting of the Institution which again brings us together, I took +occasion to remark upon a certain superabundance of public speaking which +seems to me to distinguish the present time. It will require very little +self-denial on my part to practise now what I preached then; firstly, +because I said my little say that night; and secondly, because we have +definite and highly interesting action before us to-night. We have now +to bestow the rewards which have been brilliantly won by the most +successful competitors in the society’s lists. I say the most +successful, because to-night we should particularly observe, I think, +that there is success in all honest endeavour, and that there is some +victory gained in every gallant struggle that is made. To strive at all +involves a victory achieved over sloth, inertness, and indifference; and +competition for these prizes involves, besides, in the vast majority of +cases, competition with and mastery asserted over circumstances adverse +to the effort made. Therefore, every losing competitor among my hearers +may be certain that he has still won much—very much—and that he can well +afford to swell the triumph of his rivals who have passed him in the +race. + +I have applied the word “rewards” to these prizes, and I do so, not +because they represent any great intrinsic worth in silver or gold, but +precisely because they do not. They represent what is above all +price—what can be stated in no arithmetical figures, and what is one of +the great needs of the human soul—encouraging sympathy. They are an +assurance to every student present or to come in your institution, that +he does not work either neglected or unfriended, and that he is watched, +felt for, stimulated, and appreciated. Such an assurance, conveyed in +the presence of this large assembly, and striking to the breasts of the +recipients that thrill which is inseparable from any great united +utterance of feeling, is a reward, to my thinking, as purely worthy of +the labour as the labour itself is worthy of the reward; and by a +sensitive spirit can never be forgotten. + +[One of the prize-takers was a Miss Winkle, a name suggestive of +“Pickwick,” which was received with laugher. Mr. Dickens made some +remarks to the lady in an undertone; and then observed to the audience, +“I have recommended Miss Winkle to change her name.” The prizes having +been distributed, Mr. Dickens made a second brief speech. He said:—] + +The prizes are now all distributed, and I have discharged myself of the +delightful task you have entrusted to me; and if the recipients of these +prizes and certificates who have come upon this platform have had the +genuine pleasure in receiving their acknowledgments from my hands that I +have had in placing them in theirs, they are in a true Christian temper +to-night. I have the painful sense upon me, that it is reserved for some +one else to enjoy this great satisfaction of mind next time. It would be +useless for the few short moments longer to disguise the fact that I +happen to have drawn King this Twelfth Night, but that another Sovereign +will very soon sit upon my inconstant throne. To-night I abdicate, or, +what is much the same thing in the modern annals of Royalty—I am politely +dethroned. This melancholy reflection, ladies and gentlemen, brings me +to a very small point, personal to myself, upon which I will beg your +permission to say a closing word. + +When I was here last autumn I made, in reference to some remarks of your +respected member, Mr. Dixon, a short confession of my political faith—or +perhaps I should better say want of faith. It imported that I have very +little confidence in the people who govern us—please to observe “people” +there will be with a small “p,”—but that I have great confidence in the +People whom they govern; please to observe “people” there with a large +“P.” This was shortly and elliptically stated, and was with no evil +intention, I am absolutely sure, in some quarters inversely explained. +Perhaps as the inventor of a certain extravagant fiction, but one which I +do see rather frequently quoted as if there were grains of truth at the +bottom of it—a fiction called the “Circumlocution Office,”—and perhaps +also as the writer of an idle book or two, whose public opinions are not +obscurely stated—perhaps in these respects I do not sufficiently bear in +mind Hamlet’s caution to speak by the card lest equivocation should undo +me. + +Now I complain of nobody; but simply in order that there may be no +mistake as to what I did mean, and as to what I do mean, I will re-state +my meaning, and I will do so in the words of a great thinker, a great +writer, and a great scholar, {259} whose death, unfortunately for +mankind, cut short his “History of Civilization in England:”—“They may +talk as they will about reforms which Government has introduced and +improvements to be expected from legislation, but whoever will take a +wider and more commanding view of human affairs, will soon discover that +such hopes are chimerical. They will learn that lawgivers are nearly +always the obstructors of society instead of its helpers, and that in the +extremely few cases where their measures have turned out well their +success has been owing to the fact that, contrary to their usual custom, +they have implicitly obeyed the spirit of their time, and have been—as +they always should be—the mere servants of the people, to whose wishes +they are bound to give a public and legal sanction.” + + + + +XLIV. +LONDON, APRIL 6, 1846. {260} + + +[The first anniversary festival of the General Theatrical Fund +Association was held on the evening of the above date at the London +Tavern. The chair was taken by Mr. Dickens, who thus proposed the +principal toast:] + +GENTLEMEN,—In offering to you a toast which has not as yet been publicly +drunk in any company, it becomes incumbent on me to offer a few words in +explanation: in the first place, premising that the toast will be “The +General Theatrical Fund.” + +The Association, whose anniversary we celebrate to-night, was founded +seven years ago, for the purpose of granting permanent pensions to such +of the _corps dramatique_ as had retired from the stage, either from a +decline in their years or a decay of their powers. Collected within the +scope of its benevolence are all actors and actresses, singers, or +dancers, of five years’ standing in the profession. To relieve their +necessities and to protect them from want is the great end of the +Society, and it is good to know that for seven years the members of it +have steadily, patiently, quietly, and perseveringly pursued this end, +advancing by regular contribution, moneys which many of them could ill +afford, and cheered by no external help or assistance of any kind +whatsoever. It has thus served a regular apprenticeship, but I trust +that we shall establish to-night that its time is out, and that +henceforth the Fund will enter upon a flourishing and brilliant career. + +I have no doubt that you are all aware that there are, and were when this +institution was founded, two other institutions existing of a similar +nature—Covent Garden and Drury Lane—both of long standing, both richly +endowed. It cannot, however, be too distinctly understood, that the +present Institution is not in any way adverse to those. How can it be +when it is only a wide and broad extension of all that is most excellent +in the principles on which they are founded? That such an extension was +absolutely necessary was sufficiently proved by the fact that the great +body of the dramatic corps were excluded from the benefits conferred by a +membership of either of these institutions; for it was essential, in +order to become a member of the Drury Lane Society, that the applicant, +either he or she, should have been engaged for three consecutive seasons +as a performer. This was afterwards reduced, in the case of Covent +Garden, to a period of two years, but it really is as exclusive one way +as the other, for I need not tell you that Covent Garden is now but a +vision of the past. You might play the bottle conjuror with its dramatic +company and put them all into a pint bottle. The human voice is rarely +heard within its walls save in connexion with corn, or the ambidextrous +prestidigitation of the Wizard of the North. In like manner, Drury Lane +is conducted now with almost a sole view to the opera and ballet, +insomuch that the statue of Shakespeare over the door serves as +emphatically to point out his grave as his bust did in the church of +Stratford-upon-Avon. How can the profession generally hope to qualify +for the Drury Lane or Covent Garden institution, when the oldest and most +distinguished members have been driven from the boards on which they have +earned their reputations, to delight the town in theatres to which the +General Theatrical Fund alone extended? + +I will again repeat that I attach no reproach to those other Funds, with +which I have had the honour of being connected at different periods of my +life. At the time those Associations were established, an engagement at +one of those theatres was almost a matter of course, and a successful +engagement would last a whole life; but an engagement of two months’ +duration at Covent Garden would be a perfect Old Parr of an engagement +just now. It should never be forgotten that when those two funds were +established, the two great theatres were protected by patent, and that at +that time the minor theatres were condemned by law to the representation +of the most preposterous nonsense, and some gentlemen whom I see around +me could no more belong to the minor theatres of that day than they could +now belong to St. Bartholomew fair. + +As I honour the two old funds for the great good which they have done, so +I honour this for the much greater good it is resolved to do. It is not +because I love them less, but because I love this more—because it +includes more in its operation. + +Let us ever remember that there is no class of actors who stand so much +in need of a retiring fund as those who do not win the great prizes, but +who are nevertheless an essential part of the theatrical system, and by +consequence bear a part in contributing to our pleasures. We owe them a +debt which we ought to pay. The beds of such men are not of roses, but +of very artificial flowers indeed. Their lives are lives of care and +privation, and hard struggles with very stern realities. It is from +among the poor actors who drink wine from goblets, in colour marvellously +like toast and water, and who preside at Barmecide beasts with wonderful +appetites for steaks,—it is from their ranks that the most triumphant +favourites have sprung. And surely, besides this, the greater the +instruction and delight we derive from the rich English drama, the more +we are bound to succour and protect the humblest of those votaries of the +art who add to our instruction and amusement. + +Hazlitt has well said that “There is no class of society whom so many +persons regard with affection as actors. We greet them on the stage, we +like to meet them in the streets; they almost always recal to us pleasant +associations.” {263} When they have strutted and fretted their hour upon +the stage, let them not be heard no more—but let them be heard sometimes +to say that they are happy in their old age. When they have passed for +the last time from behind that glittering row of lights with which we are +all familiar, let them not pass away into gloom and darkness,—but let +them pass into cheerfulness and light—into a contented and happy home. + +This is the object for which we have met; and I am too familiar with the +English character not to know that it will be effected. When we come +suddenly in a crowded street upon the careworn features of a familiar +face—crossing us like the ghost of pleasant hours long forgotten—let us +not recal those features with pain, in sad remembrance of what they once +were, but let us in joy recognise it, and go back a pace or two to meet +it once again, as that of a friend who has beguiled us of a moment of +care, who has taught us to sympathize with virtuous grief, cheating us to +tears for sorrows not our own—and we all know how pleasant are such +tears. Let such a face be ever remembered as that of our benefactor and +our friend. + +I tried to recollect, in coming here, whether I had ever been in any +theatre in my life from which I had not brought away some pleasant +association, however poor the theatre, and I protest, out of my varied +experience, I could not remember even one from which I had not brought +some favourable impression, and that, commencing with the period when I +believed the clown was a being born into the world with infinite pockets, +and ending with that in which I saw the other night, outside one of the +“Royal Saloons,” a playbill which showed me ships completely rigged, +carrying men, and careering over boundless and tempestuous oceans. And +now, bespeaking your kindest remembrance of our theatres and actors, I +beg to propose that you drink as heartily and freely as ever a toast was +drunk in this toast-drinking city “Prosperity to the General Theatrical +Fund.” + + + + +XLV. +LEEDS, DECEMBER 1, 1847. + + +[On the above evening a Soirée of the Leeds Mechanics’ Institution took +place, at which about 1200 persons were present. The chair was taken by +Mr. Dickens, who thus addressed the meeting:] + +LADIES AND GENTLEMEN,—Believe me, speaking to you with a most disastrous +cold, which makes my own voice sound very strangely in my ears—that if I +were not gratified and honoured beyond expression by your cordial +welcome, I should have considered the invitation to occupy my present +position in this brilliant assemblage in itself a distinction not easy to +be surpassed. The cause in which we are assembled and the objects we are +met to promote, I take, and always have taken to be, _the_ cause and +_the_ objects involving almost all others that are essential to the +welfare and happiness of mankind. And in a celebration like the present, +commemorating the birth and progress of a great educational +establishment, I recognise a something, not limited to the spectacle of +the moment, beautiful and radiant though it be—not limited even to the +success of the particular establishment in which we are more immediately +interested—but extending from this place and through swarms of toiling +men elsewhere, cheering and stimulating them in the onward, upward path +that lies before us all. Wherever hammers beat, or wherever factory +chimneys smoke, wherever hands are busy, or the clanking of machinery +resounds—wherever, in a word, there are masses of industrious human +beings whom their wise Creator did not see fit to constitute all body, +but into each and every one of whom He breathed a mind—there, I would +fain believe, some touch of sympathy and encouragement is felt from our +collective pulse now beating in this Hall. + +Ladies and gentlemen, glancing with such feelings at the report of your +Institution for the present year sent to me by your respected +President—whom I cannot help feeling it, by-the-bye, a kind of crime to +depose, even thus peacefully, and for so short a time—I say, glancing +over this report, I found one statement of fact in the very opening which +gave me an uncommon satisfaction. It is, that a great number of the +members and subscribers are among that class of persons for whose +advantage Mechanics’ Institutions were originated, namely, persons +receiving weekly wages. This circumstance gives me the greatest delight. +I am sure that no better testimony could be borne to the merits and +usefulness of this Institution, and that no better guarantee could be +given for its continued prosperity and advancement. + +To such Associations as this, in their darker hours, there may yet +reappear now and then the spectral shadow of a certain dead and buried +opposition; but before the light of a steady trust in them on the part of +the general people, bearing testimony to the virtuous influences of such +Institutions by their own intelligence and conduct, the ghost will melt +away like early vapour from the ground. Fear of such Institutions as +these! We have heard people sometimes speak with jealousy of them,—with +distrust of them! Imagine here, on either hand, two great towns like +Leeds, full of busy men, all of them feeling necessarily, and some of +them heavily, the burdens and inequalities inseparable from civilized +society. In this town there is ignorance, dense and dark; in that town, +education—the best of education; that which the grown man from day to day +and year to year furnishes for himself and maintains for himself, and in +right of which his education goes on all his life, instead of leaving +off, complacently, just when he begins to live in the social system. +Now, which of these two towns has a good man, or a good cause, reason to +distrust and dread? “The educated one,” does some timid politician, with +a marvellously weak sight, say (as I have heard such politicians say), +“because knowledge is power, and because it won’t do to have too much +power abroad.” Why, ladies and gentlemen, reflect whether ignorance be +not power, and a very dreadful power. Look where we will, do we not find +it powerful for every kind of wrong and evil? Powerful to take its +enemies to its heart, and strike its best friends down—powerful to fill +the prisons, the hospitals, and the graves—powerful for blind violence, +prejudice, and error, in all their gloomy and destructive shapes. +Whereas the power of knowledge, if I understand it, is, to bear and +forbear; to learn the path of duty and to tread it; to engender that +self-respect which does not stop at self, but cherishes the best respect +for the best objects—to turn an always enlarging acquaintance with the +joys and sorrows, capabilities and imperfections of our race to daily +account in mildness of life and gentleness of construction and humble +efforts for the improvement, stone by stone, of the whole social fabric. + +I never heard but one tangible position taken against educational +establishments for the people, and that was, that in this or that +instance, or in these or those instances, education for the people has +failed. And I have never traced even this to its source but I have found +that the term education, so employed, meant anything but +education—implied the mere imperfect application of old, ignorant, +preposterous spelling-book lessons to the meanest purposes—as if you +should teach a child that there is no higher end in electricity, for +example, than expressly to strike a mutton-pie out of the hand of a +greedy boy—and on which it is as unreasonable to found an objection to +education in a comprehensive sense, as it would be to object altogether +to the combing of youthful hair, because in a certain charity school they +had a practice of combing it into the pupils’ eyes. + +Now, ladies and gentlemen, I turn to the report of this Institution, on +whose behalf we are met; and I start with the education given there, and +I find that it really is an education that is deserving of the name. I +find that there are papers read and lectures delivered, on a variety of +subjects of interest and importance. I find that there are evening +classes formed for the acquisition of sound, useful English information, +and for the study of those two important languages, daily becoming more +important in the business of life,—the French and German. I find that +there is a class for drawing, a chemical class, subdivided into the +elementary branch and the manufacturing branch, most important here. I +find that there is a day-school at twelve shillings a quarter, which +small cost, besides including instruction in all that is useful to the +merchant and the man of business, admits to all the advantages of the +parent institution. I find that there is a School of Design established +in connexion with the Government School; and that there was in January +this year, a library of between six and seven thousand books. Ladies and +gentlemen, if any man would tell me that anything but good could come of +such knowledge as this, all I can say is, that I should consider him a +new and most lamentable proof of the necessity of such institutions, and +should regard him in his own person as a melancholy instance of what a +man may come to by never having belonged to one or sympathized with one. + +There is one other paragraph in this report which struck my eye in +looking over it, and on which I cannot help offering a word of joyful +notice. It is the steady increase that appears to have taken place in +the number of lady members—among whom I hope I may presume are included +some of the bright fair faces that are clustered around me. Gentlemen, I +hold that it is not good for man to be alone—even in Mechanics’ +Institutions; and I rank it as very far from among the last or least of +the merits of such places, that he need not be alone there, and that he +is not. I believe that the sympathy and society of those who are our +best and dearest friends in infancy, in childhood, in manhood, and in old +age, the most devoted and least selfish natures that we know on earth, +who turn to us always constant and unchanged, when others turn away, +should greet us here, if anywhere, and go on with us side by side. + +I know, gentlemen, by the evidence of my own proper senses at this +moment, that there are charms and graces in such greetings, such as no +other greeting can possess. I know that in every beautiful work of the +Almighty hand, which is illustrated in your lectures, and in every real +or ideal portraiture of fortitude and goodness that you find in your +books, there is something that must bring you home again to them for its +brightest and best example. And therefore, gentlemen, I hope that you +will never be without them, or without an increasing number of them in +your studies and your commemorations; and that an immense number of new +marriages, and other domestic festivals naturally consequent upon those +marriages, may be traced back from time to time to the Leeds Mechanics’ +Institution. + +There are many gentlemen around me, distinguished by their public +position and service, or endeared to you by frequent intercourse, or by +their zealous efforts on behalf of the cause which brings us together; +and to them I shall beg leave to refer you for further observations on +this happy and interesting occasion; begging to congratulate you finally +upon the occasion itself; upon the prosperity and thriving prospects of +your institution; and upon our common and general good fortune in living +in these times, when the means of mental culture and improvement are +presented cheaply, socially, and cheerfully, and not in dismal cells or +lonely garrets. And lastly, I congratulate myself, I assure you most +heartily, upon the part with which I am honoured on an occasion so +congenial to my warmest feelings and sympathies, and I beg to thank you +for such evidences of your good-will, as I never can coldly remember and +never forget. + + * * * * * + +[In acknowledging the vote of thanks, Mr. Dickens said:—] + +Ladies and Gentlemen,—It is a great satisfaction to me that this question +has been put by the Mayor, inasmuch as I hope I may receive it as a token +that he has forgiven me those extremely large letters, which I must say, +from the glimpse I caught of them when I arrived in the town, looked like +a leaf from the first primer of a very promising young giant. + +I will only observe, in reference to the proceeding of this evening, that +after what I have seen, and the excellent speeches I have heard from +gentlemen of so many different callings and persuasions, meeting here as +on neutral ground, I do more strongly and sincerely believe than I ever +have in my life,—and that is saying a great deal,—that institutions such +as this will be the means of refining and improving that social edifice +which has been so often mentioned to-night, until,—unlike that Babel +tower that would have taken heaven by storm,—it shall end in sweet accord +and harmony amongst all classes of its builders. + +Ladies and gentlemen, most respectfully and heartily I bid you good night +and good-bye, and I trust the next time we meet it will be in even +greater numbers, and in a larger room, and that we often shall meet +again, to recal this evening, then of the past, and remember it as one of +a series of increasing triumphs of your excellent institution. + + + + +XLVI. +GLASGOW, DECEMBER 28, 1847. + + +[The first Soirée, commemorative of the opening of the Glasgow Athenæum +took place on the above evening in the City Hall. Mr. Charles Dickens +presided, and made the following speech:] + +LADIES AND GENTLEMEN—Let me begin by endeavouring to convey to you the +assurance that not even the warmth of your reception can possibly exceed, +in simple earnestness, the cordiality of the feeling with which I come +amongst you. This beautiful scene and your generous greeting would +naturally awaken, under any circumstances, no common feeling within me; +but when I connect them with the high purpose of this brilliant +assembly—when I regard it as an educational example and encouragement to +the rest of Scotland—when I regard it no less as a recognition on the +part of everybody here of the right, indisputable and inalienable, of all +those who are actively engaged in the work and business of life to +elevate and improve themselves so far as in them lies, by all good +means—I feel as if I stand here to swear brotherhood to all the young men +in Glasgow;—and I may say to all the young women in Glasgow; being +unfortunately in no position to take any tenderer vows upon myself—and as +if we were pledged from this time henceforth to make common cause +together in one of the most laudable and worthy of human objects. + +Ladies and gentlemen, a common cause must be made in such a design as +that which brings us together this night; for without it, nothing can be +done, but with it, everything. It is a common cause of right, God knows; +for it is idle to suppose that the advantages of such an institution as +the Glasgow Athenæum will stop within its own walls or be confined to its +own members. Through all the society of this great and important city, +upwards to the highest and downwards to the lowest, it must, I know, be +felt for good. Downward in a clearer perception of, and sympathy with, +those social miseries which can be alleviated, and those wide-open doors +to vice and crime that can be shut and barred; and upward in a greater +intelligence, increased efficiency, and higher knowledge, of all who +partake of its benefits themselves, or who communicate, as all must do, +in a greater or less degree, some portion to the circle of relatives or +friends in which they move. + +Nor, ladies and gentlemen, would I say for any man, however high his +social position, or however great his attainments, that he might not find +something to be learnt even from immediate contact with such +institutions. If he only saw the goddess Knowledge coming out of her +secluded palaces and high places to mingle with the throng, and to give +them shining glimpses of the delights which were long kept hoarded up, he +might learn something. If he only saw the energy and the courage with +which those who earn their daily bread by the labour of their hands or +heads, come night after night, as to a recreation, to that which was, +perhaps, the whole absorbing business of his youth, there might still be +something very wholesome for him to learn. But when he could see in such +places their genial and reviving influences, their substituting of the +contemplation of the beauties of nature and art, and of the wisdom of +great men, for mere sensual enjoyment or stupid idleness—at any rate he +would learn this—that it is at once the duty and the interest of all good +members of society to encourage and protect them. + +I took occasion to say at an Athenæum in Yorkshire a few weeks since, +{274} and I think it a point most important to be borne in mind on such +commemorations as these, that when such societies are objected to, or are +decried on the ground that in the views of the objectors, education among +the people has not succeeded, the term education is used with not the +least reference to its real meaning, and is wholly misunderstood. Mere +reading and writing is not education; it would be quite as reasonable to +call bricks and mortar architecture—oils and colours art—reeds and +cat-gut music—or the child’s spelling-books the works of Shakespeare, +Milton, or Bacon—as to call the lowest rudiments of education, education, +and to visit on that most abused and slandered word their failure in any +instance; and precisely because they were not education; because, +generally speaking, the word has been understood in that sense a great +deal too long; because education for the business of life, and for the +due cultivation of domestic virtues, is at least as important from day to +day to the grown person as to the child; because real education, in the +strife and contention for a livelihood, and the consequent necessity +incumbent on a great number of young persons to go into the world when +they are very young, is extremely difficult. It is because of these +things that I look upon mechanics’ institutions and athenæums as vitally +important to the well-being of society. It is because the rudiments of +education may there be turned to good account in the acquisition of sound +principles, and of the great virtues, hope, faith, and charity, to which +all our knowledge tends; it is because of that, I take it, that you have +met in education’s name to-night. + +It is a great satisfaction to me to occupy the place I do in behalf of an +infant institution; a remarkably fine child enough, of a vigorous +constitution, but an infant still. I esteem myself singularly fortunate +in knowing it before its prime, in the hope that I may have the pleasure +of remembering in its prime, and when it has attained to its lusty +maturity, that I was a friend of its youth. It has already passed +through some of the disorders to which children are liable; it succeeded +to an elder brother of a very meritorious character, but of rather a weak +constitution, and which expired when about twelve months old, from, it is +said, a destructive habit of getting up early in the morning: it +succeeded this elder brother, and has fought manfully through a sea of +troubles. Its friends have often been much concerned for it; its pulse +has been exceedingly low, being only 1250, when it was expected to have +been 10,000; several relations and friends have even gone so far as to +walk off once or twice in the melancholy belief that it was dead. +Through all that, assisted by the indomitable energy of one or two +nurses, to whom it can never be sufficiently grateful, it came +triumphantly, and now, of all the youthful members of its family I ever +saw, it has the strongest attitude, the healthiest look, the brightest +and most cheerful air. I find the institution nobly lodged; I find it +with a reading-room, a coffee-room, and a news-room; I find it with +lectures given and in progress, in sound, useful and well-selected +subjects; I find it with morning and evening classes for mathematics, +logic, grammar, music, French, German, Spanish, and Italian, attended by +upwards of five hundred persons; but, best and first of all and what is +to me more satisfactory than anything else in the history of the +institution, I find that all, this has been mainly achieved by the young +men of Glasgow themselves, with very little assistance. And, ladies and +gentlemen, as the axiom, “Heaven helps those who help themselves,” is +truer in no case than it is in this, I look to the young men of Glasgow, +from such a past and such a present, to a noble future. Everything that +has been done in any other athenæum, I confidently expect to see done +here; and when that shall be the case, and when there shall be great +cheap schools in connexion with the institution, and when it has bound +together for ever all its friends, and brought over to itself all those +who look upon it as an objectionable institution,—then, and not till +then, I hope the young men of Glasgow will rest from their labours, and +think their study done. + +If the young men of Glasgow want any stimulus or encouragement in this +wise, they have one beside them in the presence of their fair townswomen, +which is irresistible. It is a most delightful circumstance to me, and +one fraught with inestimable benefits to institutions of this kind, that +at a meeting of this nature those who in all things are our best +examples, encouragers, and friends, are not excluded. The abstract idea +of the Graces was in ancient times associated with those arts which +refine the human understanding; and it is pleasant to see now, in the +rolling of the world, the Graces popularising the practice of those arts +by their example, and adorning it with their presence. + +I am happy to know that in the Glasgow Athenæum there is a peculiar bond +of union between the institution and the fairest part of creation. I +understand that the necessary addition to the small library of books +being difficult and expensive to make, the ladies have generally resolved +to hold a fancy bazaar, and to devote the proceeds to this admirable +purpose; and I learn with no less pleasure that her Majesty the Queen, in +a graceful and womanly sense of the excellence of this design, has +consented that the bazaar shall be held under her royal patronage. I can +only say, that if you do not find something very noble in your books +after this, you are much duller students than I take you to be. The +ladies—the single ladies, at least—however disinterested I know they are +by sex and nature, will, I hope, resolve to have some of the advantages +of these books, by never marrying any but members of the Athenæum. It +seems to me it ought to be the pleasantest library in the world. + +Hazlitt says, in speaking of some of the graceful fancies of some +familiar writer of fiction, “How long since I first became acquainted +with these characters; what old-fashioned friends they seem; and yet I am +not tired of them like so many other friends, nor they of me.” In this +case the books will not only possess all the attractions of their own +friendships and charms, but also the manifold—I may say +womanfold—associations connected with their donors. I can imagine how, +in fact, from these fanciful associations, some fair Glasgow widow may be +taken for the remoter one whom Sir Roger de Coverley could not forget; I +can imagine how Sophia’s muff may be seen and loved, but not by Tom +Jones, going down the High Street on any winter day; or I can imagine the +student finding in every fair form the exact counterpart of the Glasgow +Athenæum, and taking into consideration the history of Europe without the +consent of Sheriff Alison. I can imagine, in short, how through all the +facts and fictions of this library, these ladies will be always active, +and that + + “Age will not wither them, nor custom stale + Their infinite variety.” + +It seems to me to be a moral, delightful, and happy chance, that this +meeting has been held at this genial season of the year, when a new time +is, as it were, opening before us, and when we celebrate the birth of +that divine and blessed Teacher, who took the highest knowledge into the +humblest places, and whose great system comprehended all mankind. I hail +it as a most auspicious omen, at this time of the year, when many +scattered friends and families are re-assembled, for the members of this +institution to be calling men together from all quarters, with a +brotherly view to the general good, and a view to the general +improvement; as I consider that such designs are practically worthy of +the faith we hold, and a practical remembrance of the words, “On earth +peace, and good will toward men.” I hope that every year which dawns on +your Institution, will find it richer in its means of usefulness, and +grayer-headed in the honour and respect it has gained. It can hardly +speak for itself more appropriately than in the words of an English +writer, when contemplating the English emblem of this period of the year, +the holly-tree:— + +[Mr. Dickens concluded by quoting the last three stanzas of Southey’s +poem, _The Holly Tree_.] + + * * * * * + +[In acknowledging a vote of thanks proposed by Sir Archibald (then Mr.) +Alison, Mr. Dickens said:] + +Ladies and Gentlemen,—I am no stranger—and I say it with the deepest +gratitude—to the warmth of Scottish hearts; but the warmth of your +present welcome almost deprives me of any hope of acknowledging it. I +will not detain you any longer at this late hour; let it suffice to +assure you, that for taking the part with which I have been honoured in +this festival, I have been repaid a thousand-fold by your abundant +kindness, and by the unspeakable gratification it has afforded me. I +hope that, before many years are past, we may have another meeting in +public, when we shall rejoice at the immense progress your institution +will have made in the meantime, and look back upon this night with new +pleasure and satisfaction. I shall now, in conclusion, repeat most +heartily and fervently the quotation of Dr. Ewing, the late Provost of +Glasgow, which Bailie Nicol Jarvie, himself “a Glasgow body,” observed +was “elegantly putten round the town’s arms.” + + + + +XLVII. +LONDON, APRIL 14, 1851. + + +[The Sixth Annual Dinner of the General Theatrical Fund was held at the +London Tavern on the above date. Mr. Charles Dickens occupied the chair, +and in giving the toast of the evening said:—] + +I HAVE so often had the satisfaction of bearing my testimony, in this +place, to the usefulness of the excellent Institution in whose behalf we +are assembled, that I should be really sensible of the disadvantage of +having now nothing to say in proposing the toast you all anticipate, if I +were not well assured that there is really nothing which needs be said. +I have to appeal to you on the old grounds, and no ingenuity of mine +could render those grounds of greater weight than they have hitherto +successfully proved to you. + +Although the General Theatrical Fund Association, unlike many other +public societies and endowments, is represented by no building, whether +of stone, or brick, or glass, like that astonishing evidence of the skill +and energy of my friend Mr. Paxton, which all the world is now called +upon to admire, and the great merit of which, as you learn from the best +authorities, is, that it ought to have fallen down long before it was +built, and yet that it would by no means consent to doing so—although, I +say, this Association possesses no architectural home, it is nevertheless +as plain a fact, rests on as solid a foundation, and carries as erect a +front, as any building, in the world. And the best and the utmost that +its exponent and its advocate can do, standing here, is to point it out +to those who gather round it, and to say, “judge for yourselves.” + +It may not, however, be improper for me to suggest to that portion of the +company whose previous acquaintance with it may have been limited, what +it is not. It is not a theatrical association whose benefits are +confined to a small and exclusive body of actors. It is a society whose +claims are always preferred in the name of the whole histrionic art. It +is not a theatrical association adapted to a state of theatrical things +entirely past and gone, and no more suited to present theatrical +requirements than a string of pack-horses would be suited to the +conveyance of traffic between London and Birmingham. It is not a rich +old gentleman, with the gout in his vitals, brushed and got-up once a +year to look as vigorous as possible, and brought out for a public airing +by the few survivors of a large family of nephews and nieces, who +afterwards double-lock the street-door upon the poor relations. It is +not a theatrical association which insists that no actor can share its +bounty who has not walked so many years on those boards where the English +tongue is never heard—between the little bars of music in an aviary of +singing birds, to which the unwieldy Swan of Avon is never admitted—that +bounty which was gathered in the name and for the elevation of an +all-embracing art. + +No, if there be such things, this thing is not of that kind. This is a +theatrical association, expressly adapted to the wants and to the means +of the whole theatrical profession all over England. It is a society in +which the word exclusiveness is wholly unknown. It is a society which +includes every actor, whether he be Benedict or Hamlet, or the Ghost, or +the Bandit, or the court-physician, or, in the one person, the whole +King’s army. He may do the “light business,” or the “heavy,” or the +comic, or the eccentric. He may be the captain who courts the young +lady, whose uncle still unaccountably persists in dressing himself in a +costume one hundred years older than his time. Or he may be the young +lady’s brother in the white gloves and inexpressibles, whose duty in the +family appears to be to listen to the female members of it whenever they +sing, and to shake hands with everybody between all the verses. Or he +may be the baron who gives the fête, and who sits uneasily on the sofa +under a canopy with the baroness while the fête is going on. Or he may +be the peasant at the fête who comes on the stage to swell the drinking +chorus, and who, it may be observed, always turns his glass upside down +before he begins to drink out of it. Or he may be the clown who takes +away the doorstep of the house where the evening party is going on. Or +he may be the gentleman who issues out of the house on the false alarm, +and is precipitated into the area. Or, to come to the actresses, she may +be the fairy who resides for ever in a revolving star with an occasional +visit to a bower or a palace. Or the actor may be the armed head of the +witch’s cauldron; or even that extraordinary witch, concerning whom I +have observed in country places, that he is much less like the notion +formed from the description of Hopkins than the Malcolm or Donalbain of +the previous scenes. This society, in short, says, “Be you what you may, +be you actor or actress, be your path in your profession never so high, +or never so low, never so haughty, or never so humble, we offer you the +means of doing good to yourselves, and of doing good to your brethren.” + +This society is essentially a provident institution, appealing to a class +of men to take care of their own interests, and giving a continuous +security only in return for a continuous sacrifice and effort. The actor +by the means of this society obtains his own right, to no man’s wrong; +and when, in old age, or in disastrous times, he makes his claim on the +institution, he is enabled to say, “I am neither a beggar, nor a +suppliant. I am but reaping what I sowed long ago.” And therefore it is +that I cannot hold out to you that in assisting this fund you are doing +an act of charity in the common acceptation of that phrase. Of all the +abuses of that much abused term, none have more raised my indignation +than what I have heard in this room in past times, in reference to this +institution. I say, if you help this institution you will be helping the +wagoner who has resolutely put his own shoulder to the wheel, and who has +_not_ stuck idle in the mud. In giving this aid you will be doing an act +of justice, and you will be performing an act of gratitude; and this is +what I solicit from you; but I will not so far wrong those who are +struggling manfully for their own independence as to pretend to entreat +from you an act of charity. + +I have used the word gratitude; and let any man ask his own heart, and +confess if he have not some grateful acknowledgments for the actor’s art? +Not peculiarly because it is a profession often pursued, and as it were +marked, by poverty and misfortune—for other callings, God knows, have +their distresses—nor because the actor has sometimes to come from scenes +of sickness, of suffering, ay, even of death itself, to play his part +before us—for all of us, in our spheres, have as often to do violence to +our feelings and to hide our hearts in fighting this great battle of +life, and in discharging our duties and responsibilities. But the art of +the actor excites reflections, sombre or grotesque, awful or humorous, +which we are all familiar with. If any man were to tell me that he +denied his acknowledgments to the stage, I would simply put to him one +question—whether he remembered his first play? + +If you, gentlemen, will but carry back your recollection to that great +night, and call to mind the bright and harmless world which then opened +to your view, we shall, I think, hear favourably of the effect upon your +liberality on this occasion from our Secretary. + +This is the sixth year of meetings of this kind—the sixth time we have +had this fine child down after dinner. His nurse, a very worthy person +of the name of Buckstone, who has an excellent character from several +places, will presently report to you that his chest is perfectly sound, +and that his general health is in the most thriving condition. Long may +it be so; long may it thrive and grow; long may we meet (it is my sincere +wish) to exchange our congratulations on its prosperity; and longer than +the line of Banquo may be that line of figures which, as its patriotic +share in the national debt, a century hence shall be stated by the +Governor and Company of the Bank of England. + + + + +XLVIII. +THE ROYAL LITERARY FUND. +LONDON, MARCH 12, 1856. + + +[The Corporation of the Royal Literary Fund was established in 1790, its +object being to administer assistance to authors of genius and learning, +who may be reduced to distress by unavoidable calamities, or deprived, by +enfeebled faculties or declining life, of the power of literary exertion. +At the annual general meeting held at the house of the society on the +above date, the following speech was made by Mr. Charles Dickens:] + +SIR,—I shall not attempt to follow my friend Mr. Bell, who, in the +profession of literature, represents upon this committee a separate and +distinct branch of the profession, that, like + + “The last rose of summer + Stands blooming alone, + While all its companions + Are faded and gone,” + +into the very prickly bramble-bush with which he has ingeniously +contrived to beset this question. In the remarks I have to make I shall +confine myself to four points:—1. That the committee find themselves in +the painful condition of not spending enough money, and will presently +apply themselves to the great reform of spending more. 2. That with +regard to the house, it is a positive matter of history, that the house +for which Mr. Williams was so anxious was to be applied to uses to which +it never has been applied, and which the administrators of the fund +decline to recognise. 3. That, in Mr. Bell’s endeavours to remove the +Artists’ Fund from the ground of analogy it unquestionably occupies with +reference to this fund, by reason of their continuing periodical relief +to the same persons, I beg to tell Mr. Bell what every gentleman at that +table knows—that it is the business of this fund to relieve over and over +again the same people. + +MR. BELL: But fresh inquiry is always made first. + +MR. C. DICKENS: I can only oppose to that statement my own experience +when I sat on that committee, and when I have known persons relieved on +many consecutive occasions without further inquiry being made. As to the +suggestion that we should select the items of expenditure that we +complain of, I think it is according to all experience that we should +first affirm the principle that the expenditure is too large. If that be +done by the meeting, then I will proceed to the selection of the separate +items. Now, in rising to support this resolution, I may state at once +that I have scarcely any expectation of its being carried, and I am happy +to think it will not. Indeed, I consider it the strongest point of the +resolution’s case that it should not be carried, because it will show the +determination of the fund’s managers. Nothing can possibly be stronger +in favour of the resolution than that the statement should go forth to +the world that twice within twelve months the attention of the committee +has been called to this great expenditure, and twice the committee have +considered that it was not unreasonable. I cannot conceive a stronger +case for the resolution than this statement of fact as to the expenditure +going forth to the public accompanied by the committee’s assertion that +it is reasonable. Now, to separate this question from details, let us +remember what the committee and their supporters asserted last year, and, +I hope, will re-assert this year. It seems to be rather the model kind +of thing than otherwise now that if you get £100 you are to spend £40 in +management; and if you get £1000, of course you may spend £400 in giving +the rest away. Now, in case there should be any ill-conditioned people +here who may ask what occasion there can be for all this expenditure, I +will give you my experience. I went last year to a highly respectable +place of resort, Willis’s Rooms, in St. James’s, to a meeting of this +fund. My original intention was to hear all I could, and say as little +as possible. Allowing for the absence of the younger and fairer portion +of the creation, the general appearance of the place was something like +Almack’s in the morning. A number of stately old dowagers sat in a row +on one side, and old gentlemen on the other. The ball was opened with +due solemnity by a real marquis, who walked a minuet with the secretary, +at which the audience were much affected. Then another party advanced, +who, I am sorry to say, was only a member of the House of Commons, and he +took possession of the floor. To him, however, succeeded a lord, then a +bishop, then the son of a distinguished lord, then one or two celebrities +from the City and Stock Exchange, and at last a gentleman, who made a +fortune by the success of “Candide,” sustained the part of Pangloss, and +spoke much of what he evidently believed to be the very best management +of this best of all possible funds. Now it is in this fondness for being +stupendously genteel, and keeping up fine appearances—this vulgar and +common social vice of hanging on to great connexions at any price, that +the money goes. The last time you got a distinguished writer at a public +meeting, and he was called on to address you somewhere amongst the small +hours, he told you he felt like the man in plush who was permitted to +sweep the stage down after all the other people had gone. If the founder +of this society were here, I should think he would feel like a sort of +Rip van Winkle reversed, who had gone to sleep backwards for a hundred +years and woke up to find his fund still lying under the feet of people +who did nothing for it instead of being emancipated and standing alone +long ago. This Bloomsbury house is another part of the same desire for +show, and the officer who inhabits it. (I mean, of course, in his +official capacity, for, as an individual, I much respect him.) When one +enters the house it appears to be haunted by a series of +mysterious-looking ghosts, who glide about engaged in some extraordinary +occupation, and, after the approved fashion of ghosts, but seldom +condescend to disclose their business. What are all these meetings and +inquiries wanted for? As for the authors, I say, as a writer by +profession, that the long inquiry said to be necessary to ascertain +whether an applicant deserves relief, is a preposterous pretence, and +that working literary men would have a far better knowledge of the cases +coming before the board than can ever be attained by that committee. +Further, I say openly and plainly, that this fund is pompously and +unnaturally administered at great expense, instead of being quietly +administered at small expense; and that the secrecy to which it lays +claim as its greatest attribute, is not kept; for through those “two +respectable householders,” to whom reference must be made, the names of +the most deserving applicants are to numbers of people perfectly well +known. The members have now got before them a plain statement of fact as +to these charges; and it is for them to say whether they are justifiable, +becoming, or decent. I beg most earnestly and respectfully to put it to +those gentlemen who belong to this institution, that must now decide, and +cannot help deciding, what the Literary Fund is for, and what it is not +for. The question raised by the resolution is whether this is a public +corporation for the relief of men of genius and learning, or whether it +is a snug, traditional, and conventional party, bent upon maintaining its +own usages with a vast amount of pride; upon its own annual puffery at +costly dinner-tables, and upon a course of expensive toadying to a number +of distinguished individuals. This is the question which you cannot this +day escape. + + + + +XLIX. +LONDON, NOVEMBER 5, 1857. + + +[At the fourth anniversary dinner of the Warehousemen and Clerks Schools, +which took place on Thursday evening, Nov. 5th, 1857, at the London +Tavern, and was very numerously attended, Mr. Charles Dickens occupied +the chair. On the subject which had brought the company together Mr. +Dickens spoke as follows:—] + +I MUST now solicit your attention for a few minutes to the cause of your +assembling together—the main and real object of this evening’s gathering; +for I suppose we are all agreed that the motto of these tables is not +“Let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we die;” but, “Let us eat and drink, +for to-morrow we live.” It is because a great and good work is to live +to-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow, and to live a greater and better +life with every succeeding to-morrow, that we eat and drink here at all. +Conspicuous on the card of admission to this dinner is the word +“Schools.” This set me thinking this morning what are the sorts of +schools that I don’t like. I found them on consideration, to be rather +numerous. I don’t like to begin with, and to begin as charity does at +home—I don’t like the sort of school to which I once went myself—the +respected proprietor of which was by far the most ignorant man I have +ever had the pleasure to know; one of the worst-tempered men perhaps that +ever lived, whose business it was to make as much out of us and put as +little into us as possible, and who sold us at a figure which I remember +we used to delight to estimate, as amounting to exactly £2 4s. 6d. per +head. I don’t like that sort of school, because I don’t see what +business the master had to be at the top of it instead of the bottom, and +because I never could understand the wholesomeness of the moral preached +by the abject appearance and degraded condition of the teachers who +plainly said to us by their looks every day of their lives, “Boys, never +be learned; whatever you are, above all things be warned from that in +time by our sunken cheeks, by our poor pimply noses, by our meagre diet, +by our acid-beer, and by our extraordinary suits of clothes, of which no +human being can say whether they are snuff-coloured turned black, or +black turned snuff-coloured, a point upon which we ourselves are +perfectly unable to offer any ray of enlightenment, it is so very long +since they were undarned and new.” I do not like that sort of school, +because I have never yet lost my ancient suspicion touching that curious +coincidence that the boy with four brothers to come always got the +prizes. In fact, and short, I do not like that sort of school, which is +a pernicious and abominable humbug, altogether. Again, ladies and +gentlemen, I don’t like that sort of school—a ladies’ school—with which +the other school used to dance on Wednesdays, where the young ladies, as +I look back upon them now, seem to me always to have been in new stays +and disgrace—the latter concerning a place of which I know nothing at +this day, that bounds Timbuctoo on the north-east—and where memory always +depicts the youthful enthraller of my first affection as for ever +standing against a wall, in a curious machine of wood, which confined her +innocent feet in the first dancing position, while those arms, which +should have encircled my jacket, those precious arms, I say, were +pinioned behind her by an instrument of torture called a backboard, fixed +in the manner of a double direction post. Again, I don’t like that sort +of school, of which we have a notable example in Kent, which was +established ages ago by worthy scholars and good men long deceased, whose +munificent endowments have been monstrously perverted from their original +purpose, and which, in their distorted condition, are struggled for and +fought over with the most indecent pertinacity. Again, I don’t like that +sort of school—and I have seen a great many such in these latter +times—where the bright childish imagination is utterly discouraged, and +where those bright childish faces, which it is so very good for the +wisest among us to remember in after life—when the world is too much with +us, early and late {292}—are gloomily and grimly scared out of +countenance; where I have never seen among the pupils, whether boys or +girls, anything but little parrots and small calculating machines. +Again, I don’t by any means like schools in leather breeches, and with +mortified straw baskets for bonnets, which file along the streets in long +melancholy rows under the escort of that surprising British monster—a +beadle, whose system of instruction, I am afraid, too often presents that +happy union of sound with sense, of which a very remarkable instance is +given in a grave report of a trustworthy school inspector, to the effect +that a boy in great repute at school for his learning, presented on his +slate, as one of the ten commandments, the perplexing prohibition, “Thou +shalt not commit doldrum.” Ladies and gentlemen, I confess, also, that I +don’t like those schools, even though the instruction given in them be +gratuitous, where those sweet little voices which ought to be heard +speaking in very different accents, anathematise by rote any human being +who does not hold what is taught there. Lastly, I do not like, and I did +not like some years ago, cheap distant schools, where neglected children +pine from year to year under an amount of neglect, want, and youthful +misery far too sad even to be glanced at in this cheerful assembly. + +And now, ladies and gentlemen, perhaps you will permit me to sketch in a +few words the sort of school that I do like. It is a school established +by the members of an industrious and useful order, which supplies the +comforts and graces of life at every familiar turning in the road of our +existence; it is a school established by them for the Orphan and +Necessitous Children of their own brethren and sisterhood; it is a place +giving an education worthy of them—an education by them invented, by them +conducted, by them watched over; it is a place of education where, while +the beautiful history of the Christian religion is daily taught, and +while the life of that Divine Teacher who Himself took little children on +His knees is daily studied, no sectarian ill-will nor narrow human dogma +is permitted to darken the face of the clear heaven which they disclose. +It is a children’s school, which is at the same time no less a children’s +home, a home not to be confided to the care of cold or ignorant +strangers, nor, by the nature of its foundation, in the course of ages to +pass into hands that have as much natural right to deal with it as with +the peaks of the highest mountains or with the depths of the sea, but to +be from generation to generation administered by men living in precisely +such homes as those poor children have lost; by men always bent upon +making that replacement, such a home as their own dear children might +find a happy refuge in if they themselves were taken early away. And I +fearlessly ask you, is this a design which has any claim to your +sympathy? Is this a sort of school which is deserving of your support? + +This is the design, this is the school, whose strong and simple claim I +have to lay before you to-night. I must particularly entreat you not to +suppose that my fancy and unfortunate habit of fiction has anything to do +with the picture I have just presented to you. It is sober matter of +fact. The Warehousemen and Clerks’ Schools, established for the +maintaining, clothing, and educating of the Orphan and Necessitous +Children of those employed in the wholesale trades and manufactures of +the United Kingdom, are, in fact, what I have just described. These +schools for both sexes were originated only four years ago. In the first +six weeks of the undertaking the young men of themselves and quite +unaided, subscribed the large sum of £3,000. The schools have been +opened only three years, they have now on their foundation thirty-nine +children, and in a few days they will have six more, making a total of +forty-five. They have been most munificently assisted by the heads of +great mercantile houses, numerously represented, I am happy to say, +around me, and they have a funded capital of almost £14,000. This is +wonderful progress, but the aim must still be upwards, the motto always +“Excelsior.” You do not need to be told that five-and-forty children can +form but a very small proportion of the Orphan and Necessitous Children +of those who have been entrusted with the wholesale trades and +manufactures of the United Kingdom: you do not require to be informed +that the house at New-cross, rented for a small term of years, in which +the schools are at present established, can afford but most imperfect +accommodation for such a breadth of design. To carry this good work +through the two remaining degrees of better and best there must be more +work, more co-operation, more friends, more money. Then be the friends +and give the money. Before I conclude, there is one other feature in +these schools which I would commend to your special attention and +approval. Their benefits are reserved for the children of subscribers; +that is to say, it is an essential principle of the institution that it +must help those whose parents have helped them, and that the unfortunate +children whose father has been so lax, or so criminal, as to withhold a +subscription so exceedingly small that when divided by weeks it amounts +to only threepence weekly, cannot, in justice, be allowed to jostle out +and shoulder away the happier children, whose father has had that little +forethought, or done that little kindness which was requisite to secure +for them the benefits of the institution. I really cannot believe that +there will long be any such defaulting parents. I cannot believe that +any of the intelligent young men who are engaged in the wholesale houses +will long neglect this obvious, this easy duty. If they suppose that the +objects of their love, born or unborn, will never want the benefits of +the charity, that may be a fatal and blind mistake—it can never be an +excuse, for, supposing them to be right in their anticipation, they +should do what is asked for the sake of their friends and comrades around +them, assured that they will be the happier and the better for the deed. + +Ladies and gentlemen, this little “labour of love” of mine is now done. +I most heartily wish that I could charm you now not to see me, not to +think of me, not to hear me—I most heartily wish that I could make you +see in my stead the multitude of innocent and bereaved children who are +looking towards these schools, and entreating with uplifted hands to be +let in. A very famous advocate once said, in speaking of his fears of +failure when he had first to speak in court, being very poor, that he +felt his little children tugging at his skirts, and that recovered him. +Will you think of the number of little children who are tugging at my +skirts, when I ask you, in their names, on their behalf, and in their +little persons, and in no strength of my own, to encourage and assist +this work? + + * * * * * + +At a later period of the evening Mr. Dickens proposed the health of the +President of the Institution, Lord John Russell. He said he should do +nothing so superfluous and so unnecessary as to descant upon his +lordship’s many faithful, long, and great public services, upon the +honour and integrity with which he had pursued his straightforward public +course through every difficulty, or upon the manly, gallant, and +courageous character, which rendered him certain, in the eyes alike of +friends and opponents, to rise with every rising occasion, and which, +like the seal of Solomon, in the old Arabian story, enclosed in a not +very large casket the soul of a giant. In answer to loud cheers, he said +he had felt perfectly certain, that that would be the response for in no +English assembly that he had ever seen was it necessary to do more than +mention the name of Lord John Russell to ensure a manifestation of +personal respect and grateful remembrance. + + + + +L. +LONDON, MAY 8, 1858. + + +[The forty-eighth Anniversary of the establishment of the Artists’ +Benevolent Fund took place on the above date at the Freemasons’ Tavern. +The chair was taken by Mr. Charles Dickens, who, after having disposed of +the preliminary toasts with his usual felicity, proceeded to advocate the +claims of the Institution in whose interest the company had assembled, in +the following terms:—] + +LADIES AND GENTLEMEN,—There is an absurd theatrical story which was once +told to me by a dear and valued friend, who has now passed from this +sublunary stage, and which is not without its moral as applied to myself, +in my present presidential position. In a certain theatrical company was +included a man, who on occasions of emergency was capable of taking part +in the whole round of the British drama, provided he was allowed to use +his own language in getting through the dialogue. It happened one night +that Reginald, in the _Castle Spectre_, was taken ill, and this veteran +of a hundred characters was, of course, called up for the vacant part. +He responded with his usual promptitude, although knowing nothing +whatever of the character, but while they were getting him into the +dress, he expressed a not unreasonable wish to know in some vague way +what the part was about. He was not particular as to details, but in +order that he might properly pourtray his sufferings, he thought he +should have some slight inkling as to what really had happened to him. +As, for example, what murders he had committed, whose father he was, of +what misfortunes he was the victim,—in short, in a general way to know +why he was in that place at all. They said to him, “Here you are, +chained in a dungeon, an unhappy father; you have been here for seventeen +years, during which time you have never seen your daughter; you have +lived upon bread and water, and, in consequence, are extremely weak, and +suffer from occasional lowness of spirits.”—“All right,” said the actor +of universal capabilities, “ring up.” When he was discovered to the +audience, he presented an extremely miserable appearance, was very +favourably received, and gave every sign of going on well, until, through +some mental confusion as to his instructions, he opened the business of +the act by stating in pathetic terms, that he had been confined in that +dungeon seventeen years, during which time he had not tasted a morsel of +food, to which circumstance he was inclined to attribute the fact of his +being at that moment very much out of condition. The audience, thinking +this statement exceedingly improbable, declined to receive it, and the +weight of that speech hung round him until the end of his performance. + +Now I, too, have received instructions for the part I have the honour of +performing before you, and it behoves both you and me to profit by the +terrible warning I have detailed, while I endeavour to make the part I +have undertaken as plain and intelligible as I possibly can. + +As I am going to propose to you that we should now begin to connect the +business with the pleasure of the evening, by drinking prosperity to the +Artists’ Benevolent Fund, it becomes important that we should know what +that fund is. It is an Association supported by the voluntary gifts of +those who entertain a critical and admiring estimation of art, and has +for its object the granting of annuities to the widows and children of +deceased artists—of artists who have been unable in their lives to make +any provision for those dear objects of their love surviving themselves. +Now it is extremely important to observe that this institution of an +Artists’ Benevolent Fund, which I now call on you to pledge, has +connected with it, and has arisen out of another artists’ association, +which does not ask you for a health, which never did, and never will ask +you for a health, which is self-supporting, and which is entirely +maintained by the prudence and providence of its three hundred artist +members. That fund, which is called the Artists’ Annuity Fund, is, so to +speak, a joint and mutual Assurance Company against infirmity, sickness, +and age. To the benefits it affords every one of its members has an +absolute right, a right, be it remembered, produced by timely thrift and +self-denial, and not assisted by appeals to the charity or compassion of +any human being. On that fund there are, if I remember a right, some +seventeen annuitants who are in the receipt of eleven hundred a-year, the +proceeds of their own self-supporting Institution. In recommending to +you this benevolent fund, which is not self-supporting, they address you, +in effect, in these words:—“We ask you to help these widows and orphans, +because we show you we have first helped ourselves. These widows and +orphans may be ours or they may not be ours; but in any case we will +prove to you to a certainty that we are not so many wagoners calling upon +Jupiter to do our work, because we do our own work; each has his shoulder +to the wheel; each, from year to year, has had his shoulder set to the +wheel, and the prayer we make to Jupiter and all the gods is simply +this—that this fact may be remembered when the wagon has stopped for +ever, and the spent and worn-out wagoner lies lifeless by the roadside. + +“Ladies and Gentlemen, I most particularly wish to impress on you the +strength of this appeal. I am a painter, a sculptor, or an engraver, of +average success. I study and work here for no immense return, while life +and health, while hand and eye are mine. I prudently belong to the +Annuity Fund, which in sickness, old age, and infirmity, preserves me +from want. I do my duty to those who are depending on me while life +remains; but when the grass grows above my grave there is no provision +for them any longer.” + +This is the case with the Artists’ Benevolent Fund, and in stating this I +am only the mouthpiece of three hundred of the trade, who in truth stands +as independent before you as if they were three hundred Cockers all +regulated by the Gospel according to themselves. There are in existence +three artists’ funds, which ought never to be mentioned without respect. +I am an officer of one of them, and can speak from knowledge; but on this +occasion I address myself to a case for which there is no provision. I +address you on behalf of those professors of the fine arts who have made +provision during life, and in submitting to you their claims I am only +advocating principles which I myself have always maintained. + +When I add that this Benevolent Fund makes no pretensions to gentility, +squanders no treasure in keeping up appearances, that it considers that +the money given for the widow and the orphan, should really be held for +the widow and the orphan, I think I have exhausted the case, which I +desire most strenuously to commend to you. + +Perhaps you will allow me to say one last word. I will not consent to +present to you the professors of Art as a set of helpless babies, who are +to be held up by the chin; I present them as an energetic and persevering +class of men, whose incomes depend on their own faculties and personal +exertions; and I also make so bold as to present them as men who in their +vocation render good service to the community. I am strongly disposed to +believe there are very few debates in Parliament so important to the +public welfare as a really good picture. I have also a notion that any +number of bundles of the driest legal chaff that ever was chopped would +be cheaply expended for one really meritorious engraving. At a highly +interesting annual festival at which I have the honour to assist, and +which takes place behind two fountains, I sometimes observe that great +ministers of state and other such exalted characters have a strange +delight in rather ostentatiously declaring that they have no knowledge +whatever of art, and particularly of impressing on the company that they +have passed their lives in severe studies. It strikes me when I hear +these things as if these great men looked upon the arts as a sort of +dancing dogs, or Punch’s show, to be turned to for amusement when one has +nothing else to do. Now I always take the opportunity on these occasions +of entertaining my humble opinion that all this is complete “bosh;” and +of asserting to myself my strong belief that the neighbourhoods of +Trafalgar Square, or Suffolk Street, rightly understood, are quite as +important to the welfare of the empire as those of Downing Street, or +Westminster Hall. Ladies and Gentlemen, on these grounds, and backed by +the recommendation of three hundred artists in favour of the Benevolent +Fund, I beg to propose its prosperity as a toast for your adoption. + + + + +LI. +THE FAREWELL READING. +ST. JAMES’S HALL, MARCH 15, 1870. + + +[With the “Christmas Carol” and “The Trial from Pickwick,” Mr. Charles +Dickens brought to a brilliant close the memorable series of public +readings which have for sixteen years proved to audiences unexampled in +numbers, the source of the highest intellectual enjoyment. Every portion +of available space in the building was, of course, last night occupied +some time before the appointed hour; but could the St. James’s Hall have +been specially enlarged for the occasion to the dimensions of Salisbury +Plain, it is doubtful whether sufficient room would even then have been +provided for all anxious to seize the last chance of hearing the +distinguished novelist give his own interpretation of the characters +called into existence by his own creative pen. As if determined to +convince his auditors that, whatever reason had influenced his +determination, physical exhaustion was not amongst them, Mr. Dickens +never read with greater spirit and energy. His voice to the last +retained its distinctive clearness, and the transitions of tone, as each +personage in the story, conjured up by a word, rose vividly before the +eye, seemed to be more marvellous than ever. The vast assemblage, hushed +into breathless attention, suffered not a syllable to escape the ear, and +the rich humour and deep pathos of one of the most delightful books ever +written found once again the fullest appreciation. The usual burst of +merriment responsive to the blithe description of Bob Cratchit’s +Christmas day, and the wonted sympathy with the crippled child “Tiny +Tim,” found prompt expression, and the general delight at hearing of +Ebenezer Scrooge’s reformation was only checked by the saddening +remembrance that with it the last strain of the “carol” was dying away. +After the “Trial from Pickwick,” in which the speeches of the opposing +counsel, and the owlish gravity of the judge, seemed to be delivered and +depicted with greater dramatic power than ever, the applause of the +audience rang for several minutes through the hall, and when it had +subsided, Mr. Dickens, with evidently strong emotion, but in his usual +distinct and expressive manner, spoke as follows:—] + +LADIES AND GENTLEMEN,—It would be worse than idle—for it would be +hypocritical and unfeeling—if I were to disguise that I close this +episode in my life with feelings of very considerable pain. For some +fifteen years, in this hall and in many kindred places, I have had the +honour of presenting my own cherished ideas before you for your +recognition, and, in closely observing your reception of them, have +enjoyed an amount of artistic delight and instruction which, perhaps, is +given to few men to know. In this task, and in every other I have ever +undertaken, as a faithful servant of the public, always imbued with a +sense of duty to them, and always striving to do his best, I have been +uniformly cheered by the readiest response, the most generous sympathy, +and the most stimulating support. Nevertheless, I have thought it well, +at the full flood-tide of your favour, to retire upon those older +associations between us, which date from much further back than these, +and henceforth to devote myself exclusively to the art that first brought +us together. Ladies and gentlemen, in but two short weeks from this time +I hope that you may enter, in your own homes, on a new series of +readings, at which my assistance will be indispensable; {303} but from +these garish lights I vanish now for evermore, with a heartfelt, +grateful, respectful, and affectionate farewell. + +[Amidst repeated acclamations of the most enthusiastic description, +whilst hats and handkerchiefs were waving in every part of the hall, Mr. +Charles Dickens retired, withdrawing with him one of the greatest +intellectual treats the public ever enjoyed.] + + + + +LII. +THE NEWSVENDORS’ INSTITUTION. +LONDON, APRIL 5, 1870. + + +[The annual dinner in aid of the funds of the Newsvendors’ Benevolent and +Provident Institution was held on the above evening, at the Freemason’s +Tavern. Mr. Charles Dickens presided, and was supported by the Sheriffs +of the City of London and Middlesex. + +After the usual toasts had been given and responded to, + +The Chairman said that if the approved order of their proceedings had +been observed, the Corporation of the City of London would no doubt have +considered themselves snubbed if they were not toasted by themselves. He +was sure that a distinguished member of the Corporation who was present +would tell the company what the Corporation were going to do; and he had +not the slightest doubt they were going to do something highly creditable +to themselves, and something highly serviceable to the whole metropolis; +and if the secret were not at present locked up in the blue chamber, they +would be all deeply obliged to the gentleman who would immediately follow +him, if he let them into it in the same confidence as he had observed +with respect to the Corporation of the City of London being snubbed. He +begged to give the toast of “The Corporation of the City of London.” + +Mr. Alderman Cotton, in replying to the toast, said for once, and once +only, had their chairman said an unkind word about the Corporation of +London. He had always reckoned Mr. Dickens to be one of the warmest +friends of the Corporation; and remembering that he (Mr. Dickens) did +really go through a Lord Mayor’s Show in a Lord Mayor’s carriage, if he +had not felt himself quite a Lord Mayor, he must have at least considered +himself next to one. + +In proposing the toast of the evening Mr. Dickens said:—] + +LADIES AND GENTLEMEN,—You receive me with so much cordiality that I fear +you believe that I really did once sit in a Lord Mayor’s state coach. +Permit me to assure you, in spite of the information received from Mr. +Alderman Cotton, that I never had that honour. Furthermore, I beg to +assure you that I never witnessed a Lord Mayor’s show except from the +point of view obtained by the other vagabonds upon the pavement. Now, +ladies and gentlemen, in spite of this great cordiality of yours, I doubt +if you fully know yet what a blessing it is to you that I occupy this +chair to-night, because, having filled it on several previous occasions +for the society on whose behalf we are assembled, and having said +everything that I could think of to say about it, and being, moreover, +the president of the institution itself, I am placed to-night in the +modest position of a host who is not so much to display himself as to +call out his guests—perhaps even to try to induce some among them to +occupy his place on another occasion. And, therefore, you may be safely +sure that, like Falstaff, but with a modification almost as large as +himself, I shall try rather to be the cause of speaking in others than to +speak myself to-night. Much in this manner they exhibit at the door of a +snuff shop the effigy of a Highlander with an empty mull in his hand, +who, having apparently taken all the snuff he can carry, and discharged +all the sneezes of which he is capable, politely invites his friends and +patrons to step in and try what they can do in the same line. + +It is an appropriate instance of the universality of the newsman’s +calling that no toast we have drunk to-night—and no toast we shall drink +to-night—and no toast we might, could, should, or would drink to-night, +is separable for a moment from that great inclusion of all possible +subjects of human interest which he delivers at our doors every day. +Further, it may be worthy the consideration of everybody here who has +talked cheerfully to his or her neighbour since we have sat down at the +table, what in the name of Heaven should we have talked about, and how on +earth could we have possibly got on, if our newsman had only for one +single day forgotten us. Now, ladies and gentlemen, as our newsman is +not by any means in the habit of forgetting us, let us try to form a +little habit of not forgetting our newsman. Let us remember that his +work is very arduous; that it occupies him early and late; that the +profits he derives from us are at the best very small; that the services +he renders to us are very great; that if he be a master, his little +capital is exposed to all sorts of mischances, anxieties, and hazards; +and if he be a journeyman, he himself is exposed to all manner of +weathers, of tempers, and of difficult and unreasonable requirements. + +Let me illustrate this. I was once present at a social discussion, which +originated by chance. The subject was, What was the most absorbing and +longest-lived passion in the human breast? What was the passion so +powerful that it would almost induce the generous to be mean, the +careless to be cautious, the guileless to be deeply designing, and the +dove to emulate the serpent? A daily editor of vast experience and great +acuteness, who was one of the company, considerably surprised us by +saying with the greatest confidence that the passion in question was the +passion of getting orders for the play. + +There had recently been a terrible shipwreck, and very few of the +surviving sailors had escaped in an open boat. One of these on making +land came straight to London, and straight to the newspaper office, with +his story of how he had seen the ship go down before his eyes. That +young man had witnessed the most terrible contention between the powers +of fire and water for the destruction of that ship and of every one on +board. He had rowed away among the floating, dying, and the sinking +dead. He had floated by day, and he had frozen by night, with no shelter +and no food, and, as he told his dismal tale, he rolled his haggard eyes +about the room. When he had finished, and the tale had been noted down +from his lips, he was cheered and refreshed, and soothed, and asked if +anything could be done for him. Even within him that master passion was +so strong that he immediately replied he should like an order for the +play. My friend the editor certainly thought that was rather a strong +case; but he said that during his many years of experience he had +witnessed an incurable amount of self-prostration and abasement having no +outer object, and that almost invariably on the part of people who could +well afford to pay. + +This made a great impression on my mind, and I really lived in this faith +until some years ago it happened upon a stormy night I was kindly +escorted from a bleak railway station to the little out-of-the-way town +it represented by a sprightly and vivacious newsman, to whom I +propounded, as we went along under my umbrella—he being most excellent +company—this old question, what was the one all-absorbing passion of the +human soul? He replied, without the slightest hesitation, that it +certainly was the passion for getting your newspaper in advance of your +fellow-creatures; also, if you only hired it, to get it delivered at your +own door at exactly the same time as another man who hired the same copy +four miles off; and, finally, the invincible determination on the part of +both men not to believe the time was up when the boy called. + +Ladies and gentlemen, I have not had an opportunity of verifying this +experience with my friends of the managing committee, but I have no doubt +from its reception to-night that my friend the newsman was perfectly +right. Well, as a sort of beacon in a sufficiently dark life, and as an +assurance that among a little body of working men there is a feeling of +brotherhood and sympathy—which is worth much to all men, or they would +herd with wolves—the newsvendors once upon a time established the +Benevolent and Provident Institution, and here it is. Under the +Provident head, certain small annuities are granted to old and +hard-working subscribers. Under the Benevolent head, relief is afforded +to temporary and proved distress. Under both heads, I am bound to say +the help rendered is very humble and very sparing, but if you like it to +be handsomer you have it in your power to make it so. Such as it is, it +is most gratefully received, and does a deal of good. Such as it is, it +is most discreetly and feelingly administered; and it is encumbered with +no wasteful charges for management or patronage. + +You know upon an old authority, that you may believe anything except +facts and figures, but you really may believe that during the last year +we have granted £100 in pensions, and some £70 in temporary relief, and +we have invested in Government securities some £400. But, touching this +matter of investments, it was suggested at the anniversary dinner, on the +high and kind authority of Sir Benjamin Phillips that we might grant more +pensions and invest less money. We urged, on the other hand, that we +wished our pensions to be certain and unchangeable—which of course they +must be if they are always paid out of our Government interest and never +out of our capital. However, so amiable is our nature, that we profess +our desire to grant more pensions and to invest more money too. The more +you give us to-night again, so amiable is our nature, the more we promise +to do in both departments. That the newsman’s work has greatly +increased, and that it is far more wearing and tearing than it used to +be, you may infer from one fact, not to mention that we live in railway +times. It is stated in Mitchell’s “Newspaper Press Directory,” that +during the last quarter of a century the number of newspapers which +appeared in London had more than doubled, while the increase in the +number of people among whom they were disseminated was probably beyond +calculation. + +Ladies and gentlemen, I have stated the newsman’s simple case. I leave +it in your hands. Within the last year the institution has had the good +fortune to attract the sympathy and gain the support of the eminent man +of letters I am proud to call my friend, {309} who now represents the +great Republic of America at the British Court. Also it has the honour +of enrolling upon its list of donors and vice-presidents the great name +of Longfellow. I beg to propose to you to drink “Prosperity to the +Newsvendors’ Benevolent and Provident Institution.” + + + + +LIII. +MACREADY. +LONDON, MARCH 1, 1851. + + +[On the evening of the above day the friends and admirers of Mr. Macready +entertained him at a public dinner. Upwards of six hundred gentlemen +assembled to do honour to the great actor on his retirement from the +stage. Sir E. B. Lytton took the chair. Among the other speakers were +Baron Bunsen, Sir Charles Eastlake, Mr. Thackeray, Mr. John Forster, Mr. +W. J. Fox, and Mr. Charles Dickens, who proposed “The Health of the +Chairman” in the following words:—] + +GENTLEMEN,—After all you have already heard, and so rapturously received, +I assure you that not even the warmth of your kind welcome would embolden +me to hope to interest you if I had not full confidence in the subject I +have to offer to your notice. But my reliance on the strength of this +appeal to you is so strong that I am rather encouraged than daunted by +the brightness of the track on which I have to throw my little shadow. + +Gentlemen, as it seems to me, there are three great requisites essential +to the perfect realisation of a scene so unusual and so splendid as that +in which we are now assembled. The first, and I must say very difficult +requisite, is a man possessing the stronghold in the general remembrance, +the indisputable claim on the general regard and esteem, which is +possessed by my dear and much valued friend our guest. The second +requisite is the presence of a body of entertainers,—a great multitude of +hosts so cheerful and good-humoured (under, I am sorry to say, some +personal inconvenience),—so warm-hearted and so nobly in earnest, as +those whom I have the privilege of addressing. The third, and certainly +not the least of these requisites, is a president who, less by his social +position, which he may claim by inheritance, or by fortune, which may +have been adventitiously won, and may be again accidentally lost, than by +his comprehensive genius, shall fitly represent the best part of him to +whom honour is done, and the best part of those who unite in the doing of +it. Such a president I think we have found in our chairman of to-night, +and I need scarcely add that our chairman’s health is the toast I have to +propose to you. + +Many of those who now hear me were present, I daresay, at that memorable +scene on Wednesday night last, {311} when the great vision which had been +a delight and a lesson,—very often, I daresay, a support and a comfort to +you, which had for many years improved and charmed us, and to which we +had looked for an elevated relief from the labours of our lives, faded +from our sight for ever. I will not stop to inquire whether our guest +may or may not have looked backward, through rather too long a period for +us, to some remote and distant time when he might possibly bear some +far-off likeness to a certain Spanish archbishop whom Gil Blas once +served. Nor will I stop to inquire whether it was a reasonable +disposition in the audience of Wednesday to seize upon the words— + + “And I have brought, + Golden opinions from all sorts of people, + Which would be worn now in their newest gloss, + Not cast aside so soon—” {312} + +but I will venture to intimate to those whom I am addressing how in my +mind I mainly connect that occasion with the present. When I looked +round on the vast assemblage, and observed the huge pit hushed into +stillness on the rising of the curtain, and that mighty surging gallery, +where men in their shirt-sleeves had been striking out their arms like +strong swimmers—when I saw that boisterous human flood become still water +in a moment, and remain so from the opening to the end of the play, it +suggested to me something besides the trustworthiness of an English +crowd, and the delusion under which those labour who are apt to disparage +and malign it: it suggested to me that in meeting here to-night we +undertook to represent something of the all-pervading feeling of that +crowd, through all its intermediate degrees, from the full-dressed lady, +with her diamonds sparkling upon her breast in the proscenium-box, to the +half-undressed gentleman; who bides his time to take some refreshment in +the back row of the gallery. And I consider, gentlemen, that no one who +could possibly be placed in this chair could so well head that +comprehensive representation, and could so well give the crowning grace +to our festivities, as one whose comprehensive genius has in his various +works embraced them all, and who has, in his dramatic genius, enchanted +and enthralled them all at once. + +Gentlemen, it is not for me here to recall, after what you have heard +this night, what I have seen and known in the bygone times of Mr. +Macready’s management, of the strong friendship of Sir Bulwer Lytton for +him, of the association of his pen with his earliest successes, or of Mr. +Macready’s zealous and untiring services; but it may be permitted me to +say what, in any public mention of him I can never repress, that in the +path we both tread I have uniformly found him from the first the most +generous of men; quick to encourage, slow to disparage, ever anxious to +assert the order of which he is so great an ornament; never condescending +to shuffle it off, and leave it outside state rooms, as a Mussulman might +leave his slippers outside a mosque. + +There is a popular prejudice, a kind of superstition to the effect that +authors are not a particularly united body, that they are not invariably +and inseparably attached to each other. I am afraid I must concede +half-a-grain or so of truth I to that superstition; but this I know, that +there can hardly be—that there hardly can have been—among the followers +of literature, a man of more high standing farther above these little +grudging jealousies, which do sometimes disparage its brightness, than +Sir Edward Bulwer Lytton. + +And I have the strongest reason just at present to bear my testimony to +his great consideration for those evils which are sometimes unfortunately +attendant upon it, though not on him. For, in conjunction with some +other gentlemen now present, I have just embarked in a design with Sir +Bulwer Lytton, to smoothe the rugged way of young labourers, both in +literature and the fine arts, and to soften, but by no eleemosynary +means, the declining years of meritorious age. And if that project +prosper as I hope it will, and as I know it ought, it will one day be an +honour to England where there is now a reproach; originating in his +sympathies, being brought into operation by his activity, and endowed +from its very cradle by his generosity. There are many among you who +will have each his own favourite reason for drinking our chairman’s +health, resting his claim probably upon some of his diversified +successes. According to the nature of your reading, some of you will +connect him with prose, others will connect him with poetry. One will +connect him with comedy, and another with the romantic passions of the +stage, and his assertion of worthy ambition and earnest struggle against + + “those twin gaolers of the human heart, + Low birth and iron fortune.” + +Again, another’s taste will lead him to the contemplation of Rienzi and +the streets of Rome; another’s to the rebuilt and repeopled streets of +Pompeii; another’s to the touching history of the fireside where the +Caxton family learned how to discipline their natures and tame their wild +hopes down. But, however various their feelings and reasons may be, I am +sure that with one accord each will help the other, and all will swell +the greeting, with which I shall now propose to you “The Health of our +Chairman, Sir Edward Bulwer Lytton.” + + + + +LIV. +SANITARY REFORM. +LONDON, MAY 10, 1851. + + +[The members and friends of the Metropolitan Sanitary Association dined +together on the above evening at Gore House, Kensington. The Earl of +Carlisle occupied the chair. Mr. Charles Dickens was present, and in +proposing “The Board of Health,” made the following speech:—] + +THERE are very few words for me to say upon the needfulness of sanitary +reform, or the consequent usefulness of the Board of Health. That no man +can estimate the amount of mischief grown in dirt,—that no man can say +the evil stops here or stops there, either in its moral or physical +effects, or can deny that it begins in the cradle and is not at rest in +the miserable grave, is as certain as it is that the air from Gin Lane +will be carried by an easterly wind into Mayfair, or that the furious +pestilence raging in St. Giles’s no mortal list of lady patronesses can +keep out of Almack’s. Fifteen years ago some of the valuable reports of +Mr. Chadwick and Dr. Southwood Smith, strengthening and much enlarging my +knowledge, made me earnest in this cause in my own sphere; and I can +honestly declare that the use I have since that time made of my eyes and +nose have only strengthened the conviction that certain sanitary reforms +must precede all other social remedies, and that neither education nor +religion can do anything useful until the way has been paved for their +ministrations by cleanliness and decency. + +I do not want authority for this opinion: you have heard the speech of +the right reverend prelate {316} this evening—a speech which no sanitary +reformer can have heard without emotion. Of what avail is it to send +missionaries to the miserable man condemned to work in a foetid court, +with every sense bestowed upon him for his health and happiness turned +into a torment, with every month of his life adding to the heap of evils +under which he is condemned to exist? What human sympathy within him is +that instructor to address? what natural old chord within him is he to +touch? Is it the remembrance of his children?—a memory of destitution, +of sickness, of fever, and of scrofula? Is it his hopes, his latent +hopes of immortality? He is so surrounded by and embedded in material +filth, that his soul cannot rise to the contemplation of the great truths +of religion. Or if the case is that of a miserable child bred and +nurtured in some noisome, loathsome place, and tempted, in these better +days, into the ragged school, what can a few hours’ teaching effect +against the ever-renewed lesson of a whole existence? But give them a +glimpse of heaven through a little of its light and air; give them water; +help them to be clean; lighten that heavy atmosphere in which their +spirits flag and in which they become the callous things they are; take +the body of the dead relative from the close room in which the living +live with it, and where death, being familiar, loses its awe; and then +they will be brought willingly to hear of Him whose thoughts were so much +with the poor, and who had compassion for all human suffering. + +The toast which I have to propose, The Board of Health, is entitled to +all the honour which can be conferred upon it. We have very near us, in +Kensington, a transparent illustration that no very great thing can ever +be accomplished without an immense amount of abuse being heaped upon it. +In connexion with the Board of Health we are always hearing a very large +word which is always pronounced with a very great relish—the word +centralization. Now I submit that in the time of the cholera we had a +pretty good opportunity of judging between this so called centralization +and what I may, I think, call “vestrylisation.” I dare say the company +present have read the reports of the Cholera Board of Health, and I +daresay they have also read reports of certain vestries. I have the +honour of belonging to a constituency which elected that amazing body, +the Marylebone vestry, and I think that if the company present will look +to what was done by the Board of Health at Glasgow, and then contrast +those proceedings with the wonderful cleverness with which affairs were +managed at the same period by my vestry, there will be very little +difficulty in judging between them. My vestry even took upon itself to +deny the existence of cholera as a weak invention of the enemy, and that +denial had little or no effect in staying the progress of the disease. +We can now contrast what centralization is as represented by a few noisy +and interested gentlemen, and what centralization is when worked out by a +body combining business habits, sound medical and social knowledge, and +an earnest sympathy with the sufferings of the working classes. + +Another objection to the Board of Health is conveyed in a word not so +large as the other,—“Delay.” I would suggest, in respect to this, that +it would be very unreasonable to complain that a first-rate chronometer +didn’t go when its master had not wound it up. The Board of Health may +be excellently adapted for going and very willing and anxious to go, and +yet may not be permitted to go by reason of its lawful master having +fallen into a gentle slumber and forgotten to set it a going. One of the +speakers this evening has referred to Lord Castlereagh’s caution “not to +halloo until they were out of the wood.” As regards the Board of Trade I +would suggest that they ought not to halloo until they are out of the +Woods and Forests. In that leafy region the Board of Health suffers all +sorts of delays, and this should always be borne in mind. With the toast +of the Board of Health I will couple the name of a noble lord (Ashley), +of whose earnestness in works of benevolence, no man can doubt, and who +has the courage on all occasions to face the cant which is the worst and +commonest of all—the cant about the cant of philanthropy. + + + + +LV. +GARDENING. +LONDON, JUNE 9, 1851. + + +[At the anniversary dinner of the Gardeners’ Benevolent Institution, held +under the presidency of Mr., afterwards Sir Joseph Paxton, Mr. Charles +Dickens made the following speech:—] + +I FEEL an unbounded and delightful interest in all the purposes and +associations of gardening. Probably there is no feeling in the human +mind stronger than the love of gardening. The prisoner will make a +garden in his prison, and cultivate his solitary flower in the chink of a +wall. The poor mechanic will string his scarlet bean from one side of +his window to the other, and watch it and tend it with unceasing +interest. It is a holy duty in foreign countries to decorate the graves +of the dead with flowers, and here, too, the resting-places of those who +have passed away from us will soon be gardens. From that old time when +the Lord walked in the garden in the cool of the evening, down to the day +when a Poet-Laureate sang— + + “Trust me, Clara Vere de Vere, + From yon blue heaven above us bent + The gardener Adam and his wife + Smile at the claims of long descent,” + +at all times and in all ages gardens have been amongst the objects of the +greatest interest to mankind. There may be a few, but I believe they are +but a few, who take no interest in the products of gardening, except +perhaps in “London Pride,” or a certain degenerate kind of “Stock,” which +is apt to grow hereabouts, cultivated by a species of frozen-out +gardeners whom no thaw can ever penetrate: except these, the gardeners’ +art has contributed to the delight of all men in their time. That there +ought to be a Benevolent Provident Institution for gardeners is in the +fitness of things, and that such an institution ought to flourish and +does flourish is still more so. + +I have risen to propose to you the health of a gentleman who is a great +gardener, and not only a great gardener but a great man—the growth of a +fine Saxon root cultivated up with a power of intellect to a plant that +is at this time the talk of the civilized world—I allude, of course, to +my friend the chairman of the day. I took occasion to say at a public +assembly hard-by, a month or two ago, in speaking of that wonderful +building Mr. Paxton has designed for the Great Exhibition in Hyde Park, +that it ought to have fallen down, but that it refused to do so. We were +told that the glass ought to have been all broken, the gutters all choked +up, and the building flooded, and that the roof and sides ought to have +been blown away; in short that everything ought to have done what +everything obstinately persisted in not doing. Earth, air, fire, and +water all appear to have conspired together in Mr. Paxton’s favour—all +have conspired together to one result, which, when the present generation +is dust, will be an enduring temple to his honour, and to the energy, the +talent, and the resources of Englishmen. + +“But,” said a gentleman to me the other day, “no doubt Mr. Paxton is a +great man, but there is one objection to him that you can never get over, +that is, he is a gardener.” Now that is our case to-night, that he is a +gardener, and we are extremely proud of it. This is a great age, with +all its faults, when a man by the power of his own genius and good sense +can scale such a daring height as Mr. Paxton has reached, and composedly +place his form on the top. This is a great age, when a man impressed +with a useful idea can carry out his project without being imprisoned, or +thumb-screwed, or persecuted in any form. I can well understand that +you, to whom the genius, the intelligence, the industry, and the +achievements of our friend are well known, should be anxious to do him +honour by placing him in the position he occupies to-night; and I assure +you, you have conferred great gratification on one of his friends, in +permitting him to have the opportunity of proposing his health, which +that friend now does most cordially and with all the honours. + + + + +LVI. +THE ROYAL ACADEMY DINNER. +LONDON, MAY 2, 1870. + + +[On the occasion of the Second Exhibition of the Royal Academy in their +new galleries in Piccadilly, the President, Sir F. Grant, and the council +gave their usual inaugurative banquet, and a very distinguished company +was present. The dinner took place in the large central room, and covers +were laid for 200 guests. The Prince of Wales acknowledged the toast of +his health and that of the Princess, the Duke of Cambridge responded to +the toast of the army, Mr. Childers to the navy, Lord Elcho to the +volunteers, Mr. Motley to “The Prosperity of the United States,” Mr. +Gladstone to “Her Majesty’s Ministers,” the Archbishop of York to, “The +Guests,” and Mr. Dickens to “Literature.” The last toast having been +proposed in a highly eulogistic speech, Mr. Dickens responded.] + +MR. PRESIDENT, your Royal Highnesses, my Lords and Gentlemen,—I beg to +acknowledge the toast with which you have done me the great honour of +associating my name. I beg to acknowledge it on behalf of the +brotherhood of literature, present and absent, not forgetting an +illustrious wanderer from the fold, whose tardy return to it we all hail +with delight, and who now sits—or lately did sit—within a few chairs of +or on your left hand. I hope I may also claim to acknowledge the toast +on behalf of the sisterhood of literature also, although that “better +half of human nature,” to which Mr. Gladstone rendered his graceful +tribute, is unworthily represented here, in the present state of its +rights and wrongs, by the devouring monster, man. + +All the arts, and many of the sciences, bear witness that women, even in +their present oppressed condition, can attain to quite as great +distinction, and can attain to quite as lofty names as men. Their +emancipation (as I am given to understand) drawing very near, there is no +saying how soon they may “push us from our stools” at these tables, or +how soon our better half of human nature, standing in this place of mine, +may eloquently depreciate mankind, addressing another better half of +human nature sitting in the president’s chair. + +The literary visitors of the Royal Academy to-night desire me to +congratulate their hosts on a very interesting exhibition, in which risen +excellence supremely asserts itself, and from which promise of a +brilliant succession in time to come is not wanting. They naturally see +with especial interest the writings and persons of great men—historians, +philosophers, poets, and novelists, vividly illustrated around them here. +And they hope that they may modestly claim to have rendered some little +assistance towards the production of many of the pictures in this +magnificent gallery. For without the patient labours of some among them +unhistoric history might have long survived in this place, and but for +the researches and wandering of others among them, the most preposterous +countries, the most impossible peoples, and the absurdest superstitions, +manners, and customs, might have usurped the place of truth upon these +walls. Nay, there is no knowing, Sir Francis Grant, what unlike +portraits you yourself might have painted if you had been left, with your +sitters, to idle pens, unchecked reckless rumours, and undenounced lying +malevolence. + +I cannot forbear, before I resume my seat, adverting to a sad theme (the +recent death of Daniel Maclise) to which his Royal Highness the Prince of +Wales made allusion, and to which the president referred with the +eloquence of genuine feeling. Since I first entered the public lists, a +very young man indeed, it has been my constant fortune to number amongst +my nearest and dearest friends members of the Royal Academy who have been +its grace and pride. They have so dropped from my side one by one that I +already, begin to feel like the Spanish monk of whom Wilkie tells, who +had grown to believe that the only realities around him were the pictures +which he loved, and that all the moving life he saw, or ever had seen, +was a shadow and a dream. + +For many years I was one of the two most intimate friends and most +constant companions of the late Mr. Maclise. Of his genius in his chosen +art I will venture to say nothing here, but of his prodigious fertility +of mind and wonderful wealth of intellect, I may confidently assert that +they would have made him, if he had been so minded, at least as great a +writer as he was a painter. The gentlest and most modest of men, the +freshest as to his generous appreciation of young aspirants, and the +frankest and largest-hearted as to his peers, incapable of a sordid or +ignoble thought, gallantly sustaining the true dignity of his vocation, +without one grain of self-ambition, wholesomely natural at the last as at +the first, “in wit a man, simplicity a child,” no artist, of whatsoever +denomination, I make bold to say, ever went to his rest leaving a golden +memory more pure from dross, or having devoted himself with a truer +chivalry to the art goddess whom he worshipped. + + [These were the last public words of Charles Dickens.] + + + + +CHARLES DICKENS AS A LETTER-WRITER, AND AS A POET. + + +I.—AS A LETTER-WRITER. + + +IN the graceful but difficult art of letter-writing Charles Dickens has +proved himself as accomplished a master as he has of public speaking, +which the two or three specimens given in our Introduction, together with +the following extracts from his correspondence with two distinguished +friends, Washington Irving and Douglas Jerrold, will sufficiently show. + +In the spring of 1841, some months before Mr. Dickens had decided upon +his first visit to the United States, Washington Irving, who was then +personally unknown to him, addressed him a letter, full of warm sympathy +and generous acknowledgment of his genius, and of the pleasure Dickens’s +writings had afforded him. A few extracts from Mr. Dickens’s reply are +given below. + +In February, 1842, Mr. Dickens had the gratification of making the +personal acquaintance of his illustrious correspondent, who was induced +to overcome his objection to public speaking, and to take the chair at a +banquet given in Dickens’s honour by some of the citizens of New York. +Irving, however, entirely broke down in his speech, and could do little +more than propose the toast of the evening. + +There were probably never two men of more congenial mind and common +sympathies than the author of the “Sketch Book,” and the author of +“Pickwick;” and it is pleasant to think that the chance of things should +have brought them together for a time in so unexpected a way. + +In Mr. Dickens’ reply he tells Washington Irving that:— + + “There is no man in the world who could have given me the heartfelt + pleasure you have, by your kind note of the 13th of last month. + There is no living writer—and there are very few among the dead—whose + approbation I should feel so proud to earn. And with everything you + have written upon my shelves, and in my thoughts, and in my heart of + hearts, I may honestly and truly say so. If you could know how + earnestly I write this, you would be glad to read it—as I hope you + will be, faintly guessing at the warmth of the hand I autographically + hold out to you over the broad Atlantic. + + “I wish I could find in your welcome letter some hint of an intention + to visit England. I can’t. I have held it at arm’s length, and + taken a bird’s-eye view of it, after reading it a great many times, + but there is no greater encouragement in it this way than on a + microscopic inspection. I should love to go with you—as I have gone, + God knows how often—into Little Britain, and Eastcheap, and Green + Arbour Court, and Westminster Abbey. I should like to travel with + you, outside the last of the coaches, down to Bracebridge Hall. It + would make my heart glad to compare notes with you about that shabby + gentleman in the oil-cloth hat, and red nose, who sat in the + nine-cornered back parlour of the _Mason’s Arms_; and about Robert + Preston, and the tallow-chandler’s widow, whose sitting-room is + second nature to me; and about all those delightful places and people + that I used to walk about and dream of in the day-time, when a very + small and not over-particularly-taken-care-of boy. I have a good + deal to say, too, about that dashing Alonzo de Ojeda, that you can’t + help being fonder of than you ought to be; and much to hear + concerning Moorish legend, and poor, unhappy Boabdil. Diedrich + Knickerbocker I have worn to death in my pocket, and yet I should + show you his mutilated carcass with a joy past all expression. + + “I have been so accustomed to associate you with my pleasantest and + happiest thoughts, and with my leisure hours, that I rush at once + into full confidence with you, and fall, as it were naturally, and by + the very laws of gravity, into your open arms. Questions come + thronging to my pen as to the lips of people who meet after long + hoping to do so. I don’t know what to say first, or what to leave + unsaid, and am constantly disposed to break off and tell you again + how glad I am this moment has arrived. + + “My dear Washington Irving, I cannot thank you enough for your + cordial and generous praise, or tell you what deep and lasting + gratification it has given me. I hope to have many letters from you, + and to exchange a frequent correspondence. I send this to say so. + After the first two or three, I shall settle down into a connected + style, and become gradually rational. + + “You know what the feeling is, after having written a letter, sealed + it, and sent it off. I shall picture you reading this, and answering + it, before it has lain one night in the post-office. Ten to one that + before the fastest packet could reach New York I shall be writing + again. + + “Do you suppose the post-office clerks care to receive letters? I + have my doubts. They get into a dreadful habit of indifference. A + postman, I imagine, is quite callous. Conceive his delivering one to + himself, without being startled by a preliminary double knock!” + +In the spring of 1842 Mr. Dickens was at Washington, from whence he wrote +to Irving:— + + “We passed through—literally passed through—this place again to-day. + I did not come to see you, for I really have not the heart to say + “good-bye” again, and felt more than I can tell you when we shook + hands last Wednesday. + + “You will not be at Baltimore, I fear? I thought, at the time, that + you only said you might be there, to make our parting the gayer. + Wherever you go, God bless you! What pleasure I have had in seeing + and talking with you, I will not attempt to say. I shall never + forget it as long as I live. What _would_ I give, if we could have + but a quiet week together! Spain is a lazy place, and its climate an + indolent one. But if you have ever leisure under its sunny skies, to + think of a man who loves you, and holds communion with your spirit + oftener, perhaps, than any other person alive—leisure from + listlessness, I mean—and will write to me in London, you will give me + an inexpressible amount of pleasure.” + +Wishing, in the summer of 1856, to introduce a relation to Irving, Mr. +Dickens sent a pleasant letter of introduction, wherein he says:— + + “If you knew how often I write to you individually and personally, in + my books, you would be no more surprised in seeing this note, than + you were in seeing me do my duty by that flowery julep (in what I + dreamily apprehend to have been a former state of existence) at + Baltimore. + + “Will you let me present to you a cousin of mine, Mr. B—, who is + associated with a merchant’s house in New York? Of course, he wants + to see you, and know you. How can _I_ wonder at that? How can + anybody? + + “I had a long talk with Leslie at the last Academy dinner (having + previously been with him in Paris), and he told me that you were + flourishing. I suppose you know that he wears a moustache—so do I, + for the matter of that, and a beard too—and that he looks like a + portrait of Don Quixote. + + “Holland House has four-and-twenty youthful pages in it now—twelve + for my lord, and twelve for my lady; and no clergyman coils his leg + up under his chair all dinner-time, and begins to uncurve it when the + hostess goes. No wheeled chair runs smoothly in, with that beaming + face in it; and —’s little cotton pocket-handkerchief helped to make + (I believe) this very sheet of paper. A half-sad, half-ludicrous + story of Rogers, is all I will sully it with. You know, I daresay, + that, for a year or so before his death, he wandered and lost + himself, like one of the Children in the Wood, grown up there and + grown down again. He had Mrs. Procter and Mrs. Carlyle to breakfast + with him one morning—only those two. Both excessively talkative, + very quick and clever, and bent on entertaining him. When Mrs. + Carlyle had flashed and shone before him for about three-quarters of + an hour on one subject, he turned his poor old eyes on Mrs. Procter, + and, pointing to the brilliant discourser with his poor old finger, + said (indignantly), “Who is _she_?” Upon this, Mrs. Procter, cutting + in, delivered—(it is her own story)—a neat oration on the life and + writings of Carlyle, and enlightened him in her happiest and airiest + manner; all of which he heard, staring in the dreariest silence, and + then said (indignantly as before), “And who are you?” + + * * * * * + +WITH few of his literary contemporaries has Mr. Dickens held more cordial +and pleasant relations than with the late DOUGLAS JERROLD. During all +the years of their intercourse that sympathy and friendship existed +between them, which two minds so thoroughly manly and honourable could +hardly help feeling for each other. Dickens, though considerably the +younger of the two, had won earlier the prizes of his profession. But +there was no mean envy and jealousy on the one side, and no mean +assumption on the other. The letters that passed between the two men are +altogether delightful to read. We shall proceed to give, as far as our +space will allow, a few extracts from those of Dickens to Jerrold, {330} +with intercalary elucidations explanatory of the circumstances under +which they were written. + +In the year 1843, Douglas Jerrold wrote to Mr. Dickens from Herne Bay, +where he had taken up his abode in “a little cabin, built up of ivy and +woodbine, and almost within sound of the sea.” + +Mr. Dickens replies:— + + “Herne Bay. Hum! I suppose it’s no worse than any other place in + this weather, but it _is_ watery, rather, isn’t it? In my mind’s + eye, I have the sea in a perpetual state of small-pox, and the chalk + running down hill 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. If there were + a fine day, I should like to deprive you of the last-named happiness, + and to take a good long stroll.” + + * * * * * + +In the summer of 1844, “Come,” wrote Mr. Dickens temptingly, “come and +see me in Italy. Let us smoke a pipe among the vines. I have taken a +little house surrounded by them, and no man in the world should be more +welcome to it than you.” + + * * * * * + +Again from Cremona, (November, 1844,) Dickens writes:— + + “You rather entertained the notion once, of coming to see me at + Genoa. I shall return straight on the ninth 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, 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.” * * * + + * * * * * + +In 1846, again, Mr. Dickens is off to Switzerland, and still would tempt +Jerrold in his wake. “I wish,” he writes, “you would seriously consider +the expediency and feasibility of coming to Lausanne in the summer or +early autumn. It is a wonderful place to see; 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.” + +Arrived at Lausanne, Mr. Dickens writes that he will be ready for his +guest in June. “We are established here,” he says, “in a perfect doll’s +house, which could be put bodily into the hall of our Italian palazzo. +But it is in the most lovely and delicious situation imaginable, and +there is a spare bedroom wherein we could make you as comfortable as need +be. Bowers of roses for cigar-smoking, arbours for cool punch-drinking, +mountain and Tyrolean countries close at hand, piled-up Alps before the +windows, &c., &c., &c.” Then follow business-like directions for the +journey. + +But it could not be. Jerrold was busy with his paper, and with his +magazine, and felt unable to abandon them even for a few weeks. Well, +could he reach Paris for Christmas, persisted Mr. Dickens, and spend that +merry time with his friend. + +Early in 1847 Jerrold thought he did see his way clear at last to make a +short visit to Paris, where Dickens was still established. “We are +delighted at your intention of coming,” writes the latter, giving the +most minute details of the manner in which the journey was to be +performed; but even this journey was never accomplished. Once only, +after all these promises and invitations—and that for but two or three +days—did Douglas Jerrold escape from the cares of London literary life, +to meet Mr. Dickens at Ostend, on his return from Italy, and have a few +days’ stroll about Belgium. + +The following is an extract from a curious and interesting letter +addressed by Dickens to Douglas Jerrold on the subject of public hanging, +respecting which the latter held conservative opinions:— + + ‘Devonshire Terrace, November 17, 1849. + + “In a letter I have received from G. this morning he quotes a recent + letter from you, in which you deprecate the ‘mystery’ of private + hanging. + + “Will you consider what punishment there is, except death, to which + ‘mystery’ does not attach? Will you consider whether all the + improvements in prisons and punishments that have been made within + the last twenty years have or have not, been all productive of + ‘mystery?’ I can remember very well when the silent system was + objected to as mysterious, and opposed to the genius of English + society. Yet there is no question that it has been a great benefit. + The prison vans are mysterious vehicles; but surely they are better + than the old system of marching prisoners through the streets chained + to a long chain, like the galley slaves in Don Quixote. Is there no + mystery about transportation, and our manner of sending men away to + Norfolk Island, or elsewhere? None in abandoning the use of a man’s + name, and knowing him only by a number? Is not the whole improved + and altered system, from the beginning to end, a mystery? I wish I + could induce you to feel justified in leaving that word to the + platform people, on the strength of your knowledge of what crime was, + and of what its punishments were, in the days when there was no + mystery connected with these things, and all was as open as Bridewell + when Ned Ward went to see the women whipped.” + + + +II.—AS A POET. + + +THERE are several among our foremost prose writers in the present +century, who, possessing high imagination, and a considerable power of +rhythmical expression, have occasionally produced verse of a high though +not of the first order. Lord Macaulay will not be remembered either by +his prize poems, or by his “Lays of Ancient Rome,” but one who wrote such +eloquent prose could hardly fail ignobly when he attempted verse. Thomas +Carlyle, in spite of his energetic denunciation of modern poetry as mere +dilettantism and trifling, has occasionally courted the muse, and were +the original pieces and translations from the German which lie scattered +through his earlier writings, collected together, they would by +themselves form a volume of no mean value. They have a wild, rugged +melody of their own, as have also the occasional verses of Emerson; the +latter bear in many respects a remarkable resemblance to those of Blake. +The author of _Modern Painters_ might also have gained some reputation as +a poet, had he chosen to preserve in a more permanent form his scattered +contributions to annuals. Indeed, it would seem that no eloquent writer +of prose is altogether devoid of the lyric gift if he chooses to exercise +it. The only attempt at poetry by Charles Dickens which is at all known +to the general public is the famous song of “The Ivy Green,” in the +Pickwick Papers. This exquisite little lyric, with its beautiful +refrain, so often wedded to music and so familiar to us all, would alone +suffice to give him no mean rank among contemporary writers of verse. +But in the Comic Opera of the Village Coquettes, {334} to which we +alluded in our Introduction, there were a dozen songs of equal tenderness +and melody, though, as the author has never thought fit to reprint the +little piece, they are now forgotten. + +The first is a song of Harvest-Home, supposed to be sung by a company of +reapers. + +It must be mentioned that this and the other songs had the advantage of +being set to music by John Hullah. The next, “Love is not a feeling to +pass away,” was a great favourite at the time. We quote the first +stanza, the last line of which recalls the little song in the Pickwick +Papers: + + “Love is not a feeling to pass away, + Like the balmy breath of a summer day; + It is not—it cannot be—laid aside; + It is not a thing to forget or hide. + It clings to the heart, ah, woe is me! + As the ivy clings to the old oak tree.” + +The next is a Bacchanalian song, supposed to be sung by a country squire. + +But the gem of all these little lyrics, in our opinion, is that of +“Autumn Leaves,” of which the refrain strikes us as being peculiarly +happy. The reader, however, shall judge for himself, from the following +quotation:— + + “Autumn leaves, autumn leaves, lie strewn around me here; + Autumn leaves, autumn leaves, how sad, how cold, how drear! + How like the hopes of childhood’s day, + Thick clustering on the bough! + How like those hopes is their decay, + How faded are they now! + Autumn leaves, autumn leaves, lie strewn around me here + Autumn leaves, autumn leaves, how sad, how cold, how drear!” + +The next lyric, “The Child and the Old Man,” was sung by Braham at +different concerts, long after the piece from which it is taken, had been +forgotten, and was almost invariably encored. + +Mr. Dickens’s poetical attempts have not, however, been confined to +song-writing. In 1842 he wrote for a friend a very fine Prologue to a +new tragedy. Mr. Westland Marston came to London in his twenty-first +year, and resolved to try his success in the world of letters: after +writing for several of the second-class magazines, he finished his +tragedy of the “Patrician’s Daughter,” and introduced himself to Mr. +Dickens, who became interested in the play. Struck with the novelty of +“a coat-and-breeches tragedy,” the good-tempered novelist recommended +Macready to produce it, and after some little hesitation, this +distinguished actor took himself the chief character—Mordaunt,—and also +recited a prologue by Mr. Dickens, {336} from which we quote a few lines. + +Impressing the audience strongly with the scope and purpose of what they +had come to see, this prologue thoroughly prepared them for welcome and +applause. The strength and truth of some of the concluding lines address +themselves equally to a larger audience. + + “No tale of streaming plumes and harness bright + Dwells on the poet’s maiden theme to-night. + + * * * * + + Enough for him if in his boldest word + The beating heart of man be faintly stirr’d. + That mournful music, that, like chords which sigh + Through charmed gardens, all who hear it die; + That solemn music he does not pursue, + To distant ages out of human view. + + * * * * + + But musing with a calm and steady gaze + Before the crackling flame of living days, + He hears it whisper, through the busy roar + Of what shall be, and what has been before. + Awake the Present! Shall no scene display + The tragic passion of the passing day? + Is it with man as with some meaner things, + That out of death his solemn purpose springs? + Can this eventful life no moral teach, + Unless he be for aye beyond its reach? + + * * * * + + Awake the Present! What the past has sown + Is in its harvest garner’d, reap’d, and grown. + How pride engenders pride, and wrong breeds wrong, + And truth and falsehood hand in hand along + High places walk in monster-like embrace, + The modern Janus with a double face; + How social usage hath the power to change + Good thought to evil in its highest range, + To cramp the noble soul, and turn to ruth + The kindling impulse of the glowing youth, + Crushing the spirit in its house of clay,— + Learn from the lesson of the present day. + Not light its import, and not poor its mien, + Yourselves the actors, and your home the scene.” + +We now come to a very curious fact. Mr. R. H. Horne pointed out +twenty-five years ago, {337} that a great portion of the scenes +describing the death of Little Nell in the “Old Curiosity Shop,” will be +found to be written—whether by design or harmonious accident, of which +the author was not even subsequently fully conscious—in blank verse, of +irregular metre and rhythms, which Southey, Shelley, and some other poets +have occasionally adopted. The following passage, properly divided into +lines, will stand thus: + + NELLY’S FUNERAL. + + “And now the bell—the bell + She had so often heard by night and day, + And listen’d to with solemn pleasure, + Almost as a living voice— + Rung its remorseless toll for her, + So young, so beautiful, so good. + + “Decrepit age, and vigorous life, + And blooming youth and helpless infancy, + Pour’d forth—on crutches, in the pride of strength + And health, in the full blush + Of promise, the mere dawn of life— + To gather round her tomb. Old men were there, + Whose eyes were dim + And senses failing— + Grandames, who might have died ten years ago, + And still been old—the deaf, the blind, the lame, + The palsied, + The living dead in many shapes and forms, + To see the closing of this early grave. + What was the death it would shut in, + To that which still could crawl and creep above it! + + “Along the crowded path they bore her now; + Pure as the new-fall’n snow + That cover’d it; whose day on earth + Had been as fleeting. + Under that porch, where she had sat when Heaven + In mercy brought her to that peaceful spot, + She pass’d again, and the old church + Received her in its quiet shade.” + +Throughout the whole of the above, only two unimportant words have been +omitted—_in_ and _its_; and “grandames” has been substituted for +“grandmothers.” All that remains is exactly as in the original, not a +single word transposed, and the punctuation the same to a comma. + +Again, take the brief homily that concludes the funeral: + + “Oh! it is hard to take to heart + The lesson that such deaths will teach, + But let no man reject it, + For it is one that all must learn, + And is a mighty, universal Truth. + When Death strikes down the innocent and young, + For every fragile form from which he lets + The parting spirit free, + A hundred virtues rise, + In shapes of mercy, charity, and love, + To walk the world and bless it. + Of every tear + That sorrowing mortals shed on such green graves + Some good is born, some gentler nature comes.” + +Not a ward of the original is changed in the above quotation, which is +worthy of the best passages in Wordsworth, and thus, meeting on the +common ground of a deeply truthful sentiment, the two most dissimilar men +in the literature of the century are brought into the closest +approximation. + +Something of a similar kind of versification in prose may be discovered +in Chapter LXXVII. of “Barnaby Rudge,” and there is an instance of +successive verses in the Third Part of the “Christmas Carol,” beginning + + “Far in this den of infamous resort.” + +The following is from the concluding paragraph of “Nicholas Nickleby”:— + + “The grass was green above the dead boy’s grave, + Trodden by feet so small and light, + That not a daisy droop’d its head + Beneath their pressure. + Through all the spring and summer time + Garlands of fresh flowers, wreathed by infant hands, + Rested upon the stone.” + +The following stanzas, entitled “A Word in Season,” were contributed by +Mr. Dickens in the winter of 1843 to an annual edited by his friend and +correspondent, the Countess of Blessington. Since that time he has +ceased to write, or at any rate to publish anything in verse. + +This poem savours much of the manner of Robert Browning. Full of wit and +wisdom, and containing some very remarkable and rememberable lines, an +extract from it will fitly close this chapter of our volume. + + A WORD IN SEASON. + BY CHARLES DICKENS. + + “They have a superstition in the East, + That ALLAH, written on a piece of paper, + Is better unction than can come of priest + Of rolling incense, and of lighted taper: + Holding, that any scrap which bears that name, + In any characters, its front impress’d on, + Shall help the finder thro’ the purging flame, + And give his toasted feet a place to rest on. + + “So have I known a country on the earth, + Where darkness sat upon the living waters, + And brutal ignorance, and toil, and dearth + Were the hard portion of its sons and daughters: + And yet, where they who should have oped the door + Of charity and light, for all men’s finding, + Squabbled for words upon the altar-floor, + And rent The Book, in struggles for the binding.” {341} + + + + +CHARLES DICKENS’S READINGS. +THE FIRST PUBLIC READING. +BY ONE WHO HEARD IT. + + +NOTE.—_In the Introduction to the present volume_, _p._ 42, _it is stated +that Dickens’s_ “FIRST _Reading_” _in public was given at Birmingham in +the Christmas of_ 1853. _The offer to read on this public occasion was +certainly the_ FIRST _which the great novelist made_, _but before the +Christmas had come around he thought proper to give a trial Reading +before a much smaller audience_, _in the quiet little city of +Peterborough_.—ED. + +IT must be sixteen or seventeen years ago—I cannot fix the date exactly, +though the affair made a strong impression on me at the time—that I +witnessed Charles Dickens’s _débût_ as a public reader. The +circumstances surrounding this event were so singular that I am tempted +to recall them. + +Scene, the City of Peterborough—dreamy and quiet enough then, though now +a flourishing railroad terminus—a silent city, with a grand old Norman +cathedral, round which the rooks cawed lazily all day, straggling narrow +streets of brick-built houses, a large Corn Exchange, a Mechanics’ +Institute, and about seven thousand inhabitants. The Mechanics’ +Institute brought it all about. That well-meaning but weak-kneed +organization was, I need hardly say, in debt. Mechanics’ Institutes +always are in debt. That is their chief peculiarity, next to the fact +that they never by any chance have any mechanics among their members. +Our institution was no exception to the rule. On the contrary, it was a +bright and shining example. No mechanics’ institute of its size anywhere +around was so deeply in debt; none was more snobbishly exclusive in its +membership. We had overrun our resources to such an extent that we could +not even pay the rent of the building we occupied, and were in daily +danger of being turned out of doors. Lectures on highly improving +subjects had been tried, but the proceeds did not pay the printer. +Concerts succeeded better, but the committee said they were immoral. We +had given two monster tea meetings to pay off the debt, on which +occasions all the cake required was supplied gratuitously by the members’ +mothers, and all the members and their friends came in by free tickets +and ate it up. Henry Vincent delivered us an oration; George Dawson +propounded metaphysical sophistries for our intellectual mystification; +but with all this we got no better of our troubles—every flounder we made +only plunged us deeper into the mud. At last it was resolved to write to +our Borough members. This was in the good old days of Whig supremacy; +and all the land and all the houses round about us being owned by one +great Whig earl, our borough was privileged to return two members to +represent the opinions of that unprotected earl in Parliament. A +contested election had just come to a close, and the honeyed promises and +grateful pledges of our elected candidates were still fresh in our +memory. So to our members the committee addressed their tearful +entreaties—“deserving institution,”—“valuable agency of +self-improvement,”—“pressing pecuniary embarrassments,” and so forth. +Member No. 1 sent his compliments and a five pound note. Member No. 2 +delayed writing for several days, and then had great pleasure in +informing us that the celebrated author, Mr. Charles Dickens, had kindly +consented to deliver a public reading on our behalf. + +What an excitement it caused in the little city! Mr. Dickens at that +time had made no public appearance as a reader. He had occasionally been +heard of as giving selections from his works to small coteries of friends +or in the private saloon of some distinguished patron of art. But he had +nervously shrunk from any public _débût_, unwilling, so it seemed, to +weaken his reputation as a writer by any possible failure as a reader. +This diffidence had taken so strong a hold of him that it might never +have been overcome but for the insidious persuasions of “our member.” +“Here was an opportunity,” he argued, “for testing the matter without +risk: an antediluvian country town; an audience of farmers’ sons and +daughters, rural shop-keepers, and a few country parsons—if interest +could be excited in the stolid minds of such a Bœotian assemblage, the +success of the reader would be assured wherever the English tongue was +spoken. On the other hand, if failure resulted, none would be the wiser +outside this Sleepy-Hollow circle.” The bait took, and Mr. Dickens +consented to deliver a public reading in aid of the Peterborough +Mechanics’ Institute. He only stipulated that the prices of admission +should be such that every mechanic, if he chose, might come to hear him, +and named two shillings, a shilling, and sixpence as the limit of charge. + +Vain limitation!—a fortnight before the reading every place was taken, +and half a guinea and a guinea were the current rates for front seat +tickets. + +Dickens himself came down and superintended the arrangements, so anxious +was he as to the result. At one end of the large Corn Exchange before +spoken of he had caused to be erected a tall pulpit of red baize, as much +like a Punch and Judy show with the top taken off as anything. This was +to be the reader’s rostrum. But, as the tall red pulpit looked lanky and +very comical stuck up there alone, two dummy pulpits of similar +construction were placed one on each side to bear it company. When the +reader mounted into the middle box nothing was visible of him but his +head and shoulders. So if it be really true, as was stated afterwards by +an indiscreet supernumerary, that Mr. Dickens’s legs shook under him from +first to last, the audience knew nothing of it. The whole character of +the stage arrangements suggested that Mr. Dickens was sure of his head, +but was not quite so sure of his legs. + +It was the _Christmas Carol_ that Mr. Dickens read; the night was +Christmas Eve. As the clock struck the appointed hour, a red, jovial +face, unrelieved by the heavy moustache which the novelist has since +assumed, a broad, high forehead, and a perfectly Micawber-like expanse of +shirt-collar and front appeared above the red baize box, and a full, +sonorous voice rang out the words, “_Marley-was-dead-to-begin-with_”—then +paused, as if to take in the character of the audience. No need of +further hesitation. The voice held all spellbound. Its depth of quiet +feeling when the ghost of past Christmases led the dreamer through the +long-forgotten scenes of his boyhood—its embodiment of burly good nature +when old Fezziwig’s calves were twinkling in the dance—its tearful +suggestiveness when the spirit of Christmases to come pointed to the +nettle-grown, neglected grave of the unloved man—its exquisite pathos by +the death-bed of Tiny Tim, dwell yet in memory like a long-known tune. +That one night’s reading in the quaint little city, so curiously brought +about, so ludicrous almost in its surroundings, committed Mr. Dickens to +the career of a public reader; and he has since derived nearly as large +an income from his readings as from the copyright of his novels. Only he +signally failed to carry out his wish of making his first bow before an +uneducated audience. The vote of thanks which closed the proceedings was +moved by the senior marquis of Scotland and seconded by the heir of the +wealthiest peer in England. + +One other incident suggests itself in this connection. Somewhere about +this time three notable men stood together in a print-shop in this same +city—a singular three-cornered shop, with three fiddles dangling forlorn +and dusty from the ceiling, and everything from piano-fortes to +hair-brushes comprised in its stock-in-trade. They stood there one whole +morning, laughing heartily at the perplexities of the little shopwoman, +who in her nervousness continually transposed the first letters of words, +sometimes with very comical effect. Thus, instead of saying, “Put the +bottle in the cupboard,” she would remark, “Put the cottle in the +bupboard.” The laughing trio were Dickens, Albert Smith, and Layard the +traveller, now our minister to the court of Madrid. I strongly suspect +that the eccentricity of the medical student in Albert Smith’s +_Adventures of Mr. Ledbury_—the student who invites his friends to “poke +a smipe” when he means them to “smoke a pipe”—was born on that occasion, +and that Charles Dickens was robbed by his friend of some thunder which +he intended to use himself. + + * * * * * + +BUT to return to the “Readings.” One glance at the platform is +sufficient to convince the audience that Mr. Dickens thoroughly +appreciates “stage effect.” A large screen of maroon cloth occupies the +background; before it stands a light table of peculiar design, on the +inner left-hand corner of which there peers forth a miniature desk, large +enough to accommodate the reader’s book. On the right hand of the table, +and somewhat below its level, is a shelf, where repose a carafe of water +and a tumbler. This is covered with velvet, somewhat lighter in colour +than the screen. No drapery conceals the table, whereby it is plain that +Mr. Dickens believes in expression of figure as well as of face, and does +not throw away everything but his head and arms, according to the +ordinary habit of ordinary speakers. About twelve feet above the +platform, and somewhat in advance of the table, is a horizontal row of +gas-jets with a tin reflector; and midway in both perpendicular gas-pipes +there is one powerful jet with glass chimney. By this admirable +arrangement, Mr. Dickens stands against a dark background in a frame of +gaslight, which throws out his face and figure to the best advantage. + +He comes! A lithe, energetic man, of medium stature, crosses the +platform at the brisk gait of five miles an hour, and takes his position +behind the table. This is Charles Dickens, whose name has been a +household word for thirty years in England. He has a broad, full brow, a +fine head,—which, for a man of such power and energy, is singularly small +at the base of the brain,—and a cleanly cut profile. + +There is a slight resemblance between Mr. Dickens and the Emperor of the +French in the latter respect, owing mainly to the nose; but it is +unnecessary to add that the faces of the two men are totally different. +Mr. Dickens’s eyes are light-blue, and his mouth and jaw, without having +any claim to beauty, possess a strength that is not concealed by the veil +of iron-gray moustache and generous imperial. His head is but slightly +graced with iron-gray hair, and his complexion is florid. There is a +twinkle in his eye, as he enters, that, like a promissory note, pledges +itself to any amount of fun—within sixty minutes. + +People may think in perusing Mr. Dickens’s books that he must be a man of +large humanity, of forgiving nature, of generous impulses; in hearing him +read they _know_ that he must be such a man. This, of course, does not +alone make a great artist; but equally, of course, it goes a long way +towards making one. To this general and catholic qualification for his +task Mr. Dickens adds special advantages of a high order. He has action +of singular ease and felicity, a remarkably expressive eye, and a +mobility of the facial muscles which belongs to actors of the highest +grade. As in the case of Garrick, it is impossible to say whether love +or terror, humour or despair, are best simulated in a countenance which +expresses each and all on occasion with almost absolute perfection. This +is, no doubt, due in a great measure not to natural qualities only, but +to a varied and peculiar experience. Some will have it that actors, like +poets, are born, not made, but this is only true in a limited and guarded +sense. + + THE CHRISTMAS CAROL. {349} + + “Ladies and gentlemen, I have the honour to read to you ‘A Christmas + Carol,’ in four staves. Stave one, Marley’s Ghost. Marley was dead. + There is no doubt whatever about that. The register of his burial + was signed by the clergyman, the clerk, the undertaker, and the chief + mourner. Scrooge signed it. And Scrooge’s name was good upon + ’Change, for anything he chose to put his hand to. Old Marley was as + dead as a door-nail.” + +At the close of this paragraph our first impression is that Mr. Dickens’s +voice is limited in power, husky, and naturally monotonous. If he +succeeds in overcoming these defects, it will be by dramatic genius. We +begin to wonder why Mr. Dickens constantly employs the rising inflexion, +and never comes to a full stop; but we are so pleasantly introduced to +Scrooge, that our spirits revive. + +“Foul weather didn’t know where to leave him. The heaviest rain and +snow, and hail, and sleet could boast of the advantage over him in only +one respect,—they often ‘came down’ handsomely, and Scrooge _never did_.” +Here the magnetic current between reader and listener sets in, and when +Scrooge’s clerk “put on his white comforter, and tried to warm himself at +the candle; in which effort, not being a man of strong imagination, he +failed;” the connexion is tolerably well established. We see old Scrooge +very plainly, growling and snarling at his pleasant nephew; and when that +nephew invites that uncle to eat a Christmas dinner with him, and Mr. +Dickens goes on to relate that Scrooge said “he would see him—yes, I am +sorry to say he did,—he went the whole length of the expression, and said +he would see him in that extremity first.” He makes one dive at our +sense of humour, and takes it captive. Mr. Dickens is Scrooge; he is the +two portly gentlemen on a mission of charity; he is twice Scrooge when, +upon one of the portly gentlemen remarking that many poor people would +rather die than go to the workhouse, he replies: “If they would rather +die, they had better do it, and decrease the surplus population;” and +thrice Scrooge, when, turning upon his clerk, he says, “You’ll want all +day to-morrow, I suppose?” It is the incarnation of a hard-hearted, +hard-fisted, hard-voiced miser. + +“If quite convenient, sir.” A few words, but they denote Bob Cratchit in +three feet of comforter exclusive of fringe, in well-darned, thread-bare +clothes, with a mild, frightened voice, so thin that you can see through +it! + +Then there comes the change when Scrooge, upon going home, “saw in the +knocker, Marley’s face!” Of course Scrooge saw it, because the +expression of Mr. Dickens’s face makes us see it “with a dismal light +about it, like a bad lobster in a dark cellar.” There is good acting in +this scene, and there is fine acting when the dying flame leaps up as +though it cried, “I know him! Marley’s ghost!” With what gusto Mr. +Dickens reads that description of Marley, and how, “looking through his +waistcoat, Scrooge _could see the two buttons on his coat behind_.” + +Nothing can be better than the rendering of the Fezziwig party, in Stave +Two. You behold Scrooge gradually melting into humanity; Scrooge, as a +joyous apprentice; that model of employers, Fezziwig; Mrs. Fezziwig “one +vast substantial smile,” and all the Fezziwigs. Mr. Dickens’s expression +as he relates how “in came the housemaid with _her cousin_ the baker, and +in came the cook _with her brother’s particular friend the milkman_,” is +delightfully comic, while his complete rendering of that dance where “all +were top couples at last, and not a bottom one to help them,” is owing to +the inimitable action of his hands. They actually perform upon the +table, as if it were the floor of Fezziwig’s room, and every finger were +a leg belonging to one of the Fezziwig’s family. This feat is only +surpassed by Mr. Dickens’s illustration of Sir Roger de Coverley, as +interpreted by Mr. and Mrs. Fezziwig, when “a positive light appeared to +issue from Fezziwig’s calves,” and he “cut so deftly that he appeared to +wink with his legs!” It is a maze of humour. Before the close of the +stave, Scrooge’s horror at sight of the young girl once loved by him, and +put aside for gold, shows that Mr. Dickens’s power is not purely comic. + +But the best of all, is Stave Three. We distinctly see that “Cratchit” +family. There are the potatoes that “knocked loudly at the saucepan-lid +to be let out and peeled;” there is Mrs. Cratchit, fluttering and +cackling like a motherly hen with a young brood of chickens; and there is +everybody. The way those two young Cratchits hail Martha, and +exclaim—“There’s _such_ a goose, Martha!” can never be forgotten. By +some conjuring trick, Mr. Dickens takes off his own head and puts on a +Cratchit’s. Later Bob Cratchit and Tiny Tim come in. Assuredly it is +Bob’s thin voice that pipes out, “Why, where’s our Martha?” and it is +Mrs. Cratchit who shakes her head and replies, “Not coming!” Then Bob +relates how Tiny Tim behaved: “as good as gold and better. Somehow he +gets thoughtful, sitting by himself so much, and thinks the strangest +things you have ever heard. He told me, coming home, that he hoped the +people saw him in the church, because he was a cripple, and it might be +pleasant to them to remember, upon Christmas-day, who made lame beggars +walk, and blind men see.” There is a volume of pathos in these words, +which are the most delicate and artistic rendering of the whole reading. + +Ah, that Christmas dinner! We feel as if we were eating every morsel of +it. There are “the two young Cratchits,” who “crammed spoons into their +mouths, lest they should shriek for goose before their turn;” there is +Tiny Tim, who “beat on the table with the handle of his knife, and feebly +cried, ‘Hoorray,’” in such a still, small voice. And there is that +goose! I see it with my naked eye. And O the pudding! “A smell like a +washing-day! That was the cloth. A smell like an eating-house and a +pastry-cook’s next door to each other, with a laundress’s next door to +that! That was the pudding.” Mr. Dickens’s sniffing and smelling of +that pudding would make a starving family believe that they had swallowed +it, holly and all. It is infectious. + +What Mr. Dickens _does_ is very frequently infinitely better than +anything he says, or the way he says it; yet the doing is as delicate and +intangible as the odour of violets, and can be no better described. +Nothing of its kind can be more touchingly beautiful than the manner in +which Bob Cratchit—previous to proposing “a merry Christmas to us all, my +dears, God bless us”—stoops down, with tears in his eyes and places Tiny +Tim’s withered little hand in his, “as if he loved the child, and wished +to keep him by his side, and dreaded that he might be taken from him.” +It is pantomime worthy of the finest actor. + +Admirable is Mrs. Cratchit’s ungracious drinking to Scrooge’s health, and +Martha’s telling how she had seen a lord, and how he “was much about as +tall as Peter!” + +It is a charming cabinet picture, and so likewise is the glimpse of +Christmas at Scrooge’s nephew’s. The plump sister is “satisfactory, O +perfectly satisfactory,” and Topper is a magnificent fraud on the +understanding; a side-splitting fraud. We see Fred get off the sofa, and +_stamp_ at his own fun, and we hear the plump sister’s voice when she +guesses the wonderful riddle, “It’s your uncle Scro-o-o-o-oge!” +Altogether, Mr. Dickens is better than any comedy. + +What a change in Stave Four! There sit the gray-haired rascal “Old Joe,” +with his crooning voice; Mr. Dilber, and those robbers of dead men’s +shrouds; there lies the body of the plundered, unknown man; there sit the +Cratchits weeping over Tiny Tim’s death, a scene that would be beyond all +praise were Bob’s cry, “My little, little child!” a shade less dramatic. +Here, and only here, Mr. Dickens forgets the nature of Bob’s voice, and +employs all the power of his own, carried away apparently by the +situation. Bob would not thus give way to his feelings. Finally, there +is Scrooge, no longer a miser, but a human being, screaming at the +“conversational” boy in Sunday clothes, to buy him the prize turkey “that +never could have stood upon his legs, that bird. He would have snapped +’em off in a minute, like sticks of sealing-wax.” There is Bob Cratchit +behind time, trying to overtake nine o’clock, “that fled fifteen minutes +before.” There is Scrooge poking Bob in the ribs, and vowing he will +raise his salary; and there is at last happiness for all, as Tiny Tim +exclaims, “God bless us every one!” + +It is difficult to see how the “Christmas Carol” can be read and acted +better. The only improvement possible is in the ghosts, who are, +perhaps, too monotonous; a way ghosts have when they return to earth. +Solemnity and monotony are not synonymous terms, yet every theatrical +ghost insists that they are, and Mr. Dickens is no exception to the rule. +If monotony is excusable in anyone, however, it is in him; for, when one +actor is obliged to represent _twenty-three different characters_, giving +to everyone an individual tone, he may be pardoned if his ghosts are not +colloquial. + +Talk of sermons and churches! There never was a more beautiful sermon +than this of “The Christmas Carol.” Sacred names do not necessarily mean +sacred things. + + SIKES AND NANCY. {353a} + +“Although amongst his friends, and such of the outside world as had been +admitted to the private performances of the Tavistock House theatricals, +Mr. Dickens was known to possess much dramatic power, it was not until +within the last few weeks {353b} that he found scope for its exhibition +on the platform. Although the characters in his previous readings had +each a distinct and defined individuality—and in true artistic spirit the +comparatively insignificant characters have as much finish bestowed upon +their representation as the heroes and heroines, _e.g._ the fat man on +’Change who replies ‘God knows,’ to the query as to whom Scrooge had left +his money—a bit of perfect Dutch painting—one could not help feeling that +the personation was but a half-personation given under restraint; that +the reader was ‘underacting,’ as it is professionally termed, and one +longed to see him give his dramatic genius full vent. That wish has now +been realised. When Mr. Dickens called round him some half-hundred of +his friends and acquaintances on whose discrimination and knowledge of +public audiences he had reliance, and when, after requesting their frank +verdict on the experiment, he commenced the new reading, ‘Sikes and +Nancy,’ until, gradually warming with excitement, he flung aside his book +and acted the scene of the murder, shrieked the terrified pleadings of +the girl, growled the brutal savagery of the murderer, brought looks, +tones, gestures simultaneously into play to illustrate his meaning, there +was no one, not even of those who had known him best, or who believed in +him most, but was astonished at the power and the versatility of his +genius. + +“Grandest of all the characters stands out Fagin, the Jew. The voice is +husky and with a slight lisp, but there is no nasal intonation; a bent +back, but no shoulder shrug; the conventional attributes are omitted, the +conventional words are never spoken; and the Jew fence, crafty and +cunning even in his bitter vengeance, is there before us, to the life. + +“Next comes Nancy. Readers of the old editions of ‘Oliver Twist’ will +doubtless recollect how desperately difficult it was to fight against the +dreadful impression which Mr. George Cruikshank’s picture of Nancy left +upon the mind, and how it required all the assistance of the author’s +genius to preserve interest in the stunted, squab, round-faced trull whom +the artist had depicted. Accurately delineating every other character in +the book, and excelling all his previous and subsequent productions in +his etching of ‘Fagin in the Condemned Cell,’ Mr. Cruikshank not merely +did not convey the right idea of Nancy, which would have been bad enough, +but conveyed the wrong one, which was worse. No such ill-favoured slut +would have found a protector in Sikes, who amongst his set and in his +profession was a man of mark. We all know Nancy’s position; but just +because we know it we are certain she must have had some amount of +personal comeliness, which Mr. Cruikshank has entirely denied her. In +the reading we get none of the common side of her character, which peeps +forth occasionally in the earlier volumes. She is the heroine, doing +evil that good may come of it—breaking the trust reposed in her that the +man she loves and they amongst whom she has lived may be brought to +better lives. With the dread shadow of impending death upon her, she is +thrillingly earnest, almost prophetic. Thus, in accordance with a +favourite custom of the author, during the interview on the steps at +London Bridge, not only does the girl’s language rise from the tone of +everyday life and become imbued with dramatic imagery and fervour, but +that eminently prosaic old person, Mr. Brownlow, becomes affected in the +same manner, saying, ‘before this river wakes to life,’ and indulging in +other romantic types and metaphors. This may be scarcely life-like, but +it is very effective in the reading, enchaining the attention of the +audience and forming a fine contrast to the simple pathos of the dialogue +in the murder-scene, every word of which is in the highest degree natural +and well-placed. It is here, of course, that the excitement of the +audience is wrought to its highest pitch, and that the acme of the +actor’s art is reached. The raised hands, the bent-back head, are good; +but shut your eyes, and the illusion is more complete. Then the cries +for mercy, the ‘Bill! dear Bill! for dear God’s sake!’ uttered in tones +in which the agony of fear prevails even over the earnestness of the +prayer, the dead, dull voice as hope departs, are intensely real. When +the pleading ceases, you open your eyes in relief, in time to see the +impersonation of the murderer seizing a heavy club, and striking his +victim to the ground. + +“Artistically speaking, the story of Sikes and Nancy ends at the point +here indicated. Throughout the entire scene of the murder, from the +entrance of Sikes into the house until the catastrophe, the silence was +intense—the old phrase ‘a pin might have been heard to drop,’ could have +been legitimately employed. It was a great study to watch the faces of +the people—eager, excited, intent—permitted for once in a life-time to be +natural, forgetting to be British, and cynical, and unimpassioned. The +great strength of this feeling did not last into the concluding five +minutes. The people were earnest and attentive; but the wild excitement +so seldom seen amongst us died as Nancy died, and the rest was somewhat +of an anti-climax. + +“No one who appreciates great acting should miss this scene. It will be +a treat such as they have not had for a long time, such as, from all +appearances, they are not likely to have soon again. To them the +earnestness and force, the subtlety, the _nuances_, the delicate lights +and shades of the great dramatic art, will be exhibited by one of the +first—if not the first—of its living masters; while those of far less +intellectual calibre will understand the vigour of the entire +performance, and be specially amused at the facial and vocal dexterity by +which the crafty Fagin is, instantaneously changed into the +chuckle-headed Noah Claypole.” + + * * * * * + +Mr. Dickens, as a reader, is an artist of the very first rank; and to say +that his reading of the choicest portions of his own works is actually as +fine in its way as the works themselves in theirs, is a compliment at +once exceedingly high and richly deserved. + +During his late visit to America, the great men of the land travelled +from far and near to be present at the readings; the poet Longfellow went +three nights in succession, and he afterwards declared to a friend that +they were “the most delightful evenings of his life.” + + + + +FOOTNOTES + + +{7} This first Sketch was entitled, “_Mrs. Joseph Porter_, ‘_over the +Way_.’” The _Monthly Magazine_ in which this appeared was published by +Cochrane and M‘Crone, and must not be confounded with _The New Monthly +Magazine_, published by Colburn. + +{8a} This was the first paper in which Dickens assumed the pseudonym of +“Boz.” The previous sketches appeared anonymously. + +{8b} Of these Sketches two volumes were collected and published by +Macrone (with illustrations by George Cruikshank), in February, 1836, and +a third in the December following. + +{10} The pamphlet was entitled _Sunday wider Three Heads_: _As it is_; +_as Sabbath Bills would make it_; _as it might be made_. By Timothy +Sparks. London, Chapman and Hall, 1836, pp. 49 (with illustrations by +Hablot K. Browne). + +{11} “Memoirs of Joseph Grimaldi,” edited by _Boz_. With illustrations +by George Cruikshank. In two volumes. London, R. Bentley. 1838. + +{15} “Master Humphrey’s Clock,” Vol. I. p. 72. + +{18a} “Master Humphrey’s Clock,” Vol. I., pp. 98, 99. + +{18b} June 25, 1841. + +{24} Kate Field. + +{26} _Evenings of a Working Man_, by John Overs, with a Preface relative +to the Author, by Charles Dickens. London: Newby, 1844. + +{27} _Bentley’s Miscellany_, edited by Mr. Dickens during the years +1837–38. + +{28} Dr. Elliotson. + +{29} We are told that Overs did not live long after the publication of +his little book: “the malady under which he was labouring, terminated +fatally the following October.” + +{30} _Fraser’s Magazine_, July, 1844. + +{31} These five volumes were all gracefully illustrated by John Leech, +Daniel Maclise, Clarkson Stanfield, Sir Edwin Landseer, Richard Doyle, +and others; and a set of the original issue is now much sought after, and +not easily met with. + +{33} “Unto this Last.” Chap. I. + +{34} The following instances are, by kind permission, selected from an +admirable article upon this subject, which appeared in the “Temple Bar” +Magazine for September, 1869. + +{53} Sir David Wilkie died at sea, on board the _Oriental_, off +Gibraltar, on the 1st of June, 1841, whilst on his way back to England. +During the evening of the same day his body was committed to the +deep.—ED. + +{55} The _Britannia_ was the vessel that conveyed Mr. Dickens across the +Atlantic, on his first visit to America.—ED. + +{61} _Master Humphrey’s Clock_, under which title the two novels of +Barnaby Rudge and The Old Curiosity Shop originally appeared.—ED. + +{63} “I shall always entertain a very pleasant and grateful recollection +of Hartford. It is a lovely place, and I had many friends there, whom I +can never remember with indifference. We left it with no little regret.” +_American Notes_ (Lond. 1842). Vol. I, p. 182. + +{70} See the _Life and Letters of Washington Irving_ (Lond. 1863), p. +644, where Irving speaks of a letter he has received “from that glorious +fellow Dickens, in reply to the one I wrote, expressing my heartfelt +delight with his writings, and my yearnings toward himself.” See also +the letter itself, in the second division of this volume.—ED. + +{88} _TENNYSON_, _Lady Clara Vere de Vere_, then newly published in +collection of 1842.—ED. + +{95} “That this meeting, while conveying its cordial thanks to Charles +Dickens, Esq., for his presence this evening, and for his able and +courteous conduct as President, cannot separate without tendering the +warmest expression of its gratitude and admiration to one whose writings +have so loyally inculcated the lessons of benevolence and virtue, and so +richly contributed to the stores of public pleasure and instructions.” + +{98} The Duke of Devonshire. + +{105} _Charlotte Corday going to Execution_. + +{113} The above is extracted from Mrs. Stowe’s “Sunny Memories of +Foreign Lands,”, a book in which her eaves-dropping propensities were +already developed in a sufficiently ugly form.—ED. + +{150} Alas! the “many years” were to be barely six, when the speaker was +himself destined to write some memorial pages commemorative of his +illustrious friend (Cornhill Magazine, February, 1864.)—ED. + +{153} Mr. Henry Dodd had proposed to give five acres of land in +Berkshire, but, in consequence of his desiring to attach certain +restrictions, after a long and unsatisfactory correspondence, the +Committee, on 13th January following, rejected the offer. +(_Communicated_.) + +{161} Claude Melnotte in _The Lady of Lyons_, Act iii. sc. 2. + +{177} Mr. B. Webster. + +{220} _Romeo and Juliet_, Act III. Sc. 1. + +{239} Robert Browning: _Bells and Pomegranates_. + +{242} R. H. + +{250} _Carlyle’s French Revolution_. Book X., Chapter I. + +{259} Henry Thomas Buckle. + +{260} This and the Speeches which follow were accidentally omitted in +their right places. + +{263} Hazlitt’s Round Table (Edinburgh, 1817, vol ii., p. 242), _On +Actors and Acting_. + +{274} _Vide suprà_, _p._ 268. + +{292} An allusion to a well-known Sonnet of Wordsworth, beginning—“The +world is too much with us—late and soon,” &c.—ED. + +{303} Alluding to the forthcoming serial story of _Edwin Drood_. + +{309} The Honourable John Lothrop Motley. + +{311} February 26th, 1851. Mr. Macready’s Farewell Benefit at Drury +Lane Theatre, on which occasion he played the part of Macbeth.—ED. + +{312} MACBETH, Act I., sc. 7. + +{316} The Bishop of Ripon (Dr. Longley). + +{330} These passages are given by kind permission of Mr. Blanchard +Jerrold, who has obligingly allowed us to make free use of this portion +of the Memoir of his father. We refer the reader who is desirous of +seeing more, to that ably-written biography.—ED. + +{334} _The Village Coquettes_: _a Comic Opera in Two Acts_. By CHARLES +DICKENS. The music by John Hullah. London: Richard Bentley, 1836. + +{336} Produced for the first time at the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane, on +Saturday, December 10, 1842. We would fain have given this fine prologue +entire, had we felt authorized in doing so. + +{337} In “A New Spirit of the Age.” (Lond., 1844), Vol. I., pp. 65–68. + +{341} _The Keepsake for_ 1844. _Edited by the Countess of Blessington_, +pp. 73, 74. + +{349} The reader who desires to further renew his recollections of Mr. +Dickens’s Readings is referred to Miss Kate Field’s admirable “Pen +Photographs,” published in Boston, in 1868. The little volume is a +valuable estimate of the readings recently given in America. + +{353a} Extracted (by kind permission) from a criticism by Mr. Edmund +Yates. + +{353b} Written in 1868. + + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SPEECHES OF CHARLES DICKENS*** + + +******* This file should be named 824-0.txt or 824-0.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/8/2/824 + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will +be renamed. + +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law 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. 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