Our Whispering Gallery: X
DURING the summer of 1868 constant messages and letters came from Dickens across the seas, containing pleasant references to his visit in America, and giving charming accounts of his way of life at home. Here is a letter announcing the fact that he had decided to close forever his appearance in the reading-desk : —
LIVERPOOL, Friday, October 30, 1868.
MY DEAR -: I ought to have written to you long ago. But I have begun my one hundred and third Farewell Readings, and have been so busy and so fatigued that my hands have been quite full. Here are Dolby and I again leading the kind of life that you know so well. We stop next week (except in London) for the month of November, on account of the elections, and then go on again, with a short holiday at Christmas. We have been doing wonders, and the crowds that pour in upon us in London are beyond all precedent or means of providing for. I have serious thoughts of doing the murder from Oliver Twist; but it is so horrible, that I am going to try it on a dozen people in my London hall one night next month, privately, and see what effect it makes.
My reason for abandoning the Christmas number was, that I became weary of having my own writing swamped by that of other people. This reminds me of the Ghost story. I don’t think so well of it, my dear Fields, as you do. It seems to me to be too obviously founded on Bill Jones (in Monk Lewis’s Tales of Terror), and there is also a remembrance in it of another Sea-Ghost story entitled, I think, “Stand from Under,” and written by I don’t know whom. Stand from under is the cry from aloft when anything is going to be sent down on deck, and the ghost is aloft on a yard.....
You know all about public affairs, Irish churches, and party squabbles. A vast amount of electioneering is going on about here ; but it has not hurt us ; though Gladstone has been making speeches, north, east, south, and west of us. I hear that Cis on his way here in the Russia. Gad’s Hill must be thrown open.....
Your most affectionate
CHARLES DICKENS.
We had often talked together of the addition to his repertoire of some scenes from “Oliver Twist,” and the following letter explains itself: —
GLASGOW, Wednesday, December 16, 1868.
MY DEAR -: . . . . And first, as you are curious about the Oliver murder, I will tell you about that trial of the same at which you ought to have assisted. There were about a hundred people present in all. I have changed my stage. Besides that back screen which you know so well, there are two large screens of the same color, set off, one on either side, like the “wings” at a theatre. And besides those again, we have a quantity of curtains of the same color, with which to close in any width of room from wall to wall. Consequently, the figure is now completely isolated, and the slightest action becomes much more important. This was used for the first time on the occasion. But behind the stage — the orchestra being very large and built for the accommodation of a numerous chorus — there was ready, on the level of the platform, a very long table, beautifully lighted, with a large staff of men ready to open oysters and set champagne corks flying. Directly I had done, the screens being whisked off by my people, there was disclosed one of the prettiest banquets you can imagine ; and when all the people came up, and the gay dresses of the ladies were lighted by those powerful lights of mine, the scene was exquisitely pretty ; the hall being newly decorated, and very elegantly ; and the whole looking like a great bed of flowers and diamonds.
Now, you must know that all this company were, before the wine went round, unmistakably pale, and had horror-stricken faces. Next morning, Harness (Fields knows — Rev. William — did an edition of Shakespeare —old friend of the Kembles and Mrs. Siddons) writing to me about it, and saying it was “ a most amazing and terrific thing,” added, “but I am bound to tell you that I had an almost irresistible impulse upon me to scream, and that, if any one had cried out, I am certain I should have followed.” He had no idea that on the night P-, the great ladies’ doctor, had taken me aside and said, “ My dear Dickens, you may rely upon it that if only one woman cries out when you murder the girl, there will be a contagion of hysteria all over this place.” It is impossible to soften it without spoiling it, and you may suppose that I am rather anxious to discover how it goes on the 5th of January ! ! ! We are afraid to announce it elsewhere, without knowing, except that I have thought it pretty safe to put it up once in Dublin. I asked Mrs. K-, the famous actress, who was at the experiment : “ What do you say ? Do it, or not ? ” “ Why, of course, do it,” she replied. “ Having got at such an effect as that, it must be done. But,” rolling her large black eyes very slowly, and speaking very distinctly, “the public have been looking out for a sensation these last fifty years or so, and by Heaven they have got it! ” With which words, and a long breath and a long stare, she became speechless. Again, you may suppose that I am a little anxious ! I had previously tried it, merely sitting over the fire in a chair, upon two ladies separately, one of whom was G-. They had both said, “ O, good gracious ! if you are going to do that, it ought to be seen ; but it’s awful.” So once again you may suppose I am a little anxious ! ....
Not a day passes but Dolby and I talk about you both, and recall where we were at the corresponding time of last year. My old likening of Boston to Edinburgh has been constantly revived within these last ten days. There is a certain remarkable similarity of tone between the two places. The audiences are curiously alike, except that the Edinburgh audience has a quicker sense of humor and is a little more genial. No disparagement to Boston in this, because I consider an Edinburgh audience perfect.
I trust, my dear Eugenius, that you have recognized yourself in a certain Uncommercial, and also some small reference to a name rather dear to you ? As an instance of how strangely something comic springs up in the midst of the direst misery, look to a succeeding Uncommercial, called “A Small Star in the East,” published to-day, by the by. I have described, with exactness, the poor places into which I went, and how the people behaved, and what they said. I was wretched, looking on ; and yet the boiler - maker and the poor man with the legs filled me with a sense of drollery not to be kept down by any pressure.
The atmosphere of this place, compounded of mists from the highlands and smoke from the town factories, is crushing my eyebrows as I write, and it rains as it never does rain anywhere else, and always does rain here. It is a dreadful place, though much improved and possessing a deal of public spirit. Improvement is beginning to knock the old town of Edinburgh about, here and there ; but the Canongate and the most picturesque of the horrible courts and wynds are not to be easily spoiled, or made fit for the poor wretches who people them to live in. Edinburgh is so changed as to its notabilities, that I had the only three men left of the Wilson and Jeffrey time to dine with me there, last Saturday.
I read here to-night and to-morrow, go back to Edinburgh on Friday morning, read there on Saturday morning, and start southward by the mail that same night. After the great experiment of the 5th, — that is to say, on the morning of the 6th, —we are off to Belfast and Dublin. On every alternate Tuesday I am due in London, from wheresoever I may be, to read at St. James’s Hall.
I think you will find “Fatal Zero ” (by Percy Fitzgerald; a very curious analysis of a mind, as the story advances. A new beginner in A. Y. R(Hon. Mrs. Clifford, Kinglake’s sister), who wrote a story in the series just finished, called “The Abbot’s Pool,” has just sent me another story. I have a strong impression that, with care, she will step into Mrs. Gaskell’s vacant place. W-is no better, and I have work enough even in that direction.
God bless the woman with the black mittens, for making me laugh so this morning ! I take her to be a kind of public-spirited Mrs. Sparsit, and as such take her to my bosom. God bless you both, my dear friends, in this Christmas and New Year time, and in all times, seasons, and places, and send you to Gad’s Hill with the next flowers !
Ever your most affectionate,
C. D.
All, who witnessed the reading of Dickens, in the “ Oliver Twist ” murder scene, unite in testifying to the wonderful effect he produced in it. Old theatrical habitués have told me that, since the days of Edmund Kean and Cooper, no mimetic representation had been equal to it. I became so much interested in all I heard about it, that I resolved early in the year 1869 to step across the water (it is only a stride of three thousand miles) and see it done. The following is Dickens’s reply to my announcement of the intended voyage : —
A. Y. R. OFFICE, LONDON, Monday, February 15, 1869.
MY DEAR FIELDS: Hurrah, hurrah, hurrah! It is a remarkable instance of magnetic sympathy that before I received your joyfully welcomed announcement of your probable visit to England, I was waiting for the enclosed card to be printed, that I might send you a clear statement of my Readings. I felt almost convinced that you would arrive before the Farewells were over. What do you say to that?
The final course of Four Readings in a week, mentioned in the enclosed card, is arranged to come off, on
Monday, June 7th ;
Tuesday, June 8th ;
Thursday, June 10th ; and
Friday, June 11th : last night of all.
We hoped to have finished in May, but cannot clear the country off in sufficient time. I shall probably be about the Lancashire towns in that month. There are to be three morning murders in London not yet announced, but they will be extra the London nights I send you, and will in no wise interfere with them. We are doing most amazingly. In the country the people usually collapse with the murder, and don’t fully revive in time for the final piece ; in London, where they are much quicker, they are equal to both. It is very hard work; but I have never for a moment lost voice or been unwell; except that my foot occasionally gives me a twinge. We shall have in London on the 2d of March, for the second murder night, probably the greatest assemblage of notabilities of all sorts ever packed together. Dcontinues steady in his allegiance to the Stars and Stripes, sends his kindest regard, and is immensely excited by the prospect of seeing you. Gad’s Hill is all ablaze on the subject. We are having such wonderfully warm weather that I fear we shall have a backward spring there. You’ll excuse east winds, won't you, if they shake the flowers roughly when you first set foot on the lawn ? I have only seen it once since Christmas, and that was from last Saturday to Monday, when I went there for my birthday, and had the Forsters and Wilkie to keep it. I had had-’s letter four days before, and drank to you both most heartily and lovingly.
I was with Ma week or two ago. He is quite surprisingly infirm and aged. Could not possibly get on without his second wife to take care of him, which she does to perfection. I went to Cheltenham expressly to do the murder for him, and we put him in the front row, where he sat grimly staring at me. After it was over, he thus delivered himself, on my laughing it off and giving him some wine : “No, Dickens — er — er — I will NOT,” with sudden emphasis, — “ er — have it — er — put aside. In my—er—best times — er —you remember them my dear boy — er — gone, gone ! — no,”— with great emphasis again, — “ it comes to this — er — TWO MACBETHS ! ” with extraordinary energy. After which he stood (with his glass in his hand and his old square jaws of its old fierce form) looking defiantly at Dolby as if Dolby had contradicted him ; and then trailed off into a weak pale likeness of himself as if his whole appearance had been some clever optical illusion.
I am away to Scotland on Wednesday next, the 17th, to finish there. Ireland is already disposed of, and Manchester and Liverpool will follow within six weeks. “ Like lights in a theatre, they are being snuffed out fast,” as Carlyle says of the guillotined in his Revolution. I suppose I shall be glad when they are all snuffed out. Any how, I think so now.
The N-s have a very pretty house at Kensington. He has quite recovered, and is positively getting fat. I dined with them last Friday at F-’s, having (marvellous to relate !) a spare day in London. The warm weather has greatly spared F—’s bronchitis ; but I fear that he is quite unable to bear cold, or even changes of temperature, and that he will suffer exceedingly if east winds obtain. One would say they must at last, for it has been blowing a tempest from the south and southwest for weeks and weeks.
The safe arrival of my boy’s ship in Australia has been telegraphed home, but I have not yet heard from him. His post will be due a week or so hence in London. My next boy is doing very well, I hope, at Trinity Hall, Cambridge. Of my seafaring boy’s luck in getting a death-vacancy of First Lieutenant, aboard a new ship-of-war on the South American Station, I heard from a friend, a captain in the Navy, when I was at Bath the other day; though we have not yet heard it from himself. Bath (setting aside remembrances of Roderick Random and Humphrey Clinker) looked, I fancied, just as if a cemetery-full of old people had somehow made a successful rise against death, carried the place by assault, and built a city with their gravestones ; in which they were trying to look alive, but with very indifferent success.
Cis no better, and no worse. Mand Gsend all manner of loves, and have already represented to me that the red-jacketed post-boys must be turned out for a summer expedition to Canterbury, and that there must be lunches among the cornfields, walks in Cobham Park, and a thousand other expeditions. Pray give our pretty Mto understand that a great deal will be expected of her, and that she will have to look her very best, to look as I have drawn her. If your Irish people turn up at Gad’s at the same time, as they probably will, they shall be entertained in the yard, with muzzled dogs. I foresee that they will come over, haymaking and hopping, and will recognize their beautiful vagabonds at a glance.
I wish Reverdy Johnson would dine in private and hold his tongue. He overdoes the thing. Cis trying to get the Pope to subscribe, and to run over to take the chair at his next dinner, on which occasion Victor Emmanuel is to propose C-’s health, and may all differences among friends be referred to him. With much love always, and in high rapture at the thought of seeing you both here,
Ever your most affectionate,
C. D.
A few weeks later, while on his reading tour, he sent off the following : —
ADELPHI HOTEI., LIVERPOOL, Friday, April 9, 1869.
MY DEAR FIELDS : The faithful Russia will bring this out to you, as a sort of warrant to take you into loving custody and bring you back on her return trip.
I have been “ reading ” here all this week, and finish here for good tonight. To-morrow the Mayor, Corporation, and citizens give me a farewell dinner in St. George’s Hall. Six hundred and fifty are to dine, and a mighty show of beauty is to be mustered besides. N-had a great desire to see the sight, and so I suggested him as a friend to be invited. He is over at Manchester now on a visit, and will come here at midday to-morrow, and go back to London with us on Sunday afternoon. On Tuesday I read in London, and on Wednesday start off again. To-night is No. 68 out of one hundred. I am very tired of it, but I could have no such good fillip as you among the audience, and that will carry me on gayly to the end. So please to look sharp in the matter of landing on the bosom of the used-up, worn-out, and rotten old Parient.
I rather think that when the 12th of June shall have shaken off these shackles, there will be borage on the lawn at Gad’s. Your heart’s desire in that matter, and in the minor particulars of Cobham Park, Rochester Castle, and Canterbury shall be fulfilled, please God ! The red jackets shall turn out again upon the turnpike road, and picnics among the cherry-orchards and hop-gardens shall be heard of in Kent. Then, too, shall the Uncommercial resuscitate (being at present nightly murdered by Mr. W. Sikes) and uplift his voice again.
The chief officer of the Russia (a capital fellow) was at the Reading last night, and Dolby specially charged him with the care of you and yours. We shall be on the borders of Wales, and probably about Hereford, when you arrive. Dolby has insane projects of getting over here to meet you ; so amiably hopeful and obviously impracticable, that I encourage him to the utmost. The regular little captain of the Russia, Cook, is just now changed into the Cuba, whence arises disputes of seniority, etc. I wish he had been with you, for I liked him very much when I was his passenger. I like to think of your being in my ship !
and - have been taking it by turns to be “on the point of death,” and have been complimenting one another greatly on the fineness of the point attained. My people got a very good impression of -, and thought her a sincere and earnest little woman.
The Russia hauls out into the stream to-day, and I fear her people may be too busy to come to us to-night. But if any of them do, they shall have the warmest of welcomes for your sake. (By the by, a very good party of seamen from the Queen’s ship Donegal, lying in the Mersey, have been told off to decorate Saint George’s Hall with the ship’s bunting. They were all hanging on aloft upside down, holding to the gigantically high roof by nothing, this morning, in the most wonderfully cheerful manner.)
My son Charley has come for the dinner, and Chappell (my Proprietor, as — is n’t it Wemmick ? — says) is coming to-day, and Lord Dufferin (Mrs. Norton’s nephew) is to come and make the speech I don t envy the feelings of my noble friend when he sees the hall. Seriously, it is less adapted to speaking than Westminster Abbey, and is as large.....
I hope you will see Fechter in a really clever piece by Wilkie. Also you will see the Academy Exhibition, which will be a very good one ; and also we will, please God, see everything and more, and everything else after that. I begin to doubt and fear on the subject of your having a horror of me after seeing the murder. I don’t think a hand moved while I was doing it last night, or an eye looked away. And there was a fixed expression of horror of me, all over the theatre, which could not have been surpassed if I had been going to be hanged to that red velvet table. It is quite a new sensation to be execrated with that unanimity ; and I hope it will remain so !
[Is it lawful — would that woman in the black gaiters, green veil, and spectacles, hold it so — to send my love to the pretty M-?]
Pack up, my dear Fields, and be quick.
Ever your most affectionate,
C. D.
It will be remembered that Dickens broke down entirely during the month of April, being completely worn out with hard work in the Readings. He described to me with graphic earnestness, when we met in May, all the incidents connected with the final crisis, and I shall never forget how he imitated himself during that last Reading, when he nearly fell before the audience. It was a terrible blow to his constitution, and only a man of the greatest strength and will could have survived it. When we arrived in Queenstown, this note was sent on board our steamer.
Loving welcome to England. Hurrah !
OFFICE OF ALL THE YEAR ROUND, Wednesday, May 5, 1869.
MY DEAR -: I fear you will have been uneasy about me, and will have heard distorted accounts of the stoppage of my Readings. It is a measure of precaution, and not of cure. I was too tired and too jarred by the railway fast express, travelling night and day. No half-measure could be taken ; and rest being medically considered essential, we stopped. I became, thank God, myself again, almost as soon as I could rest! I am good for all country pleasures with you, and am looking forward to Gad’s, Rochester Castle, Cobham Park, red jackets, and Canterbury. When you come to London we shall probably be staying at our hotel. You will learn, here, where to find us. I yearn to be with you both again !
Love to M-.
Ever your affectionate,
C. D.
I hope this will be put into your hands on board, in Queenstown Harbor.
We met in London a few days after this, and I found him in capital spirits, with such a protracted list of things we were to do together, that, had I followed out the prescribed programme, it would have taken many more months of absence from home than I had proposed to myself. We began our long rambles among the thoroughfares that had undergone important changes since I was last in London, taking in the noble Thames embankments, which I had never seen, and the improvements in the city markets. Dickens had moved up to London for the purpose of showing us about, and had taken rooms only a few streets off from our hotel. Here are two specimens of the welcome little notes which I constantly found on my breakfast-table : —
OFFICE OF ALL THE YEAR ROUND, LONDON, Wednesday, May 19, 1869.
MY DEAR FIELDS : Suppose we give the weather a longer chance, and say Monday instead of Friday. I think we must be safer with that precaution. If Monday will suit you, I propose that we meet here that day, — your ladies and you and I, — and cast ourselves on the stony-hearted streets. If it be bright for St. Paul’s, good ; if not, we can take some other lion that roars in dull weather. We will dine here at six, and meet here at half past two. So IF you should want to go elsewhere after dinner, it can be done, notwithstanding. Let me know in a line what you say,
O the delight of a cold bath this morning, after those lodging-houses ! And a mild sniffler of punch, on getting into the hotel last night, I found what my friend Mr. Wegg calls, “Mellering, sir, very mellering.”
With kindest regards,
Ever affectionately,
CHARLES DICKENS.
OFFICE OF ALL THE YEAR ROUND, LONDON, Tuesday, May 25, 1869.
MY DEAR FIELDS: First, you leave Charing Cross Station, by North Kent railway, on Wednesday, June 2d, at 2.10 for Higham Station, the next station beyond Gravesend. Now, bring your lofty mind back to the previous Saturday, next Saturday. There is only one way of combining Windsor and Richmond. That way will leave us but two hours and a half at Windsor. This would not be long enough to enable us to see the inside of the castle, but would admit of our seeing the outside, the Long Walk, etc. I will assume that such a survey will suffice. That taken for granted, meet me at Waterloo Terminus (Loop Line for Windsor) at 10.35, on Saturday morning.
The rendezvous for Monday evening will be here at half past eight. As I don’t know Mr. Eytinge’s number in Guildford Street, will you kindly undertake to let him know that we are going out with the great Detective ? And will you also give him the time and place for Gad’s ?
I shall be here on Friday for a few hours ; meantime at Gad’s aforesaid.
With love to the ladies,
Ever faithfully,
C. D.
During my stay in England in that summer of 1869 I made many excursions with Dickens both around the city and into the country. Among the most memorable of these London rambles was a visit to the General PostOffice, by arrangement with the authorities there, a stroll among the cheap theatres and lodging-houses for the poor, a visit to Furnival’s Inn and the very room in it where “ Pickwick” was written, and a walk through the thieves’ quarter. These two latter expeditions were made on two consecutive nights, under the protection of police detailed for the service. On one of these nights we also visited the lock-up houses, watch-houses, and opium-eating establishments. It was in one of the horrid opium-dens that he gathered the incidents which he has related in the opening pages of “ Edwin Drood.” In a miserable court we found the haggard old woman blowing at a kind of pipe made of an old penny ink-bottle. The identical words which Dickens puts into the mouth of this wretched creature in “ Edwin Drood ” we heard her croon as we leaned over the tattered bed on which she was lying. There was something hideous in the way this woman kept repeating, “ Ye ’ll pay up according, deary, won’t ye ? ” and the Chinamen and Lascars made never-to-be-forgotten pictures in the scene. I watched Dickens intently as he went among these outcasts of London, and saw with what deep sympathy he encountered the sad and suffering in their horrid abodes. At the door of one of the penny lodginghouses (it was growing toward morning, and the raw air almost cut one to the bone), I saw him snatch a little child out of its poor drunken mother’s arms, and bear it in, filthy as it was, that it might be warmed and cared for. I noticed that whenever he entered one of these wretched rooms he had a word of cheer for its inmates and that when he left the apartment he always had a pleasant “ Good night ” or “ God bless you ” to bestow upon them. I do not think his person was ever recognized in any of these haunts, except in one instance. As we entered a low room in the worst alley we had yet visited, in which were huddled together some forty or fifty half-starved looking wretches, I noticed a man among the crowd whispering to another and pointing out Dickens. Both men regarded him with marked interest all the time he remained in the room, and tried to get as near him, without observation, as possible. As he turned to go out, one of these men pressed forward and said, “ Good night, sir,” with much feeling, in reply to Dickens’s parting word.
Among other places, we went, a little past midnight, into one of the Casual Wards, which were so graphically described, some years ago, in one of the English magazines by a gentleman who, as a pretended tramp, went in on a reporting expedition. We walked through an avenue of poor tired sleeping forms, all lying flat on the floor, and not one of them raised a head to look at us as we moved thoughtfully up the aisle of sorrowful humanity. I think we counted sixty or seventy prostrate beings, who had come in for a night’s shelter, and had lain down worn out with fatigue and hunger. There was one pale young face to which I whispered Dickens’s attention, and he stood over it with a look of sympathizing interest not to be easily forgotten. There was much ghastly comicality mingled with the horror in several of the places we visited on those two nights. We were standing in a room half filled with people of both sexes, whom the police accompanying us knew to be thieves. Many of these abandoned persons had served out their terms in jail or prison, and would probably be again sentenced under the law. They were all silent and sullen as we entered the room, until an old woman spoke up with a strong, beery voice : “ Good evening, gentlemen. We are all wery poor, but strictly honest.” At which cheerful apocryphal statement, all the inmates of the room burst into boisterous laughter, and began pelting the imaginative female with epithets uncomplimentary and unsavory. Dickens’s quick eye never for a moment ceased to study all these scenes of vice and gloom, and he told me afterwards that, bad as the whole thing was, it had improved infinitely since he first began to study character in these regions of crime and woe.
Between eleven and twelve o’clock on one of the evenings I have mentioned we were taken by Dickens’s favorite Detective Winto a sort of lock-up house, where persons are brought from the streets who have been engaged in brawls, or detected in the act of thieving, or who have, in short, committed any offence against the laws. Here they are examined for commitment by a sort of presiding officer, who sits all night for that purpose. We looked into some of the cells, and found them nearly filled with wretched-looking objects who had been brought in that night. To this establishment are also brought lost children who are picked up in the streets by the police, — children who have wandered away from their homes, and are not old enough to tell the magistrate where they live. It was well on toward morning, and we were sitting in conversation with one of the officers, when the ponderous door opened and one of these small wanderers was brought in. She was the queerest little figure I ever beheld, and she walked in, holding the police officer by the hand as solemnly and quietly as if she were attending her own obsequies. She was between four and five years old, and had on what was evidently her mother’s bonnet, — an enormous production, resembling a sort of straw coal-scuttle, manufactured after the fashion of ten or fifteen years ago. The child had, no doubt, caught up this wonderful headgear in the absence of her parent, and had gone forth in quest of adventure. The officer reported that he had discovered her in the middle of the street, moving ponderingly along, without any regard to the horses and vehicles all about her. When asked where she lived, she mentioned a street which only existed in her own imagination, and she knew only her Christian name. When she was interrogated by the proper authorities, without the slightest apparent discomposure she replied in a steady voice, as she thought proper, to their questions. The magistrate inadvertently repeated a question as to the number of her brothers and sisters, and the child snapped out, “ I told ye wunst; can’t ye hear ? ” When asked if she would like anything, she gayly answered, “ Candy, cake and candy.” A messenger was sent out to procure these commodities, which she instantly seized on their arrival and began to devour. She showed no signs of fear, until one of the officers began to untie the huge bonnet and take it off, when she tearfully insisted upon being put into it again. I was greatly impressed by the ingenious efforts of the excellent men in the room to learn from the child where she lived, and who her parents were. Dickens sat looking at the little figure with profound interest, and soon came forward and asked permission to speak with the child. Of course his request was granted, and I don’t know when I have enjoyed a conversation more. She made some very smart answers, which convulsed us all with laughter as we stood looking on ; and the creator of “ Little Nell ” and “ Paul Dombey ” gave her up in despair. He was so much interested in the little vagrant, that he sent a messenger next morning to learn if the rightful owner of the bonnet had been found. Report came back, on a duly printed form, setting forth that the anxious father and mother had applied for the child at three o’clock that morning, and had borne her away in triumph to her home.
It was a warm summer afternoon towards the close of the day, when Dickens went with us to visit the London Post-Office. He said: “I know nothing which could give a stranger a better idea of the size of London than that great institution. The hurry and rush of letters ! men up to their chins in letters ! nothing but letters everywhere ! the air full of letters ! — suddenly the clock strikes ; not a person is to be seen, nor a letter : only one man with a lantern peering about and putting one drop-letter into a box.” For two hours we went from room to room, with him as our guide, up stairs and down stairs, observing the myriad clerks at their various avocations, with letters for the North Pole, for the South Pole, for Egypt and Alaska, Darien and the next street.
The “ Blind Man,” as he was called, appeared to afford Dickens as much amusement as if he saw his work then for the first time ; but this was one of the qualities of his genius ; there was inexhaustibility and freshness in everything to which he turned his attention. The ingenuity and loving care shown by the “ Blind Man ” in deciphering or guessing at the apparently inexplicable addresses on letters and parcels excited his admiration. “ What a lesson to all of us,” he could not help saying, “ to be careful in preparing our letters for the mail ! ” His own were always directed with such exquisite care, however, that had he been brother to the “ Blind Man,” and considered it his special work in life to teach others how to save that officer trouble, he could hardly have done better.
Leaving the hurry and bustle of the Post-Office behind us, we strolled out into the streets of London. It was past eight o’clock, but the beauty of the soft June sunset was only then overspreading the misty heavens. Every sound of traffic had died out of those turbulent thoroughfares ; now and then a belated figure would hurry past us and disappear, or perhaps in turning the corner would linger to “ take a good look ” at Charles Dickens. But even these stragglers soon dispersed, leaving us alone in the light of day and the sweet living air to heighten the sensation of a dream. We came through White Friars to the Temple, and thence into the Temple Garden, where our very voices echoed. Dickens pointed up to Talfourd’s room, and recalled with tenderness the merry hours they had passed together in the old place. Of course we hunted out Goldsmith’s abode, and Dr. Johnson’s, saw the site of the Earl of Essex’s palace, and the steps by which he was wont to descend to the river, now so far removed. But most interesting of all to us there was “ Pip’s ” room, to which Dickens led us, and the staircase where the convict stumbled up in the dark, and the chimney nearest the river where, although less exposed than in “ Pip’s ” days, we could well understand how “the wind shook the house that night like discharges of cannon, or breakings of a sea.” We looked in at the dark old staircase, so dark on that night when “ the lamps were blown out, and the lamps on the bridges and the shore were shuddering,” and then went on to take a peep, half shuddering ourselves, at the narrow street where “ Pip ” by and by found a lodging for the convict. Nothing dark could long survive in our minds on that June night, when the whole scene was so like the airy work of imagination. Past the Temple, past the garden to the river, mistily fair, with a few boats moving upon its surface, the convict’s story was forgotten, and we only knew this was Dickens’s home, where he had lived and written, lying in the calm light of its fairest mood.
