NARRATIVE.

In the summer of this year Charles Dickens made, accompanied by Mrs. Dickens, his first visit to Scotland, and was received in Edinburgh with the greatest enthusiasm.

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

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

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

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

“The New First Rate” (first letter to Mr. Harrison Ainsworth) must, we think, be an allusion to the outside cover of “Bentley’s Miscellany,” which first appeared in this year, and of which Mr. Ainsworth was editor.

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

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

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

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

Rev. William Harness

DEVONSHIRE TERRACE, Saturday Morning, Jand, 1841.

MY DEAR HARNESS,

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

I have delayed answering your kind note in a vague hope of being heart-whole again by the seventh.  The present state of my work, however (Christmas not being a very favourable season for making progress in such doings), assures me that this cannot be, and that I must heroically deny myself the pleasure you offer.

Always believe me,
Faithfully yours.

Mr. George Cattermole.

DEVONSHIRE TERRACE, Thursday, Jath, 1841.

MY DEAR CATTERMOLE,

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

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

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

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

                                    Always, my dear George,
                                                       Heartily yours.

DEVONSHIRE TERRACE, Thursday Night, Jath, 1841.

MY DEAR GEORGE,

I sent to Chapman and Hall yesterday morning about the second subject for N of “Barnaby,” but found they had sent it to Browne.

The first subject of N I will either send to you on Saturday, or, at latest, on Sunday morning.  I have also directed Chapman and Hall to send you proofs of what has gone before, for reference, if you need it.

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

Faithfully always.

DEVONSHIRE TERRACE, Saturday Evening, Jath, 1841.

MY DEAR GEORGE,

I send you the first four slips of N, containing the description of the locksmith’s house, which I think will make a good subject, and one you will like.  If you put the “’prentice” in it, show nothing more than his paper cap, because he will be an important character in the story, and you will need to know more about him as he is minutely described.  I may as well say that he is very short.  Should you wish to put the locksmith in, you will find him described in N of “Barnaby” (which I told Chapman and Hall to send you).  Browne has done him in one little thing, but so very slightly that you will not require to see his sketch, I think.

Now, I must know what you think about the raven, my buck; I otherwise am in this fix.  I have given Browne no subject for this number, and time is flying.  If you would like to have the raven’s first appearance, and don’t object to having both subjects, so be it.  I shall be delighted.  If otherwise, I must feed that hero forthwith.

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

I am most sincerely and affectionately grateful to you, and am full of pleasure and delight.

Believe me, my dear Cattermole,
Always heartily yours.

Mr. John Tomlin.

1, DEVONSHIRE TERRACE, YORK GATE, REGENT’S PARK,
LONDON, Tuesday, Ferd, 1841.

DEAR SIR,

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

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

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

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

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

I am, dear Sir,
Faithfully yours.

Mr. R. Monckton Milnes

DEVONSHIRE TERRACE, Wednesday, March 10th, 1841.

MY DEAR MILNES,

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

I am not quite sure either of Friday or Saturday, for, independently of the “Clock” (which for ever wants winding), I am getting a young brother off to New Zealand just now, and have my mornings sadly cut up in consequence.  But, knowing your ways, I know I may say that I will come if I can; and that if I can’t I won’t.

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

And am always,
Faithfully yours.

Mr. George Cattermole.

DEVONSHIRE TERRACE, Tuesday, February 9th.

MY DEAR GEORGE,

My notes tread upon each other’s heels.  In my last I quite forgot business.

Will you, for N, do the locksmith’s house, which was described in N?  I mean the outside.  If you can, without hurting the effect, shut up the shop as though it were night, so much the better.  Should you want a figure, an ancient watchman in or out of his box, very sleepy, will be just the thing for me.

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

Faithfully ever.

OLD SHIP HOTEL, BRIGHTON, Feth, 1841.

MY DEAR KITTENMOLES,

I passed your house on Wednesday, being then atop of the Brighton Era; but there was nobody at the door, saving a solitary poulterer, and all my warm-hearted aspirations lodged in the goods he was delivering.  No doubt you observed a peculiar relish in your dinner.  That was the cause.

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

Then, my boy, when you have done it, turn your thoughts (as soon as other engagements will allow) first to the outside of The Warren ­see N; secondly, to the outside of the locksmith’s house, by night ­see N.  Put a penny pistol to Chapman’s head and demand the blocks of him.

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

Always, my dear George,
Faithfully yours,
[HW:  Boz.]

Mr. William Harrison Ainsworth.

DEVONSHIRE TERRACE, April 29th, 1841.

MY DEAR AINSWORTH,

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

The artist has just sent home your “Nickleby.”  He suggested variety, pleading his fancy and genius.  As an artful binder must have his way, I put the best face on the matter, and gave him his.  I will bring it together with the “Pickwick” to your house-warming with me.

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

Faithfully yours always.

Mr. G. Lovejoy.

1, DEVONSHIRE TERRACE, YORK GATE, REGENT’S PARK,
Monday Evening, May 31st, 1841.

SIR,

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

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

Yours faithfully.

DEVONSHIRE TERRACE, June 10th, 1841.

DEAR SIR,

I am favoured with your note of yesterday’s date, and lose no time in replying to it.

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

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

Dear Sir,
Faithfully yours.

Mr. George Cattermole.

DEVONSHIRE TERRACE, Wednesday Evening, July 28th, 1841.

MY DEAR GEORGE,

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

It’s in your way, and you’ll do it a hundred times better than I can suggest it to you, I know.

Faithfully always.

BROADSTAIRS, Friday, August 6th, 1841.

MY DEAR GEORGE,

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

The rioters went, sir, from John Willet’s bar (where you saw them to such good purpose) straight to The Warren, which house they plundered, sacked, burned, pulled down as much of as they could, and greatly damaged and destroyed.  They are supposed to have left it about half an hour.  It is night, and the ruins are here and there flaming and smoking.  I want ­if you understand ­to show one of the turrets laid open ­the turret where the alarm-bell is, mentioned in N; and among the ruins (at some height if possible) Mr. Haredale just clutching our friend, the mysterious file, who is passing over them like a spirit; Solomon Daisy, if you can introduce him, looking on from the ground below.

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

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

Always, dear Cattermole,
Heartily yours.

P.S. ­When you have done the subject, I wish you’d write me one line and tell me how, that I may be sure we agree.  Loves from Kate.

DEVONSHIRE TERRACE, Thursday, August 13th.

MY DEAR CATTERMOLE,

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

I ask you to think of this, because, although the volume is not published until the end of September, there is no time to lose.  We wish to have it engraved with great care, and worked very skilfully; and this cannot be done unless we get it on the stocks soon.

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

Always believe me,
Faithfully yours.

BROADSTAIRS, August 19th, 1841.

MY DEAR GEORGE,

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

Always faithfully.

P.S. ­John Willet’s bar is noble.

We take it for granted that cousin and baby are hearty.  Our loves to them.

Mr. W. C. Macready.

BROADSTAIRS, Tuesday, August 24th, 1841.

MY DEAR MACREADY,

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

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

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

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

Always, my dear Macready,
Your faithful Friend.

Mr. George Cattermole.

BROADSTAIRS, Sunday, September 12th, 1841.

MY DEAR GEORGE,

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

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

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

Thirdly.  Will you conceive and execute, after your own fashion, a frontispiece for “Barnaby”?

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

I have a fifthly, sixthly, seventhly, and eighthly; for I sorely want you, as I approach the close of the tale, but I won’t frighten you, so we’ll take breath.

Always, my dear Cattermole,
Heartily yours.

P.S. ­I have been waiting until I got to subjects of this nature, thinking you would like them best.

Mr. George Cattermole.

BROADSTAIRS, September 21st, 1841.

MY DEAR GEORGE,

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

Faithfully yours always.

Miss Mary Talfourd.

DEVONSHIRE TERRACE, December 16th, 1841.

MY DEAR MARY,

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

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

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

Believe me always,
My dear Mary,
Yours affectionately.

Mr. W. C. Macready.

DEVONSHIRE TERRACE, Tuesday, Deth, 1841.

MY DEAR MACREADY,

This note is about the saloon.  I make it as brief as possible.  Read it when you have time.  As we were the first experimentalists last night you will be glad to know what it wants.

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

Secondly, they were served out by the wrong sort of people ­two most uncomfortable drabs of women, and a dirty man with his hat on.

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

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

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

Always, my dear Macready,
Affectionately yours.