Our Whispering Gallery: Viii

DURING this hot weather we cannot better refresh ourselves than by the perusal of a portfolio of Dickens’s letters, written to me from time to time during the past ten years. As long ago as the spring of 1858 I began to press him very hard to come to America and give us a course of readings from his works. At that time I had never heard him read in public, but the fame of his wonderful performances rendered me eager to have my own country share in the enjoyment of them. Being in London in the summer of 1859, and dining with him one day in his town residence, Tavistock House, Tavistock Square, we had much talk in a corner of his library about coming to America. I thought him over-sensitive with regard to his reception here, and I tried to remove any obstructions that might exist in his mind at that time against a second visit across the Atlantic. I followed up our conversation with a note setting forth the certainty of his success among his Transatlantic friends and urging him to decide on a visit during the year. He replied to me, dating from '•Gad’s Hill Place, Higham by Rochester, Kent.”

“ I write to you from my little Kentish country house, on the very spot where Falstaff ran away.

“ I cannot tell you how very much obliged to you I feel for your kind suggestion, and for the perfectly frank and unaffected manner in which it is conveyed to me.

“ It touches, I will admit to you frankly, a chord that has several times sounded in my breast, since I began my readings. I should very much like to read in America. But the idea is a mere dream as yet. Several strong reasons would make the journey difficult to me, and — even were they overcome — I would never make it, unless I had great general reason to believe that the American people really wanted to hear me.

“ Through the whole of this autumn I shall be reading in various parts of England, Ireland, and Scotland. I mention this, in reference to the closing paragraph of your esteemed favor.

“ Allow me once again to thank you most heartily, and to remain,

“ Gratefully and faithfully yours,

“ CHARLES DICKENS.”

Early in the month of July, 1859, I spent a day with him in his beautiful country retreat in Kent. He drove me about the leafy lanes in his basketwagon, pointing out the lovely spots belonging to his friends, and ending with a visit to the ruins of Rochester Castle. We climbed up the time-worn walls and leaned out of the ivied windows, looking into the various apartments below. I remember how vividly he reproduced a probable scene in the great old banqueting-room, and how graphically he imagined the life of ennui and every-day tediousness that went on in those lazy old times. I recall his fancy picture of the dogs stretched out before the fire, sleeping and snoring with their masters. That day he seemed to revel in the past, and I stood by listening almost with awe to his impressive voice, as he spoke out whole chapters of a romance destined never to be written. On our way back to Gad’s Hill Place he stopped in the road, I remember, to have a crack with a gentleman, whom he told me was a son of Sydney Smith. The only other guest at his table that day was Wilkie Collins ; and after dinner we three went out and lay down on the grass, while Dickens showed off a raven that was hopping about, and told anecdotes of the bird and of his many predecessors. We also talked about his visiting America, I putting as many spokes as possible into that favorite wheel of mine. A day or two after I returned to London I received this note from him: —

“ . . . . Only to say that I heartily enjoyed our day, and shall long remember it. Also that I have been perpetually repeating the — experience (of a more tremendous sort in the way of ghastly comicality, experience there is none) on the grass, on my back. Also, that I have not forgotten Cobbett. Also, that I shall trouble you at greater length when the mysterious oracle, of New York, pronounces.

“Wilkie Collins begs me to report that he declines pale horse, and all other horse exercise — and all exercise, except eating, drinking, smoking, and sleeping — in the dog days.

“With united kind regards,

“Believe me always,

“ Cordially yours,

“ CHARLES DICKENS.”

An agent had come out from New York to endeavor to induce him to arrange for a speedy visit to America, and Dickens was then waiting to see the man who had been announced as on his way to him. He was evidently giving the subject serious consideration, for on the 20th of July he sends me this note : —

“As I have not yet heard from Mr. — of New York, I begin to think it likely (or, rather, I begin to think it more likely than I thought it before) that he has not backers good and sufficient, and that his ‘ mission ’ will go off. It is possible that I may hear from him before the month is out, and I shall not make any reading arrangements until it has come to a close ; but I do not regard it as being very probable that the said — will appear satisfactorily, either in the flesh or the spirit.

“ Now, considering that it would be August before I could move in the matter, that it would be indispensably necessary to choose some business connection and have some business arrangements made in America, and that I am inclined to think it would not be easy to originate and complete all the necessary preparations for beginning in October, I want your kind advice on the following points : —

“ 1. Suppose I postponed the idea for a year.

“ 2. Suppose I postponed it until after Christmas.

“3. Suppose I sent some trusty person out to America now, to negotiate with some sound, responsible, t♦rustworthy man of business in New York, accustomed to public undertakings of such a nature ; my negotiator being fully empowered to conclude any arrangements with him that might appear, on consultation, best.

“ Have you any idea of any such person to whom you could recommend me? Or of any such agent here? I only want to see my way distinctly, and to have it prepared before me, out in the States. Now, I will make no apology for troubling you, because I thoroughly rely on your interest and kindness.

“ I am at Gad’s Hill, except on Tuesdays and the greater part of Wednesdays.

“With kind regards,

“ Very faithfully yours,

“ CHARLES DICKENS.”

Various notes passed between us after this, during my stay in London in 1859. On the 6th of August he writes : —

“ I have considered the subject in every way, and have consulted with the few friends to whom I ever refer my doubts, and whose judgment is in the main excellent. I have (this is between ourselves) come to the conclusion that I will not go now.

“ A year hence I may revive the matter, and your presence in America will then be a great encouragement and assistance to me. I shall see you (at least I count upon doing so) at my house in town before you turn your face towards the locked-up house ; and we will then, reversing Macbeth, ‘proceed further in this business.’ ....

“ Believe me always (and here I forever renounce ‘ Mr.,’ as having anything whatever to do with our communication, and as being a mere preposterous interloper),

“ Faithfully yours,

“ CHARLES DICKENS.”

When I arrived in Rome, early in 1860, one of the first letters I received from London was from him. The project of coming to America was constantly before him, and he wrote to me that he should have a great deal to say when I came back to England in the spring; but the plan fell through, and he gave up all hope of crossing the water again. I, however, did not let the matter rest ; and when I returned home I did not cease, year after year, to keep the subject open in my communications with him. He kept a watchful eye on what was going forward in America both in literature and politics. During the war, of Course, both of us gave up our correspondence about the readings. He was actively engaged all over Great Britain in giving his marvellous entertainments, and there certainly was no occasion for his travelling elsewhere. In October, 1862, I sent him the proof-sheets of an article, that was soon to appear in the Atlantic Monthly, on “ Blind Tom,” and on receipt of it he sent me a letter, from which this is an extract: —

“ I have read that affecting paper you have had the kindness to send me, with strong interest and emotion. You may readily suppose that I have been most glad and ready to avail myself of your permission to print it. I have placed it in our Number made up today, which will be published on the 18th of this month, —well before you, — as you desire.

“ Think of reading in America? Lord bless you, I think of reading in the deepest depth of the lowest crater in the Moon, op my way there !

“ There is no sun-picture of my Falstaff House as yet; but it shall be done, and you shall have it. It has been much improved internally since you saw it. ...

“I expect Macready at Gad’s Hill on Saturday. You know that his second wife (an excellent one) presented him lately with a little boy ? I was staying with him for a day or two last winter, and, seizing an umbrella when he had the audacity to tell me he was growing old, made at him with Macduff’s defiance. Upon which he fell into the old fierce guard, with the desperation of thirty years ago.

“ Kind remembrances to all friends who kindly remember me.

“ Ever heartily yours,

“ CHARLES DICKENS.”

Every time I had occasion to write to him after the war, I stirred up the subject of the readings. On the 2d of May, 1866, he says : —

“Your letter is an excessively difficult one to answer, because I really do not know that any sum of money that could be laid down would induce me to cross the Atlantic to read. Nor do I think it likely that any one on your side of the great water can be prepared to understand the state of the case. For example, I am now just finishing a series of thirty readings. The crowds attending them have been so astounding, and the relish for them has so far outgone all previous experience, that if I were to set myself the task, 'I will make such or such a sum of money by devoting myself to readings for a certain time,’ I should have to go no further than Bond Street or Regent Street, to have it secured to me in a day. Therefore, if a specific offer, and a very large one indeed were made to me from America, I should naturally ask myself, ' Why go through this wear and tear, merely to pluck fruit that grows on every bough at home ? ’ It is a delightful sensation to move a new people ; but I have but to go to Paris, and I find the brightest people in the world quite ready for me. I say thus much in a sort of desperate endeavor to explain myself to you. I can put no price upon fifty readings in America, because I do not know that any possible price could pay me for them. And I really cannot say to any one disposed towards the enterprise, ‘Tempt me,’ because I have too strong a misgiving that he cannot in the nature of things do it.

“ This is the plain truth. If any distinct proposal be submited to me, I will give it a distinct answer. But the chances are a round thousand to one that the answer will be no, and therefore I feel bound to make the declaration beforehand.

“. . . . This place has been greatly improved since you were here, and we should be heartily glad if you and she could see it.

“ Faithfully yours ever,

“ CHARLES DICKENS.”

On the 16th of October he writes : —

“Although I perpetually see in the papers that I am coming out with a new serial, I assure you I know no more of it at present. I am not writing (except for Christmas number of ‘All the Year Round’), and am going to begin, in the middle of January, a series of forty-two readings. Those will probably occupy me until Easter. Early in the summer I hope to get to work upon a story that I have in my mind. But in what form it will appear I do not yet know, because when the time comes I shall have to take many circumstances into consideration. ...

“A faint outline of a castle in the air always dimly hovers between me and Rochester, in tire great hall of which I see myself reading to American audiences. But my domestic surroundings must change before the castle takes tangible form. And perhaps I may change first, and establish a castle in the other world. So no more at present.

“ Believe me ever

“ Faithfully yours,

“CHARLES DICKENS.”

In June, 1867, things begin to look more promising, and I find in one of his letters, dated the 3d of that month ' some good news, as follows : —

“ I cannot receive your pleasantest of notes, without assuring you of the interest and gratification that I feel on my side in our alliance. And now I am going to add a piece of intelligence that I hope may not be disagreeable.

“ I am trying hard so to free myself, as to be able to come over to read this next winter ! Whether I may succeed in this endeavor or no I cannot yet say, but I am trying HARD. So in the mean time don’t contradict the rumor. In the course of a few mails I hope to be able to give you positive and definite information on the subject.

“ My daughter (whom I shall not bring if I come) will answer for herself by and by. Understand that I am really endeavoring tooth and nail to make my way personally to the American public, and that no light obstacles will turn me aside, now that my hand is in.

“ My dear Fields,

“ Faithfully yours always,

“ CHARLES DICKENS.”

This was followed up by another letter, dated the 13th, in which he says : —

“ I have this morning resolved to send out to Boston, in the first week in August, Mr. Dolby, the secretary and manager of my readings. He is profoundly versed in the business of those delightful intellectual feasts (!), and will come straight to Ticknor and Fields, and will hold solemn council with them, and will then go to New York, Philadelphia, Hartford, Washington, etc., etc., and see Lhe rooms for himself, and make his estimates. He will then telegraph to me : ‘ I see my way to such and such results. Shall I go on ? ’ If I reply, ‘ Yes,’ I shall stand committed to begin reading in America with the month of December. If I reply, ‘ No,’it will be because I do not clearly see the game to be worth so large a candle. In either case he will come back to me.

“ He is the brother of Madame Sainton Dolby, the celebrated singer. I have absolute trust in him and a great regard for him. He goes with me everywhere when I read, and manages for me to perfection.

“ We mean to keep all this STRICTLY SECRET, as I beg of you to do, until I finally decide for or against. I am beleaguered by every kind of speculator in such things on your side of the water; and it is very likely that they would take the rooms over our heads, ,— to charge me heavily for them, — or would set on foot unheard-of devices for buying up the tickets, etc., etc., if the probabilities oozed out. This is exactly how the case stands now, and I confide it to you within a couple of hours after having so far resolved. Dolby quite understands that he is to confide in you, similarly, without a particle of reserve.

“ Ever faithfully yours,

“ CHARLES DICKENS.”

On the 12th of July he says : —

“ Our letters will be crossing one another rarely ! I have received your cordial answer to my first notion of coming out; but there has not yet been time for me to hear again.....

“ With kindest regard to ‘ both your houses,’ public and private,

“ Ever faithfully yours,

“ CHARLES DICKENS.”

He had engaged to write for “ Our Young Folks ” “ A Holiday Romance,” and the following note, dated the 25th of July, refers to the story: —

“ Your note of the 12th is like a cordial of the best sort. I have taken it accordingly.

“ Dolby sails in the Java on Saturday, the 3d of next month, and will come direct to you. You will find him a frank and capital fellow. He is perfectly acquainted with has business and with his chief, and may be trusted without a grain of reserve.

“ I hope the Americans will see the joke of ' Holiday Romance.’ The writing seems to me so like children’s, that dull folks (on any side of any water) might perhaps rate it accordingly ! I should like to be beside you when you read it, and particularly when you read the Pirate’s story. It made me laugh to that extent that my people here thought I was out of my wits, until I gave it to them to read, when they did likewise.

“ Ever cordially yours,

“ CHARLES DICKENS.”

On the 3d of September he breaks out in this wise, Dolby having arrived out and made all arrangements for the readings : —

“ Your cheering letter of the 21st of August arrived here this morning. A thousand thanks for it. I begin to think (nautically) that I ' head west’ard.’ You shall hear from me fully and finally as soon as Dolby shall have reported personally.

“The other day I received a letter from Mr. — of New York (who came over in the winning yacht, and described the voyage in the Times), saying he would much like to see me. I made an appointment in London, and observed that when he did see me he was obviously astonished. While I was sensible that the magnificence of my appearance would fully account for his being overcome, I nevertheless angled for the cause of his surprise. He then told me that there was a paragraph going round the papers, to the effect that I was ' in a critical state of health.’ I asked him if he was sure it was n’t ‘cricketing’ state of health? To which he replied, Quite. I then asked him down here to dinner, and he was again staggered by finding me in sporting training ; also much amused.

“ Yesterday’s and to-day’s post bring me this unaccountable paragraph irom hosts of uneasy friends, with the enormous and wonderful addition that ' eminent surgeons ' are sending me to America for ' cessation from literary labor ’ !!! So I have written a quiet line to the Times, certifying to my own state of health, and have also begged Dixon to do the like in the Athenæum. I mention the matter to you, in order that you may contradict, from me, if the nonsense should reach America unaccompanied by the truth. But I suppose that the New York Herald will probably have got the latter from Mr. — aforesaid. ...

“ Charles Reade and Wilkie Collins are here ; and the joke of the time is to feel my pulse when I appear at table, and also to inveigle innocent messengers to come over to the summerhouse, where I write (the place is quite changed since you were here, and a tunnel under the high road connects this shrubbery with the front garden), to ask, with their compliments, how I find myself now.

“ If I come to America this next November, even you can hardly imagine with what interest I shall try Copperfield on an American audience, or, if they give me their heart, how freely and fully 1 shall give them mine. We will ask Dolby then whether he ever heard it before.

“ I cannot thank you enough for your invaluable help to Dolby. He writes that at every turn and moment the sense and knowledge and tact of Mr. Osgood are inestimable to him.

“ Ever, my dear Fields,

“Faithfully yours,

“ CHARLES DICKENS.”

Here is a little note dated the 3d of October: —

“ I cannot tell you how much I thank you for your kind little letter, which is like a pleasant voice coming across the Atlantic, with that domestic welcome in it which has no substitute on earth. If you knew how strongly I am inclined to allow myself the pleasure of staying at your house, you would look upon me as a kind of ancient Roman (which, I trust in Heaven, I am not) for having the courage to say no. But if I gave myself that gratification in the beginning, I could scarcely hope to get on in the hard ' reading' life, without offending some kindly disposed and hospitable American friend afterwards ; whereas if I observe my English principle on such occasions, of having no abiding-place but an hotel, and stick to it from the first, I may perhaps count on being consistently uncomfortable.

“ The nightly exertion necessitates meals at odd hours, silence and rest at impossible times of the day, a general Spartan behavior so utterly inconsistent with my nature, that if you were to give me a happy inch, I should take an ell, and frightfully disappoint you in public. I don’t want to do that, if I can help it, and so I will be good in spite of myself.

“ Ever your affectionate friend,

“ CHARLES DICKENS.”

A ridiculous paragraph in the papers following close on the public announcement that Dickens was coming to America in November, drew from him this letter to me, dated also early in October : —

“ I hope the telegraph clerks did not mutilate out of recognition or reasonable guess the words I added to Dolby’s last telegram to Boston. ' Tribune London correspondent totally false.’ Not only is there not a word of truth in the pretended conversation, but it is so absurdly unlike me that I cannot suppose it to be even invented by any one who ever heard me exchange a word with mortal creature. For twenty years I am perfectly certain that I have never made any other allusion to the republication of my books in America than the good-humored remark, ‘ that if there had been international copyright between England and the States, I should have been a man of very large fortune, instead of a man of moderate savings, always supporting a very expensive public position.’ Nor have I ever been such a fool as to charge the absence of international copyright upon individuals. Nor have I ever been so ungenerous as to disguise or suppress the fact that I have received handsome sums for advance sheets. When I was in the States, I said what I had to say on the question, and there an end. I am absolutely certain that I have never since expressed myself, even with soreness, on the subject. Reverting to the preposterous fabrication of the London correspondent, the statement that I ever talked about ‘ these fellows ’ who republished my books, or pretended to know (what I don’t know at this instant) who made how much out of them, or ever talked of their sending me ‘conscience money,’ is as grossly and completely false as the statement that I ever said anything to the effect that I could not be expected to have an interest in the American people. And nothing can by any possibility be falser than that. Again and again in these pages (All the Year Round) I have expressed my interest in them. You will see it in the ‘ Child’s History of England.’ You will see it in the last Preface to * American Notes.’ Every American who has ever spoken with me in London, Paris, or where not, knows whether I have frankly said, ‘You could have no better introduction to me than your country.’ And for years and years when I have been asked about reading in America, my invariable reply has been, ‘ I have so many friends there, and constantly receive so many earnest letters from personally unknown readers there, that, but for domestic reasons, I would go to-morrow.’ I think I must, in the confidential intercourse between you and me, have written you to this effect more than once.

“ The statement of the London correspondent from beginning to end is false. It is false in the letter and false in the spirit. He may have been misinformed, and the statement may not have originated with him. With whomsoever it originated, it never originated with me, and consequently is false. More than enough about it.

“As I hope to see you so soon, my dear Fields, and as I am busily at work on the Christmas number, I will not make this a longer letter than I can help. I thank you most heartily for your proffered hospitality, and need not tell you that if I went to any friend’s house in America, I would go to yours. But the readings are very hard work, and I think I cannot do better than observe the rule on that side of the Atlantic which I observe on this, — of never, under such circumstances, going to a friend’s house, but always staying at a hotel. I am able to observe it here, by being consistent and never breaking it. If I am equally consistent there, I can (I hope) offend no one.

“ Dolby sends his love to you and all his friends (as I do), and is girding up his loins vigorously.

“ Ever, my dear Fields,

“ Heartily and affectionately yours,

“ CHARLES DICKENS.”

Before sailing in November he sent off this note to me from the office of All the Year Round: -—

“ I received your more than acceptable letter yesterday morning, and consequently am able to send you this line of acknowledgment by the next mail. Please God we will have that walk among the autumn leaves, before the readings set in.

“ You may have heard from Dolby that a gorgeous repast is to be given to me to-morrow, and that it is expected to be a notable demonstration. I shall try, in what I say, to state my American case exactly. I have a strong hope and belief that within the compass of a couple of minutes or so I can put it, with perfect truthfulness, in the light that my American friends would be best pleased to see me place it in. Either so, or my instinct is at fault.

“ My daughters and their aunt unite with me in kindest loves. As I write, a shrill prolongation of the message comes in from the next room, ‘ Tell them to take care of you-u-u ! ”

“ Tell Longfellow, with my love, that I am charged by Forster (who has been very ill of diffused gout and bronchitis) with a copy of his Sir John Eliot.

“ I will bring you out the early proof of the Christmas number. We publish it here on the 12th of December. I am planning it (No Thoroughfare) out into a play for Wilkie Collins to manipulate after I sail, and have arranged for Fechter to go to the Adelphi Theatre and play a Swiss in it. It will be brought out the day after Christmas day.

“ Here, at Boston Wharf, and everywhere else,

“ Yours heartily and affectionately,

“ C. D.”

On a blustering evening in November, 1867, Dickens arrived in Boston Harbor, on his second visit to America. A few of his friends, under the guidance of the Collector of the port, steamed down in the custom-house boat to welcome him. It was pitch dark before we sighted the Cuba and ran alongside. The great steamer stopped for a few minuses to take us on board and Dickens’s cheery voice greeted me before I had time to distinguish him on the deck of the vessel. The news of the excitement the sale of the tickets to his readings had occasioned had been carried to him by the pilot, twenty miles out. He was in capital spirits over the cheerful account that all was going on so well, and I thought he never looked in better health. The voyage had been a good one, and the ten days’ rest on shipboard had strengthened him amazingly he said. As we were told that a crowd had assembled in East Boston, we took him in our little tug and landed him safely at Long Wharf in Boston, where carriages were in waiting. Rooms had been taken for him at the Parker House, and in half an hour after he had reached the hotel he was sitting down to dinner with half a dozen friends, quite prepared, he said, to give the first reading in America that very night, if desirable. Assurances that the kindest feelings towards him existed everywhere put him in great spirits, and he seemed happy to be among us. On Sunday he visited the School Ship and said a few words of encouragement and counsel to the boys. He began bis long walks at once, and girded himself up for the hard winter’s work before him. Steadily refusing all invitations to go out during the weeks he was reading, he only went into one other house besides the Parker, habitually, during his stay in Boston. Every one who was present remembers the delighted crowds that assembled nightly in the Tremont Temple, and no one who heard Dickens, during that eventful month of December, will forget the sensation produced by the great author, actor, and reader.

He went from Boston to New York, carrying with him a severe catarrh contracted in our climate. In reality much of the time during his reading in Boston he was quite ill from the effects of the disease, but he fought courageously against its effects, and always came up on the night of the reading, all right. Several times I feared he would be obliged to postpone the readings, and I am sure almost any one else would have felt compelled to do so ; but he always declared no man had a right to break an engagement with the public, if he were able to be out of bed. His spirit was wonderful, and, although he lost all appetite and could partake of very little food, he was always cheerful and ready for his work when the evening came round. Every morning his table was covered with invitations to dinners and all sorts of entertainments, but he said, “ I came for hard work, and I must try to fulfil the expectations of the American public.” He did accept a dinner which was tendered to him by some of his literary friends in Boston ; but the day before it was to come off he was so ill he felt obliged to ask that the banquet might be given up. The strain upon his strength and nerves was very great during all the months he remained in the country, and only a man of iron will could have accomplished all he did. And here let me say, that although he was accustomed to talk and write a great deal about eating and drinking, I have rarely seen a man eat and drink less. He liked to dilate in imagination over the brewing of a bowl of punch, but I always noticed that when the punch was ready, he drank less of it than any one who might be present. It was the sentiment of the thing and not the thing itself that engaged his attention. He liked to have a little supper every night after a reading, and have three or four friends round the table with him, but he only picked at the viands as a bird might do, and I scarcely saw him eat a hearty meal during his whole stay in the country. Both at Parker’s Hotel in Boston, and at the Westminster in New York, everything was arranged by the proprietors for his comfort and happiness, and tempting dishes to pique his invalid appetite were sent up at different hours of the day, with the hope that he might be induced to try unwonted things and get up again the habit of eating more ; but the influenza, that seized him with such masterful power, held the strong man down till he left the country.

One of the first letters I had from him, after he had begun his reading tour, was dated from the Westminster Hotel in New York, on the 15th of January, 1868.

“ MY DEAR FIELDS : On coming back from Philadelphia just now (three o’clock) I was welcomed by your cordial letter. It was a delightful welcome and did me a world of good.

“ The cold remains just as it was (beastly), and where it was (in my head). We have left off referring to the hateful subject, except in emphatic sniffs on my part, convulsive wheezes, and resounding sneezes.

“ The Philadelphia audience ready and bright. I think they understood the Carol better than Copperfield, but they were bright and responsive as to both. They also highly appreciated your friend Mr. Jack Hopkins. A most excellent hotel there, and everything satisfactory. While on the subject of satisfaction, I know you will be pleased to hear that a long run is confidently expected for the No Thoroughfare drama. Although the piece is well cast and well played, my letters tell me that Fechter is so remarkably fine as to play down the whole company. The Times, in its account of it, said that ‘Mr. Fechter’ (in the Swiss mountain scene, and in the Swiss Hotel) ‘was practically alone upon the stage.’ It is splendidly got up, and the Mountain Pass (I planned it with the scenepainter) was loudly cheered by the whole house. Of course I knew that Fechter would tear himself to pieces rather than fall short, but I was not prepared for his contriving to get the pity and sympathy of the audience out of his passionate love for Marguerite.

“ My dear fellow, you cannot miss me more than I miss you and yours. And Heaven knows how gladly I would substitute Boston for Chicago, Detroit, and Co. ! But the tour is fast shaping itself out into its last details, and we must remember that there is a clear fortnight in Boston, not counting the four Farewells. I look forward to that fortnight as a radiant landingplace in the series. ....

“ Rash youth ! No presumptuous hand should try to make the punch, except in the presence of the hoary sage who pens these lines. With him on the spot to perceive and avert impending failure, with timely words of wisdom to arrest the erring hand and curb the straying judgment, and, with such gentle expressions of encouragement as his stern experience may justify, to cheer the aspirant with faint hopes of future excellence, —with these conditions observed, the daring mind may scale the heights of sugar and contemplate the depths of lemon. Otherwise not.

“ Dolby is at Washington, and will return in the night. — is on guard. He made a most brilliant appearance before the Philadelphia public, and looked hard at them. The mastery of his eye diverted their attention from his boots : charming in themselves, but (unfortunately) two left ones.

“ I send my hearty and enduring love. Your kindness to the British Wanderer is deeply inscribed in his heart.

“ When I think of L — ’s story about Dr. Webster, I feel like the lady in Nickleby who ' has had a sensation of alternate cold and biling water running down her back ever since.’

“ Ever, my dear Fields,

“Your affectionate friend,

“ C. D.”

His birthday, 7th of February, was spent in Washington, and on the 9th of the month he sent this little note from Baltimore : —

BALTIMORE, Sunday, February 9, 18S68.

MY DEAR FIELDS: I thank you heartily for your pleasant note (I can scarcely tell you how pleasant it was to receive the same) and for the beautiful flowers that you sent me on my birthday. For which — and much more — my loving thanks to both.

In consequence of the Washington papers having referred to the august 7th of this month, my room was on that day a blooming garden. Nor were flowers alone represented there. The silversmith, the goldsmith, the landscape-painter, all sent in their contributions. After the reading was done at night, the whole audience rose ; and it was spontaneous, hearty, and affecting.

I was very much surprised by the President’s face and manner. It is, in its way, one of the most remarkable faces I have ever seen. Not imaginative, but very powerful in its firmness (or perhaps obstinacy), strength of will, and steadiness of purpose. There is a reticence in it too, curiously at variance with that first unfortunate speech of his. A man not to be turned or trifled with. A man (I should say) who must be killed to be got out of the way. His manners, perfectly composed. We looked at one another pretty hard. There was an air of chronic anxiety upon him. But not a crease or a ruffle in his dress, and his papers were as composed as himself. {Mr. Thornton was going in to deliver his credentials, immediately afterwards.)

This day fortnight will find me, please God, in my “native Boston.” I wish I were there to-day.

Ever, my dear Fields,

Your affectionate friend,

CHARLES DICKENS,

Chairman Missionary Society.

When he returned to Boston in the latter part of the month, after his fatiguing campaign in New York, Philadelphia, Baltimore, and Washington, he seemed far from well, and one afternoon sent round from the Parker House to me this little note, explaining why he could not go out on our accustomed walk.

“ I have been terrifying Dolby out of his wits, by setting in for a paroxysm of sneezing, and it would be madness in me, with such a cold, and on such a night, and with to-morrow’s reading before me, to go out. I need not add that I shall be heartily glad to see you if you have time. Many thanks for the Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight. I shall “ save up ” that book, to read on the passage home. After turning over the leaves, I have shut it up and put it away ; for I am a great reader at sea, and wish to reserve the interest that I find awaiting me in the personal following of the sad war. Good God, when one stands among the hearths that war has broken, what an awful consideration it is that such a tremendous evil must be sometimes !

“Ever affectionately yours,

“ CHARLES DICKENS.”

And with the reading of this we will shut up the portfolio till next month.