The Sun.
London, England, 1870-06-30 00:00:00

CHARLES DICKENS

Mr. Blanchard Jerrold contributes an article on the
late Charles Dickens to the new number of the Gentle-
men's Magazine. The following are extracts :
Slow to adopt a cause, Charles Dickens was the first
in the battle for it when he had espoused it. He had the
qualities of the perfect trooper as well as the far-seeing
captain. I have a letter of his about Italy, dated 1844,
in which, amid hearty gossip, he turns to a cause that was
dear to him at the time. " Come and see me in Italy," he says
to my father. " Let us smoke a pipe among the vines.
I have taken a little house surrounded by them, and no
man in the world should be more welcome to it than you."
Writing from the South, when he was about to travel to
London with the MS. of " The Christmas Carol," (more
than a quarter of a century ago) to read it to a few
friends in Mr. John 'orster's chambers in Lincoln's Inn
Fields, he observed of the book, " I have tried to strike
a blow on that part of the brass tountenance of wicked
Cant where such compliment is sorely needed at this
time. And I trust that the result of my training is at
least the exhibition of a strong desire to make it a stag-
gerer. If you should think at the end of the four rounds
(there are no more) that the said Cant, in the language of
Bell's Life,' comes up piping,' I shall be very much the
better for it." Dickerfs abhorred a sham with his whole
soul. When he published his " Child's History of Eng-
land," the mass took it for granted that the, chapters
which were appearing in the columns of " Hatiffehold
Words " were so much copy, and that the writing of it for
his own-children wee -only a commcm, and to the world,
w .-!,,rmitr4ble artistic fiction. Such fiction was not possible to
the greatest fiction writer of our century. I have his
words before me, on this history ; and the ink is yellowing
fast.
" I am writing a little history of England for my bon
which I will send you when it is printed for him, though
your boys are too old to profit by him (It
is curious that I
have tried to impress upon upon him (writing,.l dare say,
at the same moment with you) the exact spirit of yovr
paper" (" The Preacher Parrot.") There is a manuscript
the world knows nothing about this day; and yet which
has been for many years in existence, and in circulation
among those who were native to the author's hearth. The
Life of our Saviour was written by Charles Dick Thee
guide the hearts of his children ; and if ever a labour of
love was done by that most affectionate naturc, t
nhis was
preeminently it. By the eloquent pages that ow will
shortly be put within the reach of every English and
American household, the children of Charles Dickens
were taught their first lessons of Christian love and
Christian chivalry.
There was that boy-element in Charles Dickens which hag
been so often remarked in men of genius, as to appear
as almost inseparable from the highest gifts of nature.
" Why, we played a game of knock'em down only a week
or two ago, " a friend has remarked to me with brim-
ming eyes. "And he shewed all the old, astonishing
energy and delight, in taking aim at Aunt Sally."
My own earliest recollections of Charles Dickens are of
his gayest moods ; when the boy in him was exuberant,
and leap-frog or rounders were not sports too young for
the player who had written " Pickwick " twenty tears
before. To watch him through an afternoon, by
turns
light and grave ;• gracious, and loving and familiar to the
young • apt and vigorous in council with the old ;
ready for a frolic upon the lawn, as ready for
a committee meeting in the library, and then to
catch his cheery good-night, and feel the hand
that spoke so truly from the heart—was to see Charles
Dickens the man, the friend, the companion and the
counsellor all at once, and to get at something like a jut
estimate of that which was beautiful in the brilliant and
noble Englishman we have lost. The sweet and holy
lessons which he presented to humanity out of the humble
places in the world, could not have 'bceen
than evolvedh is out of
a nature less true and sympathetias.
Dickens had come to regard all men and women so
thoroughly and exclusively on account of their moral,
intellectual, and spiritual worth ; that he was at home
with all kinds of society, in the highest and in the humblest
walks. So that it is easy to picture him standing in a
drawing-room at Windsor Castle, one arm just resting
upon the sofa, and talking in his quiet, earnest manner to
the first lady in the land. There would not be the least
shadow of nervousness in him ; so grea w c
which his trained brain and heart had given him, in the
presence of humanity of every degree, under every con-
ceivable circumstance, by the throne, or facing thousands
of his countrymen who loved him, one and all, so well.
The best of men
• That e'er wore earth about him, was a sufferer
A soft, meek, patient, humble, tranquil spirit;
The first true gentleman that ever breathed.
I had met him about the middle of May, at Charing-
cross, and had remarked that he had aged very much in
appearance. The thought-lines of his face had deepened,
and the hair had whitened. Indeed, as he approached
me, I thought for a moment I was mistaken, and that it
could not be Dickens ; for that was not the vigorous,
rapid walk, with the stick lightly held in the alert hand,
which had always belonged to him. It was he, however ;
but with a certain solemnity of expression in the face, and
a deeper earnestness in the dark eyes. However, when
he saw me and shook my hand, the delightful brightness
and sunshine swept over the gloom and sadness ;
st and he
about
spoke cheerily, in the old kind way—not in the lea
himself—but about my doings, about Dore, about London
3 as a subject (and who knew-it'half so well as he, in all its
. highways and byeways?), about all that could interest me
that occurred to him at the moment.

This month's Belgravia contains a short article by Mr.
William Sawyer, on "The Pickwick Papers." The follow.
ing extract will be read with general interest :
" Only by slow degrees did it ooze. out and become
known to the world at large that Boz' was Charles
Dickens. His reception by the public moved the author
to issue with No. .10, in December 1836, a brief address ;
and as this does not appear in any edition of the work—
not being intended to be bound up with it—we offer a copy
a copy as a relic or curiosity of literature :
" ' Ten months have now elapsed since the appearance
of the first number of the " Pickwick Papers." At the
close of the year, and the conclusion of half his task, their
author may, perhaps, without any unwarrantable intru-
sion on the notice of the public, venture to say a few words
of himself.
" He has long been desirous to embrace the first
opportunity of announcing that it is his intention
work to
to
adhere to his original pledge of confining this
twenty numbers.. He has every_temptation to exceed the
limits he first assigned to himself that brilliant success, an
an
enormous and increasing sale, the kindest notice, and the
most extensive popularity c hold out. They all,
one and all, sad temptations to an author • but he has
determined to resist them; firstly, because 'he wishes to
keep the strictest faith with his readers : and, secondly,
because he is most anxious that when the " Posthumous
Papers of the Pickwick Club " forms a complete work, the
book may not have to contend agat the heavy disad-
vantage of being prolonged beyond his original plan.
" For ten months longer, then, if the author be per-
mitted to retain his health and spirits, the "form,k Pickwick
Papers" will be issued in their present d
will then be completed. By what fresh adven-
tures they may be succeeded is no matter for
present consideration. The author merely hints that he
has strong reason to believe that a great variety of other
documents still lie hidden in the repository from which
these were taken, and that they may one day see the
light.
" With this short speech Mr. Pickwick's
behal Stage
Manager makes his most grateful bow, adding, on f
of himself and publishers, what the late eminent Mr.
John Richardson, of Horsemonger-lane, Southwark, and
the yellow caravan with they rass knocker, always said in
behalf of himself and compy at the close of every per-
formance : Ladies and gentlemen, for these marks of
your favour we beg to return you our sincere thanks ; and
allow us to inform you that we shall keep perpetually
going on beginning again, regularly, until the end of the
fair.'
ear that about the May or June of the
" It would app
next year, 1837, the appearance of the work was interrupted.
How this happened—how one so methodical in all his ar-
rangements could have suffered anything to interfere with
the publication of such a work—Mr. Dickens's biographers
will probably explain. All the explanation the author
gave was comprised in the following address which,
sent out with the July number :
" 186, Strand, June 30th, 1837.
" The author is desirous to take the opportunity
afforded him by his resumption of this work to state once
again, what he thought had been stated sufficiently
emphatically before, namely, that its publication was
interrupted by a severe domestic affliction of no ordinary
kind, that this was the sole cause of the non-appearance of
the present number in the usual course, and that hence-
forth it will continue to be published with its accustomed
regularity. However superfluous this second notice may
appear to many, it is rendered necessary by various idle
speculations and absurdities, which have been industriously
propagated during the past month, which have reached
the author's ears from many quarters, and have pained
him exceedingly. By one set of intimate acquaintances,
especially well-informed, he has been killed outright ; by
another, driven mad ; by a third, imprisoned for debt ; by
a fourth, sent, per steamer, to the United States ; by a
fifth, rendered-incapable of mental exertion for evermore;
by all, in short, represented as doing any thing but seek-
ing in a few weeks' retirement the restoration of that
cheerfulness and peace of which a sad bereavement had
temyrarily deprived him."
n the same number appeared a curious `Notice to
Correspondents,' which has now a singular interest :
" We receive every month an immense number of
communications, purporting to be ' suggestions' for the
Pickwick Papers.' We have no doubt that they are
forwarded with the kindest intentions ; but as it is wholly
out of our power to make use of of any such hints, and as
we really have no time to peruse anonymous letters, we
hope the writers will henceforth spare themselves a great
deal of unnecessary and useless trouble."'

ILLNESS OF GARIBALDI.—A Naples journal pub-
lishes some information respecting Garibaldi from a recent
visitor to Caprera. The general was suffering from pains
in his loins, and for some days had been unable to stir
from his couch. His vines, planted with his own hand,
had yielded him an excellent harvest, and his land under
cultivation had become fertile enough to maintain about
300 bead of cattle and sheep.