The home journal. (Winchester, Tenn.) 1858-188?, 1871-09-07
A New AnccdOtc of Dickens.
How the great Novelist COnlrOnt
Ono Of His SIaIdcrcrs.
From Fields Whispering Gallery, in the
Sept. Atlantic.


One Of His Slandcrcrs.
From Fields Whispering Gallery, IN the
/ Sept. Atlantic.
Let me commend to the attention
Of my numerous and namclcss cor
respondents, who have attempted to
soil the moral character Of Dickens,
the following little incident related
to me by himself during a summer
evening walk among the Kcntish
meadows, a few months before he
died. l will try to tell the story, if
possible, as simply and naturally as
he told it to me:
81 Glanced to be travelling, some
years ago." he said, Gin u railroad
carriage between Liverpool and Lon
don. Besides myself, there were two
ladies with q gentleman occupying
the carriage. We happened TO be
all strangers to each other, but | no
ticcd at once that a clergyman was
Of the party. | was occupied with a
pondcrous article in the Times, when
the sound of my own name drew my
attention to the fact that Il convcrsa-
ton was going forward among the
three other persons in the carriage
with reference to myself and books.
One of the ladies was pcrusing
Bleak House, then lately published,
and the clergyman had commenced
q conversation with the ladies by
asking what books they were read
ing. On being told the authors
name, and the title Of the book, he
expressed himself greatly gricycd
that any lady in England should be
willing to take up the writing of so
vile q character as Charles Dickens.
Both the ladies showed great surprise
at the low estimate the clergyman
put upon an author whom they had
been accustomed to read, to say the
least, with certain degree Of pleas
urc. They were evidently much
shocked at what the man said Of the
immoral tendency of these books,
which they seemed never before to
have suspected; but when he attack
cd the authors private character,
and told monstrous stories of his
immoralitics in every direction, the
volume was shut up, and confined to
the dark pockets Ola travelling bag.
| listened in wonder and astonish-
mcnt, behind my newspaper, to sto-
rics of myself which, if they had
been true, would have consigned any
man to a prison for life. After my
fictitious biographcr had occupied
himself for nearly an hour with the
eloquent recital Of my dclinqucncics
and crimes, very quietly joined in
the conversation. OF course began
by modcstly doubling some state
mcnts which had just heard touch
ing the author of"Blcak House" and
other unimportant works Ofa similar
character, Tho man stared at me,
and evidently considered my appear
ancc on the conversational stage an
intrusion and an impcrtincnce.
"iou seem to speak," ! said, "lrom
personal knowledge Of Mr.. Dickens.
Are you acquainted with him?"
ole rather cvadcd the question,
but, following him up closely, | COM
PEELED him to say that he had been
talking not from his own knowledge
Of the author in question but he
said he knew for certainty that cv-
cry statement he made was a true
one. then became moro earnest in
my cnquirics for proofs, which he az
rogantly declined giving. The ladies
sat by in silence, listening intcntly
to what was going forward. An au-
thor they had been accustomed to
read for amusement had been traduc-
cd i'll their hearing, and they were
waiting to learn what | had to say
in rclutation Of the clcrgyman's char
gcs. | was taking up his stories, one
by one, and Stamping them rs false
in every particular, when the man
grew furious, and asked ifI knew
Dickens personally. | replied, per
fcctly well no man knows him bet
ter than do; and all your stories
about him from beginning to end,
to these ladies, are unmitigatcd lies.
The man became livld with rage, and
asked for my card. you shall have
it, | said, and cooliy taking out one,
presented it to him without bowling
We were just then nearing the sta
ton in London, so that | was spared
q longer interview with my truthful
companion ; but, if | were to live n
hundred years, | should not forget
the abjcct condition into which the
narrator of my crimes was instantly
plunged. Ills face turned white as
his crayat, and his lips refused to ut
ter words. lie seemed like wiltcd
vegetable, and as if his legs belonged
to somebody else. The ladies be-
came aware of the situation at once,
and, bidding them good day, "step-
ped shliliLgly out of the carriage.
Before / could get away from the
station, the man had mustered up
strength sufficient to follow me, and
his apologies were so nauscOus and
craven, that | pitiCd him from my
soul. | left him with this caution:
Before you make charges against
the character of any man again, about
whom yor know nothing, and Of
whose works you arc utterly ignor-
ant, study to be Il seeker after truth,
and avoid lying as you would ctcr-
nal pcrdition."
WHAT A SPIDER DID..-At New
castle-on-Tync, England, a gentleman
boastcd to friend that he could III
troducc to him an engineer Of more
wonderful skill than Robert Stephen
son, who had made himslf famous by
nnrio,t;n,, thn ~, ;I,uov Incnmntiy,