These three characters (the Wellers and Mr. Pickwick) have all the same raciness and inexhaustible humour in this sequel as in the work in which we were first introduced to them. As the original edition of the work we are alluding to is now somewhat rare, the reader may not be displeased to have a few specimens laid before him. Here is Mr. Weller senior’s opinion of railways:—
“I con-sider,” said Mr. Weller, “that the rail is unconstitootional and an inwaser o’ priwileges, and I should wery much like to know what that ’ere old Carter as once stood up for our liberties and wun ’em too—I should like to know wot he vould say if he wos alive now, to Englishmen being locked up with widders, or with anybody, again their wills. Wot a old Carter would have said, a old Coachman may say, and I as-sert that in that pint o’ view alone, the rail is an inwaser. As to the comfort, vere’s the comfort o’ sittin’ in a harm cheer lookin’ at brick walls or heaps o’ mud, never comin’ to a public house, never seein’ a glass o’ ale, never goin’ through a pike, never meetin’ a change o’ no kind (horses or othervise), but alvays comin’ to a place, ven you come to one at all, the wery picter o’ the last, vith the same p’leesemen standing about, the same blessed old bell a ringin’, the same unfort’nate people standing behind the bars, a waitin’ to be let in; and everythin’ the same except the name, vich is wrote up in the same sized letters as the last name and vith the same colors. As to the honour and dignity o’ travelling vere can that be vithout a coachman; and wot’s the rail to sich coachmen and guards as is sometimes forced to go by it, but a outrage and a insult? As to the pace, wot sort o’ pace do you think I, Tony Veller, could have kept a coach goin’ at, for five hundred thousand pound a mile, paid in adwance afore the coach was on the road? And as to the ingein—a nasty wheezin’, creaking, gasping, puffin, bustin’ monster, alvays out o’ breath, vith a shiny green and gold back, like a unpleasant beetle in that ’ere gas magnifier—as to the ingein as is alvays a pourin’ out red hot coals at night, and black smoke in the day, the sensiblest thing it does in my opinion, is, ven there’s somethin’ in the vay and it sets up that ’ere frightful scream vich seems to say, ‘Now here’s two hundred and forty passengers in the wery greatest extremity o’ danger, and here’s their two hundred and forty screams in vun!’” [15]
While Mr. Pickwick is listening to Master Humphrey’s story above, the Wellers are entertained by the housekeeper in the kitchen, where they find Mr. Slithers, the barber, to whom Sam Weller, drawing extensively we may suppose upon his lively imagination, relates the following anecdote:—
“I never knew,” said Sam, fixing his eyes in a ruminative manner upon the blushing barber, “I never knew but von o’ your trade, but he wos worth a dozen, and wos indeed dewoted to his callin’!”
“Was he in the easy shaving way, sir,” inquired Mr. Slithers; “or in the cutting and curling line?”
“Both,” replied Sam; “easy shavin’ was his natur, and cuttin’ and curlin’ was his pride and glory. His whole delight wos in his trade. He spent all his money in bears and run in debt for ’em besides, and there they wos a growling avay down in the front cellar all day long, and ineffectooally gnashing their teeth, vile the grease o’ their relations and friends wos being re-tailed in gallipots in the shop above, and the first-floor winder wos ornamented vith their heads; not to speak o’ the dreadful aggrawation it must have been to ’em to see a man alvays a walkin’ up and down the pavement outside, vith the portrait of a bear in his last agonies, and underneath in large letters, ‘Another fine animal wos slaughtered yesterday at Jinkinson’s!’ Hows’ever, there they wos, and there Jinkinson wos, till he wos took wery ill with some inn’ard disorder, lost the use of his legs, and wos confined to his bed, vere he laid a wery long time, but sich wos his pride in his profession even then, that wenever he wos worse than usual, the doctor used to go down stairs and say, ‘Jinkinson’s wery low this mornin’; we must give the bears a stir;’ and as sure as ever they stirred ’em up a bit, and made ’em roar, Jinkinson opens his eyes if he wos ever so bad, calls out, ‘There’s the bears!’ and rewives agin. Vun day the doctor happenin’ to say, ‘I shall look in as usual to-morrow mornin’,’ Jinkinson catches hold of his hand and says, ‘Doctor,’ he says, ‘will you grant me one favor?’ ‘I will, Jinkinson,’ says the doctor. ‘Then, doctor,’ says Jinkinson, ‘vill you come un-shaved, and let me shave you?’ ‘I will,’ says the doctor. ‘God bless you,’ says Jinkinson. Next day the doctor came, and arter he’d been shaved all skilful and reg’lar, he says, ‘Jinkinson,’ he says, ‘it’s wery plain this does you good. Now,’ he says, ‘I’ve got a coachman as has got a beard that it ’d warm your heart to work on, and though the footman,’ he says, ‘hasn’t got much of a beard, still he’s a trying it on vith a pair o’ viskers to that extent, that razors is christian charity. If they take it in turns to mind the carriage wen it’s a waitin’ below,’ he says, ‘wot’s to hinder you from operatin’ on both of ’em ev’ry day as well as upon me? you’ve got six children,’ he says, ‘wot’s to hinder you from shavin’ all their heads, and keepin’ ’em shaved? You’ve got two assistants in the shop down-stairs, wot’s to hinder you from cuttin’ and curlin’ them as often as you like? Do this,’ he says, ‘and you’re a man agin.’ Jinkinson squeedged the doctor’s hand, and begun that wery day; he kept his tools upon the bed, and wenever he felt his-self gettin’ worse, he turned to at vun o’ the children, who wos a runnin’ about the house vith heads like clean Dutch cheeses, and shaved him agin. Vun day the lawyer come to make his vill; all the time he wos a takin’ it down, Jinkinson was secretly a clippin’ avay at his hair vith a large pair of scissors. ‘Wot’s that ’ere snippin’ noise?’ says the lawyer every now and then, ‘it’s like a man havin’ his hair cut.’ ‘It is wery like a man havin’ his hair cut,’ says poor Jinkinson, hidin’ the scissors and lookin’ quite innocent. By the time the lawyer found it out, he was wery nearly bald. Jinkinson was kept alive in this vay for a long time, but at last vun day he has in all the children, vun arter another, shaves each on ’em wery clean, and gives him vun kiss on the crown of his head; then he has in the two assistants, and arter cuttin’ and curlin’ of ’em in the first style of elegance, says he should like to hear the woice o’ the greasiest bear, vich rekvest is immedetly complied with; then he says that he feels wery happy in his mind, and vishes to be left alone; and then he dies, prevously cuttin’ his own hair, and makin’ one flat curl in the wery middle of his forehead.” [18a]
There is a great deal more in the same vein, not unworthy of the “Pickwick Papers.” We must leave the curious reader to find it out, however, for himself.
During the progress of this publication, it seems that certain officious persons, mistaking it for a kind of omnium gatherum, by “several hands,” tendered contributions to its pages, and the author was compelled to issue the following advertisement:
MASTER HUMPHREY’S CLOCK.
Mr. Dickens begs to inform all those Ladies and Gentlemen who have tendered him contributions for this work, and all those who may now or at any future time have it in contemplation to do so, that he cannot avail himself of their obliging offers, as it is written solely by himself, and cannot possibly include any productions from other hands.
This announcement will serve for a final answer to all correspondents, and will render any private communications unnecessary.
After “winding up his Clock,” as he termed it, Dickens resolved to make a tour in the United States. Before he went away, however, some of the most distinguished citizens of Edinburgh gave him a farewell banquet. [18b] He was then only twenty-nine years of age, and this was the first great public recognition of his genius, and the first occasion that was afforded him of displaying his powers as a public speaker. Professor Wilson (Christopher North) presided, and spoke of the young author in the following terms:—
“Our friend has dealt with the common feelings and passions of ordinary men in the common and ordinary paths of life. He has not sought—at least he has not yet sought—to deal with those thoughts and passions that are made conspicuous from afar by the elevated stations of those who experience them. He has mingled in the common walks of life; he has made himself familiar with the lower orders of society. He has not been deterred by the aspect of vice and wickedness, and misery and guilt, from seeking a spirit of good in things evil, but has endeavoured by the might of genius to transmute what was base into what is precious as the beaten gold. . . . But I shall be betrayed, if I go on much longer,—which it would be improper for me to do—into something like a critical delineation of the genius of our illustrious guest. I shall not attempt that; but I cannot but express in a few ineffectual words, the delight which every human bosom feels in the benign spirit which pervades all his creations. How kind and good a man he is, I need not say; nor what strength of genius he has acquired by that profound sympathy with his fellow-creatures, whether in prosperity and happiness, or overwhelmed with unfortunate circumstances, but who do not yet sink under their miseries, but trust to their own strength of endurance, to that principle of truth and honour and integrity which is no stranger to the uncultivated bosom, which is found in the lowest abodes in as great strength as in the halls of nobles and the palaces of kings.
“Mr. Dickens is also a satirist. He satirises human life, but he does not satirise it to degrade it. He does not wish to pull down what is high into the neighbourhood of what is low. He does not seek to represent all virtue as a hollow thing, in which no confidence can be placed. He satirises only the selfish, and the hard-hearted, and the cruel; he exposes in a hideous light that principle which, when acted upon, gives a power to men in the lowest grades to carry on a more terrific tyranny than if placed upon thrones. I shall not say—for I do not feel—that our distinguished guest has done full and entire justice to one subject—that he has entirely succeeded where I have no doubt he would be most anxious to succeed—in a full and complete delineation of the female character. But this he has done: he has not endeavoured to represent women as charming merely by the aid of accomplishments, however elegant and graceful. He has not depicted those accomplishments as the essentials of their character, but has spoken of them rather as always inspired by a love of domesticity, by fidelity, by purity, by innocence, by charity, and by hope, which makes them discharge, under the most difficult circumstances, their duties; and which brings over their path in this world some glimpses of the light of heaven. Mr. Dickens may be assured that there is felt for him all over Scotland a sentiment of kindness, affection, admiration and love; and I know for certain that the knowledge of these sentiments must make him happy.”
Dickens left Liverpool, on his voyage across the Atlantic, in the “Britannia” steam-packet, Captain Hewett, on the 3rd of January, 1842. At Boston, Hartford, and New York, he was received with ovations (Washington Irving on one occasion presiding at a banquet held in his honour), until he was obliged to decline any further appearance in public. During this first visit to America, he made three long and eloquent speeches, which are all given in this volume in extenso. In each of these he referred in an earnest way to the great question of International Copyright, urging upon his Transatlantic friends the necessity of doing right and justice in this matter. He returned to England in the month of June, and a few weeks afterwards addressed the following circular letter to all the principal English authors:—