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I venture to conclude with a few supplementary remarks concerning Gad’s Hill Place, the bourne to which all devout Dickens worshippers make a pilgrimage, among whom our American cousins are undoubtedly the most ardent enthusiasts.

Dickens paid the purchase-money for Gad’s Hill Place on March 14, 1856; it was a Friday, and handing the cheque for £1,790 to Wills, he observed: “Now, isn’t it an extraordinary thing—look at the day—Friday! I have been nearly drawing it half a dozen times, when the lawyers have not been ready, and here it comes round upon a Friday as a matter of course.” He frequently remarked that all the important events of his life happened to him on a Friday. Referring to this transaction, Mrs. Lynn Linton, in “My Literary Life,” says: “We sold it cheap, £1,700, and we asked £40 for the ornamental timber. To this Dickens and his agent made an objection; so we had an arbitrator, who awarded us £70, which was in the nature of a triumph.” The house contains fourteen rooms and the usual offices; there are greenhouses, stables, a kitchen-garden, a farmyard, etc., the property comprising eleven acres of land, a considerable portion of which Dickens subsequently acquired through private negotiations with the respective owners.

At Gad’s Hill Dickens produced some of his best work. During the period of his residence here (1857-1870), he wrote the concluding chapters of “Little Dorrit,” “A Tale of Two Cities,” “Great Expectations,” “Our Mutual Friend,” and the fragment of “The Mystery of Edwin Drood,” concerning which Longfellow entertained a very high opinion, believing that it promised to be one of the finest of his stories; he also contributed to All The Year Round those remarkable papers published under the general title of “The Uncommercial Traveller,” perhaps the most delightful of his minor writings.

It was on June 8, 1870, that Dickens, while at dinner, suddenly became very ill and almost immediately lost consciousness, from which he never recovered. On the following day his spirit fled, and it is no exaggeration to say that never has the death of a distinguished man caused greater consternation throughout the civilized world than did the unexpected passing of the great novelist.

Not many weeks had elapsed after this sad event when Gad’s Hill Place and its contents were disposed of by public auction. The house, with eight acres of meadow-land, was virtually bought in by Charles Dickens the younger at the much enhanced price of £7,500. For a time the novelist’s eldest son made it his home; but, as he informed the present writer, the increasing needs of his large and growing young family could not be sufficiently accommodated, and this determined him to sell the place—a decision which naturally caused those interested in its fate to fear the possibility of its falling into the hands of an unsympathetic proprietor, who would fail to appreciate or to cherish the unique associations. After being a considerable time on the market, the property was purchased in 1879 by Captain (now Major) Austin F. Budden, then of the 12th Kent Artillery Volunteers, and Mayor of Rochester from that year until 1881.

It was during Major Budden’s occupancy of Gad’s Hill Place, in the late summer of 1888, that I accompanied my friend the late Mr. W. R. Hughes (author of “A Week’s Tramp in Dickens Land”) on a memorable visit to this famous residence. We met with a most friendly reception from the genial host and his wife, and were privileged to inspect every point of interest within and without—the library with its curious dummy book-backs, the dining-room where “the Master” succumbed to the fatal seizure, the conservatory (his “last improvement”), the well (with the Major’s mare, Tell-tale, busily drawing water), the grave of the pet canary, the tunnel under the Dover road, etc. Perhaps the most unexpected treat was the view from the roof of the building, whence it is easy to realize the charming environment. Looking northward from this high elevation, we may view the marshes, which flat and dreary expanse is relieved by a glimpse of the Thames, widening as it approaches seaward, and bearing upon its silvery bosom a number of vessels, both steamships and sailing ships, the ruddy brown sails of the barges giving colour to the scene. To the east is the valley of the Medway, the prospect including a distant view of Rochester, crowned by the rugged keep of the old Castle and by the Cathedral tower.[115] To the south the beautifully undulating greensward of Cobham Park and the umbrageous Cobham Woods complete this wonderful panorama of Nature.

In 1889 (the year following that of our visit) Gad’s Hill Place narrowly escaped destruction by fire. It is the old story—a leakage of gas, a naked light, and an explosion; happily, Major Budden’s supply of hand-grenades did their duty and saved the building. Shortly afterwards the house and accompanying land were again in the market, and in 1890 a purchaser was found in the Hon. Francis Law Latham, Advocate-General at Bombay. This gentleman, however, could not enter into possession until his return to England a few months later. Meanwhile Major Budden took up his residence elsewhere, so that during a part of the year 1891 Gad’s Hill Place was empty and deserted, pathetically contrasting with those ever-to-be-remembered days when Charles Dickens and his hosts of friends enlivened the neighbourhood with cricket matches, athletic sports, etc. Mr. Latham is still the tenant-owner of Gad’s Hill Place, and, needless to say, thoroughly appreciates the unique associations of his attractive home, where he hopes to spend in quiet and secluded retirement the remaining years of a busy life.

FOOTNOTES

[1]Almost the whole of the Isle of Portsea, with the old parishes of Portsmouth and Portsea, is now included in the Borough of Portsmouth, Landport being one of the divisions of the ancient parish of Portsea; while the old Portsmouth parish still remains but a small one, that of Portsea is of considerable dimensions, and divided into several parishes. One of the streets east of Commercial Road is called “Dickens Street,” in honour of the novelist.