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Title: Rambles in Dickens' Land
Author: Allbut, Robert
Language: English
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Copyright Status: Not copyrighted in the United States. If you live elsewhere check the laws of your country before downloading this ebook. See comments about copyright issues at end of book.

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                       [Picture: Henley on Thames]

                                RAMBLES IN
                              DICKENS’ LAND

                             BY ROBERT ALLBUT

                           WITH INTRODUCTION BY
                              GERALD BRENAN
                           AND ILLUSTRATIONS BY
                              HELEN M. JAMES

                             [Picture: Logo]

                             S. T. FREEMANTLE
                              217 PICCADILLY


_The several Extracts from the Works of Dickens contained in this
Manual_, _are used for the better illustration of the text_, _by kind
permission of Messrs._ CHAPMAN & HALL.

                                * * * * *

                  Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON and Co.
                         At the Ballantyne Press


LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS                                    vii
INTRODUCTION                                              ix
AUTHOR’S PREFACE                                         xxv
                          RAMBLE I
                         RAMBLE II
LINCOLN’S INN TO THE MANSION HOUSE                        15
                         RAMBLE III
                         RAMBLE IV
                          RAMBLE V
                         RAMBLE VI
                         RAMBLE VII
EXCURSION TO CANTERBURY AND DOVER                        103
                        RAMBLE VIII
EXCURSION TO HENLEY-ON-THAMES                            116
                         RAMBLE IX
                          RAMBLE X
LONDON TO DORKING AND PORTSMOUTH                         141
APPENDIX                                                 150
INDEX                                                    167


HENLEY-ON-THAMES                          _Frontispiece_
                                          _To face page_
OLD ROMAN BATH                                        10
THE OLD CURIOSITY SHOP                                12
FOUNTAIN COURT, TEMPLE                                21
DOORWAY IN STAPLE INN                                 48
THE CHILDREN’S HOSPITAL                               53
TAVISTOCK HOUSE                                       56
THE “LEATHER BOTTLE,” COBHAM                          84
EASTGATE HOUSE, ROCHESTER                             89
RESTORATION HOUSE, ROCHESTER                          90
GADSHILL PLACE                                        99
THE HOME OF AGNES                                    112
THE “KING’S HEAD,” CHIGWELL                          129
THE “GREAT WHITE HORSE,” IPSWICH                     132
DICKENS’ BIRTHPLACE                                  145
“THE SPANIARDS,” HAMPSTEAD HEATH                     152


It is one of the magic legacies left by the great romancers, that the
scenes and characters which they described should possess for most of us
an air of reality, so convincing as sometimes to put staid history to the
blush.  The novelist’s ideals become actual to the popular mind; while
commonplace truth hides itself among its dry-as-dust records, until some
curious antiquary or insistent pedant drags it forth to make a nine days’
wonder.  We sigh over “Juliet’s Tomb” in spite of the precisians, sup in
the inn kitchen at Pennaflor with Gil Blas at our elbow, and shudder
through the small hours outside the haunted House of the Black Cat in
Quaker Philadelphia.  At Tarascon they show you Tartarin’s oriental
garden; and you must hide the irrepressible smile, for Tartarin is
painfully real to these good cap-shooters.  The other day an illustrated
magazine published pictures of Alexander Selkirk’s birthplace, and
labelled them “The Home of Robinson Crusoe.”  The editor who chose that
caption was still under the spell of Defoe.  To him, as to the vast
majority, Crusoe the imaginary seemed vividly real, while the
flesh-and-blood Selkirk was but a name.  And if you have that catholic
sympathy which is the true test of the perfect lover of romance, read
“David Copperfield” once again, and then, by way of experiment, spend an
afternoon in Canterbury.  You will find yourself expecting at one moment
to see Mr. Micawber step jauntily out of the Queen’s Head Inn, at another
to catch a glimpse of the red-haired Heep slinking along North Lane to
his “’umble dwelling.”  You will probably meet a dozen buxom “eldest Miss
Larkinses,” and obnoxious butcher-boys—perhaps even a sweet Agnes
Wickfield, or a Miss Betsy Trotwood driving in from Dover.  And, above
all, you will certainly enjoy yourself, and thank your gods for Charles

Mr. Would-be Wiseman may affect to sneer at our pilgrimages to this and
other places connected with the imaginary names of fiction; but he must
recognise the far-reaching influence for good exercised by symbols and
associations over the human mind.  The sight of a loved home after many
years—the flutter of one’s country’s flag in foreign lands—these things
touch keenly our better nature.  In a like manner is the thoughtful man
impressed when he treads a pathway hallowed by the writings of some
favourite poet or romancer.  The moral lesson which the author intended
to convey, his insight into character or loving eye for Nature’s
beauties, and many exquisite passages from his books appeal to us all the
more, when we recall them in the very rooms where they were written—among
the gloomy streets or breezy hills which he has filled with his
inventions.  Says Washington Irving in his essay on Stratford: “I could
not but reflect on the singular gift of the poet; to be able thus to
spread the magic of his mind over the very face of Nature; to give to
things and places a charm and character not their own, and to turn this
‘working-day’ world into a perfect fairyland.  He is indeed the true
enchanter, whose spell operates, not upon the senses, but upon the
imagination and the heart.  Under the wizard influence of Shakespeare I
had been walking all day in a complete delusion. . . .  I had been
surrounded with fancied beings; with mere airy nothings conjured up by
poetic power; yet which, to me, had all the charm of reality.  I had
heard Jaques soliloquise beneath his oak; had beheld the fair Rosalind
and her companion adventuring through the woodlands; and, above all, had
been once more present in spirit with fat Jack Falstaff and his
contemporaries, from the august Justice Shallow down to the gentle Master
Slender and the sweet Anne Page.  Ten thousand honours and blessings on
the bard who has thus gilded the dull realities of life with innocent
illusions.”  Wherefore, in spite of the sneers of Master Would-be
Wiseman, let us continue to make these pleasant pilgrimages; not alone
for our own satisfaction and betterment, but also in memory of those who
have opened before us so many delectable lands of fancy, and given us so
many agreeable companions of the road.

This volume, then, is the pilgrim’s guide to Dickens’ Land—the loving
topography of that fertile and very populous region.  No far away foreign
country is Dickens’ Land.  It lies at our doors; we may explore it when
we choose, with never a passport to purchase nor a Custom House to fear.
The sojourner in London can scarce look from his windows without
beholding scores of its interesting places.  To parody that passage which
describes Mr. Pickwick’s outlook into Goswell Street—Dickens’ Land is at
our feet; Dickens’ Land is on our right hand as far as the eye can reach;
Dickens’ Land extends on our left, and the opposite side of Dickens’ Land
is over the way.  Nor do the bounds of this genial territory confine
themselves to London alone.  Outlying portions spread north and south,
east and west, over England.  There is even, as Sala showed, a Dickens’
quarter in Paris; and we have unexpectedly encountered small colonies of
Dickens’ Land across the wide Atlantic.  But the best of it lies close to
the great heart of the world—in London, or in the counties thereabout;
and if “Rambles in Dickens’ Land” succeeds in guiding its readers with
pleasure and profit over this storied ground, it will have faithfully
fulfilled its mission.

Trouble has not been spared to make this topography accurate as well as
entertaining.  Mr. Weller the younger, with all his “extensive and
peculiar” knowledge of London—Mr. Weller the elder and his brothers of
the whip, with _their_ knowledge of post-roads and coaching inns, could
hardly have identified the various localities more clearly than the
compiler has done.  Wherever doubts and disputes arise—as in regard to
the site of the “Old Curiosity Shop”—all sides of the case are given, and
the reader is asked to sum up the arguments and judge for himself.  In
nearly every instance a quotation is offered from the author, by means of
which the pilgrim is enabled to refresh his memory and bring his own
recollections of the book to bear upon the question of the site.  These
quotations will be found to act admirably as aids to memory, and to
obviate the necessity of carrying a whole library of Dickens about on
one’s rambles.  Take, for example, the excerpts from “David Copperfield”
in connection with the visit to Dover.  The facetious answers of the
boatmen to David when, sitting ragged and forlorn in the Dover Market
Place, he inquires for his aunt’s house, bring back at a single touch the
whole sad story of the boy’s tramp from London to the coast.  It does not
require much imagination to picture him sitting there “on the step of an
empty shop,” with his weary, pinched face and his “dusty sunburnt,
half-clothed figure,” while the sea-faring folk (lineal forbears of those
who frequent the place to-day) made mock of him with their clumsy japes,
until at length happened by the friendly fly-driver, who showed him how
to reach the residence of the old lady who “carries a bag—bag with a good
deal of room in it—is gruffish, and comes down upon you, sharp.”  It is
easy, too, with the help of our guide, to follow the shivering child
along the cliffs to Miss Trotwood’s—nay, to identify the “very neat
little cottage, with cheerful bow-windows,” where that good soul looked
after Mr. Dick, and defended her “immaculate grass-plot” against
marauding donkeys.  It is this present writer’s privilege to know a
charming elderly lady who boasts of Dover as her birthplace, and who,
when she has exhausted the other lions of that town, is accustomed to
close her remarks with the statement that she “lived for years within a
stone’s-throw of Miss Betsy Trotwood’s cottage.”  Occasionally the
Superior Person (who, alas, is rarely absent nowadays!) points out with a
smile of tolerance that neither Miss Trotwood nor yet her house ever
existed save in the novelist’s brain.  Whereupon this charming old lady
shakes her finger testily at the transgressor, and exclaims, “It is quite
evident that you have never lived in Dover.  Miss Betsy Trotwood a myth,
indeed!  Let me tell you that my own mother knew the dear woman well—yes,
and that delightful Mr. Dick too; and she remembered seeing Mr. Dickens
drive up in a fly from the railway station to visit them.  Of course
their names were not ‘Trotwood’ and ‘Dick’ at all; it would never have
done for Mr. Dickens to put them in his book under the real names,
particularly as Mr. Dick was related to many good families in that part
of Kent.  I have even a dim recollection of seeing Miss Trotwood being
wheeled about in a bath-chair when I was a very little girl and she a
very old woman.  Myth, indeed!  Why, there are old men in Dover now who
were warned off the grass-plot by David Copperfield’s aunt when they were
donkey-boys.”  The animation of the speaker shows that she believes
everything she says.  Perhaps a lady possessing the characteristics of
Miss Betsy did once upon a time inhabit the cottage in Dover.  Perhaps
there was a real Mr. Dick.  Otherwise these recollections are but another
example of that hypnotism exercised over posterity by the great
romancers, to which allusion has already been made.

Again, the many references and the quotations made from several of
Dickens’ works, illustrative of the Temple and the Lincoln’s Inn
quarter—(pages 2 to 25 in the ensuing “Rambles”)—are certain to be
appreciated by the Rambler.  With their assistance he can summon back to
his memory the tender love story of Ruth Pinch, and so dream away a happy
hour in peaceful Fountain Court; follow in fancy Maypole Hugh and the
illustrious Captain Sim Tappertit as they ascended the stairs to Sir John
Chester’s chambers in Paper Buildings; stroll thoughtfully along King’s
Bench Walk with the spirit of Sidney Carton; and, in the purlieus of
Chancery Lane, review the legal abuses of the past—(perhaps even some of
those that survive to-day)—reflect upon “Jarndyce and Jarndyce,” or upon
the banished sponging-houses of this district, and once more admit that
Dickens the great novelist was also Dickens the great reformer.

An important feature of “Rambles in Dickens’ Land” will be found in the
exhaustive references to Dickens’ own haunts and homes, and the haunts
and homes of many of his relatives and friends.  Naturally, these are in
numerous cases intimately bound up with the creations of his novels, for
Dickens did not “write out of an inkwell,” but looked for inspiration to
real life and real scenes.  At Portsmouth our volume guides you to the
house where he was born, and to the old church register wherein the
christening is entered of—(how strangely the full name sounds!)—“Charles
John Huffham Dickens.”  But the same venerable seaport is thronged with
memories of Nicholas Nickleby and his player-friends, Miss Snevellicci,
the Crummles family, poor Smike and the rest.  It is interesting to
remember that an American writer once suggested the possibility that
Dickens had obtained Nickleby’s experiences as an actor from personal
adventures with a travelling “troupe” during his youth.  This is not
impossible, although Forster makes no mention of such an adventure; the
early years of Dickens are by no means fully accounted for, and it is
certain that the stage had always a great fascination for him.

Back of old Hungerford Stairs, behind what is now Charing Cross Station,
you may visit the spot where the two boys—the real and the
imaginary—Charles Dickens and David Copperfield spent so many hours while
working for a scant pittance in that “crazy old house with a wharf of its
own abutting on the water when the tide was in, and on the mud when it
was out, and literally overrun with rats.”  Gadshill, where Dickens lived
and died, is on the very borders of historic Rochester, teeming with
reminders of “Edwin Drood,” not to say of the genial Pickwick and his
companions.  Of Furnival’s Inn where “Pickwick” was written, and where
its author spent the first months of his married life, only the site
remains; but these “Rambles” will help you to find all, or nearly all, of
his other homes, even to that last home of all—the grave in Westminster
Abbey, in which he was laid on the 14th of June 1870.  His friends’
houses too, and the scores of spots noteworthy by reason of association
with him personally, you will be given an opportunity of visiting if you
follow this careful _cicerone_.  At No. 58 Lincoln’s Inn Fields still
stands Forster’s house, where, in 1844, Dickens read “The Chimes” to
Carlyle, Douglas Jerrold, Maclise, and others, and which is also utilised
in “Bleak House” to supply a model for the dwelling-place of Mr.
Tulkinghorn.  The office of _Household Words_, founded by Dickens, is now
part of the Gaiety Theatre.  The old taverns about Hampstead, whither he
loved to resort for a friendly flagon “and a red-hot chop,” are much as
they were in the novelist’s day, save in one regrettable instance where
the proprietor has preferred, in order to cater to an unappreciative
class, to disfigure his inn into a mere modern public-house of the
conventional type, such that Dickens, who loved the place when it was
old-fashioned and comfortable, would utterly disown now.  The ancient
“Spaniards,” however, is much the same as it was in the days of the
Gordon riots, when the then host of the quaint little tavern saved Lord
Mansfield’s country house at Caen Wood by allowing the rioters to
devastate his cellars, while he privily sent for the Guards.  The
reckless waste of liquor on that occasion is said to have suggested to
Dickens the scene in “Barnaby Rudge,” where John Willet watches the sack
of his beloved “Maypole” and sees his cellars drained of their best, as
he lies bound and helpless in the bar.  That the novelist frequently
visited the “Spaniards,” the old records of the house can show; and in
“Pickwick” he makes it the scene of a memorable tea-party, attended by
Mrs. Bardell, just before those “sharp practitioners,” Dodson and Fogg,
caused the injured lady’s arrest.  The “Bull and Bush,” another old
Hampstead inn much frequented of Dickens, also exists unharmed by the
“renovator.”  And while we are upon the subject of inns known to our
author, let us not forget the “Maypole” itself, here shown to be the
“King’s Head” at Chigwell.  Dickens was in ecstasies over the “King’s
Head” and the surrounding neighbourhood, when a chance visit disclosed to
him their attractions; and the letters which he wrote to his friends at
this period are full of Chigwell and its picturesque hostelry.  Little
wonder, therefore, that he afterwards made them famous in “Barnaby
Rudge.”  The pilgrim will not be disappointed in the “King’s Head” of
to-day, if he accepts the good advice offered by the compiler of these
“Rambles,” _i.e._ to take his ideal of the place from Dickens’ own
description rather than from the elaborate drawing of Cattermole.  He may
perhaps notice that in “Barnaby Rudge” no hint is conveyed of the close
proximity of Chigwell church, which is simply across the road.  Doubtless
this is a sign of the novelist’s artistic sense.  To have his “Maypole”
windows looking directly into the graveyard would have detracted from
that air of warmth and conviviality with which he wished to endow his
rare old inn.  In most other respects the description exactly fits the
“King’s Head” as it must have been in “No Popery” times—as it is with
little alteration to-day.  The trim green sward at the rear—once
evidently the bowling-green—is a famous resting-place in summer; and in
one of the small arbours Dickens is said to have written during his stay
here.  The village, although showing signs of the approach of that fell
barbarian the Essex builder, is still sufficiently picturesque and
old-world to keep one’s illusions alive.  There is a grammar school at
Chigwell, the boys of which are learned in neighbouring Dickens’ lore.
If you are credulous—as it becomes a pilgrim to be—these grammarians will
show you John Willet’s tomb in the churchyard, and Dolly Varden’s path
with the real Warren, on the skirts of Hainault Forest, at the farther
end of it.  Both in Chigwell and Chigwell Row some village worthies are
still to be met with who have conversed with Charles Dickens and the
kindred spirits that came hither in his company.  At the “King’s Head,”
if Mr. Willet’s successor be agreeable, one may lunch or sup in the
Dickens’ Room, also held to have been the chamber in which Mr. Haredale
and the elder Chester held their memorable interview.

Some other inns to which Dickens is known to have resorted are: the
“Bull” at Rochester, the “Leather Bottle” at Cobham, and the “Great White
Horse” at Ipswich—all with Pickwickian associations; the “Old Cheshire
Cheese” in Fleet Street, and the “George and Dragon” at Canterbury.  To
many minor taverns in London he was also a frequent visitor, for he
sought his characters in the market-place rather than in the study.  His
signature, with the familiar flourish underneath, is treasured in hotel
registers not a few, and it is esteemed a high honour to be permitted to
slumber in the “Dickens’ Room.”

To all and each of these places “Rambles in Dickens’ Land” leads the way,
if the reader chooses to follow.  A notable advantage of these rambles is
the ease with which they may be undertaken.  An ordinary healthy man or
woman may set forth without apprehension in the author’s footsteps from
the beginning to the end of any particular journey which he describes,
and even the invalid may saunter through a “Ramble” without fatigue.
Conveyances are only needed to bring the pilgrim to the starting-point of
the voyage, and in several instances even these aids to locomotion may be
dispensed with altogether when the sightseer is one after Dickens’ own
heart—a sturdy pedestrian.  By pursuing the routes indicated, there is no
reason why a Grand Tour of Dickens’ Land should not be made by easy
stages and at slight cost.  Or the pilgrim may pick out some particular
trip, when leisure and chance carry him in that direction.  The volume is
in truth a serviceable guide-book, leading its clients by the best ways,
and even informing them where, when sight-seeing is over, a place may be
found for rest, refreshment, and reflection.  And it is happier than most
guide-books in that it is never called upon to describe the stupid and
uninteresting, which have no existence in Dickens’ Land.

Into Dickens’ Land, therefore, my masters, an you will and when you will!
The high-roads thither are always open, the lanes and by-paths are free
for us to tread.  He that found out this rare world has made it fully
ours.  Let us visit our inheritance, or revisit it, if that be the better
word.  Let us make real the scenes we have read of and dreamt of—peopling
them with the folk of Dickens, so that familiar faces shall look upon us
from familiar windows, familiar voices greet us as we pass.  Shall we
travel abroad in the fashion of the corresponding committee of the
Pickwick Club?  Then here is this book, with a wealth of shrewd
information between its covers, ready to be our own particular Samuel
Weller—to wear our livery, whether of sadness or of joy—to point out to
us the sights and the notabilities, to be garrulous when we look for
gossip, and silent when our mood is for silence—to act, in short, as that
useful individual whom we all “rayther want,” “somebody to look arter us
when we goes out a-wisitin’.”

Where, if you please, shall we “wisit” first?  It is hard to choose,
since there is so much to choose from.  We may ramble about London town,
where, like Mr. Weller, our guide is “werry much at home.”  If so, we are
sure to encounter a host of old cronies.  Perhaps we shall see the great
Buzfuz entering court, all in his wig and silk, nodding with lofty
condescension to his struggling brother, Mr. T. Traddles, which latter is
bringing “Sophy and the girls” to set Gray’s Inn a-blooming.  Or Tom
Pinch going towards Fountain Court to meet the waiting Ruth.  Or David
Copperfield joyously ushering J. Steerforth into his rooms in the
Adelphi.  Or Captain Cuttle steering for the sign of the “Wooden
Midshipman,” which he may eventually find (and make a note of) at its new
moorings in the Minories.  Or Dick Swiveller, poor soul, loafing to his
dingy lodgings.  Or that precious pair, Bob Sawyer and Benjamin Allen,
startling the sullen repose of Lant Street with bacchanalian revelry.

And, if the London Dickens’ Land palls, doth not this most inviting
country stretch to all points of the compass?  Northward goes yonder
well-appointed coach, whereof the driver has just been escorted from a
certain public-house in Portugal Street by a mottle-faced man, in company
with two or three other persons of stout and weather-beaten aspect—the
driver himself being stouter and more weather-beaten than all.  Let us
take the box-seat by his side, and lead him on to talk of “shepherds in
wolves’ clothing,” until presently he tools us into Ipswich, pulling up
under the sign of that “rapacious animal” the Great White Horse.  In
Ipswich we may catch a glimpse of a mulberry-coloured livery slinking by
St. Clement’s Church, and guess therefrom that one Alfred Jingle is here
at his old game of laying siege to the hearts of susceptible females with
money.  Here, too, behind that green gate in Angel Lane, resides the
pretty housemaid soon to become Mrs. Sam Weller.  But we must not linger
in Ipswich.  Yarmouth lies before us, with its phantom boat-house still
upturned on the waste places towards the sea, with Little Em’ly, and the
Peggottys, and with Mr. Barkis waiting in the Market Place to jog us out
to sleepy “Blunderstone.”

Back again in London, there is another coach-of-fancy prepared to take us
into Kent, from the yard of the Golden Cross.  Four gentlemen—one a
beaming, spectacled person in drab shorts—are outside passengers for
Rochester.  And see, here is the ubiquitous Jingle again, clambering to
the roof with all his worldly goods wrapped up in a brown paper parcel.
“Heads—heads—take care of your heads,” he cries, as we rumble under the
old archway; and then, hey! for hopfields and cherry orchards, for
“mouldy old cathedrals” in “Cloisterham” or Canterbury, for jolly Kentish
yeomen and bright-eyed maids of Kent. . . .  Who was that wan-faced,
coatless urchin we passed just now in a whirl of chalky dust?  His name
is Copperfield, and he is on his way to Dover.  And is not that Mr.
Wardle driving his laughing women-folk to the review?  And again, yonder
on the brown common, by the Punch and Judy show, there is a grey old man,
pillowing in his loving arms a little blue-eyed girl.  These, too, we
know; and our hearts go out to them, for who of us is there that has not—

    “. . . with Nell, in Kentish meadows,
    Wandered, and lost his way”?

Of introduction there is no more to be said.  The book itself lies open
before you; and at your own sweet will you may ramble with it, high and
low, through all the land of Dickens.

                                                                     G. B.


The great majority of English readers—on both sides of the Atlantic—claim
personal acquaintance with “Samivel” Weller, Mark Tapley, Oliver Twist,
and many more besides: the old companions of our schoolboy days.  We
cherish pleasant remembrance of the familiar “green leaves” of Dombey,
David Copperfield, and the rest, as they first afforded us their monthly
quota of interest and enjoyment; and have always maintained intimate
relations with Captain Cuttle, Tom Pinch, Mr. Peggotty, and the more
recent _dramatis personæ_ of the works of Dickens.  We sympathise with
Florence, Agnes, and Esther as with sisters, and keep corners of our
hearts sacred to the memory of Little Nell, Paul Dombey, and the
child-wife Dora.

The creations of “bonnie Prince Charlie” have thus become veritable
“household words”; part and parcel of our home associations, instinct
with personality and life.  We never think of them as the airy nothings
of imaginative fiction, but regard them as familiar friends, having “a
local habitation and a name” amongst us; with whose cheerful acquaintance
we could ill afford to part, and who bear us kindly company on the hot
and dusty highway of our daily lives.

Charles Dickens was essentially a Londoner, always having a fond regard
for the highways and by-ways of this great Metropolis, and confessedly
deriving his inspiration from the varied phases of Town life and Society.
We accordingly find that the main incidents and characters of his novels
have here their _mise en scène_.

In homage to the genius of his favourite Author, the writer of the
following pages has endeavoured to localise many of the more familiar
associations of the great Novelist with as much exactitude as may be
possible; but it must be remembered that London has undergone
considerable alteration and reconstruction, during the last fifty years.

Thus far reads the original Preface to this Work, as written thirteen
years since; the first (and smaller) edition of which was published in
1886, under the title of _Rambles in London with Charles Dickens_.  The
author now begs to thankfully acknowledge its favourable reception,
generously accorded by the Press in particular, and the reading-world in

The present arrangement of the book includes some important additions as
well as considerable revision, the latter being rendered necessary by the
_disappearance_ of many houses and buildings in the course of intervening
years, and the steady progress of Metropolitan improvements.  Thus it
comes to pass that only the memory of what has been remains, in regard to
many of these Dickensian localities and landmarks; and it has been the
object of the author (1899) to indicate the former whereabouts of these
old places, as heretofore existent.  Especially in the Strand and
neighbourhood (Ramble I.), as well as in Chancery Lane and Holborn
(Rambles II. and IV.), many alterations have taken place, and another
London is springing up around a younger generation, not known to Dickens.
Our Author says (in _Martin Chuzzlewit_), “Change begets change; nothing
propagates so fast”: and the London of to-day, and the activities of our
Metropolitan County Council, at the close of this nineteenth century,
afford striking testimony to the truth of the aphorism, “The old order
changeth, giving place to new.”

The _Pall Mall Magazine_, July 1896, contains a contribution by Mr. C.
Dickens, junr.—“Notes on Some Dickens’ Places and People”—in which he
deprecates the endeavours of those inquirers who have attempted any
localisation of these places.  “It is true,” says he, “that many of the
places described in Charles Dickens’s books were suggested by real
localities or buildings, but the more the question comes to be examined,
the more clear it is that all that was done with the prototype, was to
use it as a painter or a sculptor uses a sketch, and that, under the hand
of the writer and in the natural process of evolution, it has grown, in
almost every case, into a finished picture, with few, if any, very
salient points about it to render its origin unmistakable.”  He also
quotes, with emphatic approval, from a review of Mr. P. Fitzgerald’s
_Bozland_, then recently published: “Dickens, like Turner in the sister
art of painting—like all real artists indeed—used nature, no doubt, but
used it as being his slave and in no wise his master.  He was not content
simply to reproduce the places, persons, things that he had seen and
known.  He passed them through the crucible of his imagination, fused
them, re-combined their elements, changed them into something richer and
rarer, gave them forth as products of his art.  Are we not doing him some
disservice when we try to reverse the process?”  “With these words I most

The author of this book would submit that the attempt to preserve the
memory of these localities in association with their original use by “the
Master,” does _not_ “reverse the process”; but, rightly considered, may
help the reader to a better comprehension of the genius and method of
Dickens.  The dictum of the Rev. W. J. Dawson, given a few years since in
_The Young Woman_ (referring to a previous edition of this Work), is
worth consideration: “The book casts a new light upon Dickens’s methods
of work, and shows us how little he left to invention, and how much he
owed to exact observation.”  And in this connection there may be quoted
the opinion of Sir Walter Besant, who published an appreciative article
in _The Queen_, 9th May 1896, anent these selfsame “Rambles,” which thus
concludes: “With this information in your hand, you can go down the
Strand and view its streets from north to south with increased
intelligence and interest.  I am not certain whether peopling a street
with creations of the imagination is not more useful—it is certainly more
interesting—than with the real figures of the stony-hearted past.”

The writer, therefore, still believes that such a Dickensian Directory as
is now prepared will be found a valuable practical guide for those who
may desire to visit the haunts and homes of these old friends, whose
memory we cannot “willingly let die;” and to recall the many interests
connected with them by the way.

Though not professing to be infallible, he begs to assure those whom it
may concern that his information—gleaned from many sources—has been
collected _con amore_ with carefulness and caution; and he ventures to
hope that his book may be of service to many Metropolitan visitors, as
indicating (previous to the coming time when the New Zealander shall
meditate over the ruins of London) some few pleasant “Rambles in Dickens’

                                                                     R. A.

LONDON, _September_ 20, 1899.

_Charing Cross to Lincoln’s Inn Fields_

The Golden Cross; Associations with Pickwick and Copperfield—Craven
Street; Residence of Mr. Brownlow—Charing Cross Terminus—Hungerford
Stairs and Market; Lamert’s Blacking Manufactory; Micawber’s Lodgings;
Mr. Dick’s Bedroom—No. 3 Chandos Street; Blacking Warehouse—Bedfordbury;
“Tom All-Alone’s”—Buckingham Street; Copperfield’s Chambers—The Adelphi
Arches—The Adelphi Hotel; Snodgrass and Emily Wardle—“The
Fox-under-the-Hill”; Martin Chuzzlewit and Mark Tapley—The Residence of
Miss La Creevy—Offices of _Household Words_ and _All the Year
Round_—Covent Garden Market; Hummums and Tavistock Hotels, associated
with “Great Expectations,” etc.—Bow Street—Old Bow Street Police Court;
“The Artful Dodger”—Covent Garden Theatre—Broad Court; Mr.
Snevellicci—St. Martin’s Hall; Dickens’s First London Readings—Russell
Court; Nemo’s Burial Place—Clare Court; Copperfield’s Dining-Rooms—Old
Roman Bath; Mrs. Lirriper’s Lodgings—St. Clement Danes—Portsmouth Street;
“The Old Curiosity Shop”—The Old George the Fourth; “The Magpie and
Stump”—Portugal Street; “The Horse and Groom”; Mr. Tony Weller and his
Legal Adviser—Lincoln’s Inn Fields; Mr. John Forster’s House; Residence
of Mr. Tulkinghorn.

Starting from CHARING CROSS POST OFFICE as a convenient centre, and
taking an eastward course up the Strand, we immediately reach, on the
left-hand (north) side—a few doors from the Post Office—The Golden Cross
Hotel.  Sixty years since this establishment was one of the principal
Coaching Houses of the Metropolis.  It was the starting-point of the
Rochester Coach, by which, on May 13, 1827, _Mr. Pickwick_ and his
friends commenced their travels.  Driving by cab from the vicinity of
that gentleman’s residence in Goswell Street, here it was that the
pugnacious cabman, having mistaken the purpose of Mr. P.’s note-book,
committed assault and battery upon the four Pickwickians, “sparring away
like clockwork,” from which unexpected attack they were rescued by the
redoubtable _Mr. Alfred Jingle_.  In those days there was an arched
entrance leading from the Strand beneath the front of the hotel to the
coach-yard behind.  Hence Mr. Jingle’s warning to his new
acquaintances—“Heads, heads; take care of your heads!” which
recommendation was followed by the first recorded anecdote as given by
that loquacious pretender—

    “Terrible place—dangerous work—other day—five children—mother—tall
    lady, eating sandwiches—forgot the arch—crash—knock—children look
    round—mother’s head off—sandwich in her hand—no mouth to put it
    in—head of a family off—shocking—shocking.”

This coach-yard and its entrance existed until the days of _Copperfield_,
who came to THE GOLDEN CROSS in the nineteenth chapter of his history,
having just finished his education at Dr. Strong’s.  He arrived “outside
the Canterbury Coach,” and here met _Steerforth_, his former schoolboy
patron, who speedily arranged for his transference from No. 44, “a little
loft over a stable,” to No. 72, a comfortable bedroom next his own.
Here, says David, “I fell asleep in blissful condition . . . until the
early morning coaches rumbling out of _the archway underneath_ made me
dream of thunder and the gods.”  This entrance was abolished in 1851,
giving place to a more convenient exterior arrangement and doorway; again
remodelled, 1897.

THE GOLDEN CROSS is again referred to in the Copperfield experience
(chapter 40) as the place where David conferred with _Mr. Peggotty_, one
snowy night, after their unexpected meeting opposite St. Martin’s Church
(close at hand on the north, at the corner of St. Martin’s Lane), when
_Martha_ listened at the door.

    “In those days there was a side entrance” (Duncannon Street, now
    appropriated by the London and North-Western Railway Company) “nearly
    opposite to where we stood.  I pointed out the gateway, put my arm
    through his, and we went across.  Two or three public rooms opened
    out of the stable-yard; and looking into one of them, and finding it
    empty, and a good fire burning, I took him in there.”

Opposite the principal entrance of THE GOLDEN CROSS is Craven Street,
leading to the Thames Embankment.  It now mainly consists of private
hotels and boarding-houses, at which visitors to London may be
conveniently accommodated on reasonable terms.  In the days of _Oliver
Twist_ these were, for the most part, private houses; and here was MR.
BROWNLOW’S RESIDENCE—taken after his removal from Pentonville—in which
was the back parlour where full confession was extorted from _Monks_,
_alias Edward Leeford_.  The house, No. 39 (now _Barnett’s Private
Hotel_), centrally situated on the east side, is stated to have been
assigned as the residence aforesaid.

On the south side of the Strand we immediately reach the Charing Cross
Terminus of the South-Eastern Railway, built on the site of old
Hungerford Market.  At No. 30 Hungerford Stairs, at the back of this
locality, Charles Dickens, when a lad, did duty at the Blacking
Manufactory of a relative, by name James Lamert, at a salary of six or
seven shillings a week, as his first employment in life.  It was the last
house on the left-hand side of the way, a crazy, tumble-down old place
abutting on the river.  Here his work was to cover and label the pots of
paste-blacking.  To this episode of his youthful experience he refers in
the history of “David Copperfield,” chapter 11, David becoming “a
labouring hind” in the service of _Messrs. Murdstone and Grinby_.  In old
Hungerford Market, too, was THE CHANDLER’S SHOP over which _Mr. Peggotty_
slept on the night of his first arrival in London; the bedroom being
afterwards appropriated by Mr. Dick.

    “There was a low wooden colonnade before the door, which pleased Mr.
    Dick mightily.  The glory of lodging over this structure would have
    compensated him for many inconveniences. . . .  He was perfectly
    charmed with his accommodation.  Mrs. Crupp had indignantly assured
    him that there wasn’t room to swing a cat there; but, as Mr. Dick
    justly observed, ‘You know, Trotwood, I don’t want to swing a cat.  I
    never do swing a cat.  Therefore, what does that signify to me!’”—See
    “Copperfield,” chapters 32 and 35.

HUNGERFORD is also mentioned in the same book (chapter 57) as the place
where, previous to their departure for Australia, the MICAWBER FAMILY had
lodgings “in a little, dirty, tumble-down public-house, which in those
days was close to the stairs, and whose protruding wooden rooms overhung
the river.”

By a parallel street near at hand (next turning on the left of the
Strand—Agar Street) we come into Chandos Street, where are situated the
large stores of the Civil Service Supply Association, which, during
recent years, have been enlarged, extending westward in Chandos Street.
This extension occupies the former site of No. 3, whilom a chemist’s
shop, kept by a Mr. Wellspring.  Here, in the days that are gone, was
established a second warehouse of Lamert’s blacking trade, the business
being removed in course of time to this address; and here Dickens, with
other lads, was often busily employed near the window.  They acquired
such dexterity in finishing off the pots, that many persons would stand
outside, looking on with interest at the performance.

On the opposite side of Chandos Street is _Bedfordbury_—a northward
thoroughfare leading to New Street, Covent Garden—on the right of which
stands a range of five large five-storied blocks known as _Peabody’s
Buildings_.  These afford respectable accommodation for artizans.  This
was the locality of Tom All-Alone’s, that wretched rookery of evil repute
in the days of _Poor Joe_, as described in chapter 16 of “Bleak House.”
But, in these degenerate times, the black, dilapidated streets and
tumbling tenements have given place to wholesome dwellings, and the
neighbourhood is associated with the name of a great American

Returning to the south side of the Strand, we next come to Buckingham
Street (turning on right, by No. 37), at the end house of which, on the
right, facing the river, was the top set of chambers in the Adelphi,
consisting of

    “A little half-blind entry, where you could hardly see anything, a
    little stone-blind pantry, where you could see nothing at all, a
    sitting-room and a bedroom.”

Here _David Copperfield_ for some time resided under the housekeeping
supervision of Mrs. Crupp, and the residence was afterwards shared by
_Miss Betsy Trotwood_.  At the next turning in the Strand—by No. 64, same
side of the way—we arrive at Durham Street, which leads to the no
thoroughfare of The Adelphi Arches, about and through which the lad
Charles Dickens loved in his leisure time to roam.  David Copperfield

    “I was fond of wandering about the Adelphi, because it was a
    mysterious place, with those dark arches.  I see myself emerging one
    evening from one of these arches, on a little public-house, close to
    the river, with an open space before it, where some coal-heavers were

Of this place more anon.

Continuing our onward journey, we come to Adam Street (right-hand turning
by No. 72), looking down which may be seen, at the corner of John Street,
THE ADELPHI HOTEL.  This hotel was known in the days of Pickwick as
Osborn’s Hotel, Adelphi.  To this establishment, it will be remembered,
came _Mr. Wardle_, visiting London with his daughter Emily, after Mr.
Pickwick’s release from the Fleet Prison, also accompanied by his trusty
retainer, _the fat boy_, _Joe_.  The last plate but one in the book
illustrates the plan adopted by _Mary_ when inducing that intelligent
youth to observe a discreet silence as to the visit of Mr. Snodgrass to
his young mistress at this hotel; and we may recollect the _contretemps_
which afterwards took place here at dinner-time, involving the detention
of the clandestine lover, and resulting in a very satisfactory
_dénouement_.—See “Pickwick,” chapter 54.

Passing the next block onwards, we arrive at the handsome frontage of the
HOTEL CECIL.  In former days, at western corner of same, close to No. 75,
there existed a narrow and precipitous passage which was formerly the
approach to the halfpenny boats.  It led to a little public-house, “The
Fox-under-the-Hill,” for a long time shut up and in ruinous
condition—once situated on the water-side, the site of which is now
covered by the west wing of the Hotel Cecil.

This place is spoken of in Mr. Forster’s Biography as being one of our
author’s _favourite localities_, and referred to in “Copperfield,” as
before mentioned, in connection with the Adelphi Arches.  This, then, was
doubtless the tavern at which _Martin Chuzzlewit_, _junr._, was
accommodated, on his arrival in London, “in the humbler regions of the
Adelphi;” and where he was unexpectedly visited by _Mark Tapley_, who
then and there became his “nat’ral born servant, hired by fate,” and his
very faithful friend.—See “Martin Chuzzlewit,” chapter 13.

Farther onwards, on the same side, towards the centre of the Strand,
there stood near Savoy Street the house which in all probability was the
Residence of Miss La Creevy.  It will be recollected that Ralph Nickleby,
visiting his relations at this address in the Strand, is described as

    “At a private door, about halfway down that crowded thoroughfare.”

No. 111 was an old-fashioned house in just such a position, with a
private door—a somewhat unusual convenience in the Strand.  A
photographer’s case had, for many years, displaced the “large gilt frame
screwed upon the street door,” in which Miss La Creevy aforetime
displayed her painted miniatures.  The place has been pulled down,
together with the adjoining house.  Handsome modern business premises are
erected on the double site.—See “Nicholas Nickleby,” chapter 2.

We now cross to the north side of the Strand, and take the next turning
on the left, _Wellington Street North_.  Passing the Lyceum Theatre, we
may note, on the opposite side, the offices of the Gaiety Theatre, No.
16.  For many years this was the Office of “Household Words”; this
well-known miscellany being started under the conductorship of Charles
Dickens, March 30, 1850.

It was afterwards removed to No. 26, higher up, on the same side of the
way, at which address the later issue of _All the Year Round_ was
published, as conducted by Charles Dickens, the son.

Proceeding a short distance onwards, and turning to the left, we come
into the precincts of Covent Garden Market.  At the south corner of
_Russell Street_ we may note the position of the old HUMMUMS HOTEL,
mentioned in “Great Expectations” as the place where Pip slept, in
accordance with the warning received from Mr. Wemmick—“Don’t go home.”

The present establishment was erected on the site of the former hotel (as
it stood in the days of Mr. Pip’s sojourn), 1892; on completion of the
new Flower Market, THE TAVISTOCK HOTEL, Piazzas, on the north side of the
market, was the house at which were held the fortnightly meetings of “The
Finches of the Grove,” Herbert Pocket and Mr. Pip being members of the
Club known by this appellation in the book above mentioned.  The end and
aim of this institution seemed to be “that the members should dine
expensively once a fortnight, to quarrel among themselves as much as
possible after dinner, and to cause six waiters to get drunk on the

A general description of _Covent Garden_ will be found in “Little Dorrit”
(chapter 14), and a graphic reference to “the seamy side” of this
locality is contained in the pages of “Our Mutual Friend” (chapter 9,
Book 4).

Returning by Russell Street, we soon reach _Bow Street_, and on the left
may observe an open space contiguous to the _Foreign Fruit Market_.  On
this space there stood No. 4, in recent times occupied by Mr.
Stinchcombe, costumier.  Some years since this was the situation of Bow
Street Police Court, now removed to the handsome new building facing
Covent Garden Theatre.  This, therefore, was the place at which the
_Artful Dodger_, when committed for trial by the presiding magistrate,
thus reserved his defence:—

    “This ain’t the shop for justice; besides which my attorney is
    a-breakfasting this morning with the Vice-President of the House of
    Commons; but I shall have something to say elsevere, and so will he,
    and so will a wery numerous and respectable circle of acquaintances,
    as’ll make them beaks wish they’d never been born.”—See “Oliver
    Twist,” chapter 43.

At a short distance onwards, we may note Covent Garden Theatre, selected
by David Copperfield as his first place of entertainment in London, after
dinner at the Golden Cross Hotel—

    “Being then in a pleasant frame of mind . . . I resolved to go to the
    play.  It was Covent Garden Theatre that I chose; and there, from the
    back of a centre box, I saw “Julius Cæsar” and the new pantomime.  To
    have all those noble Romans alive before me, and walking in and out
    for my entertainment, instead of being the stern taskmasters they had
    been at school, was a most novel and delightful effect.”

This theatre, as attended by David, was destroyed by fire March 4, 1856,
six years after his autobiography was published, and afterwards rebuilt.

Exactly opposite the façade of the theatre is Broad Court, past the new
magisterial building above referred to.  This was the location given by
_Mr. Snevellicci_ (at Portsmouth), on a convivial occasion, described in
“Nicholas Nickleby” (chapter 30), as his London address:—

    “I am not ashamed of myself; Snevellicci is my name.  I’m to be found
    in Broad Court, Bow Street, when I’m in town.  If I’m not at home,
    let any man ask for me at the stage-door.”

There is also historical reference to _Bow Street_ in “Barnaby Rudge,” as
the place where “another boy was hanged,” after the suppression of the
Gordon riots.

Exactly facing the north end of Bow Street, which gives into Long Acre,
is a large building, now a stationer’s warehouse, recently used as the
Clergy Co-operative Stores.  Thirty-five years since this site was
occupied by St. Martin’s Hall, in which Dickens gave his first series of
paid readings in London (sixteen nights), under the management of Mr.
Arthur Smith, 1858.  The hall was a short time afterwards burnt down, and
the Queen’s Theatre was here erected in its stead by Mr. Wigan; which
theatre was since converted to the commercial uses of the Clergy as

Proceeding up _Long Acre_ to _Drury Lane_, we turn to the right, and in
five minutes pass the back of Drury Lane Theatre.  The second turning on
the same side is RUSSELL COURT, a narrow passage leading to Catherine
Street.  The entire area between the two streets, for some distance, is
cleared for building improvements, so that the indications immediately
following refer to the past, and not practically to the present.  These
things have been, but are not.

In this court, about halfway on the right, was to be found (until 1897)
the entrance to what was once the pauper Burial Ground where Captain
Hawdon—known as _Nemo_ in the pages of “Bleak House”—was interred, and
where Lady Dedlock was afterwards found dead at the gateway, she having
fled from her husband, Sir Leicester, in despair, dreading the _exposé_
threatened by Mr. Tulkinghorn.  It is also associated with _Poor Jo_, the
crossing-sweeper.—See “Bleak House,” chapters 11 and 59.

    “With houses looking on, on every side, save where a reeking little
    tunnel of a court gives access to the iron gate—with every villainy
    of life in action close on death, and every poisonous element of
    death in action close on life—here, they lower our dear brother down
    a foot or two: here, sow him in corruption, to be raised in
    incorruption: an avenging ghost at many a sick bedside: a shameful
    testimony to future ages, how civilisation and barbarism walked this
    boastful island together.”

This intermural graveyard was attached to the Church of St.
Mary-le-Strand, and has been closed for many years.  The enclosure was
converted into a recreation ground, and formally opened as such by Lady
George Hamilton, May 19, 1886, on behalf of the Metropolitan Public
Garden Association.  But the entire locality is changed, the “avenging
ghost” has ceased to walk, and the “shameful testimony” has ended.

At a short distance in Drury Lane, towards the Strand, we turn (left) by
No. 106, into Clare Court, referred to in Forster’s Biography as
follows—(C.D. _loq._):—

    “Once, I remember tucking my own bread (which I had brought from home
    in the morning) under my arm, wrapped up in a piece of paper like a
    book, and going into the best dining-room in Johnson’s _a la mode_
    beef-house in Clare Court, Drury Lane, and magnificently ordering a
    small plate of _a la mode_ beef to eat with it.  What the waiter
    thought of such a strange little apparition, coming in all alone, I
    don’t know, but I can see him now, staring at me as I ate my dinner,
    and bringing up the other waiter to look.  I gave him a halfpenny,
    and I wish now that he hadn’t taken it.”

This episode of the author’s experience as a poor boy in London was
reproduced in “David Copperfield,” chapter 11.  The dining-house
mentioned then existed (1824) at No. 13 in the court, in a prominent
corner position.  It has been unknown to fame for the last thirty years.

Returning by Drury Court to the Strand, and passing on the south side of
the church above mentioned, we turn by No. 162A into _Strand Lane_, where
may be visited, at No. 5, The Old Roman Bath referred to by David
Copperfield, who says, “In which I have had many a cold plunge.”  (See
chapter 35.)  The bath itself is lined with white marble, and dates from
the sixteenth century.  It is supplied from an old Roman reservoir
adjoining, about 2000 years old.

                      [Picture: The Old Roman Bath]

Passing Surrey Street, just beyond, we come (next on the right) to
_Norfolk Street_, in which there may be noted the former whereabouts of
MRS. LIRRIPER’S LODGINGS; and we may here recall the pleasant
associations connected with the Christmas numbers of _All the Year
Round_, 1863 and 1864.  The houses in this street are not enumerated
beyond forty-five, all told.  The figures 81, as given in the tale
referred to, should be _reversed_; but sad to relate, No. 18—long
standing as an old-fashioned boarding-house on the western side, below
Howard Street—has disappeared, and certain modern buildings, offices,
etc., recently erected, now occupy the old site.  At a short distance
farther on, in a central position in the Strand, stands the church of St.
Clement Danes.  It is of interest in this connection as the scene of Mrs.
Lirriper’s wedding, some forty years previous to the narration of her
business experience; and where she still retained “a sitting in a very
pleasant pew, with genteel company, and her own hassock, being partial to
evening service, not too crowded.”

Retracing our steps, three minutes, to the Church of St. Mary-le-Strand,
again leaving the Strand by _Newcastle_ and _Houghton Streets_, and
turning left and right (leaving Clare Market on the left), we shortly
arrive at _Portsmouth Street_, _Lincoln’s Inn Fields_.  At No. 14 will be
found (for a short time only) a small old-fashioned house, on the front
of which is painted an inscription, “The Old Curiosity Shop,
_Immortalised by Charles Dickens_,” now occupied by Mr. H. Poole, dealer
in wastepaper.  This is said to be the house assigned by the novelist for
the residence of Little Nell and her grandfather, with whose pathetic
history we are all familiar—

    “One of those receptacles for old and curious things, which seem to
    crouch in odd corners of this town, and to hide their musty treasures
    from the public eye in jealousy and distrust.”

It cannot, however, be regarded as absolutely certain that this
particular house was the author’s intended “local habitation” for one of
the best-known and loved of his creations.  The tale itself concludes
with a reference to _Kit’s_ uncertainty as to the whereabouts of the

    “The old house had long ago been pulled down, and a fine broad road
    was in its place.  At first he would draw with his stick a square
    upon the ground to show them where it used to stand.  But he soon
    became uncertain of the spot, and could only say it was thereabouts,
    he thought, and that these alterations were confusing.”

[A lady, personally acquainted with the great novelist, has informed the
author that she was once taken by Mr. Dickens to No. 10 Green Street
(approaching Leicester Square from the east)—at the corner of Green and
Castle Streets, behind the National Gallery—the business of
curiosity-dealing being then and there carried on.  Mr. Dickens himself
localised this house as the home of little Nell, pointing out an inner
room—divided from the shop by a glass partition—as her bedroom.  The
premises are now rebuilt.]

                    [Picture: The Old Curiosity Shop]

At a short distance from this locality, and at an opposite angle of the
street, there existed (until 1898) one of the old-fashioned taverns of
the metropolis.  The house was noteworthy, with its overhanging front
resting on rough wooden pillars, and was named _Old George IVth_.

It is now replaced by a newly-built house of the same name, in modern
style of plate glass, mahogany, and glitter.

It is highly probable that the old tavern represented the location and
character of “The Magpie and Stump,” the rendezvous of _Mr. Lowten_
(Perker’s clerk) and other choice spirits in the days of Pickwick.  It is
described in the Pickwickian history as being near Clare Market, at the
back of New Inn, and to this position the “Old George IVth” will
correspond.  Joe Miller, of jocular celebrity, was, aforetime, a
frequenter of this establishment, when his quips “were wont to set the
table in a roar.”  His seat was still shown in the bar of the old house.
Dickens and Thackeray were also well remembered as visitors to this
ancient hostelry.  There is now a “Magpie and Stump” in Fetter Lane, at
some distance hence; but it is evident that Dickens transferred the name
to a tavern in this neighbourhood.  It will be remembered that here Mr.
Pickwick enjoyed an hour’s entertainment, listening to the legends of
“those curious old nooks,” the Inns of London, as related by Jack
Bamber—see “Pickwick,” chapter 21—also containing a description of the
advertisements of the tavern, as then displayed therein.

    “In the lower windows, which were decorated with curtains of a
    saffron hue, dangled two or three printed cards, bearing reference to
    Devonshire cyder and Dantzic spruce, while a large black board,
    announcing in white letters to an enlightened public, that there were
    500,000 barrels of double stout in the cellars of the establishment,
    left the mind in a state of not unpleasing doubt and uncertainty as
    to the precise direction in the bowels of the earth, in which this
    mighty cavern might be supposed to extend.”

_Dick Swiveller_ would doubtless occasionally patronise this
establishment.  He lodged hereabouts “in the neighbourhood of Drury
Lane;” but it is difficult to indicate any particular house which Dickens
may have selected for his accommodation.

Stretching eastward from this point is _Portugal Street_, famed in the
same book as containing the Old Public House patronised by Mr. Tony
Weller and his _confrères_ of the coach-driving persuasion.  This
house—opposite the Insolvent Debtors’ Court—existed until a few years
since, by name, “The Horse and Groom.”  It and many more besides, have
now given place to a range of new offices and buildings in Elizabethan
style, on the south side of the street (forming the north boundary of New
Court), and the Insolvent Court has been recently appropriated to the
uses of the Bankruptcy Court.  It will be remembered that it was here
_Mr. Samuel Weller_ got into difficulties, and was hence consigned to the
Fleet Prison at the instance of his father; the professional services of
the suave _Mr. Solomon Pell_ being retained on that occasion.  Here also
a select committee of friends assembled to assist at an oyster lunch and
the proving of Mrs. Weller’s will, when Mr. Pell again conducted the
business to the satisfaction of all concerned.—See “Pickwick,” chapters
43 and 55.

Returning through Portsmouth Street, we come into _Lincoln’s Inn Fields_;
and, keeping on its western side—passing Sardinia Street, with its old
archway, on the left—we may note Mr. John Forster’s House, No. 58.  At
this house resided the friend and biographer of Dickens, and here our
author was, of course, a frequent visitor.  On December the 2nd, 1844,
Charles Dickens here first read his new Christmas book, “The Chimes,” to
a select and critical audience, including Messrs. Forster, Maclise,
Douglas Jerrold, Carlyle, Laman Blanchard, Fox, Stanfield, Harness, and
Dyce.  The house is itself described in the pages of “Bleak House”
(chapter 10) as the


    “In a large house, formerly a house of state, lives Mr. Tulkinghorn.
    It is let off in sets of chambers now; and in those shrunken
    fragments of its greatness, lawyers lie, like maggots in nuts.  But
    its roomy staircases, passages, and antechambers still remain; and
    even its painted ceiling, where Allegory in Roman helmet and
    celestial linen sprawls among balustrades and pillars, flowers,
    clouds, and big-legged boys, and makes the head ache, as would seem
    to be Allegory’s object always, more or less.”

As in the time spoken of, the house is still in legal possession, being
let out as solicitors’ offices; but the old Allegory has disappeared
beneath modern whitewash.  Within two minutes’ distance northward, the
weary rambler may reach the central thoroughfare of HOLBORN, where
(turning to the left), close at hand, will be found the _Holborn
Restaurant_, at which Sam Weller’s advice on the subject of a “little
dinner” (or luncheon) may be worth practical consideration:—

    “Pair of fowls and a weal cutlet; French beans, ’taturs, tart, and

Certain it is that everything at this establishment will be found “werry
clean and comfortable,” on reasonable terms.

_Lincoln’s Inn to the Mansion House_

Lincoln’s Inn Hall; “Jarndyce and Jarndyce”—Old Square; Offices of Kenge
and Carboy; Chambers of Sergeant Snubbin—Bishop’s Court; Miss Flite’s
Lodging at Krook’s Rag and Bottle Warehouse; Nemo; Tony Weevle—The Old
Ship Tavern; “The Sol’s Arms”—Coavinses’ Castle—Mr. Snagsby’s Residence,
Took’s Court, Cursitor Street—Bell Yard; Lodgings of Neckett and
Gridley—Tellson’s Bank, Fleet Street—The Temple; Fountain Court (Ruth
Pinch and John Westlock); Garden Court (Pip’s Chambers); Pump Court
(Chambers of the elder Martin Chuzzlewit); Paper Buildings (Sir John
Chester and Mr. Stryver, K.C.)—Offices of Messrs. Lightwood and
Wrayburn—Bradley Headstone’s Look-out—Clifford’s Inn; John Rokesmith and
Mr. Boffin—St. Dunstan’s Pump and Maypole Hugh—St. Dunstan’s Church; “The
Chimes”—Bradbury and Evans, Bouverie Street—Office of the _Daily
News_—Hanging Sword Alley; Mr. Cruncher’s Rooms,–“Ye old Cheshire
Cheese”—Farringdon, formerly Fleet, Market—Fleet Prison; Mr. Pickwick and
Sam Weller’s Imprisonment—Belle Sauvage Yard—London Coffee House; Arthur
Clennam’s arrival—St. Paul’s Churchyard—Dean’s Court—Doctors’ Commons;
Messrs. Spenlow and Jorkins—“Bell Tavern”—Wood Street; Coach Office at
which Pip first arrived—The London Stereoscopic Company; “Grip,” the
Raven—Bow Church—The Guildhall; Bardell _v._ Pickwick—Grocers’ Hall
Court—The Mansion House; References in “Barnaby Rudge,” “Christmas
Carol,” and “Martin Chuzzlewit”—“Dombey and Son.”

The Rambler now crosses Lincoln’s Inn Fields, and, on its eastern side,
enters the precincts of _Lincoln’s Inn_, through an arched gateway, from
Serle Street.  Passing the imposing building of the Dining-Hall and
Library on the left, with New Square on the right, we shortly arrive at
old Lincoln’s Inn Hall, THE LORD HIGH CHANCELLOR’S COURT, with its
central turret and lantern, bearing the initials of the reigning
Treasurer, 1818, where Chancery suits were tried thirty years since.
Here that _cause célèbre_, JARNDYCE and JARNDYCE, dragged “its slow
length along” through the weary years, involving

    “Bills, cross-bills, answers, rejoinders, injunctions, affidavits,
    issues, references to masters, masters’ reports—mountains of costly

Here, on a seat at the side of the hall, stood little _Miss Flite_, in
her squeezed bonnet, carrying “her documents,” and

    “Always expecting some incomprehensible judgment in her favour.”—See
    “Bleak House,” chapter 1.

The business of Chancery procedure is now transferred to the New Law
Courts.  Hard by, on the north, passing through the cloisters of the
Chapel of Lincoln’s Inn, we come into the enclosure of Old Square,
LINCOLN’S INN, where the _Offices of Messrs. Kenge and Carboy_ were
situated.  Esther Summerson says:—

    “We passed into sudden quietude, under an old gateway, and drove on
    through a silent square, until we came to an odd nook in a corner,
    where there was an entrance up a steep broad flight of stairs, like
    an entrance to a church.”

The houses in this square have been all rebuilt; but Kenge and Co.’s
offices used to flourish in the north-west corner, where still the rising
of the ground necessitates an exterior flight of steps.  The chambers of
_Sergeant Snubbin_, counsel for the defence in “Bardell _v._ Pickwick,”
were also located in this square, probably on the opposite side.

Returning to Lincoln’s Inn, we may follow Esther Summerson’s directions,
and visit the apartments of _Miss Flite_—

    “Slipping us out of a little side gate, the old lady stopped most
    unexpectedly in a narrow back street, part of some courts and lanes
    immediately outside the wall of the inn, and said, ‘This is my
    lodging.  Pray walk up!’”

Thus, passing at the back of the Inn, and taking the next turning on the
left, we arrive at Bishop’s Court, near at hand, a narrow, dark, and old
passage leading to Chancery Lane.  On the left hand, nearest the Inn, was
_Krook’s Rag and Bottle Warehouse_, probably No. 3.  But during recent
years, all the old houses of the court have been substituted by modern
buildings, offices, and shops; so that the location only remains of the
“Lord Chancellor,” and his place of business, yclept by the neighbours
the “Court of Chancery.”  The old shop, at one time, possessed the
private door and stairway leading to _Miss Flite’s lodging_.

    “She lived at the top of the house, in a pretty large room, from
    which she had a glimpse of the roof of Lincoln’s Inn Hall.”

Here, too, Captain Hawdon, otherwise _Nemo_, the law-writer, lived and
died in a bare room on the second floor.  A notice may have been observed
in the old shop window, “Engrossing and Copying.”  It will be remembered
that this room was afterwards occupied by _Mr. Tony Weevle_, during whose
tenancy it was decorated with a choice collection of magnificent
portraits, being—

    “Copper-plate impressions from that truly national work, the
    Divinities of Albion, or Galaxy Gallery of British Beauty;
    representing ladies of title and fashion, in every variety of smirk,
    that art, combined with capital, is capable of producing.”

Returning to the top of the court, and passing a short distance along
Star Yard, we reach, at the corner of _Chichester Rents_, a modern
warehouse (No. 7), recently erected on the site of “The Old Ship Tavern,”
now _non est_, named in the pages of “Bleak House” _The Sol’s Arms_, it
being the house at which _the Inquest was held_, following the death of
_Nemo_, as described in chapter 11; on which occasion the proffered
evidence of Poor Jo was virtuously rejected by the presiding coroner.

    “Can’t exactly say; won’t do, you know.  We can’t take that in a
    Court of Justice, gentlemen.  It’s terrible depravity.  Put the boy

The old tavern has given place to the exigencies of modern commerce
(1897).  The ghost of _Little Swills_ may still linger in the
neighbourhood, but the musical evenings of the past are silent, being now
superseded by the prosaics of ordinary business.

The real SOL’S ARMS still exists, _No._ 65 _Hampstead Road_, _N.W._, at
the corner of Charles Street, once known as Sol’s Row.  Its name was
derived from the “Sol’s Society,” whose meetings, held therein, were of a
Masonic character.  It has been suggested that Dickens transferred the
style and name of this house to the neighbourhood of Chancery Lane, as

Coming now into Chancery Lane, we may observe, nearly opposite the old
gateway of Lincoln’s Inn, Cursitor Street, a thoroughfare leading
eastward from the Lane.  It will be noticed that the houses in this
street are comparatively of recent erection, and we may now look in vain
for COAVINSES’ CASTLE, which has been swept away by the besom of modern
destruction and improvement.  This old sponging-house flourished (in the
days of Harold Skimpole) on the left of the street, on the site now
occupied by _Lincoln’s Inn Chambers_, No. 1.

At a short distance in Cursitor Street (No. 9) we come to a turning on
the left to _Took’s Court_, referred to in “Bleak House” as _Cook’s
Court_, in which was Mr. Snagsby’s Residence AND LAW STATIONER’S SHOP.
The court is not a long one, and consists mainly of offices connected
with the legal profession.  The location of Mr. Snagsby’s shop was at the
central corner on the left, the site being now occupied by modern offices
and stores.  “The little drawing-room upstairs” is described as

    “A view of Cook’s Court at one end (not to mention a squint into
    Cursitor Street) and of Coavins’s, the Sheriff’s Officer’s, backyard
    on the other.”

The memorable, but now non-existent room, as prepared for the reception
of the _Rev. Mr. Chadband_ (Chaplain-in-Ordinary to Mrs. Snagsby), who
was “endowed with the gift of holding forth for four hours at a stretch.”
On that occasion, it will be remembered that Poor Jo—brought to Cook’s
Court by a police constable—was eloquently addressed by the reverend
gentleman, but was not greatly edified by his admonitions.

    “At this threatening stage of the discourse, Jo, who seems to have
    been gradually going out of his mind, smears his right arm over his
    face, and gives a terrible yawn.  Mrs. Snagsby indignantly expresses
    her belief that he is a limb of the arch-fiend.”

Returning by Chancery Lane, on the left hand, we may note _Bream’s
Buildings_, as being the northern boundary of the former site of Symond’s
Inn, which hence extended onward to No. 22.

    “A little, pale, wall-eyed, woebegone inn, like a large dust-bin of
    two compartments and a sifter.  It looks as if Symond were a sparing
    man in his day, and constructed his inn of old building materials,
    which took kindly to the dry rot, and to dirt, and all things
    decaying and dismal, and perpetuated Symond’s memory with congenial

This inn has ceased to exist for many years past, its position being now
occupied by a large printer’s establishment and other offices.  Readers
of “Bleak House” will remember that the professional chambers of _Mr.
Vholes_ were here situated, and that _Richard Carstone_ and his young
wife _Ada_ resided in the next house, in order that Richard might have
his legal adviser close at hand.  Here occurred the early death of poor
Richard; and we all cherish the remembrance of dear Ada’s wifely
devotion, to which _Esther Summerson_ thus refers:—

    “The days when I frequented that miserable corner which my dear girl
    brightened can never fade in my remembrance.  I never see it, and I
    never wish to see it now; I have been there only once since; but in
    my memory there is a mournful glory shining on the place, which will
    shine for ever.”

Leaving Chancery Lane, and turning (right) by Carey Street, we reach Bell
Yard, leading to Fleet Street.  This place has been mentioned by Dickens
as containing a “chandler’s shop, left-hand side,” where lodged
_Gridley_, “the man from Shropshire,” and _Neckett_, the faithful
servitor of Coavinses.  The name—Bell Yard—forms the heading of chapter
15, “Bleak House,” which affords information of the Neckett
family—_Charlie_, _Tom_, and the limp-bonneted _baby_.  For full details,
reference should be made to this very touching and beautifully-written
chapter as above.  Great alterations have been made, and are still being
made, in this narrow lane, since the erection of the New Law Courts in
the immediate vicinity; but some of the older houses still remain on the
left-hand side of the way.  Of these, No. 9 is a small, tall,
squeezed-looking house, about half-way down the alley, and may be safely
assigned (thirty years since) to the tenancy of the good-natured Mrs.

Passing through Bell Yard, we reach _Fleet Street_, at the point where
once TEMPLE BAR gave ancient entrance to the City.  Its position is
marked by a bronze griffin, surmounting a memorial pedestal beneath.
Exactly on the opposite side of the street is the handsome modern
erection of _Child’s Bank_.  This new building dates from 1878, when the
structure of old _Temple Bar_ was removed.  It replaces one of the very
old-fashioned houses of London, in which for many years Messrs. Child
carried on their important banking business.  This house is spoken of by
Dickens, in his “Tale of Two Cities,” as Tellson’s Bank, on the outside
of which the mysterious _Mr. Cruncher_ was usually in attendance as
“odd-job man, and occasional porter and messenger.”

    “Tellson’s Bank, by Temple Bar, was an old-fashioned place even in
    the year 1780.  It was very small, very dark, very ugly, very
    incommodious.  Any one of the partners would have disinherited his
    son on the question of rebuilding Tellson’s.  Thus it had come to
    pass that Tellson’s was the triumphant perfection of inconvenience.
    After bursting open a door of idiotic obstinacy with a weak rattle in
    its throat, you fell into Tellson’s, down two steps, and came to your
    senses in a miserable little shop, with two little counters; where
    the oldest of men made your cheque shake as if the wind rustled it,
    while they examined the signature by the dingiest of windows, which
    were always under a shower-bath of mud from Fleet Street, and which
    were made the dingier by their own iron bars proper and the shadow of
    Temple Bar.”

                    [Picture: Fountain Court, Temple]

Passing Newton’s (optician) we arrive at the outer Gate of the Temple, by
which we enter _Middle Temple Lane_, following which a short distance and
turning to the right, by _Middle Temple Hall_, we reach Fountain Court.
The fountain standing here, conspicuously in a central position, is
associated with the history of _Ruth Pinch_.  Here it was that Tom and
his sister made appointments for meeting—

    “Because, of course, when she had to wait a minute or two, it would
    have been very awkward for her to have had to wait in any but a quiet
    spot; and that was as quiet a spot, everything considered, as they
    could choose.”

On further reference to the pages of “Martin Chuzzlewit,” we may recall
the auspicious occasion when Ruth was under the special escort of _John

    “Brilliantly the Temple fountain sparkled in the sun, and merrily the
    idle drops of water danced and danced; and, peeping out in sport
    among the trees, plunged lightly down to hide themselves, as little
    Ruth and her companion came towards it.”

See chapter 53.  In Garden Court beyond, _Mr. Pip_ and his friend,
_Herbert Pocket_, had residence.  In “Great Expectations,” he says—

    “Our Chambers were in Garden Court, down by the river.  We lived at
    the top of the last house.”

Here Pip’s patron and benefactor, the convict _Magwitch_, _alias Provis_,
disclosed himself one memorable night, much to his “dear boy’s”
discomfiture; and it will be remembered that temporary accommodation was
found for him at

    “A lodging-house in Essex Street, the back of which looked into the
    Temple, and was almost within hail of ‘Pip’s’ windows.”

The houses in this court have been rebuilt, and we may look in vain for
the actual chambers specified.  Returning to _Middle Temple Lane_, the
visitor may walk directly across it to _Elm Court_, and proceed through
the same and a narrow passage beyond, turning to the left, through _The
Cloisters_, which (left again) give into the central location of Pump
Court, an oblong old-fashioned court of offices, four storeys high.
Here, in all probability, were situated THE CHAMBERS where _Tom Pinch_
was mysteriously installed as librarian to an unknown employer, by the
eccentric _Mr. Fips_.

    “He led the way through sundry lanes and courts, into one more quiet
    and gloomy than the rest; and, singling out a certain house, ascended
    a common staircase . . . stopping before a door upon an upper storey.
    . . .  There were two rooms on that floor; and in the first, or outer
    one, a narrow staircase leading to two more above.”

Here, also, old _Martin Chuzzlewit_ revealed himself to the astonished
Tom in his true character, and surprised the virtuous _Mr. Pecksniff_ by
a “warm reception,” when “the tables were turned completely upside
down.”—See “Chuzzlewit,” chapters 39 and 52.

Proceeding past _Lamb Buildings_, on the east side of the Cloisters, and
by a passage six steps downwards, leading beneath the _Inner Temple
Dining-Hall_, we may note across the road (right) a short range of
substantial houses, known as Paper Buildings, facing _King’s Bench Walk_,
where it will be remembered that _Sir John Chester_ had his residential
chambers, no doubt selecting a central position—say, at No. 3.  Here at
various times Mr. Edward Chester, Hugh, Sim Tappertit, and Gabriel Varden
had audience with Sir John; for full particulars of which “overhaul the
wollume”—“Barnaby Rudge.”

In this neighbourhood also were situated the chambers of _Mr. Stryver_,
_K.C._, where _Sydney Carton_ served as “jackal” to that “fellow of
delicacy;” as we read in “The Tale of Two Cities,” how Sydney

    “Having revived himself by twice pacing the pavements of King’s Bench
    Walk and Paper Buildings, turned into the Stryver Chambers.”

Returning to Fleet Street by Lamb Buildings, and passing in front of the
Old Temple Church, we come to Goldsmith’s Buildings (right), which
overlook the old burial-ground and the tomb of the doctor.  This surely
is the “dismal churchyard” referred to in “Our Mutual Friend” as being
closely contiguous to the offices of Messrs. Lightwood and Wrayburn.

    “Whosoever . . . had looked up at the dismal windows commanding that
    churchyard, until at the most dismal window of them all, he saw a
    dismal boy, would in him have beheld . . . the clerk of Mr. Mortimer

_N.B._—Note the last window on the left (second floor), nearest the west
wing, lately rebuilt.

Coming again into Fleet Street, by the arched gateway of Inner Temple
Lane, the wayfarer may recall the circumstance of Bradley Headstone’s
nightly watchings opposite this point for the outgoings of _Mr. Eugene
Wrayburn_, and the many fruitless journeys which were hence commenced, as
Eugene enjoyed “the pleasures of the chase” at the expense of his
unfortunate rival.

Nearly facing us, on the north side of Fleet Street, is Clifford’s Inn
Passage, into whose retirement _Mr. Rokesmith_, the hero of “Our Mutual
Friend,” withdrew from the noise of Fleet Street, with _Mr. Boffin_, when
offering that gentleman his services as secretary.

Close at hand stands St. Dunstan’s Church, near to which the pump was,
but is not, from whose refreshing streams “_Hugh_” (from the Maypole,
Chigwell) sobered himself by a drenching on one occasion previous to
visiting Sir John Chester at Paper Buildings.  (_Vide_ “Barnaby Rudge,”
chapter 40.)  The old pump has been replaced by a drinking-fountain.

_Toby Veck_ surely must have known that pump; for though there is no
precise location given by Dickens in “The Chimes” for the church near to
which Toby waited for jobs, there is an etching by Stanfield in the
original edition of that book (page 88), which is unmistakably the
counterfeit presentment of St. Dunstan’s Tower.

Continuing the route, we pass _Bouverie Street_ (Bradbury and Evans—now
Bradbury, Agnew, and Co.—in this street were the publishers of several of
the works of Dickens, “The Chimes” included) on the right, next arriving
at _Whitefriars’ Street_ on the same side.

At the corner of the street, No. 67, is the public Office of “The Daily
News.”  This influential newspaper was started January 21, 1846, under
the supervision of Charles Dickens, and in the earlier numbers of the
journal were published instalments of his “Pictures from Italy.”  Dickens
shortly relinquished the editorship, being succeeded by his friends
Jerrold and Forster.  The fact is, Charles never greatly cared for the
study of general or party politics; but he always identified himself with
“the People—spelt with a large P, who are governed,” rather than “the
people—spelt with a small p, who govern.”

A short distance down Whitefriars’ Street is a passage (left) from which,
at a right angle riverwards, we may look into Hanging Sword Alley, where
Mr. Jeremiah Cruncher, messenger at Tellson’s, had his two apartments.
These “were very decently kept” by his wife, whose “flopping”
proclivities gave so much umbrage to Jerry.

On the opposite side of Fleet Street—No. 146—just beyond, we turn (left)
into _Wine Office Court_, and, on the right, we arrive at “Ye Olde
Cheshire Cheese.”  In “The Tale of Two Cities,” Book 2, chapter 4, we
read that _Charles Darnay_, being acquitted of the charge of high
treason, on his trial at the Old Bailey, was persuaded by the young
lawyer, _Sydney Carton_, to dine in his company thereafter:—

    “Drawing his arm through his own, he took him down Ludgate Hill to
    Fleet Street, and so up a covered way into a tavern.”

This, of course, was the tavern intended; it having been a noted resort
with literary and legal men for more than a century past.  Here Doctor
Johnson and Oliver Goldsmith frequently dined together in days gone by,
gravely discoursing over their punch afterwards; and, in more recent
years, Thackeray, Dickens, Jerrold, Sala, and others have been reckoned
among the customary guests of the establishment.  Mr. George Augustus
Sala, in a pleasant description of the place, writes as follows:—

    “Let it be noted in candour that Law finds its way to the ‘Cheese’ as
    well as Literature; but the Law is, as a rule, of the non-combatant,
    and, consequently, harmless order.  Literary men who have been called
    to the Bar, but do not practise; briefless young barristers, who do
    not object to mingling with newspaper men; with a sprinkling of
    retired solicitors (amazing dogs these for old port wine; the
    landlord has some of the same bin which served as Hippocrene to Judge
    Blackstone when he wrote his ‘Commentaries’)—these make up the legal
    element of the ‘Cheese.’”

The journey being resumed through Fleet Street, the visitor attains
_Ludgate Circus_, from which _Farringdon Street_ leads northward on the
left.  A short detour along this thoroughfare, facing the handsome bridge
of the Holborn Viaduct, will afford a sight of _Farringdon Market_ on the
left side.  Its position will recall the description given in “Barnaby
Rudge,” in whose days it was known as Fleet Market,

    “At that time a long irregular row of wooden sheds and penthouses
    occupying the centre of what is now called Farringdon Street. . . .
    It was indispensable to most public conveniences in those days that
    they should be public nuisances likewise, and Fleet Market maintained
    the principle to admiration.”

Here the rioters assembled—as narrated in the book before mentioned—and
passed a merry night in the midst of congenial surroundings.  Retracing
our steps, we may note, on the east side of Farringdon Street, the site
of the old Fleet Prison, on a part of which now stands the CONGREGATIONAL
MEMORIAL HALL.  The prison—fifty years since—stretched eastward in the
rear as far as the present premises of Messrs. Cassell and Co., Belle
Sauvage Yard.  Its last remaining walls were removed in 1872, when the
foundation-stone of the “Memorial Hall” aforesaid was laid.  Here was
imprisoned our amiable friend _Mr. Pickwick_, attended by his faithful
Sam, until the time when the costs of Messrs. Dodson and Fogg in _re_
Bardell _versus_ Pickwick were by him fully paid and satisfied.

Proceeding up _Ludgate Hill_, we may soon note the Belle Sauvage Yard
(turning by No. 68, on the left).  The old inn, with its central
metropolitan coach-yard, sixty years since occupied this site, where now
the extensive printing and publishing offices of Cassell and Co. hold
benignant sway.  The place is referred to in an anecdote of _Sam
Weller’s_ anent the preparation of his father’s marriage licence, as
arranged at Doctors’ Commons, the place being evidently regarded by that
respected coachman as his parochial headquarters in London—

    “‘What is your name, sir?’ says the lawyer.  ‘Tony Weller,’ says my
    father.  ‘Parish?’ says the lawyer.  ‘Belle Savage,’ says my father;
    for he stopped there when he drove up, and he know’d nothing about
    parishes, _he_ didn’t.”

The plan of the inn-yard is considerably changed from its olden style.
In Mr. Weller’s time it comprised two courts, the outer one being
approached from Ludgate Hill by the present entrance, and the Belle
Sauvage Inn forming a second quadrangle, with an archway about half-way
up from the main entrance.  In this interior court was the coach-yard,
surrounded by covered wooden galleries, in accordance with the fashion of
the times.

Passing onwards on the same side, past _Old Bailey_, we arrive at the
site of the London Coffee Tavern, No. 46 Ludgate Hill, now occupied by
the corner shop of Messrs. Hope Brothers, the well-known outfitters.  The
old house was pulled down in 1872.  Here _Mr. Arthur Clennam_ rested
awhile on his arrival “from Marseilles by way of Dover, and by Dover
coach, ‘the Blue-Eyed Maid,’” one dismal Sunday evening, as narrated in
chapter 3 of “Little Dorrit.”  We now soon come to St. Paul’s Churchyard,
facing the dial by which _Ralph Nickleby_ corrected his watch on his way
to the London Tavern, no doubt “stepping aside” into No.
1—Dakin’s—“doorway” to do it; and we may probably be disposed to endorse
_John Browdie’s_ verdict with reference to St. Paul’s Cathedral itself.
“See there, lass, there be Paul’s Church.  Ecod, he be a soizable one, he
be.”  This locality is also mentioned in “Barnaby Rudge” as being in the
line of road taken by _Lord George Gordon_ when entering London with his
friends _en route_ for his residence in Welbeck Street.  On the right,
within a short distance, we come to Dean’s Court, formerly DOCTORS’
COMMONS. This place is referred to by _Sam Weller_ as being in

    “St. Paul’s Churchyard—low archway on the carriage side, bookseller’s
    at one corner, hot-el on the other, and two porters in the middle, as
    touts for licences.”

He further relates to Mr. Pickwick the circumstance of his father’s
having been here persuaded to take a marriage licence, directing the
lady’s name to be filled in on speculation.

We hear more of Doctors’ Commons in the chronicles of “David

The Offices of Spenlow and Jorkins were situated in this locality; but
the site is now occupied by the Post Office Savings’ Bank in _Knightrider
Street_.  Passing through the Archway and by the Deanery of St. Paul’s
(right), we cross _Carter Lane_, and proceed by a narrow court, _Bell
Yard_, to the street above mentioned.  At the corner of Carter Lane and
Bell Yard is the “_Bell Tavern_,” which it may be interesting to note, as
a house where Mr. Dickens frequently rested, making his notes in
preparation for David’s “choice of a profession.”  For full particulars
the Rambler is referred to chapter 23 of David’s autobiography.

It may also be remembered that the worthy _Mr. Boffin_ (see “Our Mutual
Friend”), when instructing his attorney, seemed to be somewhat mixed in
his ideas relative to this institution.  In conversation with Mr.
Lightwood, he once referred to the same as a legal personality—“_Doctor

This locality has, of late years, altogether changed both its name and
aspect.  The old archway has disappeared.  As previously stated, it is
now known as Dean’s Court.  In connection with its old associations,
there exists _The Bishop of London’s Registry and Marriage Licence
Office_, at the east corner of the court; and there are some Proctors’
offices doing business, as in the days of Copperfield, in the

On the east side of the Cathedral, the visitor turns into Cheapside, soon
arriving, on the left-hand side of the way (No. 122), at Wood Street.
Associated with “Great Expectations,” as containing “Cross Keys Inn”
(“_The Castle_,” No. 25), at which house Mr. Pip arrived when first
visiting London, in accordance with instructions received per _Mr.

Crossing Cheapside, and onwards by the south side, we reach the
well-known establishment of the London Stereoscopic Company, No. 54.  It
may be interesting to know that this firm possesses the stuffed original
of “_Grip_,” the Raven, the fortunate bird that received a double
passport to fame, Dickens having narrated the particulars of its decease,
and Maclise having sketched its apotheosis.  This relic, so intimately
associated with the tale of “Barnaby Rudge,” was purchased at the public
sale of Mr. Dickens’s effects for £110, and its photographic portrait may
be now obtained at this address.

A few steps farther on the same side stands the old Church of St.
Mary-le-Bow, whose bells recalled Dick Whittington to fame and fortune.
These same bells are mentioned in the history of “Dombey and Son,”
chapter 4, as being within hearing at the offices of that important firm.

Passing on, and crossing to the north side of the thoroughfare, we arrive
at King Street (turning by No. 92), at the top of which is The Guildhall.
In the City Court attached thereto, that memorable case for breach of
promise of marriage, “Bardell _v._ Pickwick,” was contested, on which
occasion _Mr. Weller_, _senr._, emphatically insisted (from the body of
the Court) on Sam’s spelling his name with a “we,” and afterwards much
deplored the absence of certain technical defence on Mr. Pickwick’s
behalf—“Oh, Sammy, Sammy, vy vorn’t there a alleybi?”  Are not all these
and other particulars written in the chronicles of the “Pickwick
Papers”?—See chapter 34.

Resuming the promenade of Cheapside (still in the reverse direction of
the progress of Lord George Gordon and his escort), we come into the
Poultry, at the farther end, passing a turning on the left therefrom,
known as GROCERS’ HALL COURT.  It will be remembered that on one occasion
when Mr. Pickwick desired a quiet glass of brandy and water, Sam Weller,
whose “knowledge of London was extensive and peculiar,” led the way from
the Mansion House, proceeding by the second court on the right, to the
last house but one on the same side of the way, where he directed his
master to

    “Take the box as stands in the first fireplace, ’cos there a’n’t no
    leg in the middle of the table.”

In pursuance of these explicit instructions, we shall find that this
house is now in possession of Mr. Sheppard, gasfitter, but it is
recollected that it was, aforetime, a restaurant of the old-fashioned
sort.  Mr. Weller, the elder, was here introduced to his son’s patron,
and thereupon arranged for Mr. Pickwick’s journey to Ipswich.  At the end
of the Poultry we next approach, on the right, The Mansion House,
mentioned in “Barnaby Rudge” as the residence of the Mayor of London.  We
read of this civic potentate in the pages of “The Christmas Carol,” when,
one Christmas Eve,

    “The Lord Mayor, in the stronghold of the mighty Mansion House, gave
    orders to his fifty cooks and butlers to keep Christmas as a Lord
    Mayor’s household should.”

_Mark Tapley_ also—in America—once made jocose reference to this
location.  When speaking of Queen Victoria, he informed certain members
of the Watertoast Association to the following effect:—

    “She has lodgings, in virtue of her office, with the Lord Mayor at
    the Mansion House, but don’t often occupy them, in consequence of the
    parlour chimney smoking.”

Messrs. Dombey and Son had their offices in the City, within the sound of
Bow Bells, and not far from the Mansion House.  Their position was
probably in proximity to _The Royal Exchange_, but the address cannot be
definitely indicated.  Here Mr. Carker, the manager, reigned supreme, and
schemed for his own aggrandisement, regardless of the prosperity of the

The name of the firm is still perpetuated in the City, and the thriving
establishment of the well-known merchant tailors—DOMBEY & SON—will be
found at No. 120 _Cheapside_, at which a large and well-conducted
business is carried on.

From this point we may conveniently visit “His Lordship’s Larder” (at
three minutes’ distance), Cheapside, where we may advantageously refresh,
“rest, and be thankful.”

_Charing Cross to Thavies Inn_, _Holborn Circus_

South-Eastern Terminus—Spa Road Station—Jacob’s Island; Sykes’s last
Refuge—Butler’s Wharf, formerly Quilp’s Wharf—Quilp’s House, Tower
Hill—Trinity House and Garden; Bella Wilfer’s Waiting-place—Southwark
Bridge; Little Dorrit’s Promenade—The General Post Office—Falcon Hotel,
Falcon Square; John Jasper’s patronage—Little Britain; Office of Mr.
Jaggers—Smithfield—Newgate Prison; Pip’s description in “Great
Expectations”—The Old Bailey Criminal Court, as per “Tale of Two
Cities”—The Saracen’s Head; Associations with Nicholas
Nickleby—Clerkenwell Green; Oliver Twist and his Companions—Scene of the
Robbery—Line of Route taken by Oliver and “The Artful Dodger” from the
Angel to Saffron Hill—Hatton Garden Police Court; Administration of Mr.
Fang—Great Saffron Hill and Field Lane—Fagin’s House and the “Three
Cripples”—Bleeding Hart Yard; Factory of Doyce and Clennam; the Plornish
Family—Ely Place—Thavies Inn; Mrs. Jellyby’s Residence.

From the SOUTH-EASTERN TERMINUS at Charing Cross there are frequent
trains by which the Rambler can travel to _Spa Road Station_,
_Bermondsey_ (about twenty minutes’ ride), from which point the situation
of what was once Jacob’s Island may be conveniently visited.  This place
was associated with the adventures of _Oliver Twist_, being the last
refuge to which _Sykes_, the murderer of _Nancy_, betook himself on his
return to London, and where he met a righteous retribution when
attempting his escape.  It is described by Dickens—nearly sixty years
since—as being

    “Near to that part of the Thames on which the church at Rotherhithe
    abuts, where the buildings on the banks are dirtiest, and the vessels
    on the river blackest, with the dust of colliers and the smoke of
    close-built, low-roofed houses.  In such a neighbourhood, beyond
    Dockhead, in the borough of Southwark, stands Jacob’s Island,
    surrounded by a muddy ditch, six or eight feet deep, and fifteen or
    twenty wide when the tide is in, once called Mill Pond, but known in
    the days of this story as Folly Ditch.”

Arriving at _Spa Road_, the explorer turns left and right by the short
routes of _West Street South_, _Fream Street_, and _Rouel Road_, into
_Jamaica Road_ (five minutes from station); passing from the opposite
side of which, through _Parker’s Row_ to the thoroughfare of _Dockhead_,
he will find himself face to face with a tavern on the north side, named
“The Swan and Sugar Loaf.”  A short cut on the right of this house leads
immediately to LONDON STREET, its northern side forming the south
boundary of the old site of Jacob’s Island.  _Folly Ditch_, flowing from
the Thames through Mill Street, took its course through London Street (it
has been filled in since 1851); and in these streets wooden bridges
crossed to the Island, and “crazy wooden galleries, common to the backs
of half-a-dozen houses”—referred to by the novelist—used to “ornament the
banks of Folly Ditch.”  To the right we pass into _George Row_, enclosing
Jacob’s Island (east), and may note _en passant_ the blocks of workmen’s
dwellings, erected 1883, named “Wolseley’s Buildings,” which occupy the
site of the old Island on its eastern side.  From George Row we turn
(right) into _Jacob Street_, north of the Island, by which we come into
_Mill Street_ (west); again returning to _London Street_, and so
completing the circumnavigation of this interesting locality.  Some of
the old wooden erections still exist in _Farthing Alley_, _Halfpenny
Alley_, and _Edward Street_, which intersect the area.  In his preface to
the first cheap edition of “Oliver Twist,” the author makes a further
reference, as follows:—

    “In the year one thousand eight hundred and fifty, it was publicly
    declared in London by an amazing alderman, that Jacob’s Island did
    not exist, and never had existed.  Jacob’s Island continues to exist
    (like an ill-bred place as it is) in the year one thousand eight
    hundred and sixty-seven, though improved and much changed.”

Starting westward from “The Swan and Sugar Loaf,” we now proceed through
_Thornton Street_, and turn to the right, by one block in the street
beyond, into _Queen Street_, which leads directly north to the riverside.
At the end of this street is the locality of Quilp’s Wharf and place of
business, aforetime described in the pages of “The Old Curiosity Shop”:—

    “A small, rat-infested, dreary yard, in which were a little wooden
    counting-house, burrowing all awry in the dust as if it had fallen
    from the clouds, and ploughed into the ground; a few fragments of
    rusty anchors, several large iron rings, some piles of rotten wood,
    and two or three heaps of old sheet copper—crumpled, cracked, and

The place has been altogether altered and improved during the last forty
years, and is now known as “Butler’s Wharf,” but the original prototype
of Quilp is still remembered by some of the older residents of the

The westward route being continued by the side of the river, we walk
through _Shad Thames_ and _Pickle Herring Street_ (underneath an archway)
to _Vine Street_, where is the southern entrance of the _Tower Subway_,
by which we may cross below the river to the other side.  Emerging near
the Tower, Quilp’s House, on Tower Hill, is near at hand.  No. 6 Tower
Dock, facing the public entrance to the Tower, is said to have comprised
the lodging assigned by Dickens for the accommodation of Mr. and Mrs.
Daniel Quilp and Mrs. Jiniwin.  We may here recall the matrons’
tea-meeting, as described in chapter 4 of “The Old Curiosity Shop,” when
Quilp’s conduct as a husband was freely discussed, and much good advice
tendered to Mrs. Quilp for the true assertion of her rights and dignity.
Also the notable occasion when, the master of the house being missing and
thought to be drowned, _Mr. Sampson Brass_ was in consultation, and the
party were unpleasantly surprised, as they were preparing a descriptive
advertisement, by the sudden appearance of the Dwarf, as lively and
sarcastic as ever.

    “A question now arises with regard to his nose.  ‘Flat,’ said Mrs.
    Jiniwin.  ‘Aquiline!’ cried Quilp, thrusting in his head, and
    striking the feature with his fist.  ‘Aquiline, you hag.  Do you see
    it?  Do you call this flat?  Do you?  Eh?’”

Hard by this locality stands Trinity House, Tower Hill, with its garden
in front, and it may be remembered that _Mr. Wilfer_ suggested this
neighbourhood as a waiting-place for Bella, on the occasion of their
“innocent elopement” to Greenwich, while he should array himself in new
garments at her expense, to do honour to the expedition.  We now turn
westward by _Tower Street_, and may save time by taking train at _Mark
Lane Station_ for the Mansion House, about ten minutes’ ride.  On arrival
at the Mansion House Station we shall find _Queen Street_ close at hand,
leading riverwards to Southwark Bridge, referred to in “Little Dorrit” as
the Iron Bridge.  This was Amy Dorrit’s favourite promenade, it being
quieter than many of the neighbouring thoroughfares; and we may recall
the scene when young _John Chivery_ was obliged to take no for an answer,
when he attempted the proffer of his hand and heart.

Proceeding onwards through _Cannon Street_, we turn to the right through
_St. Paul’s Churchyard_, crossing Cheapside to the stately edifice of the
General Post Office, _St. Martin’s-le-Grand_.  This building, in the
times of “Nicholas Nickleby,” occasioned honest John Browdie some

    “Wa-at dost thee tak’ yon place to be, noo, that ’un ower the wa’?
    Ye’d never coom near it, gin ye thried for twolve moonths.  It’s na
    but a Poast-office.  Ho, ho! they need to charge for double latthers.
    A Poast-office!  What dost thee think of that?  Ecod, if that’s on’y
    a Poast-office, loike to see where the Lord Mayor o’ Lunnon lives!”

_Aldersgate Street_ leads northward from St. Martin’s-le-Grand; passing
the first block in which, _Falcon Street_ turns on the right (No. 16)
towards _Falcon Square_, a small city piazza, where may be found (No. 8)
The Falcon Hotel.  This is the place at which John Jasper sojourned when
visiting London.  In “The Mystery of Edwin Drood” we read the following
commendation of the house in question:—

    “It is hotel, boarding-house, or lodging-house at its visitor’s
    option.  It announces itself, in the new Railway advertisers, as a
    novel enterprise, timidly beginning to spring up.  It bashfully,
    almost apologetically, gives the traveller to understand that it does
    not expect him, on the good old constitutional hotel plan, to order a
    pint of sweet blacking for his drinking, and throw it away; but
    insinuates that he may have his boots blacked instead of his stomach,
    and may also have bed, breakfast, attendance, and a porter up all
    night, for a certain fixed charge.”

Returning to Aldersgate Street, we shall find that the opposite turning,
leading to Smithfield, is _Little Britain_.  In “Great Expectations” we
learn that the Offices of Mr. Jaggers, the Old Bailey lawyer, were here
situated, in near proximity to Bartholomew Close; but the house cannot be
precisely indicated.  Here _Mr. Wemmick_ assisted his Principal in the
details of his professional business.  He may be remembered as having a
decided preference for “portable property.”

Proceeding onward by _Duke Street_, the visitor will shortly come into
Smithfield, a locality which is considerably changed since the days when
Pip first arrived in London.  He says—

    “When I told the clerk that I would take a turn in the air while I
    waited, he advised me to go round the corner and I should come into
    Smithfield.  So I came into Smithfield; and the shameful place, being
    all asmear with filth, and fat, and blood, and foam, seemed to stick
    to me.  So, I rubbed it off with all possible speed by turning into a
    street where I saw the great black dome of Saint Paul’s bulging at me
    from behind a grim stone building which a bystander said was Newgate

Adopting the same line of route, the Rambler may pass the south front of
the Metropolitan Meat Market, turning to the left by St. Bartholomew’s
Hospital into _Giltspur Street_, which leads to Newgate Street, and faces
on the opposite corner of Old Bailey Newgate Prison.  In “Great
Expectations,” Pip describes his visit to the interior, at the invitation
and in the company of Mr. Wemmick:—

    “We passed through the Lodge, where some fetters were hanging up, on
    the bare walls among the prison rules, into the interior of the jail.
    At that time jails were much neglected, and the period of exaggerated
    reaction consequent on all public wrong-doing—and which is always its
    longest and heaviest punishment—was still far off.  So, felons were
    not lodged and fed better than soldiers (to say nothing of paupers),
    and seldom set fire to their prisons with the excusable object of
    improving the flavour of their soup.  It was visiting-time when
    Wemmick took me in, and a potman was going his rounds with beer, and
    the prisoners behind bars in yards were buying beer and talking to
    friends; and a frowsy, ugly, disorderly, depressing scene it was.”

Again, it may be remarked that things have much improved since the good
old days.  _Inter alia_, the principles and rules of prison management
and discipline have greatly changed for the better.

In the tale of “Barnaby Rudge” is the narrative of the burning of Newgate
and the liberation of the prisoners by the rioters (1780), on which
occasion it will be remembered that our old friend Gabriel Varden was
somewhat roughly handled.  For full particulars, see chapter 64.

Immediately south of Newgate is the adjacent Central Criminal Court of
The Old Bailey, the scene of Charles Darnay’s trial in “The Tale of Two
Cities.”  At the time there described (1775)—

    “The Old Bailey was famous as a kind of deadly Inn yard, from which
    pale travellers set out continually, in carts and coaches, on a
    violent passage to the other world, traversing some two miles and a
    half of public street and road, and shaming few good citizens, if
    any.  So powerful is use, and so desirable to be good use in the
    beginning.  It was famous, too, for the pillory, a wise old
    institution, that inflicted a punishment of which no one could
    foresee the extent; also for the whipping-post, another dear old
    institution, very humanising and softening to behold in action; also
    for extensive transactions in blood-money, another fragment of
    ancestral wisdom.”

Facing eastward from Newgate Street is the _Holborn Viaduct_, which has
for many years superseded the old ascending and descending road of
Holborn Hill.

The Saracen’s Head, the old coaching-house on Snow Hill, with which we
have been familiar from the days of “Nicholas Nickleby,” as the
headquarters of Mr. Squeers, has disappeared since 1868, having been
pulled down long ago, with many other buildings of this neighbourhood,
giving room to the great improvements which have taken place in this part
of London.  Hereabouts it stood, on a lower level, not far from St.
Sepulchre’s Church—

    “Just on that particular part of Snow Hill where omnibus horses going
    eastward seriously think of falling down on purpose, and horses in
    hackney cabriolets going westward not unfrequently fall by accident.”

The present _Police Station_, Snow Hill, stands on part of the site
formerly occupied by this old hostelry.

This modern thoroughfare of Snow Hill commences at the first turning on
the right, in which has been erected a commodious hotel of the same name
(No. 10), where, by the aid of a little refreshment and a slight exercise
of imagination, we may recall the departure of Nicholas for Dotheboy’s
Hall, Greta Bridge, by the Yorkshire coach, with Mr. Squeers and the
pupils; also the later arrival in London of Mr. and Mrs. Browdie,
accompanied by the lovely Fanny as bridesmaid, and the first meeting of
Nicholas with Frank Cheeryble, newly returned from Continental travel.

Snow Hill leads to the lower level of _Farringdon Road_, at a point
immediately north of the Holborn Viaduct spanning the thoroughfare, in
which, turning to the right, we walk onwards to the intersection of
_Clerkenwell Road_ (eight minutes’ work).  On the right hand, across the
railway, is Clerkenwell Green, referred to in “Oliver Twist” as

    “That open square in Clerkenwell which is yet called by some strange
    perversion of terms The Green.”

It was near this place that little Oliver became enlightened as to the
business of Charley Bates and the Artful Dodger.  We read that the boys,
traversing a narrow court in this neighbourhood, came out opposite a
bookstall, where Mr. Brownlow was reading, abstracted from all other
mundane considerations, so affording “a prime plant” for the operations
of these light-fingered gentlemen.  This court leads from the road
opposite the Sessions House into _Pear Tree Court_, giving into the main
road at some distance beyond, at which the scene above referred to was

Walking onwards by the _King’s Cross Road_ we soon come to the point
where _Exmouth Street_ joins it from the east, facing the south-east
angle of the House of Correction.  Here we strike into the route taken by
Oliver Twist when he first came from Barnet to London, under the escort
of _Mr. John Dawkins_.  The text of the story is as follows:—

    “They crossed from the ‘Angel’ into St. John’s Road, struck down the
    small street which terminates at Sadler’s Wells Theatre, through
    Exmouth Street and Coppice Row, down the little court by the side of
    the Workhouse, across the classic ground which once bore the name of
    Hockley-in-the-Hole, thence into Little Saffron Hill, and so into
    Saffron Hill the Great.”

Following the line thus indicated from Exmouth Street, we come on the
south side of the Workhouse, nearly opposite Little Saffron Hill, which
leads into _Great Saffron Hill_ as above.  Crossing _Clerkenwell Road_,
and proceeding for a short distance down Great Saffron Hill, we arrive at
the cross street of _Hatton Wall_, in which, past two doors to the left
on the south side, will be found—between the _Hat and Tun Inn_ and No. 17
beyond—the entrance of HATTON YARD, a long narrow lane or mews (leading
to _Kirby Street_), occupied by carmen and stabling.  In this eligible
position was situated, some fifty years since, “the very notorious
Metropolitan Police Court” to which Oliver Twist was taken on the charge
of theft; and we may here recall the administration of the presiding
magistrate, the notable Mr. Fang, as shown in the examination of the

The premises (No. 9, on the left) once formed part and parcel of the
police court referred to; but the arrangements of the neighbourhood have
been subjected to much alteration during the last half century.  Mr.
Forster states that Dickens “had himself a satisfaction in admitting the
identity of Mr. Fang, in ‘Oliver Twist,’ with Mr. Laing of Hatton
Garden.”  In a letter (now in possession of Mr. S. R. Goodman, of
Brighton) written to Mr. Haines, Reporter, June 3rd, 1838, Dickens writes
as follows:—

    “In my next number of ‘Oliver Twist’ I must have a magistrate; and,
    casting about for a magistrate whose harshness and insolence would
    render him a fit subject to be _shown up_, I have as a necessary
    consequence stumbled upon Mr. Laing of Hatton Garden celebrity.  I
    know the man’s character perfectly well; but as it would be necessary
    to describe his personal appearance also, I ought to have seen him,
    which (fortunately or unfortunately as the case may be) I have never
    done.  In this dilemma it occurred to me that perhaps I might under
    your auspices be smuggled into the Hatton Garden office for a few
    moments some morning.  If you can further my object I shall be really
    very greatly obliged to you.”

“The opportunity was found; the magistrate was brought up before the
novelist; and shortly after, on some fresh outbreak of intolerable
temper, the Home Secretary found it an easy and popular step to remove
Mr. Laing from the Bench.”

Returning to GREAT SAFFRON HILL, we may recall its description as given
in the days of “Oliver Twist”—

    “The street was very narrow and muddy, and the air was impregnated
    with filthy odours.  The sole places that seemed to prosper amid the
    general blight of the place were the public-houses, and in them the
    lowest orders of the Irish were wrangling with might and main.
    Covered ways and yards, which here and there diverged from the main
    street, disclosed little knots of houses where drunken men and women
    were positively wallowing in filth.”

Field Lane, in the immediate vicinity, _was_

    “Near to that spot on which Snow Hill and Holborn Hill meet . . a
    narrow dismal alley leading to Saffron Hill.  In its filthy shops are
    exposed for sale huge bunches of second-hand silk handkerchiefs of
    all sizes and patterns, for here reside the traders who purchase them
    from the pickpockets.”

This place has been effaced by the Holborn Valley improvements, and we
may now look in vain for the precise locality of the house of _Fagin_ the
Jew.  In this neighbourhood also was situated “The Three Cripples,” a
public-house of evil repute patronised by Sykes, Fagin, and Monks.  We
may recall the circumstance of _Mr. Morris Bolter’s_ (_alias_ Noah
Claypole’s) arrival at this house, when he and _Charlotte_ first came to
London, and of his subsequent interview with the wily Jew.

It is pleasant to remark that Saffron Hill has greatly improved in its
character since the above-quoted description was correct.  It now affords
accommodation for the headquarters of the _Central Shoeblacks’ Society_
(as established under the auspices of the late Earl of Shaftesbury), and
about midway in the street where thieves “did once inhabit,” a large
_Board School_ is doing good educational service for the elevation of the
humbler classes.

Turning from Great Saffron Hill westward by the _One Tun_ public-house,
we come into _Charles Street_, on the south side of which, towards Hatton
Garden, is Bleeding Hart Yard (entrance by the Bleeding Hart Tavern, No.
19).  This locality is associated with the tale of “Little Dorrit.”  It
will be remembered that here the factory of _Messrs. Doyce and Clennam_
was situated, and here also resided _Mr. and Mrs. Plornish_, the humble
friends of the Dorrit family.  In these degenerate days the place has
much altered, and the amiable _Mr. Casby_ would certainly find it more
difficult than ever to collect his weekly dues, even by the agency of his
energetic assistant, Mr. Pancks.

Passing from this unpretending locality, we come (at No. 8) into _Hatton
Garden_, which leads southward to _Holborn Circus_.

In Hatton Garden, on the east side, can be observed (No. 20) the
old-established warehouse of Messrs. Rowland and Son.  In this connection
there may be remembered the mad old gentleman “in small clothes,” who
lived next door to the _Nicklebys_, at Bow.  On the only occasion of his
visiting the family indoors, he incidentally referred to “Mrs. Rowland,
who, every morning, bathes in Kalydor for nothing.”—See “Nicholas
Nickleby,” chapter 49.

Mr. Waterbrook’s establishment, situated in _Ely Place_, _Holborn_, is
entitled to passing mention as the place where David and his friend
Traddles met each other for the first time after their schoolboy days, on
the occasion of a dinner-party, at which also _Agnes Wickfield_ and
_Uriah Heep_ attended.  Ely Place is situated on the north side of
HOLBORN CIRCUS, and once comprised the rose garden of the Bishop of Ely,
afterwards leased to Sir Christopher Hatton.

On the opposite side of the Circus, and near to St. Andrew’s Church, is
situated Thavies Inn, in which _Mrs. Jellyby_ and family resided, in the
days when her daughter _Caddy_ acted as amanuensis _in re_ the affairs of

It is described in “Bleak House” as being

    “A narrow street of high houses like an oblong cistern to hold the

The house No. 13, on the right, has been indicated as once the disorderly
residence of the Jellyby family.  We may recollect it as the place where
_Esther Summerson_ and _Ada_ were accommodated for their first night in
London, on which occasion little unfortunate _Peepy_ was found with his
head between the area railings, and the house generally turned upside
down; while Mrs. Jellyby serenely dictated her correspondence in the
family sitting-room, altogether oblivious of such minor domestic

Esther thus narrates her first impressions:—

    “Mrs. Jellyby had very good hair, but was too much occupied with her
    African duties to brush it.  The shawl in which she had been loosely
    muffled dropped on to her chair, when she advanced towards us; and,
    as she turned to resume her seat, we could not help noticing that her
    dress didn’t nearly meet up the back, and that the open space was
    railed across with a lattice work of staylace—like a summer house. .
    . .  ‘You find me, my dears,’ said Mrs. Jellyby, ‘as usual, very
    busy; but that you will excuse.  The African project at present
    employs my whole time. . . .  We hope by this time next year to have
    from a hundred and fifty to two hundred healthy families cultivating
    coffee and educating the natives of Borrioboola-Gha, on the left bank
    of the Niger.”—See “Bleak House,” chapter 4.

_The Buffet of Messrs. Spiers and Pond_ will be found a short distance
eastward from Holborn Circus, on the right, next the terminus of the
London, Chatham, and Dover railway.  A visit to its welcome “contiguity
of shade” is confidently recommended to those who may be disposed for
necessary rest and refreshment.

_Holborn Circus to Tottenham Court Road_

Langdale’s Distillery—Barnard’s Inn; Pip’s Chambers—Furnival’s Inn;
Dickens’s and John Westlock’s Apartments—Staple Inn; Mr. Grewgious’s
Chambers, P.J.T.; Rooms of Neville Landless and Mr. Tartar; “The Magic
Bean-Stalk Country”—Gray’s Inn; Mr. and Mrs. Traddles and “the girls;”
Offices of Mr. Perker—The Bull Inn; Scene of Lewsome’s Illness—Kingsgate
Street; Poll Sweedlepipe’s Shop; Sairey Gamp’s Apartments—Mrs.
Billickin’s Lodgings in Southampton Street; Miss Twinkleton and Rosa
Budd—Bloomsbury Square; Lord Mansfield’s Residence—Queen Square—The
Children’s Hospital; Johnny’s Will—Foundling Hospital; “No Thoroughfare;”
Walter Wilding—“The Boot Tavern”—No. 48 Doughty Street—Tavistock House,
Tavistock Square—Mrs. Dickens’s Establishment, No. 4 Gower Street, North;
Mrs. Wilfer’s Doorplate—No. 1 Devonshire Terrace—Mr. Merdle’s House,
Harley Street—Mr. Dombey’s House—Madame Mantalini’s, Wigmore
Street—Wimpole Street; Mr. Boffin’s West-end Residence—Welbeck Street;
Lord George Gordon’s Residence—Brook Street, Claridge’s Hotel; Mr.
Dorrit’s Return—Devonshire House; Guild of Literature and Art—Hatchett’s
Hotel; White Horse Cellars; Mr. Guppy in attendance—193 Piccadilly;
Messrs. Chapman and Hall—Golden Square; Ralph Nickleby’s
Office—Apartments of the Kenwigs family—The Crown Inn—“Martha’s”
Lodgings—Newman Street; Mr. Turveydrop’s Academy—Carlisle House; Doctor
Manette and Lucie.

From HOLBORN CIRCUS the Rambler now proceeds westward by the main
thoroughfare of _Holborn_, passing _Fetter Lane_ on the left, and arrives
at (No. 26) the old premises, now partially rebuilt, formerly Langdale’s
Distillery.  Half of the same remains (at the moment), but will shortly
be superseded by a modern building.  The eastern portion is occupied by
Messrs. Buchanan, whisky merchants, who have recently purchased the
premises.  This establishment was sacked (1780) by the Gordon rioters.
Mr. Langdale being a Catholic, was obnoxious to the No-Popery mob; and
the stores of liquor at this distillery afforded an additional temptation
for the attack.  The terrible scenes enacted on the occasion are
powerfully described in “Barnaby Rudge,” chapters 67 and 68—

    “At this place a large detachment of soldiery were posted, who fired,
    now up Fleet Market, now up Holborn, now up Snow Hill—constantly
    raking the streets in each direction.  At this place too, several
    large fires were burning, so that all the terrors of that terrible
    night seemed to be concentrated in one spot.

    “Full twenty times, the rioters, headed by one man who wielded an axe
    in his right hand, and bestrode a brewer’s horse of great size and
    strength, caparisoned with fetters taken out of Newgate, which
    clanked and jingled as he went, made an attempt to force a passage at
    this point, and fire the vintner’s house.  Full twenty times they
    were repulsed with loss of life, and still came back again; and
    though the fellow at their head was marked and singled out by all,
    and was a conspicuous object as the only rioter on horseback, not a
    man could hit him. . . .

    “The vintner’s house, with half-a-dozen others near at hand, was one
    great, glowing blaze.  All night, no one had essayed to quench the
    flames, or stop their progress; but now a body of soldiers were
    actively engaged in pulling down two old wooden houses, which were
    every moment in danger of taking fire, and which could scarcely fail,
    if they were left to burn, to extend the conflagration immensely.

    “. . .  The gutters of the street, and every crack and fissure in the
    stones, ran with scorching spirit, which being dammed up by busy
    hands, overflowed the road and pavement, and formed a great pool,
    into which the people dropped down dead by dozens.  They lay in heaps
    all round this fearful pond, husbands and wives, fathers and sons,
    mothers and daughters, women with children in their arms and babies
    at their breasts, and drank until they died.  While some stooped with
    their lips to the brink and never raised their heads again, others
    sprang up from their fiery draught, and danced, half in a mad
    triumph, and half in the agony of suffocation, until they fell, and
    steeped their corpses in the liquor that had killed them. . . .

    “On this last night of the great riots—for the last night it was—the
    wretched victims of a senseless outcry, became themselves the dust
    and ashes of the flames they had kindled, and strewed the public
    streets of London.”

It will be remembered that Mr. Langdale and Mr. Haredale, being in the
house that night, were rescued by Edward Chester and Joe Willett, all
four finding their way to safety by a back entrance.

    “The narrow lane in the rear was quite free of people.  So, when they
    had crawled through the passage indicated by the vintner (which was a
    mere shelving-trap for the admission of casks), and had managed with
    some difficulty to unchain and raise the door at the upper end, they
    emerged into the street without being observed or interrupted.  Joe
    still holding Mr. Haredale tight, and Edward taking the same care of
    the vintner, they hurried through the streets at a rapid pace.”

This door gives into Fetter Lane (No. 79), and still exists for the
inspection of the curious.  The old house in Holborn has, for more than a
century, replaced the premises so destroyed.  Close at hand (by No. 23)
is the entrance to Barnard’s Inn—

    “The dingiest collection of shabby buildings ever squeezed together
    in a rank corner as a club for tom-cats.”

The locality is referred to in these complimentary terms by Mr. Pip (in
the pages of “Great Expectations”), who lived here with his friend
Herbert Pocket for a short time when he first came to London.  Mr. Joe
Gargery’s verdict is worth remembrance:—

    “The present may be a wery good inn, and I believe its character do
    stand i; but I wouldn’t keep a pig in it myself, not in the case that
    I wished him to fatten wholesome, and to eat with a meller flavour on

Pip further describes as follows:—

    “We entered this haven through a wicket-gate, and were disgorged by
    an introductory passage into a melancholy little square that looked
    to me like a flat burying-ground.  I thought it had the most dismal
    trees in it, and the most dismal sparrows, and the most dismal cats,
    and the most dismal houses (in number half-a-dozen or so), that I had
    ever seen. . . .  A frowzy mourning of soot and smoke attired this
    forlorn creation of Barnard, and it had strewed ashes on its head,
    and was undergoing penance and humiliation as a mere dust-hole.  Thus
    for my sense of sight; while dry rot, and wet rot, and all the silent
    rots that rot in neglected root and cellar—rot of rat, and mouse, and
    bug, and coaching stables near at hand besides—addressed themselves
    faintly to my sense of smell, and moaned, ‘Try Barnard’s Mixture.’”

Great alterations are now (1899) being carried out; the old buildings—as
above referred to by Mr. Pip—have been demolished, and a new and better
arrangement of the locality is in active progress for the improvement of
the neighbourhood.

On the opposite side of Holborn are the handsome and extensive offices of
THE PRUDENTIAL ASSURANCE COMPANY.  These premises, with their frontage,
occupy the site of FURNIVAL’S INN, which has recently disappeared, having
been pulled down to make room for the extension of the Assurance offices
above referred to—_Sic transit memoria mundi_.

Furnival’s Inn was an interesting locality, as associated with the
earlier experience of Mr. Dickens himself.  Here the young author resided
in 1835, the year previous to the production of the “Pickwick Papers,”
the first number of that work being published April 1, 1836.  On the day
following that notable date, Mr. Dickens married Miss Catherine Hogarth;
and for some time the young couple resided on the third floor apartments
at _No._ 15 _Furnival’s Inn_—on the right side of the square.  A personal
reminiscence of these early days is no doubt intended in chapter 59 of
“David Copperfield;” a pleasant description being there given of the
residential chambers of Mr. and Mrs. Traddles, as located in Gray’s Inn
just beyond.

_Mr. John Westlock_ had his bachelor apartments in this same place at
Furnival’s Inn (_vide_ “Martin Chuzzlewit”), and here he received the
unexpected visit of Tom Pinch on his first arrival in London.  We may
remember the incidents of that cordial welcome, when

    “John was constantly running backwards and forwards to and from the
    closet, bringing out all sorts of things in pots, scooping
    extraordinary quantities of tea out of the caddy, dropping French
    rolls into his boots, pouring hot water over the butter, and making a
    variety of similar mistakes, without disconcerting himself in the

In the centre of the interior square, standing within the precincts of
Furnival’s Inn during the past seventy-five years, and flourishing in
recent days—a quiet oasis of retirement and good cheer amidst the bustle
and noise of central London—there existed (until 1895) Woods’ Hotel.
This hotel was associated with “The Mystery of Edwin Drood,” being the
house at which Mr. Grewgious found accommodation for the charming Rosa
Budd (on the occasion of her flight from the importunities of Jasper at
Cloisterham), including an “unlimited head chambermaid” for her special
behoof and benefit.

    “Rosa’s room was airy, clean, comfortable, almost gay.  The Unlimited
    had laid in everything omitted from the very little bag (that is to
    say, everything she could possibly need), and Rosa tripped down the
    great many stairs again, to thank her guardian for his thoughtful and
    affectionate care of her.

    “‘Not at all, my dear,’ said Mr. Grewgious, infinitely gratified; ‘it
    is I who thank you for your charming confidence and for your charming
    company.  Your breakfast will be provided for you in a neat, compact,
    and graceful little sitting-room (appropriate to your figure), and I
    will come to you at ten o’clock in the morning.  I hope you don’t
    feel very strange indeed, in this strange place.’

    “‘Oh no, I feel so safe!’

    “‘Yes, you may be sure that the stairs are fire-proof,’ said Mr.
    Grewgious, ‘and that any outbreak of the devouring element would be
    perceived and suppressed by the watchmen.’

    “‘I did not mean that,’ Rosa replied.  ‘I mean, I feel so safe from

    “‘There is a stout gate of iron bars to keep him out,’ said Mr.
    Grewgious smiling; ‘and Furnival’s is fire-proof, and specially
    watched and lighted, and _I_ live over the way!’  In the stoutness of
    his knight-errantry, he seemed to think the last-named protection
    all-sufficient.  In the same spirit he said to the gate-porter as he
    went out, ‘If some one staying in the hotel should wish to send
    across the road to me in the night, a crown will be ready for the
    messenger.’  In the same spirit, he walked up and down outside the
    iron gate for the best part of an hour, with some solicitude;
    occasionally looking in between the bars, as if he had laid a dove in
    a high roost in a cage of lions, and had it on his mind that she
    might tumble out.”

The Hotel was originally built 1818–19, and was enlarged as recently as
1884.  Woods was the proprietor for fifty years.

Crossing to the other side of the street, at a short distance onwards,
opposite Gray’s Inn Road, the Rambler reaches (by No. 334 High Holborn)
the gateway of Staple Inn; a little nook, composed of two irregular
quadrangles behind the most ancient part of Holborn, where certain gabled
houses, some centuries of age, still stand looking on the public way.
Staple Inn was the favourite summer promenade of the meditative _Mr.
Snagsby_ (see “Bleak House”); and in this Inn _Mr. Grewgious_ occupied a
set of chambers.  The house is No. 10, in the inner quadrangle,
“presenting in black and white, over its ugly portal, the mysterious
inscription, ‘P. J. T., 1747.’  Perhaps John Thomas, or Perhaps Joe
Tyler.”  And, under certain social conditions, “for a certainty, P. J. T.
was Pretty Jolly Too.”  _Neville Landless_ also had rooms in this
locality; the top set in the corner (on the right), overlooking the
garden “where a few smoky sparrows twitter in the smoky trees, as though
they had called to each other, ‘let us play at country.’”  Close to these
lived _Mr. Tartar_, in “the neatest, the cleanest, and the best-ordered
chambers ever seen under the sun, moon, and stars.”  And we may recall
the writer’s delicate treatment of this, the blushing “beanstalk country”
of dear little Rosa Budd.  For the several associations herewith
connected, reference should be made to our author’s last book, “The
Mystery of Edwin Drood.”—See concluding paragraphs of chapter 21:—

    “Rosa wondered what the girls would say if they could see her
    crossing the wide street on the sailor’s arm.  And she fancied that
    the passers-by must think her very little and very helpless,
    contrasted with the strong figure that could have caught her up and
    carried her out of any danger, miles and miles without resting.

    “She was thinking further, that his far-seeing blue eyes looked as if
    they had been used to watch danger afar off, and to watch it without
    flinching, drawing nearer and nearer: when, happening to raise her
    own eyes, she found that he seemed to be thinking something about

    “This a little confused Rosebud, and may account for her never
    afterwards quite knowing how she ascended (with his help) to his
    garden in the air, and seemed to get into a marvellous country that
    came into sudden bloom like the country on the summit of the magic
    bean-stalk.  May it flourish for ever!”

                     [Picture: Doorway in Staple Inn]

In this connection, the reader may be interested in chapter 22; the first
part of which deals most tenderly and beautifully with “love’s awaking,”
in the heart of the innocent heroine.

Recrossing to the other side of High Holborn, past _Gray’s Inn Road_ (on
the north), at No. 22, we reach the gateway of GRAY’S INN.  At No. 2
South Square (formerly Holborn Court) we may find the upper chambers
formerly occupied by _Mr. Traddles_ and his wife _Sophy_, whose domestic
arrangements included accommodation for “the beauty” and the other
Devonshire sisters.  Copperfield says, in the chapter before referred

    “If I had beheld a thousand roses blowing in a top set of chambers,
    in that withered Gray’s Inn, they could not have brightened it half
    so much.  The idea of those Devonshire girls, among the dry
    law-stationers, and the attorneys’ offices; and of the tea and toast,
    and children’s songs, in that grim atmosphere of pounce and
    parchment, red-tape, dusty wafers, ink-jars, brief and draft paper,
    law reports, writs, declarations, and bills of costs, seemed almost
    as pleasantly fanciful as if I had dreamed that the Sultan’s famous
    family had been admitted on the roll of attorneys, and had brought
    the talking-bird, the singing-tree, and the Golden water into Gray’s
    Inn Hall.”

The offices of _Mr. Perker_, the legal adviser of Mr. Pickwick, were also
located in Gray’s Inn.  We read that the “outer door” of these chambers
was to be found “after climbing two pairs of steep and dirty stairs;” but
no indication is given of their exact situation.

Proceeding westward from Gray’s Inn, and passing the stately, elegant,
and commodious _First Avenue Hotel_, between Warwick Court and Brownlow
Street, and a half-a-dozen side streets beyond, we come, on the north
side, at No. 92, to the Bull and Anchor Tavern.  This is the house known
in the pages of “Martin Chuzzlewit” as “_The Bull Inn_,” then a more
important hostelry than at present.  It will be remembered as the inn at
which Mr. Lewsome, during his illness, was professionally attended by
_Sairey Gamp_ and _Betsy Prig_, “turn and turn about.”

Passing on to the next turning but one, we reach Kingsgate Street, where
_Poll Sweedlepipes_—barber and bird-fancier—once had his business
location, “next door but one to the celebrated mutton-pie shop, and
directly opposite the original cat’s-meat warehouse.”  At this place the
immortal _Mrs. Gamp_ had lodgings on the first floor, where she

    “Was easily assailed at night by pebbles, walking-sticks, and
    fragments of tobacco pipes, all much more efficacious than the
    street-door knocker, which was so constructed as to wake the street
    with ease, and even spread alarms of fire in Holborn, without making
    the smallest impression on the premises to which it was addressed.”

It is recollected in the neighbourhood that, fifty years since, a barber
by the name of Patterson (who was also a bird-dealer) lived in this
street, at the second house on the left.  The shop has been pulled down,
is now absorbed by the corner premises in Holborn, and can be only
identified by its position.  Here, then, did _Mr. Pecksniff_ arrive on
his doleful mission, in accordance with the recommendation of _Mr.
Mould_, the undertaker, with regard to the death of old _Anthony
Chuzzlewit_; and here did that memorable teapot cause a lasting
difference between two friends, as narrated in chapter 49 of “Martin
Chuzzlewit.”  “This world-famous personage, Mrs. Gamp, has passed into
and become one with the language” whose vernacular she has adorned with
her own flowers of speech.  As Mr. Forster remarks, “she will remain
among the everlasting triumphs of fiction, a superb masterpiece of
English humour.”  “Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale, her infinite
variety.”  At the Holborn corner of Kingsgate Street we may remember _Mr.
Bailey_, _junior_, on the occasion when, at this exact spot, he collided
with Poll Sweedlepipes, afterwards going “round and round in circles on
the pavement,” the better to exhibit to Poll’s admiring gaze his
fashionable livery as Tiger in the service of _Mr. Montague Tigg_,
“rather to the inconvenience of the passengers generally, who were not in
an equal state of spirits with himself.”

The next turning but one, westward, on the right, by the West Central
Post Office (No. 126), is Southampton Street, leading to Bloomsbury

Here it will be remembered that lodgings were taken by Mr. Grewgious for
_Miss Twinkleton_ and Rosa, of the redoubtable _Mrs. Billickin_, “the
person of the ’ouse,” who, from prudential motives, suppressed her
Christian name.

    “Mr. Grewgious had his agreement-lines and his earnest-money ready.
    ‘I have signed it for the ladies, ma’am,’ he said, ‘and you’ll have
    the goodness to sign it for yourself, Christian and Surname, there,
    if you please.’

    “‘Mr. Grewgious,’ said Mrs. Billickin in a new burst of candour, ‘no,
    sir! You must excuse the Christian name.’

    “Mr. Grewgious stared at her.

    “‘The door-plate is used as a protection,’ said Mrs. Billickin, ‘and
    acts as such, and go from it I will not.’

    “Mr. Grewgious stared at Rosa.

    “‘No, Mr. Grewgious, you must excuse me.  So long as this ’ouse is
    known indefinite as Billickin’s, and so long as it is a doubt with
    the riff-raff where Billickin may be hidin’, near the street-door or
    down the airy, and what his weight and size, so long I feel safe.
    But commit myself to a solitary female statement, no, Miss!  Nor
    would you for a moment wish,’ said Mrs. Billickin, with a strong
    sense of injury, ‘to take that advantage of your sex, if you were not
    brought to it by inconsiderate example.’

    “Rosa reddening as if she had made some most disgraceful attempt to
    overreach the good lady, besought Mr. Grewgious to rest content with
    any signature.  And accordingly, in a baronial way, the sign-manual
    BILLICKIN got appended to the document.”

And we may here recall the incidental passage of arms between the worthy
landlady and Miss Twinkleton, Mrs. B. being always in direct antagonism
with the schoolmistress, against whom she “openly pitted herself as one
whom she fully ascertained to be her natural enemy.”  Witness “the B.
enveloped in the shawl of State,” as she remarked to Miss Twinkleton that

    “‘A rush from scanty feeding to generous feeding, from what you may
    call messing to what you may call method, do require a power of
    constitution, which is not often found in youth, particular when
    undermined by boarding-school. . . .  I was put in youth to a very
    genteel boarding-school, the mistress being no less a lady than
    yourself, of about your own age, or it may be some years younger, and
    a poorness of blood flowed from the table, which has run through my

                                  * * * * *

    “‘If you refer to the poverty of your circulation,’ began Miss
    Twinkleton, when again the Billickin neatly stopped her.

    “‘I have used no such expressions.’

    “‘If you refer, then, to the poorness of your blood—’

    “‘Brought upon me,’ stipulated the Billickin, expressly, ‘at a

    “‘Then,’ resumed Miss Twinkleton, ‘all I can say is, that I am bound
    to believe, on your asseveration, that it is very poor indeed.  I
    cannot forbear adding, that if that unfortunate circumstance
    influences your conversation, it is much to be lamented, and it is
    eminently desirable that your blood were richer.’”

Southampton Street is not a long one, and is now chiefly occupied by
solicitors and architects; but there is reason to believe that the
Billickins’ residence was, aforetime, to be found at No. 18, which is
situated next door but one to an archway.  As Mrs. B. herself candidly
pointed out,

    “The arching leads to a mews; mewses must exist.”

The mews aforesaid is now superseded by a factory.  Mrs. Billickin has
long since relinquished the cares of housekeeping and retired from public
life.  The present amiable landlady conducts the business on different
principles, and will be at all times disposed to give her patrons
satisfaction, whether they be of the scholastic persuasion or otherwise.

Southampton Street leads immediately northward into Bloomsbury Square.
This place is mentioned in “Barnaby Rudge” as the locality in which _Lord
Mansfield’s_ residence was situated at the period of the Gordon Riots.
In chapter 66 its destruction by the rioters is thus described:—

    “They began to demolish the house with great fury; and setting fire
    to it in several places, involved in a common ruin the whole of the
    costly furniture, the plate and jewels, a beautiful gallery of
    pictures, the rarest collection of manuscripts ever possessed by any
    one private person in the world, and, worst of all, because nothing
    could replace the loss, the great Law Library, on almost every page
    of which were notes, in the judge’s own hand, of inestimable value;
    being the results of the study and experience of his whole life.”

                    [Picture: The Children’s Hospital]

The house occupied the site of No. 29, on the east side of the square.
We subsequently read in the same book that two of the
rioters—cripples—were hanged in this square, the execution being
momentarily delayed, as they were placed facing the house they had
assisted to despoil.  Leaving the square at its north-east angle (right)
by _Bloomsbury Place_, the Rambler shortly comes into _Southampton Row_,
turning left, and proceeding for a short distance upwards to _Cosmo
Place_ on the right, a short cut which leads directly to the contiguous
shades of Queen Square just beyond.  It will be remembered that in this
neighbourhood Richard Carstone had furnished apartments at the time when
he was pursuing the experimental study of the Law under the auspices of
Messrs. Kenge and Carboy (see “Bleak House,” chapter 18).  There is
reason to believe that the “quiet old” house intended was No. 28
_Devonshire Street_, leading from the south-east angle of the square.

Leaving Queen Square by _Great Ormond Street_ (eastward), we immediately
arrive, on the north side (No. 50), at The Children’s Hospital, adjacent
to the Catholic Church and Convent of St. John.  In 1858, February 9th, a
public dinner was arranged, by way of charitable appeal, for funds
necessary to carry on and develop the work.  It was happily resolved to
invite Charles Dickens to preside on that occasion, and he “threw himself
into the service heart and soul.”  His earnest, pathetic, but powerful
appeal—“majestic in its own simplicity”—that night added more than £3000
to the treasury, which amount was, two months afterwards, substantially
increased by the proceeds of a public reading of his “Christmas Carol.”
It is pleasant to record that this institution has ever since flourished
amain, thus fulfilling the prediction of Dickens when, suggesting that
the enterprise could not be possibly maintained unless the Hospital were
made better known, he continued as follows:—

    “I limit myself to saying—better known, because I will not believe
    that, in a Christian community of fathers and mothers, and brothers
    and sisters, it can fail, being better known, to be well and richly

We may here recall the scene narrated in chapter 9 of “Our Mutual
Friend,” when _Johnny_ makes his will and arranges his affairs, leaving
“a kiss for the boofer lady”—

    “The family whom God had brought together were not all asleep, but
    were all quiet.  From bed to bed, a light womanly tread and a
    pleasant fresh face passed in the silence of the night.  A little
    head would lift itself into the softened light here and there, to be
    kissed as the face went by—for these little patients are very
    loving—and would then submit itself to be composed to rest again. . .
    .  Over most of the beds, the toys were yet grouped as the children
    had left them when they last laid themselves down, and in their
    innocent grotesqueness and incongruity they might have stood for the
    children’s dreams.”

Proceeding eastward by _Great Ormond Street_ and turning (left) through
_Lamb’s Conduit Street_, to its northern end, we face the entrance of the
Foundling Hospital.  This beneficent institution was established by
Captain Thomas Coram, about the middle of the last century, and is
associated with “No Thoroughfare,” the Christmas number (and last in the
series) of “All the Year Round,” 1867.  Visitors attending the morning
service of the _Foundling Church_ on Sundays are admitted to the
children’s _Dining-Hall_ thereafter, and so may have an opportunity of
realising the scene portrayed by Dickens, when the “veiled lady” induced
a female attendant to point out Walter Wilding:—

    “The bright autumnal sun strikes freshly into the wards; and the
    heavy-framed windows through which it shines, and the panelled walls
    on which it shines, are such windows, and such walls as pervade
    Hogarth’s pictures.  Neat attendants silently glide about the orderly
    and silent tables, the lookers-on move or stop as the fancy takes
    them; comments in whispers on face such a number, from such a window,
    are not unfrequent—many of the faces are of a character to fix
    attention.  Some of the visitors from the outside public are
    accustomed visitors.  They have established a speaking acquaintance
    with the occupants of particular seats at the table, and halt at
    those points to say a word or two.”

In “Little Dorrit,” too, reference is made to this institution, _in re_
the adoption of Tattycoram by good Papa and Mamma Meagles.  In the times
of Barnaby Rudge, the London streets were not greatly extended northward
beyond this (now central) neighbourhood.  We may remember that the
headquarters of the “Captain,” Sim Tappertit, Hugh, and Dennis were at
The “Boot” Tavern, which is described as

    “A lone place of public entertainment, situated in the fields at the
    back of the Foundling Hospital; a very solitary spot at that period,
    and quite deserted after dark.  The Tavern stood at some distance
    from any high road, and was only approachable by a dark and narrow

Proceeding onwards through _Guilford Street_, we reach _Doughty Street_,
_Mecklenburgh Square_, running transversely north and south.  On the east
side we may note No. 48 Doughty Street, as the house to which Dickens
removed from _Furnival’s Inn_, in the early spring of 1837, and in which
he lived two years and a half, previous to his longer residence at _No._
1 _Devonshire Terrace_.  In it “Oliver Twist” and “Nicholas Nickleby”
were written; and here, too, the early friendship, which had been for
some time steadily developing between Dickens and Forster, became
cemented for life.  His biographer says:—

    “Nor had many weeks passed before he addressed to me from Doughty
    Street, words which it is my sorrowful pride to remember have had
    literal fulfilment.  ‘I look back with unmingled pleasure to every
    link which each ensuing week has added to the chain of our
    attachment.  It shall go hard, I hope, ere anything but death impairs
    the toughness of a bond now so firmly riveted.’”

The route being retraced to the Foundling Hospital, and thence continued
through Guilford Street to _Russell __Square_, we turn (right) by _Woburn
Place_ to TAVISTOCK SQUARE, on the south side of which (TAVISTOCK VILLAS)
is situated Tavistock House.  To this residence Dickens removed (from
DEVONSHIRE TERRACE) in October 1851, retaining its possession for nearly
ten years.  During this time “Bleak House” was completed, and “Hard
Times,” “Little Dorrit,” and the “Tale of Two Cities” were given to the
world.  TAVISTOCK HOUSE is now transformed into a Jewish College.  _Hans
Christian Andersen_, visiting his friend in London, gives the following

    “In Tavistock Square stands Tavistock House.  This and the strip of
    garden in front of it are shut out from the thoroughfare by an iron
    railing.  A large garden, with a grass plat and high trees, stretches
    behind the house, and gives it a countrified look in the midst of
    this coal and gas steaming London.  In the passage from street to
    garden hung pictures and engravings.  Here stood a marble bust of
    Dickens, so like him, so youthful and handsome; and over a bedroom
    door were inserted the bas-reliefs of Night and Day, after
    Thorwaldsen.  On the first floor was a rich library, with a fireplace
    and a writing-table, looking out on the garden; and here it was that
    in winter Dickens and his friends acted plays to the satisfaction of
    all parties.  The kitchen was underground, and at the top of the
    house were the bedrooms.”

                        [Picture: Tavistock House]

Leaving this locality at the north-west angle, passing _Gordon Square_,
we turn (right) into _Gordon Street_, and (left) through _Gower Place_,
to GOWER STREET, on the west side of which—opposite—is the house once
bearing a large brass plate on the door, announcing Mrs. Dickens’s
Establishment, being the place at which Mrs. Dickens (mother of Charles)
endeavoured to set up a school during the difficult times of 1822.  The
family lived here for a short time, previous to the Marshalsea
imprisonment of Dickens senior; Charles being then a boy ten years of
age.  In the first chapter of Forster’s Biography is the following:—

    “A house was soon found at number four, Gower Street North; a large
    brass plate on the door announced Mrs. Dickens’s establishment; and
    the result I can give in the exact words of the then small actor in
    the comedy, whose hopes it had raised so high: ‘I left at a great
    many other doors a great many circulars, calling attention to the
    merits of the establishment.  Yet nobody ever came to school, nor do
    I recollect that anybody ever proposed to come, or that the least
    preparation was made to receive anybody.  But, I know that we got on
    very badly with the butcher and baker; that very often we had not too
    much for dinner; and that at last my father was arrested.’  . . .
    Almost everything by degrees was pawned or sold, little Charles being
    the principal agent in these sorrowful transactions . . . until at
    last, even of the furniture of Gower Street, number four, there was
    nothing left except a few chairs, a kitchen table, and some beds.
    Then they encamped, as it were, in the two parlours of the emptied
    house, and lived there night and day.”

Gower Street has been rearranged since that time (there is now no Gower
Street North), and the houses are renumbered.  No. 145, near _Gower
Street Chapel_, and other houses adjoining, are now in the occupation of
Messrs. Maple & Co.; and this No. 145 was the house then enumerated as
No. 4 Gower Street North.  Mrs. Dickens’s experience, it will be
remembered, has been pleasantly referred to in the pages of “Our Mutual
Friend;” the stately _Mrs. Wilfer_ therein making a similar experiment,
with the same result.  In chapter 4 we read of _Rumpty’s_ return home
from business: when

    “Something had gone wrong with the house door, for R. Wilfer stopped
    on the steps, staring at it, and cried ‘Hal-loa?’  ‘Yes,’ said Mrs.
    Wilfer, ‘the man came himself with a pair of pincers and took it off,
    and took it away.  He said that as he had no expectation of ever
    being paid for it, and as he had an order for another _Ladies’
    School_ door-plate, it was better (burnished up) for the interests of
    all parties.’”

On the opposite corner of the street is the _Gower Street Station_ of the
Metropolitan Railway, at which train may be taken to _Baker Street_.  On
arrival, we turn to the right, by _Marylebone Road_, to Devonshire
Terrace, consisting of three houses at the northern end of _High
Street_,_ Marylebone_.  No. 1, now occupied by a legal firm, was for
twelve years the residence of Charles Dickens (when in town).  It is
described by Forster as

    “A handsome house with a garden of considerable size, shut out from
    the New Road by a brick wall, facing the York Gate into Regent’s

To quote the ironical dictum of its future tenant when the choice was
made, it was “a house of great promise (and great premium), undeniable
situation, and excessive splendour.”  During the period of the author’s
residence here several of his best-known books were given to the
world—“Master Humphrey’s Clock,” CHRISTMAS BOOKS, and “David Copperfield”
included.  Proceeding forwards and eastward past _Devonshire Place_, we
may take our way, turning on the right down Harley Street, of which we
read in “Little Dorrit” that,

    “Like unexceptionable society, the opposing rows of houses in Harley
    Street were very grim with one another.  Indeed, the mansions and
    their inhabitants were so much alike in that respect that the people
    were often to be found drawn up on opposite sides of dinner tables,
    in the shade of their own loftiness, staring at the other side of the
    way with the dulness of the houses.  Everybody knows how like the
    street the two dinner-rows of people who take their stand by the
    street will be.  The expressionless uniform twenty houses, all to be
    knocked at and rung at in the same form, all approachable by the same
    dull steps, all fended off by the same pattern of railing, all with
    the same impracticable fire-escapes, the same inconvenient fixtures
    in their heads, and everything, without exception, to be taken at a
    high valuation—who has not dined with these?”

In this street lived that great financier and swindler _Mr. Merdle_, who
had his residence in one of the handsomest of these handsome houses; but
it would be, perhaps, invidious to point out any particular location for
the same, Dickens himself having purposely omitted an exact address.
Following the course of Harley Street, we come in due time to QUEEN ANNE
STREET, running east and west.  Adopting the leftward turning (east), we
may find at the next corner—_Mansfield Street_—on the north side, Mr.
Dombey’s House, as described in chapter 3 of “Dombey and Son”—

    “Mr. Dombey’s house was a large one, on the shady side of a tall,
    dark, dreadfully genteel street in the region between Portland Place
    and Bryanston Square.  It was a corner house, with great wide areas
    containing cellars, frowned upon by barred windows, and leered at by
    crooked-eyed doors leading to dust-bins.  It was a house of dismal
    state, with a circular back to it, containing a whole suite of
    drawing-rooms looking upon a gravelled yard.”

It will be observed that the position and character of this mansion
exactly correspond to the above description, being in its general style
noteworthy and unique.  This, then, was the private establishment and
“home department” of the Dombey family, where died the gentle Paul; the
lonely house in which the neglected Florence grew to lovely womanhood;
what time the second wife—the stately Edith—held temporary sway.

Hence a short distance southward leads to _Cavendish Square_.  In this
neighbourhood we read that Madame Mantalini’s fashionable dressmaking
establishment was situated, at which Kate Nickleby was for some few weeks
engaged, on the recommendation of her uncle.  The house intended was
probably in _Wigmore Street_, No. 11.  In the days of the Mantalini
_régime_ the business was advertised

    “To the nobility and gentry by the casual exhibition, near the
    handsomely-curtained windows, of two or three elegant bonnets of the
    newest fashion, and some costly garments in the most approved taste.”

By the next turning (right) on the north side we come into WIMPOLE
STREET; on the east of which, at the corner of the third block, stands
The West End Residence—No. 43—aforetime occupied by Mr. and Mrs. Boffin;
which became, later on, the property of Mr. John Harmon and his wife.  It
is described as “a corner house, not far from Cavendish Square.”  Near
this house _Silas Wegg_—assuming some knowledge of its affairs—kept his
street-stall.  He was accustomed to refer to it as “Our House,” its
(imaginary) inmates being Miss Elizabeth, Master George, Aunt Jane, and
Uncle Parker.

Returning to Wigmore Street, we arrive by the next block at Welbeck
Street, running transversely thereto.  In this street was the London
residence of _Lord George Gordon_, as referred to in the pages of
“Barnaby Rudge.”  The house is No. 64, the second from Wigmore Street on
the left side.  It is within the recollection of the present landlord
that the old balcony—from which Lord George was wont to harangue the
public—was many years since superseded by the present continuous railing.

We now come south into the West-end artery of _Oxford Street_, crossing
same to _Davies Street_, by which we may soon reach BROOK STREET,
GROSVENOR SQUARE, running east and west.  On the south-eastern angle of
its intersection stands Claridge’s Hotel.  It will be remembered that on
_Mr. Dorrit’s_ return from the Continent, after the marriage of his
daughter Fanny, “the Courier had not approved of his staying at the house
of a friend, and had preferred to take him to an hotel in Brook Street,
Grosvenor Square.”  This was doubtless the establishment favoured by the
Courier’s preference on that occasion; and where Mr. Merdle paid a state
visit to Mr. Dorrit at breakfast-time the next morning; taking him
afterwards in his carriage to the City.

Readers of “Dombey and Son” may be reminded that the Feenix Town House
was situated in this same BROOK STREET; but no clue is afforded of its
exact whereabouts.  It is described as an aristocratic mansion of a dull
and gloomy sort; and was borrowed by the _Honourable Mrs. Skewton_ from a
stately relative, on the occasion of her daughter’s marriage.  Here also,
in aftertime, the final interview between _Florence_ and _Edith_ took

              [Picture: The Drawing-Room, Devonshire House]

Keeping on through _Davies Street_ across _Berkeley Square_, we come
through _Berkeley Street_ to Piccadilly, in the close vicinity of
Devonshire House, a mansion of fashionable and political repute,
belonging to the _Duke of Devonshire_.  Here, on the 27th of May 1851, in
the great drawing-room and library, Dickens and his _confrères_ of “The
Guild of Literature and Art” performed, for the first time, Sir Bulwer
Lytton’s comedy (written for the occasion) “Not so Bad as We Seem,” in
the presence of the Queen, Prince Albert and a brilliant audience.  The
Duke not only afforded the necessary accommodation, but (as Mr. Forster
writes), in his princely way, discharged all attendant expenses.  Many
distinguished authors and artists assisted at this performance, including
Douglas Jerrold, Maclise, and John Leech.

Near at hand, on the eastern corner of the next turning down Piccadilly
(_Dover Street_), is HATCHETT’S HOTEL, adjoining The White Horse Cellars,
once a well-known coaching establishment.  On the opposite side of the
way stood in days of yore the old “White Horse Cellars,” of which Hazlitt

    “The finest sight in the Metropolis is the setting out of the
    mail-coaches from Piccadilly.  The horses paw the ground and are
    impatient to be gone, as if conscious of the precious burden they
    convey.  There is a peculiar secrecy and despatch, significant and
    full of meaning, in all the proceedings concerning them.  Even the
    outside passengers have an erect and supercilious air, as if proof
    against the accidents of the journey; in fact, it seems indifferent
    whether they are to encounter the summer’s heat or the winter’s cold,
    since they are borne through the air on a winged chariot.”

From this well-known Booking Office, _Mr. Pickwick_ and his
friends—accompanied by the fierce _Dowler_ and his fascinating
wife—started for Bath, one “muggy, damp, and drizzly morning, by the mail
coach; on the door of which was displayed, in gilt letters of a goodly
size, the magic name of ‘Pickwick’; a circumstance which seems to have
occasioned some confusion of ideas in the mind of the faithful Sam, as
evidenced by his indignant inquiry—‘An’t nobody to be whopped for takin’
this here liberty?’”

Readers of “Bleak House” will remember this locality as the destination
of the Reading Coach; so indicated by _Messrs. Kenge and Carboy_ in their
first communication to _Esther Summerson_.  Here she was met, one foggy
November afternoon, on her arrival in London, by the susceptible _Mr.
Guppy_, and by him conducted to Old Square, Lincoln’s Inn.  The incident
was afterwards feelingly referred to by that young gentleman, on the
occasion of his offer of heart, hand, and income to Esther:—

    “I think you must have seen that I was struck with those charms on
    the day when I waited at the Whytorseller.  I think you must have
    remarked that I could not forbear a tribute to those charms when I
    put up the steps of the ’ackney coach.”

For the full narrative, see “Bleak House,” chapter 9.

The Rambler can now take an eastward course up PICCADILLY, and may
casually observe, on the left, past Burlington House, THE ALBANY, where
_Mr. Fledgby_ had chambers.  The next turning on the same side is
SACKVILLE STREET, in which it may be recollected that _Mr. and Mrs.
Lammles_ resided during the short term of their social prosperity.
Mention of these localities in such connection will be found in the pages
of “Our Mutual Friend.”  Passing onwards on the same side, we arrive at
No. 28, St. James’s Hall.  It was at this well-known place of assembly
that several of those popular Readings were given by Charles Dickens,
which always commanded the attention and sympathetic interest of his
audience.  On these occasions he invariably adopted the extreme of
fashionable evening attire, being dressed in irreproachable style, with,
perhaps, more of shirt-front than waistcoat; and so “got up” as to
present a staginess and juvenility of appearance, possibly somewhat out
of keeping with his time of life.  Some of his hearers may have desired a
more natural and less conventional mode; but they knew that beneath the
big shirt and fashionable coat, there throbbed the genial heart of the
man they loved, as he read of the sorrows of “Little Emily,” or stood
with them in spirit at the bedside of “Paul Dombey.”  On the occasion of
his final Reading, given here in March 1870, he tendered his last public
farewell to his London audience in the following words:

    “It would be worse than idle, it would be hypocritical and unfeeling,
    if I were to disguise that I close this episode of my life with
    feelings of very considerable pain.  For some fifteen years, in this
    hall and many kindred places, I have had the honour of presenting my
    own cherished ideas before you for your recognition; and, in closely
    observing your reception of them, have enjoyed an amount of artistic
    delight and enjoyment, which perhaps it is given few men to know.  In
    this task and every other, I have ever undertaken as a faithful
    servant of the public—always imbued with a sense of duty to them, and
    always striving to do his best—I have been uniformly cheered by the
    readiest response, the most generous sympathy and the most
    stimulating support.  Nevertheless, I have thought it well, at the
    full flood-tide of your favour, to retire upon those older
    associations between us, which date from much further back than
    these; and henceforth to devote myself exclusively to the art that
    first brought us together.  Ladies and gentlemen, in but two short
    weeks from this time, I hope that you may enter, in your own homes,
    on a new series of Readings, at which my assistance will be
    indispensable; but from these garish lights I vanish now for ever,
    with one heartfelt, grateful, respectful, and affectionate farewell.”

On the right-hand side of Piccadilly, adjacent to the _Prince’s Hall and
Institute of Painters_, there may be noted, _en passant_, the premises
No. 193, now occupied by the Boys’ Messenger Co.  This, for many years,
was the address of Messrs. Chapman and Hall, the publishers of the works
of Dickens.  Previous to 1850, the earlier books—“Pickwick” to “Martin
Chuzzlewit” inclusive—together with the first issue of their cheaper
edition, were published by this well-known house at 186 _Strand_, the
site now occupied by the premises of W. H. Smith and Son.  The firm have,
for many years past, removed their offices to _No._ 11 _Henrietta
Street_, _Covent Garden_.

Passing on to _Piccadilly Circus_, and crossing northward from the same,
we turn (left) into _Sherwood Street_, which leads, by a short walk, to
_Brewer Street_, in the neighbourhood of GOLDEN SQUARE.  Continuing by
_Lower James Street_, opposite, we reach the square itself, in which was
formerly situated the Office of Ralph Nickleby.  Readers of Dickens will
remember that it was a large house, with an attic storey, in which Ralph
committed suicide.  The house No. 6, on the east side, was probably the
one assigned by the author as the usurer’s residence.  It is now let off
in various suites of offices, professional and otherwise.  The
neighbourhood has somewhat changed since the time when the “Adventures of
Nicholas Nickleby” was first issued, and the following description, given
by Dickens, became public property:—

    “It is one of the squares that have been—a quarter of the town that
    has gone down in the world, and taken to letting lodgings.  Many of
    its first and second floors are let, furnished, to single gentlemen,
    and it takes boarders besides.  It is a great resort of foreigners.
    The dark-complexioned men who wear large rings and heavy
    watch-guards, and bushy whiskers, and who congregate under the Opera
    Colonnade, and about the box-office in the season between four and
    five in the afternoon, when they give away the orders—all live in
    Golden Square, or within a street of it.  Two or three violins and a
    wind instrument from the opera-band reside within its precincts.”

We read in the same book of the whereabouts of _Mr. Kenwigs_ as being in
this neighbourhood—

    “A bygone, faded, tumble-down street, with two irregular rows of tall
    meagre houses, which seem to have stared each other out of
    countenance years ago; the very chimneys appear to have grown dismal
    and melancholy from having had nothing better to look at than the
    chimneys over the way.”

There are many streets in the district of Soho, in this vicinity, which
will in some respects correspond with the description given; but much
alteration has taken place during the last sixty years.  Recollecting
that _Newman Noggs_ lodged in the upper part of the same house, it must
have been conveniently near Golden Square.  In Carnaby Street
(immediately north of the Square) there may be remarked a white-fronted,
old-fashioned house (No. 48), which, being in proximity to Ralph
Nickleby’s Office, may be assigned as aforetime comprising the apartments
of the Kenwigs Family.

At the corner of _Beak Street_ and _Upper James Street_ is still existent
“The Crown Inn,” well known to Newman Noggs; though, since his time, it
must have undergone considerable alteration.  In his first letter to
Nicholas Nickleby, Newman writes:—

“If you ever want a shelter in London, . . . they know where I live at
the sign of the Crown, Golden Square.  It is at the corner of Silver
Street” [now Beak Street] “and James Street, with a bar door both ways.”

In this neighbourhood, also, Martha’s Lodgings were situated, in the days
of David Copperfield, who says:—

    “She laid her hand on my arm, and hurried me on to one of the sombre
    streets of which there are several in that part, where the houses
    were once fair dwellings, in the occupation of single families, but
    have, and had, long degenerated into poor lodgings let off in rooms.”

Such a house may be found in _Marshall Street_, No. 53, close at hand.
But at this distance of time it is difficult to assign the exact locality
intended by Dickens.  We are all familiar with the welcome episode in
David’s history when Martha rescued _Little Emily_, bringing her to these
lodgings, and _Mr. Peggotty’s_ dream came true.—See chapter 50.

Proceeding half-way up _Marshall Street_, we turn (right) through _Broad
Street_, to (left) _Poland Street_, by which we again attain the main
thoroughfare of Oxford Street.  Turning eastward, on the north side, we
come at a short distance (by No. 90) to Newman Street, in which was
situated _Mr. Turveydrop’s Dancing Academy_, “established in a
sufficiently dingy house, at the corner of an archway” (Newman Passage),
with Mr. Turveydrop’s great room built out into a mews at the back.  The
house intended is No. 26, on the east side of the street.  Here _Caddy
Jellyby_ resided with her husband, _Prince Turveydrop_, in the upper
rooms of the establishment, leaving the better part of the house at the
disposal of Mr. Turveydrop, senior; that “perfect model” of parental and
social “deportment.”  Returning to Oxford Street and passing onwards on
the south side, we shortly arrive at _Dean Street_, leading southward.

At a short distance, running east and west, is Carlisle Street, at the
further end of which, to the right, is an old house (by name Carlisle
House) which stands facing the observer.  It is now occupied by _Messrs.
Edwards and Roberts_, dealers in antique furniture.  Readers of “The Tale
of Two Cities” will recollect the lodgings of Doctor Manette and daughter
Lucie, as described in the 6th chapter (Book the Second) of the Tale,
being situated in a quiet street-corner, not far from Soho Square:—

    “A quainter corner than the corner where the Doctor lived was not to
    be found in London.  There was no way through it, and the front
    windows of the Doctor’s lodgings commanded a pleasant little vista of
    street that had a congenial air of retirement on it.  There were few
    buildings then, north of the Oxford Road, and forest-trees
    flourished, and wild flowers grew, and the hawthorn blossomed, in the
    now vanished fields.”

The garden behind the house, referred to in the above-mentioned book, has
been converted to the uses of a warehouse, a glass roof having been long
ago built over the same.  A paved court now exists at the side for the
convenience of foot-passengers, giving egress at the end of Carlisle
Street, so that the “wonderful echoes” which once resounded in this
“curious corner” are now no longer to be heard.

It may be interesting to note that a thoroughfare leading from _No._ 119
_Charing Cross Road_ to _No._ 6 _Greek Street_, _Soho_, is now named
_Manette Street_; in remembrance of the worthy Doctor, whose London
residence in Carlisle Street, as indicated, was near at hand.

We may return to Oxford Street through Soho Square, conveniently
terminating the ramble at Tottenham Court Road, just beyond.  From this
central point there is omnibus communication to all parts of London; and
a commodious resting-place may be here recommended to those disposed for
dinner, at THE HORSESHOE RESTAURANT; which stands in a prominent position
near at hand, on the east side of the street.

_Bank of England to Her Majesty’s Theatre_

The Bank; Dombey and Son, Tom Pinch—George and Vulture Inn; Mr.
Pickwick’s Hotel—“The Green Dragon,” _alias_ “The Blue Boar,” Leadenhall
Market; Tony Weller’s Headquarters—Newman’s Court (_alias_ Freeman’s
Court), Cornhill; The Offices of Messrs. Dodson and Fogg—House of Sol
Gills, Leadenhall Street; The Wooden Midshipman—St. Mary Axe; Pubsey and
Co.—House of Sampson Brass in Bevis Marks—“The Red Lion;”  Mr. Dick
Swiveller’s recommendation—Bull Inn, Aldgate; Starting-place of the
Ipswich Coach—The Minories—Aldgate Pump; Mr. Toots’s Excursions—Mincing
Lane; Messrs. Chicksey, Veneering, and Stobbles—Boarding House of Mrs.
Todgers, King’s Head Court—London Bridge; Meeting-place of Rose Maylie
and Nancy—“The White Hart Inn”; its Pickwickian Associations—The
Marshalsea Prison; The Dorrit Family—St. George’s Church; Little Dorrit’s
Night Refuge and Marriage—Lant Street; Dickens and Bob Sawyer’s
Lodging—King’s Bench Prison—Horsemonger Lane Gaol—Mr. Chivery’s Shop—St.
George’s Obelisk; “the long-legged young man”—The Surrey Theatre; Fanny
Dorrit and Uncle—Bethlehem Hospital; “Uncommercial Traveller”—Astley’s
Theatre; visit of the Nubbles Family—Millbank; Poor “Martha”—Church
Street, Smith Square; the Dolls’ Dressmaker—Julius Handford—Westminster
Abbey—The Red Lion, Parliament Street; the “Genuine Stunning”—The Horse
Guards’ Clock—St. James’s Park; Meeting between Martin and Mary—Her
Majesty’s Theatre.

Our starting-point is now the BANK OF ENGLAND, Dombey and Son’s

    “Magnificent neighbour; with its vaults of gold and silver, ‘all
    among the dead men, underground.’”

_Tom Pinch_, diffident of requesting information in London, resolved
that, in the event of finding himself near the Bank of England,

    “He would step in, and ask a civil question or two, confiding in the
    perfect respectability of the concern.”

Adopting the route _viâ Lombard Street_, we come, on the left (No. 56),
to GEORGE YARD, traversing which, there will be found, at the corner of
Castle Court (No. 3), the George and Vulture Inn, at which Mr. Pickwick
resided when in London, subsequent to his removal from Goswell Street;
and which has honourable mention in the history of the Pickwickians.

Through _Lombard Street_, and turning left into _Gracechurch Street_, we
shortly arrive, on the right, at _Bull’s Head Passage_ (turning by the
Branch Post Office, No. 82), in which, at No. 4, is the GREEN DRAGON
TAVERN, in close proximity to Leadenhall Market.  This is, in all
probability, the house mentioned in “Pickwick” as “The Blue Boar,”
_Leadenhall Market_, a favourite house of call with the elder Weller, and
the place where Sam indited his “Valentine” to _Mary_, the pretty
housemaid, afterwards Mrs. Sam.  But the neighbourhood of the Market has
undergone considerable renovation since the old coaching-days, and it is
difficult to fix the _locale_ of the tavern with certainty.

Proceeding onwards through _Gracechurch Street_, we come into the
thoroughfare of CORNHILL; and at No. 73, on the opposite side, arrive at
Newman’s Court.  It will be remembered that in “Pickwick” the offices of
_Messrs. Dodson and Fogg_ (Mrs. Bardell’s attorneys) are located in
Freeman’s Court, Cornhill.  There is no such place in Cornhill; Freeman’s
Court being in Cheapside.  It is evident, therefore, that Dickens, for
reasons of his own, emulated the special contributor to the _Eatanswill
Gazette_, and so “combined his information.”  Taking Cornhill to be the
locality intended, we shall find Dodson and Fogg’s Office at the furthest
end of the Court, No. 4, still associated with legal business, being in
possession of Messrs. Witherby and Co., law stationers.

Passing onwards in Cornhill, past Bishopsgate Street, we come into
Leadenhall Street, and may be interested to note, at No. 157 (now an
outfitting establishment), the original position of the HOUSE OF SOL
GILLS, ships’ instrument maker, at whose door was displayed the figure of

    “The Wooden Midshipman; eternally taking observations of the hackney

Here our eccentric friend _Captain Cuttle_ remained in charge during the
absence of old Sol Gills and his nephew; here _Florence_, accompanied by
the faithful Diogenes, found asylum; and here _Walter Gay_ returned after
shipwreck, to make everybody happy and marry the gentle heroine of the
story.  (See “Dombey and Son” for information _in extenso._)  Until
recent years, these premises were in occupation of Messrs. Norie and
Wilson, ships’ instrument makers and chart publishers.  They have removed
to the Minories, No. 156, where the quaint effigy of _the Wooden
Midshipman_, with his cocked hat and quadrant complete, may now be seen,
as bright and brisk as in old days.  “When found, make a note of.”

Farther on, on the same side of Leadenhall Street, we reach St. Mary Axe,
turning northward at No. 117, which we notice _en passant_ as the
thoroughfare in which _Pubsey and Co._ had their place of business; “a
yellow overhanging plaster-fronted house”—reconstructed, with many
others, some years since—at the top of which _Riah_ (the manager)
arranged his town garden; where the Dolls’ Dressmaker invited
_Fascination Fledgby_ to “come up and be dead.”  All of which is duly set
forth in the pages of “Our Mutual Friend.”  The position of the house
cannot now be localised.

Proceeding to the other end of St. Mary Axe, we may turn (right) into
_Bevis Marks_, where there once existed the House of Mr. Sampson Brass,
No. 10, but this and others have long since been rebuilt and
re-enumerated.  Here lived that honourable attorney and his sister the
fair Sally; aided in their professional duties by a young gentleman of
eccentric habits and “prodigious talent of quotation.”  Here the
_Marchioness_ lived, or rather starved, in attendance as
maid-of-all-work, and first made the acquaintance of Dick Swiveller, her
future husband; being by him initiated into the mysteries of cribbage and
the peculiarities of purl.  Here lodged the “single gentleman,” who
evinced such exceptional interest in the national drama, and so
discovered a clue to the retreat of Little Nell and her grandfather.

On the north side of the street there still flourishes the old RED LION
INN, an establishment patronised in his time by Mr. Richard, and once
eulogised by that gentleman on the occasion of his specifying “the
contingent advantages” of the neighbourhood.  “There is mild porter in
the immediate vicinity.”

For these and the other associations of this spot the tourist is referred
to the pages of the “Old Curiosity Shop.”

Following downwards through Bevis Marks and Duke Street beyond, we come
into _Aldgate_, keeping still on the left-hand side of the way to
_Aldgate High Street_, where at a short distance we pass the Station of
the Metropolitan Railway.  At No. 24, just ahead, is the Bull Inn Yard,
once the City Terminus of Coaches travelling north-east.  From this point
Mr. Pickwick started per coach for Ipswich, accompanied by the red-haired
Mr. Peter Magnus; Mr. Tony Weller officiating as driver.  On which
occasion we read that Mr. Weller’s conversation, “possessing the
inestimable charm of blending amusement with instruction,” beguiled “the
tediousness of the journey during the greater part of the day.”

Returning westward on the other side of the way, the Rambler may turn, at
No. 81, into the _Minories_; and, at the second house on the right, may
observe the figure of _the Wooden Midshipman_, previously referred to as
removed from its original position in Leadenhall Street.  The route being
continued (same side) from the Minories, we can note, as we pass into
_Fenchurch Street_, Aldgate Pump, standing at the top of Leadenhall
Street.  There is a reference to this old pump in “Dombey,” as being a
stated object of _Mr. Toots’s_ special evening excursions from “The
Wooden Midshipman,” when that gentleman desired some temporary relief
from the hopeless contemplation of Walter Gay’s happiness.

The tourist will now soon arrive at (No. 42) Mincing Lane, leading to
Great Tower Street.  This short street is entirely occupied by wholesale
merchants and brokers, and it will be remembered that _Messrs. Chicksey_,
_Veneering_, _and Stobbles_, wholesale druggists, flourished in this
locality in the days of the “Golden Dustman.”  The fourth house on the
left from Fenchurch Street, next to _Dunster Court_, has been indicated
as the probable whereabouts of the firm.  We may remember that R.
Wilfer’s office was on the ground-floor, next the gateway.

Here, then, in this prosaic neighbourhood, _John Rokesmith_, following
_Bella Wilfer_, came to the warehouse where Little _Rumty_ was sitting at
the open window at his tea, and much surprised that gentleman by a
declaration of love for his daughter; what time “The Feast of the Three
Hobgoblins” was so agreeably celebrated.  This place is also associated
with other pleasant episodes connected with the history of the Wilfer
family, the details of which are fully furnished in the pages of “Our
Mutual Friend.”

Proceeding through Mincing Lane, we turn to the right through
_Eastcheap_, which leads westward to the top of FISH STREET HILL.  The
tourist now proceeds southward, passing the _Monument_ on the left.  At a
short distance beyond (No. 34) we arrive at _King’s Head Court_, “a small
paved yard,” in which are certain city warehouses and a dairy.  On the
south side of the court, now occupied by the warehouses aforesaid, once
stood the Commercial Boarding-House of Mrs. Todgers—an old-fashioned
abode even in the days of Mr. Pecksniff—which has long since given place
to other commercial considerations.  In the 9th chapter of “Martin
Chuzzlewit” full, true, and particular account is given of this
establishment as it used to be.  We may here call to remembrance the
characters of _Bailey junior_, _Mr. Jinkins_, _Augustus Moddle_, and
others in connection with the domestic economy of Mrs. Todgers and the
several Pecksniffian associations of the place; notably, the festive
occasion of that Sunday’s dinner when Cherry and Merry were first
introduced to London society; the moral Mr. Pecksniff thereafter
exhibiting alarming symptoms of a chronic complaint.  (See chapter 9.)
And we may indulge in a kindly reminiscence of good-hearted Mrs. Todgers
herself, worried with the anxieties of “gravy” and the eccentricities of
commercial gentlemen.  “Perhaps the Good Samaritan was lean and lank, and
found it hard to live.”  We now come to London Bridge, the scene of
Nancy’s interview with Mr. Brownlow and Rose Maylie (see “Oliver Twist”),
which took place on the steps near St. Saviour’s Church, on the Surrey
side of the river—

    “These stairs are a part of the bridge; they consist of three
    flights.  Just below the end of the second, going down, the stone
    wall on the left terminates in an ornamental pilaster, facing towards
    the Thames.”

And it will be remembered that _Noah Claypole_ here ensconced himself as
an unseen listener.

As we come to the Surrey side of the Thames, a passing thought may be
given to _Mrs. Rudge_ and her son Barnaby, who lived near at hand “in a
by-street in Southwark, not far from London Bridge”; and we may recall
the incident of _Edward Chester_ being brought hither by _Gabriel
Varden_, having been found wounded by a highwayman on the other side of
the river.  But it is altogether impossible to locate the house, the
neighbourhood having so entirely changed during the present century.
Onwards by the main thoroughfare of the Borough, we shall find, on the
left-hand side of the way (No. 61), the (former) location of “The White
Hart,” described in “Pickwick” as

    “An old inn, which has preserved its external features unchanged, and
    which has escaped alike the rage for public improvement and the
    encroachments of private speculation.  A great, rambling, queer old
    place, with galleries and passages and staircases, wide enough and
    antiquated enough to furnish materials for a hundred ghost stories.”

The old inn has been pulled down some years since; the original gateway
only remains, leading to White Hart Yard.  A tavern and luncheon-bar of
modern erection now occupy one side of the old coach-yard in which
_Messrs. Pickwick_, _Wardle_, and _Perker_ made their first acquaintance
with _Mr. Samuel Weller_, on that memorable occasion when _Mr. Jingle_
had eloped from _Dingley Dell_ with _Miss Rachael Wardle_, and had
brought the lady to this establishment.  Farther on, towards the end of
the Borough, we arrive at Angel Place, a narrow passage near to St.
George’s Church.  It leads into _Marshalsea Place_, of which Dickens
writes as follows in his preface to “Little Dorrit”:—

    “Whoever goes into Marshalsea Place, turning out of Angel Court,
    leading to Bermondsey, will find his feet on the very paving-stones
    of the extinct Marshalsea jail; will see its narrow yard to the
    right, and to the left, very little altered if at all, except that
    the walls were lowered when the place got free; will look upon the
    rooms in which the debtors lived; and will stand among the crowding
    ghosts of many miserable years.”

This, then, was The Marshalsea Prison, in which, during Dickens’s
youthful days, his father was imprisoned for debt; and the place is
intimately associated with the story of _Little Dorrit_ and her family.
We must be all familiar with the Father of the Marshalsea, his brother
Frederick, Maggie, and the several others of the _dramatis personæ_ of
that charming tale.

St. George’s Church, close at hand, will be remembered in connection with
the above, as once affording refuge in its vestry for Little Dorrit, when
the sexton accommodated her with a bed formed of the pew-cushions, the
book of registers doing service as a pillow.  She was afterwards married
to Arthur Clennam in this church.  Full particulars of the ceremony will
be found in the last chapter of the tale.  At a short distance from this
point, down Blackman Street, on the right, is (No. 90) Lant Street.  In
Forster’s Biography it is narrated that Dickens, when a boy, lodged in
this street what time his father was imprisoned in the Marshalsea.  The
house stood on part of the site now occupied by the Board School
adjoining No. 46—

    “A back attic was found for me at the house of an insolvent-court
    agent, who lived in Lant Street, in the Borough, where _Bob Sawyer_
    lodged many years afterwards.  A bed and bedding were sent over for
    me, and made up on the floor.  The little window had a pleasant
    prospect of a timber-yard; and when I took possession of my new
    abode, I thought it was a Paradise.”

This opinion of his boyhood seems to have been somewhat modified fifteen
years later, when the “Pickwick Papers” were written, and Mr. Robert
Sawyer had taken residence in the locality.  We read—

“There is an air of repose about Lant Street, in the Borough, which sheds
a gentle melancholy upon the soul.  A house in Lant Street would not come
within the denomination of a first-rate residence, in the strict
acceptation of the term; but it is a most desirable spot, nevertheless.
If a man wished to extract himself from the world, to remove himself from
within the reach of temptation, to place himself beyond the possibility
of any inducement to look out of the window, he should by all means go to
Lant Street.”

Walking onwards from “this happy valley” past Suffolk Street, to the
westward, turning off _Borough Road_, we may note on the north corner the
site of the old King’s Bench Prison, in which _Mr. Micawber_ was
detained—in the top storey but one—pending the settlement of his
pecuniary liabilities.  Later on in the Copperfield history, Micawber
appointed a meeting for David and Tom Traddles as follows:—

    “Among other havens of domestic tranquillity and peace of mind, my
    feet will naturally tend towards the King’s Bench Prison.  In stating
    that I shall be (D.V.) on the outside of the south wall of that place
    of incarceration on civil process, the day after to-morrow, at seven
    in the evening, precisely, my object in this epistolary communication
    is accomplished.”

See chapter 49 for particulars of the subsequent interview.  This “_dead
wall_” of the prison is also mentioned in the same book as the place
where young David requested “the long-legged young man”—who had charge of
his box for conveyance to the Dover coach-office—to stop for a minute
while he (David) tied on the address.  It will be remembered that poor
David lost his box and his money on this occasion, when he started for

    “Taking very little more out of the world, towards the retreat of his
    aunt, Miss Betsy, than he had brought into it on the night when his
    arrival gave her so much umbrage;”

the total sum of his remaining cash amounting to three half-pence.—See
chapter 12.

The first reference of our author to King’s Bench Prison will be found in
“Nicholas Nickleby” (chapter 46), on the occasion of the hero’s first
visit to _Madeline Bray_, who resided with her father in one

    “Of a row of mean and not over cleanly houses, situated within ‘the
    rules’ of the King’s Bench Prison; . . . comprising some dozen
    streets in which debtors who could raise money to pay large fees—from
    which their creditors did not derive any benefit—were permitted to

We learn from Allen’s “History of Surrey” that these rules comprehended
all St. George’s Fields, one side of Blackman Street, and part of the
Borough High Street, forming an area of about three miles in
circumference.  They could be purchased by the prisoners at the rate of
five guineas for small debts, eight guineas for the first hundred pounds
of debt, and about half that sum for every subsequent hundred.

The site of the prison is now occupied by workmen’s model dwellings named
“Queen’s Buildings,” divided, north and south, by Scovell’s Road.

At the opposite side (east) of _Newington Causeway_, which here
commences, is _Union Road_, late _Horsemonger __Lane_; a short distance
down which, on its south side, is “THE PUBLIC PLAYGROUND FOR CHILDREN,”
formerly the site of Horsemonger Lane Gaol, erected at the back of the
Surrey Sessions House.  Here the execution of the Mannings took place,
November 13th, 1849, on which occasion Charles Dickens was present.  The
same day he sent a notable letter to the _Times_, directing general
attention to the demoralising effect of such public exhibitions; thus
setting on foot an agitation which shortly resulted in the adoption of
our present private mode of carrying out the last penalty of the law.
After giving a forcible and graphic picture of the night scenes enacted
by the disorderly crowd in waiting, the letter was thus continued:—

    “When the sun rose brightly—as it did—it gilded thousands upon
    thousands of upturned faces, so inexpressibly odious in their brutal
    mirth or callousness, that a man had cause to shrink from himself as
    fashioned in the image of the devil.  When the two miserable
    creatures who attracted all this ghastly sight about them, were
    turned quivering into the air, there was no more emotion, no more
    pity, no more thought that two immortal souls had gone to judgment,
    no more restraint in any of the previous obscenities, than if the
    name of Christ had never been heard in this world, and there was no
    belief among men but that they perished like the beasts.  I have
    seen, habitually, some of the worst sources of general contamination
    and corruption in this country, and I think there are not many phases
    of London life that could surprise me.  I am solemnly convinced that
    nothing that ingenuity could devise to be done in this city, in the
    same compass of time, could work such ruin as one public execution;
    and I stand astounded and appalled by the wickedness it exhibits.”

Mr. Chivery resided with his family in _Horsemonger Lane_, in close
proximity to the old prison, and kept a tobacconist’s shop for the supply
of his Marshalsea customers and the general public of the neighbourhood—

    “A rural establishment one storey high, which had the benefit of the
    air from the yards of Horsemonger Lane Jail, and the advantage of a
    retired walk under the wall of that pleasant establishment.  The
    business was of too modest a character to support a life-size
    Highlander, but it maintained a little one on a bracket on the
    door-post, who looked like a fallen cherub that had found it
    necessary to take to a kilt.”

In the little back-yard of the premises, “Young John”—disappointed in
love—was accustomed to sit and meditate; taking cold among the “tuneless
groves” of the newly-washed family linen, and composing suitable epitaphs
to his own memory, in melancholy anticipation of an early decease.

Proceeding along the Borough Road, we arrive in due course at St.
George’s Obelisk, which stands at the meeting-point of six roads.  In the
twelfth chapter of “David Copperfield” we read of the Obelisk as the
place near to which the “long-legged young man with a very little empty
donkey-cart” was standing, whom David engaged to take his box to the
Dover coach-office for sixpence.  And we all remember the sad
_dénouement_ of that engagement, as previously mentioned.  Near at hand,
at the top of Blackfriars Road, stands The Surrey Theatre, at which
_Fanny Dorrit_ was engaged as a dancer, while her Uncle Frederick played
the clarionet in the orchestra.

Crossing over to the opposite thoroughfare of _Lambeth Road_, the Rambler
will find, at a short distance on the left, the entrance to Bethlehem
Hospital, familiarly known as Bedlam.  A reference to this asylum will be
found in the pages of “The Uncommercial Traveller,” where our author
implies the idea that the sane and insane are, at all events, equal in
their dreams—

    “Are not all of us outside this Hospital, who dream more or less, in
    the condition of those inside it, every night of our lives?”

The question may afford us matter for speculation as the route is
continued through Lambeth Road, at the end of which we turn to the right,
in the direction of the river.  At the angle of the roads, past the
Lambeth Police Office, we reach Christchurch, conspicuous for style and
position, at which the Rev. Newman Hall some years since officiated.  We
may here recall the criticism given by Dickens with reference to this
popular preacher in the book above referred to.  See “_Two Views of a
Cheap Theatre_,” as contained in “The Uncommercial Traveller.”

We now come onwards by _Westminster Bridge Road_, passing beneath the
span of the London and South-Western Railway.  Near Westminster Bridge,
on the left, is the old site of Astley’s Theatre (non-existent since
1896).  This establishment had cause to bless itself once a quarter, in
days gone by, when Christopher Nubbles, Barbara, and friends patronised
the performance.  We may here remember the occasion when Kit knocked a
man over the head with his bundle of oranges for “scroudging his parent
with unnecessary violence;” also the happy evening that followed, when
little Jacob first saw a play and learnt what oysters meant (_vide_ the
“Old Curiosity Shop”).  On the site formerly occupied by this favourite
place of entertainment, there now stand five handsome houses and shops,
Nos. 225 to 233 Westminster Bridge Road.

Past a few doors beyond these, above, on the same side, we reach Lambeth
Palace Road, turning by which we may walk (or ride by tramcar) a short
distance southward.  Leaving on the right the seven handsome buildings of
ST. THOMAS’S HOSPITAL, we pass—on the left—farther on, LAMBETH EPISCOPAL

On the Middlesex shore we come into _Millbank Street_, and bestow a brief
thought on Poor “Martha,” following her in imagination as she took her
melancholy way southward in this same street, towards the waste riverside
locality, “near the great blank prison” of Millbank, long since replaced
by _Tate’s Gallery_.

Here it will be remembered that _David Copperfield_ and his trusty friend
_Mr. Peggotty_ saved the despairing girl from a self-sought and miserable

At a few minutes’ distance northward from the bridge, _Church Street_
will be found, leading (left) to _Smith Square_.  In this street lived
The Dolls’ Dressmaker, little _Jenny Wren_.  The whimsical description of
the central church—ST. JOHN THE EVANGELIST’S—as given in the pages of
“Our Mutual Friend,” may be worth comparison with the original—

    “In this region are a certain little street called Church Street, and
    a certain little blind square called Smith Square, in the centre of
    which last retreat is a very hideous church, with four towers at the
    four corners, generally resembling some petrified monster, frightful
    and gigantic, on its back with its legs in the air.”

The house in which Jenny and her father lived is stated to have been one
of the modest little houses which stand at the point where the street
gives into Smith Square.  The Rambler will observe four houses answering
this description on the north side of Church Street; No. 9 has been
indicated as the humble home in question, where “_the person of the
house_” and her “_bad boy_” resided.  Here, also, _Lizzie Hexam_ lodged
for some time after the death of her father, during the days when her
uncertain lover, _Eugene Wrayburn_, was yet a bachelor.

We may now return to the main road and continue the northward route by
_Abingdon Street_, crossing _Old Palace Yard_.  A passing thought may
here be given to Mr. John Harmon, the _Julius Handford_ of “Our Mutual
Friend,” who furnished the Police authorities with his address—The
Exchequer Coffee House, Palace Yard, Westminster.  Such a house of resort
no longer exists in this vicinity.

On the west side the Rambler passes the precincts of Westminster Abbey,
beneath whose “high embowed roof” repose the sacred ashes of the
illustrious dead.  To this venerable fane—the especial resting-place of
English literary genius—we will return after our concluding ramble to the
birthplace of our greatest English novelist.

The onward road takes us past the HOUSES OF PARLIAMENT, on the right, to
PARLIAMENT STREET, leading to Whitehall and Charing Cross.  At a short
distance up this thoroughfare is Derby Street—the first turning on the
right; on the north corner of which there stood—until 1899—an old
public-house, “The Red Lion” (No. 48).  This place may be specially noted
as the house at which _young David Copperfield_ gave his “magnificent
order” for a glass of the “Genuine Stunning,” and where the landlord’s
wife gave him back the money and a kiss besides.  This was an actual
experience in the boyhood of Dickens, and is referred to in Mr. Forster’s
Biography, where the house is indicated as above.  It is now being
rebuilt and modernised.

Proceeding by Whitehall, and crossing to the opposite side of the street,
we shortly arrive at The Horse Guards, and may take passing observation
of the OLD CLOCK—famed for its perfection of time-keeping—by whose
warning note _Mark Tapley_ regulated the period of the interview next
referred to.  Passing through the arched passage beneath, we now attain
the eastern side of St. James’s Park.  This locality will be remembered
as the place of meeting between _Mary Graham_ and _Martin Chuzzlewit_,
previous to his departure for America.  As the young lady was escorted by
Mark in the early morning from a City hotel, we may be certain that the
interview must have taken place on this side of the Park, doubtless near
the principal gate of the promenade facing the Horse Guards’ entrance.

Leaving the Park northward, by _Spring Gardens_, we come into _Cockspur
Street_, shortly leading (left) to PALL MALL.  At the first corner of the
latter stands Her Majesty’s Theatre.  At this establishment, as
reconstructed during the early years of the century, _Mrs. Nickleby_
attended, by special invitation of _Sir Mulberry Hawk_, Messrs. Pyke and
Pluck assisting on that notable occasion, when, by a prearranged
coincidence, Kate and the Wititterlys occupied the adjoining box.—_Vide_
“Nicholas Nickleby,” chapter 27.

This Opera House was burnt down 1789, and rebuilt the following year.  It
was remodelled 1818, and again destroyed by fire, December 6, 1867.
Being a second time rebuilt, it was, for some seasons, closed since 1875.
The present theatre is of recent and splendid erection.

At this central position, from which we may readily take departure for
any point in London, the present Ramble will terminate.  To all those
needing reparation of tissue, a visit to Epitaux’s Restaurant, near the
Haymarket Theatre, will be satisfactory.

_Excursion to Chatham_, _Rochester_, _and Gadshill_

Emmanuel Church; Mr. Wemmick’s Wedding—Dulwich; Mr. Pickwick’s
Retirement—Dulwich Church; Marriage of Snodgrass and Emily
Wardle—Cobham—“The Leather Bottle;” Tracy Tupman’s Retreat—Mr. Pickwick’s
Discovery—Chatham—Railway Street; Rome Lane Elementary School—The Brook;
Residence of the Dickens Family—Clover Lane Academy; Rev. William Giles,
Schoolmaster—Fort Pitt; Dr. Slammer’s Duelling-Ground; the Recreation
Ground of Chatham—Star Hill; Old Rochester Theatre; Mr. Jingle’s
Engagement—Rochester; Eastgate House; The Nuns’ House—Mr. Sapsea’s
Residence—Restoration House; Residence of Miss Havisham, “Satis
House”—[Joe Gargery’s Forge; Parish of Cooling]—The Monk’s Vineyard—Minor
Canon Row—Rochester Cathedral; The Crypts—Durdles—The Cathedral Tower—St.
Nicholas Church—The College Gate; John Jasper’s Lodging—Watts’s Charity;
“The Seven Poor Travellers”—[Watts’s Almshouses]—Miss Adelaide
Procter—The Bull Hotel; the Ball-room—The Crown Hotel; “The Crozier”—The
Esplanade—Rochester Bridge; Richard Doubledick—Gadshill Place; Residence
of Dickens—Gravesend; Embarkation of Mr. Peggotty and friends—Greenwich
Park; “Sketches by Boz”—Church of St. Alphege; Bella Wilfer’s
Marriage—Quartermaine’s Ship Tavern; “An Innocent Elopement;” The
Rokesmith Wedding Dinner.

Starting from the _Holborn Viaduct_ or _Ludgate Hill Station_ of the
London, Chatham, and Dover Railway, we cross the Thames and proceed _en
route_ for the Kentish uplands.  At ten minutes’ distance from the London
terminus, passing the Elephant and Castle and Walworth Road Stations, we
may observe (on the left) the back of Emmanuel Church, as the train
slackens speed for _Camberwell_.  This may be noted as the place where
_Mr. Wemmick_ and _Miss Skiffins_ were united in the bonds of matrimony;
so we may here suitably recall the scene narrated in “Great
Expectations,” and the informal and unexpected procedure adopted by Mr.
W. on that occasion—

    “We went towards Camberwell Green, and when we were thereabouts,
    Wemmick said suddenly, ‘Halloa!  Here’s a church!’  There was nothing
    very surprising in that; but again I was rather surprised when he
    said, as if he were animated by a brilliant idea, ‘Let’s go in!’  We
    went in and looked all round.  In the meantime Wemmick was diving
    into his coat pockets, and getting something out of paper there.
    ‘Halloa!’ said he.  ‘Here’s a couple of pairs of gloves!  Let’s put
    ’em on!’  As the gloves were white kid gloves, I now began to have my
    strong suspicions.  They were strengthened into certainty, when I
    beheld the Aged enter at a side door, escorting a lady.  ‘Halloa!’
    said Wemmick.  ‘Here’s Miss Skiffins!  Let’s have a wedding!’ . . .
    True to his notion of seeming to do it all without preparation, I
    heard Wemmick say to himself, as he took something out of his
    waistcoat pocket before the service began, ‘Halloa!  Here’s a ring!’
    . . .  ‘Now, Mr. Pip,’ said Wemmick triumphantly, as we came out,
    ‘let me ask you whether anybody would suppose this to be a wedding

The route being continued past _Herne Hill Station_, the train arrives at
Dulwich, which we may recollect _en passant_ as being the locality of Mr.
Pickwick’s retirement, before the days of railway locomotion.  The
house—a white, comfortable-looking residence—stands (left) near the
station, as we approach, corresponding in style and position with its
Pickwickian description.  _Mr. Tupman_, too, may have been met with in
olden time, walking in the public promenades or loitering in the Dulwich
Picture Gallery—“with a youthful and jaunty air”—still in the enjoyment
of single blessedness, and the cynosure of the numerous elderly ladies of
the neighbourhood.

_Mr. Snodgrass_ and _Emily Wardle_, as we all know, were married at
DULWICH CHURCH, in this vicinity; the wedding guests—including “the poor
relations, who got there somehow”—assembling at Mr. Pickwick’s new house
on that interesting occasion; and we may remember the general verdict
then unanimously given as to the elegance, comfort, and suitability of
our old friend’s suburban retreat—

    “Nothing was to be heard but congratulations and commendations.
    Everything was so beautiful!  The lawn in front, the garden behind,
    the miniature conservatory, the dining-room, the drawing-room, the
    bedrooms, the smoking-room; and, above all, the study—with its
    pictures and easy chairs, and odd cabinets and queer tables, and
    nooks out of number, with a large cheerful window opening upon a
    pleasant lawn, and commanding a pretty landscape, just dotted here
    and there with little houses, almost hidden by the trees.”

Mr. and Mrs. Samuel Weller and family—retainers in the Pickwickian
establishment—also flourished aforetime in these arcadian groves, in
faithful attendance on their illustrious patron.

The journey being resumed, we pass onwards (Crystal Palace on the right
side of the railway) _viâ Penge_ and _Bromley_, and several country towns
beyond—a pleasant ride of about an hour’s duration—arriving in due course
at Sole Street Station (30 miles from London), about a mile south-west
from the village of Cobham.  A pleasant walk of twenty minutes on the
high road will lead the wayfarer through Owlet to the pretty parish
aforesaid; the rural retreat—famous in the annals of Pickwickian
history—selected by _Mr. Tracy Tupman_ for his retirement from the world,
after his disappointment at the hands of Miss Rachael Wardle.

“The Leather Bottle Inn”—where he was found at dinner by his anxious
friends—is described as “a clean and commodious village ale-house,” and
still maintains its favourable repute.  It stands opposite the church at

    “At Muggleton they procured a conveyance to Rochester.  By the time
    they reached the last-named place, the violence of their grief had
    sufficiently abated to admit of their making a very excellent early
    dinner; and having procured the necessary information relative to the
    road, the three friends set forward again in the afternoon to walk to

    “A delightful walk it was; for it was a pleasant afternoon in June,
    and their way lay through a deep and shady wood, cooled by the light
    wind which gently rustled the thick foliage, and enlivened by the
    songs of the birds that perched upon the boughs.  The ivy and the
    moss crept in thick clusters over the old trees, and the soft green
    turf overspread the ground like a silken mat.  They emerged upon an
    open park, with an ancient hall, displaying the quaint and
    picturesque architecture of Elizabeth’s time.  Long vistas of stately
    oaks and elm-trees appeared on every side; large herds of deer were
    cropping the fresh grass; and occasionally a startled hare scoured
    along the ground with the speed of the shadows thrown by the light
    clouds which swept across a sunny landscape like a passing breath of
    summer.  ‘If this,’ said Mr. Pickwick, looking about him, ‘if this
    were the place to which all who are troubled with our friend’s
    complaint came, I fancy their old attachment to this world would very
    soon return.’

    “‘I think so too,’ said Mr. Winkle.

    “‘And really,’ added Mr. Pickwick, after half-an-hour’s walking had
    brought them to the village, ‘really, for a misanthrope’s choice,
    this is one of the prettiest and most desirable places of residence I
    ever met with.’

    “In this opinion also both Mr. Winkle and Mr. Snodgrass expressed
    their concurrence; and having been directed to the Leather Bottle, a
    clean and commodious village ale-house, the three travellers entered,
    and at once inquired for a gentleman of the name of Tupman.  The
    three friends entered a long, low-roofed room, furnished with a large
    number of high-backed leather-cushioned chairs, of fantastic shapes,
    and embellished with a great variety of old portraits.  At the upper
    end of the room was a table, with a white cloth upon it, well covered
    with a roast fowl, bacon, ale, and et ceteras; and at the table sat
    Mr. Tupman, looking as unlike a man who had taken his leave of the
    world as possible.”

Resting here awhile, we may recall the “immortal discovery” made by Mr.
Pickwick, “which has been the pride and boast of his friends and the envy
of every antiquarian in this or any other country”—that famous stone
found by the chairman of the Pickwick Club himself; “partially buried in
the ground in front of a cottage door,” in this same village of Cobham,
on which “the following fragment of an inscription was clearly to be

                      [Picture: Cobham Inscription]

Full particulars are duly recorded in “The Pickwick Papers,” chapter 11.
We may also remember the celebrated controversy in scientific and erudite
circles, to which this remarkable stone gave rise; Mr. Pickwick being
“elected an honorary member of seventeen native and foreign societies for
the discovery.”

The journey being resumed from Sole Street, we travel _viâ Strood_, ten
miles, to the important station of


Mr. Pickwick’s description (taken from his note-book sixty years since)
is a fairly correct view of the general appearance of Chatham at

    “The principal productions of these towns appear to be soldiers,
    sailors, Jews, chalk, shrimps, officers, and dockyardmen.  The
    commodities chiefly exposed for sale in the public streets are marine
    stores, hard-bake, apples, flat-fish, and oysters.  The streets
    present a lively and animated appearance, occasioned chiefly by the
    conviviality of the military.”

In this city five years of Dickens’s boyhood were passed.  Mr. Dickens,
senior, was appointed in 1816 to a clerkship at the Naval Pay Office, in
connection with the Royal Dockyard, and the Dickens family here resided
till little Charles was nine years of age.

On arrival at the Chatham Station, we may enter the town on the right
from the railway exit (north side of the line), shortly passing under an
archway into Railway Street—formerly Rome Lane—in which was once situated
the elementary school where the boy first attended, with his sister
Fanny.  Revisiting Chatham in after years, Dickens found that it had been
pulled down

    “Ages before, but out of the distance of the ages, arose,
    nevertheless, a not dim impression that it had been over a dyer’s
    shop; that he went up steps to it; that he had frequently grazed his
    knees in doing so; and that in trying to scrape the mud off a very
    unsteady little shoe, he generally got his leg over the scraper.”

At the upper end of Railway Street we proceed (right) by the _High
Street_, and at a short distance (left) by _Fair __Row_ to the _Brook_.
Turning to the left, we shall find, standing immediately beyond the
corner, on the west side, the old Residence of the Dickens Family, No.
18, next door to _Providence Chapel_.  The house is a modest-looking
dwelling of three storeys, with white-washed plaster front as in former
days, six steps leading up to the front door, and a small garden before
and behind.  The chapel previously referred to has been, in more recent
years, used for meetings of the Salvation Army, since becoming a clothing
factory.  During the residence of the family at Chatham, the minister of
this place of worship was a _Mr. William Giles_, who was also the
schoolmaster of Clover Lane Academy.  For the last two years of Charles’s
Chatham experience he was placed under the educational supervision of
this young Baptist minister, whose influence seems to have been
favourable to the development of his pupil’s youthful talents.

Regaining the High Street by _Fair Row_, and turning to the left for a
short distance onwards, we reach, on the right hand of the street, past
the Mitre Hotel, Clover Street, on the south side of which (at the corner
of Richard Street) the Academy, with its playground behind, may still be
seen.  Forster says:—

    “Charles had himself a not ungrateful sense in after years, that this
    first of his masters, in his little-cared-for childhood, had
    pronounced him to be a boy of capacity; and when, about half-way
    through the publication of Pickwick, his old teacher sent a silver
    snuff-box with admiring inscription to ‘the inimitable Boz,’ it
    reminded him of praise far more precious obtained by him at his first
    year’s examination in the Clover Lane Academy.”

Coming through Clover Street, and turning (right) into the _New Road_, we
shortly regain the neighbourhood of Chatham Station, on the south side of
which a road in the westward direction leads to Fort Pitt, now the
Chatham Military Hospital.  Pickwickians will remember that Fort Pitt was
indicated by Lieutenant Tappleton, the friend of the choleric _Doctor
__Slammer_, as being in the vicinity of a field where the quarrel between
the doctor and Mr. Winkle could be adjusted.  This old field, and the
contiguous land surrounding the Fort, now form The Recreation Ground of
the City.  Visitors may hence obtain an interesting and comprehensive
view of the town and neighbourhood.  We are, doubtless, all familiar with
the happy termination of the affair of honour above referred to; the
unworthy Jingle being at the bottom of the mischief.  Full particulars of
the dilemma may be found in chapter 2 of “The Pickwick Papers.”

Returning to the New Road, the Rambler, passing ST. BARTHOLOMEW’S
HOSPITAL (founded in the eleventh century) on the right, may proceed by
_Star Hill_, in the outskirts of Rochester.  On the south side (left) of
the descent there may be noted _en passant_ the new building of the
ROCHESTER CONSERVATIVE CLUB, which stands on the site of The Old Theatre.
Here the versatile Mr. Jingle and his melancholic friend, “elegantly
designated Dismal Jemmy,” were engaged to perform “in the piece that the
Officers of the Fifty-second” got up, when Mr. Pickwick commenced his
travels, May 1827.

The theatre was demolished December 1884.

Continuing the route, we soon arrive at the central street of the old
City of


This place will be interesting to readers of Dickens for its several
associations with his books, including “Pickwick,” “Great Expectations,”
“The Seven Poor Travellers,” and “The Mystery of Edwin Drood,” his latest
and uncompleted work.  In chapter 3 of this last-mentioned tale is the
following description:—

    “An ancient city, Cloisterham, and no meet dwelling-place for any one
    with hankerings after the noisy world.  A monotonous, silent city,
    deriving an earthly flavour throughout, from its Cathedral crypt. . .
    .  A drowsy city, Cloisterham, whose inhabitants seem to suppose,
    with an inconsistency more strange than rare, that all its changes
    lie behind it, and that there are no more to come. . . .  So silent
    are the streets of Cloisterham (though prone to echo on the smallest
    provocation), that of a summer day the sunblinds of its shops scarce
    dare to flap in the south wind; while the sun-browned tramps who pass
    along and stare, quicken their limp a little that they may the sooner
    get beyond the confines of its oppressive respectability.  This is a
    feat not difficult of achievement, seeing that the streets of
    Cloisterham city are little more than one narrow street by which you
    get into it, and get out of it; the rest being mostly disappointing
    yards with pumps in them and no thoroughfare—exception made of the
    Cathedral-close, and a paved Quaker settlement. . . .  In a word, a
    city of another and a bygone time is Cloisterham, with its hoarse
    Cathedral bell, its hoarse rooks hovering about the Cathedral tower,
    its hoarser and less distinct rooks in the stalls far beneath.
    Fragments of old wall, saint’s chapel, chapter-house, convent, and
    monastery have got incongruously or obstructively built into many of
    its houses and gardens, much as kindred jumbled notions have become
    incorporated into many of its citizens’ minds.  All things in it are
    of the past.”

Entering the busier part of the town by the Eastgate thoroughfare, we may
shortly observe, on the right, Eastgate House, now occupied by the CITY
OF ROCHESTER WORKMEN’S CLUB.  It is a fine old Elizabethan building; a
well-preserved specimen of the domestic architecture of the sixteenth
century.  The building abuts on the street, with a large courtyard and
entrance at the side; and a spacious garden is attached at the back of
the house.  For more than fifty years (until about twenty years since)
this establishment flourished as a ladies’ boarding-school, and is
referred to in the pages of “Edwin Drood” as The Nuns’ House, the
seminary conducted by the eminently respectable _Miss Twinkleton_—

    “In the midst of Cloisterham stands the Nuns’ House; a venerable
    brick edifice, whose present appellation is doubtless derived from
    the legend of its conventual uses.  On the trim gate enclosing its
    old courtyard, is a resplendent brass plate flashing forth the
    legend, ‘Seminary for young Ladies.  Miss Twinkleton.’  The
    house-front is so old and worn, and the brass plate is so shining and
    staring, that the general result has reminded imaginative strangers
    of a battered old beau with a large modern eye-glass stuck in his
    blind eye.”

On the opposite side of the High Street (Nos. 146 and 147) stands Mr.
Sapsea’s House.  It will be remembered that we are introduced to _Mr.
Thomas Sapsea_, auctioneer and Mayor of Cloisterham, in the 4th chapter
of the same book, as being “the purest jackass” in the town; adopting, in
his voice and style, the professional mannerism of his superiors—

    “Mr. Sapsea ‘dresses at’ the Dean; has been bowed to for the Dean, in
    mistake; has even been spoken to in the street as My Lord, under the
    impression that he was the Bishop come down unexpectedly, without his
    chaplain.  Mr. Sapsea is very proud of this, and of his voice, and of
    his style.  He has even (in selling landed property) tried the
    experiment of slightly intoning in his pulpit, to make himself more
    like what he takes to be the genuine ecclesiastical article.  So, in
    ending a Sale by Public Auction, Mr. Sapsea finishes off with an air
    of bestowing a benediction on the assembled brokers, which leaves the
    real Dean—a modest and worthy gentleman—far behind.”

Much of the humorous element of the tale is connected with this
character.  According to local tradition, Mr. S. is supposed to be a
combination of two well-known townsmen, formerly resident in _Rochester_;
a councilman who lived at the above address, and an auctioneer, once
mayor of the city, over whose door the pulpit spoken of in “Edwin Drood”
could have been seen—

    “Over the doorway is a wooden effigy, about half life-size,
    representing Mr. Sapsea’s father, in a curly wig and toga, in the act
    of selling.  The chastity of the idea, and the natural appearance of
    the little figure, hammer, and pulpit, have been much admired.”

Both the aforesaid local prototypes have departed this life some time
since, and the premises have been occupied by others (equally competent,
but less pretentious) of that ilk.

We now turn on the left into _Crow Lane_; at the further end of which, on
the south side, stands Restoration House, another specimen of the
Elizabethan style, in the present occupation of Stephen T. Aveling, Esq.
This residence is of interest as being the _Satis House_ of “Great
Expectations,” in which _Miss Havisham_ lived.  We may recollect the
circumstance of _Pip_ being escorted in _Mr. Pumblechook’s_ chaise-cart
to this address, “to play” for the diversion of Miss Havisham.  Here he
first met _Estella_, who then treated him with extreme contempt, but with
whom he fell desperately in love notwithstanding.  Pip says, when
speaking of his departure from the house:—

    “I set off on the four-mile walk to our forge, pondering, as I went
    along, on all I had seen, and deeply revolving that I was a common
    labouring-boy: that my hands were coarse; that my boots were thick;
    that I had fallen into a despicable habit of calling knaves Jacks;
    that I was much more ignorant than I had considered myself last
    night, and generally that I was in a low-lived bad way.”

[Joe Gargery’s Forge and wooden house were in the little village of
_Cooling_, six miles north of Rochester.  The greater part of the parish
is marsh-land, extending to the Thames.  Mr. Forster recalls, in his
biography, the occasion when he and his friend stood on the spot; Dickens
saying that “he meant to make it the scene of the opening of his
story—Cooling Castle ruins, and the desolate church lying out among the
marshes, seven miles from Gadshill.”  Here it was that Pip met the
convict _Magwitch_—by secret appointment—and supplied him with “wittles”
and a file, thus materially influencing his own future fortunes.]

Turning to the left, we reach the _Promenade and Recreation Ground_,
called “The Vines,” an open space of more than three acres, formerly the
vinery of the ancient Priory.  It is referred to in “Edwin Drood,”
chapter 14, as the Monk’s Vineyard, in which, near a wicket-gate in a
corner, Edwin met the old woman from the opium-smoking den in the East
end of London, from whom he received warning of a threatened danger.
This is the last occasion that we read of Edwin Drood previous to his
mysterious disappearance—

    “The woman’s words are in the rising wind, in the angry sky, in the
    troubled water, in the flickering lights.  There is some solemn echo
    of them even in the Cathedral chime, which strikes a sudden surprise
    to his heart as he turns in under the archway of the Gate house.  And
    so he goes up the postern stair.”

Passing on the right the handsome residence of the Head Master of the
Grammar School, we cross the Vines, and turn on the right hand to Minor
Canon Row, a terrace of seven red-brick houses at the north end of _St.
Margaret Street_ and on the south side of the Cathedral Close.  This
locality bears the appellation, in the before-mentioned book, of Minor
Canon Corner, the residence of the _Rev. Septimus Crisparkle_ and his
mother, the “china shepherdess.”  In chapter 6 we find the following
pleasant reference to the same:—

    “Minor Canon Corner was a quiet place in the shadow of the Cathedral,
    which the cawing of the rooks, the echoing footsteps of rare passers,
    the sound of the Cathedral bell, or the roll of the Cathedral organ,
    seemed to render more quiet than absolute silence. . . .  Red-brick
    walls harmoniously toned down in colour by time, strong-rooted ivy,
    latticed windows, panelled rooms, big oaken beams in little places,
    and stone-walled gardens where annual fruit yet ripened upon monkish
    trees, were the principal surroundings of pretty old Mrs. Crisparkle
    and the Reverend Septimus as they sat at breakfast.”

Immediately north of this position stands the old Cathedral of Rochester,
with its “well-known massive grey square tower,” in which, we may
remember, the respected _Mr. John Jasper_ was engaged as Lay Precentor;
with the reputation of being devoted to his art, and “having done such
wonders with the choir.”  In the interior, on the wall of the south-west
transept, is a quaint monument to the memory of _Richard Watts_, a
prominent townsman to whom further reference will be made.  Underneath
this is placed a brass memorial-tablet, inscribed—

    “CHARLES DICKENS.—Born at Portsmouth, seventh of February 1812.  Died
    at Gadshill Place, by Rochester, ninth of June 1870.  Buried in
    Westminster Abbey.  To connect his memory with the scenes in which
    his earliest and his latest years were passed, and with the
    associations of Rochester Cathedral and its neighbourhood, which
    extended over all his life, this tablet, with the sanction of the
    Dean and Chapter, is placed by his executors.”

The author’s latest suggestive sketch, in association with this ancient
fane, may be here suitably recalled:—

    “A brilliant morning shines on the old city.  Its antiquities and
    ruins are surpassingly beautiful, with the lusty ivy gleaming in the
    sun, and the rich trees waving in the balmy air.  Changes of glorious
    light from moving boughs, songs of birds, scents from gardens, woods,
    and fields—or, rather, from the one great garden of the whole
    cultivated island in its yielding time—penetrate into the Cathedral,
    subdue its earthy odour, and preach the Resurrection and the Life.
    The cold stone tombs of centuries ago grow warm; and flecks of
    brightness dart into the sternest marble corners of the building,
    fluttering there like wings.”

The Crypts below contain the “buried magnates of ancient time and high
degree,” with whom Durdles, the stonemason, was on terms of intimate

    “In the demolition of impedimental fragments of wall, buttress, and
    pavement he has seen strange sights. . . .  Thus he will say,
    ‘Durdles come upon the old chap, by striking right into the coffin
    with his pick.  The old chap gave Durdles a look with his open eyes,
    as much as to say, Is your name Durdles?  Why, my man, I’ve been
    waiting for you a Devil of a time!’ And then he turned to powder.
    With a two-foot rule always in his pocket, and a mason’s hammer all
    but always in his hand, Durdles goes continually sounding, and
    tapping all about and about the Cathedral; and whenever he says to
    Tope, ‘Tope, here’s another old ’un in here,’ Tope announces it to
    the Dean as an established discovery.”

It is believed that the prototype of this character was an old German
working stonemason, who lived at Rochester many years since.  He employed
himself by carving various grotesque figures out of odd fragments of soft
stone found in the Cathedral crypt, which he begged for the purpose; and
it is recollected that he was accustomed to carry these articles of
_vertu_ about the town, tied up in a coloured handkerchief; also that,
whenever he succeeded in effecting a sale, he immediately celebrated the
transaction by getting very tipsy.  He lodged at a public-house named
“The Fortune of War,” now known as “_The Lifeboat_.”

Chapter 12, headed “A Night with Durdles,” contains a description of the
ascent of the Cathedral Tower, to the following effect:—

    “They go up the winding staircase . . . among the cobwebs and the
    dust.  Twice or thrice they emerge into level low-arched galleries,
    whence they can look down into the moonlight nave. . .  Anon they
    turn into narrower and steeper staircases, and the night air begins
    to blow upon them, and the chirp of some startled jackdaw or
    frightened rook precedes the heavy beating of wings in a confined
    space, and the beating down of dust and straws upon their heads.  At
    last, leaving their light behind a stair—for it blows fresh up
    here—they look down on Cloisterham, fair to see in the moonlight: its
    ruined habitations and sanctuaries of the dead, at the tower’s base:
    its moss-softened red-tiled roofs and red-brick houses of the living,
    clustered beyond: its river winding down from the mist on the
    horizon, as though that were its source, and already heaving with a
    restless knowledge of its approach towards the sea.”

Before leaving the Cathedral precincts, on the north side we soon pass
St. Nicholas Church, and may note its pleasant little graveyard—“where
daisies blossom on the verdant sod”—lying near the old walls of the
Castle and its contiguous gardens.  It is said that this is the spot
which Dickens himself would have preferred as his last resting-place.

We now approach the High Street by The College Gate (facing _Pump Lane_),
an old gatehouse with archway, having two exterior doors, standing
angle-wise in the street, with a small postern at the back of the gate.
The house, now occupied by the assistant verger, is a gabled wooden
structure of two storeys, built over the stone gateway beneath.  Students
of Dickens will remember that this was the residence of _Mr. Tope_,
“chief verger and showman” of the Cathedral, with whom lodged Mr. John
Jasper, the uncle of Edwin Drood.  It is first referred to in the 2nd
chapter of the book: “an old stone gatehouse crossing the Close, with an
arched thoroughfare passing beneath it,” decorated by “pendant masses of
ivy and creeper covering the building’s front.”  Here Mr. Jasper
entertained his nephew and his nephew’s friend; and we also read of _Mr.
Grewgious_ climbing “the postern stair.”  On this latter occasion the old
lawyer called on Mr. Jasper, visiting Cloisterham in preparation for
their formal release as trustees on Edwin’s attaining his majority.

Turning to the right, on the opposite side of the High Street, we soon
reach a stone-fronted edifice, with small windows and three gables, known
as The Poor Travellers’ House.  This charity was established 1579, by a
local philanthropist, RICHARD WATTS, formerly citizen of Rochester, who
rose from a humble position to be Member of Parliament for the City.  He
entertained Queen Elizabeth at his mansion (in 1573), a white house
situated near the Castle gardens, and called _Satis House_.  It will be
recollected that Dickens transferred this name to Restoration House,
situated in Crow Lane.  It is said that the appellation was bestowed on
the mansion by the virgin queen herself, in recognition of the
“satisfactory” entertainment afforded by her host.  _Estella_ gives
another explanation of the title: “It meant, when it was given, that
whoever had this house could want nothing else.  They must have been
easily satisfied.”

Watts’s Charity, the Travellers’ Rest aforesaid, is associated with the
Christmas Number of _Household Words_ (1854), entitled “THE SEVEN POOR
TRAVELLERS;” in which the inscription over the quaint old door is
reproduced as follows:—

                             RICHARD WATTS, ESQ.,
                      by his will dated 22 August 1579,
                             founded this charity
                           for six poor travellers,
                      Who not being Rogues, or Proctors
                      may receive gratis for one night,
                           Lodging, Entertainment,
                             and four-pence each.

The entertainment herein specified comprises for each traveller, a supper
of half a pound of freshly-cooked meat, one pound of bread, and a
half-pint of beer, which is given in addition to the stated fourpence
payable in the morning.

[This gentleman’s memory is also perpetuated in the charitable annals of
the district by a handsome pile of buildings, in the Elizabethan style,
on the Maidstone Road, called WATTS’S ALMSHOUSES—with pleasure-grounds in
front, affording accommodation for ten men and ten women, who also
receive twelve shillings each per week.  The Institution is superintended
by a matron and governed by sixteen trustees.]

We are doubtless familiar with the Christmas Eve entertainment here
provided by the narrator of “The Seven Poor Travellers,” as above:—

    “It was settled that at nine o’clock that night a Turkey and a piece
    of Roast Beef should smoke upon the board, and that I, faint and
    unworthy minister for once of Master Richard Watts, should preside as
    the Christmas-supper host of the six Poor Travellers.”

And we must all have a vivid recollection of the processional order of
supply on that festive opportunity:—

                        “Myself with the pitcher.
                              Ben with Beer.
       Inattentive Boy with hot            Inattentive Boy with hot
               plates.                             plates.
                               THE TURKEY.

             Female carrying sauces to be heated on the spot.

                                THE BEEF.

           Man with Tray on his head, containing Vegetables and

                 Volunteer Hostler from Hotel, grinning,
                      and rendering no assistance.”

After hearty discussion of the orthodox plum-pudding and mince-pies which
crowned the feast, the company drew round the fire, and the “brown
beauty” of the host—the pitcher, carried first in the procession—was
elevated to the table.  It proved to be “a glorious jorum” of hot
Wassail, prepared from the chairman’s special and private receipt, the
materials of which, “together with their proportions and combinations,”
he declines to impart.  Glasses being filled therefrom, the toast of the
evening was duly and reverently honoured: “CHRISTMAS!  CHRISTMAS EVE, my
friends; when the Shepherds, who were poor travellers too, in their way,
heard the angels sing, ‘On earth peace.  Goodwill toward men!’”

The pen of the “Inimitable” was never in more genial feather than when
inditing this Christmas story, the cheery and sympathetic humour of which
is not excelled even by the “Carol” itself.

Another Dickensian association with this Rochester Charity may be quoted
in connection with Miss Adelaide Procter.  During ’54 this lady had been
a valued contributor to _Household Words_, under the assumed name of
“Berwick,” and some speculation arose in the editorial department as to
the real personality of the writer.  The _nom de plume_ being, in course
of time, relinquished, and the secret told, Mr. Dickens sent a letter of
congratulation and appreciation to the young authoress—dated December
17th, 1854—which thus concluded: “Pray accept the blessing and
forgiveness of Richard Watts, though I am afraid you come under _both his
conditions of exclusion_.”

Retracing the High Street route, we again pass the Gate-house of the
Cathedral Close, and come, immediately on the left, to the noted Bull
Hotel, a commodious establishment of ancient and respectable repute, and
the principal posting-house of the town.  This is the celebrated hostelry
at which the Pickwickians sojourned on the occasion of their first visit
to Rochester, per “Commodore” coach from London.  In the large
assembly-room upstairs—“a long room, with crimson-covered benches, and
wax candles in glass chandeliers, with the musicians securely confined in
an elevated den”—the memorable Ball took place, on the evening of their
arrival, which was attended by _Mr. Tupman_ and his seductive friend
_Jingle_; the latter affording some information as to the exclusive
character of Rochester society:—

    “‘Wait a minute,’ said the stranger, ‘fun presently—nobs not come
    yet—queer place.  Dockyard people of upper rank don’t know Dockyard
    people of lower rank.  Dockyard people of lower rank don’t know small
    gentry—small gentry don’t know tradespeople—Commissioner don’t know

Here Mr. Jingle, on that fateful occasion, gave dire offence to Doctor
Slammer, of the 97th Regiment, by making himself obtrusively agreeable to
the rich little widow, Mrs. Budger; and we may remember how the Doctor,
with his “hitherto bottled-up indignation effervescing from all parts of
his countenance in a perspiration of passion,” insisted on a hostile

The hotel has a frontage of about 90 feet, with wide pillared gateway,
and extensive stabling at the back.  Proceeding past the Guildhall on the
right, towards the end of the street, facing Rochester Bridge, we arrive
at The Crown Hotel, pleasantly situated at the corner of the Esplanade
and High Street, one side of the house facing the Medway; a white-brick
edifice lately rebuilt.  It is referred to in chapter 18 of “Edwin Drood”
as “_The Crozier_,” the orthodox hotel at which _Mr. Datchery_ took up
his temporary abode, previous to settling in Cloisterham as “a single
buffer—an idle dog who lived upon his means.”  Other visitors to
Rochester may advantageously imitate Mr. Datchery’s example, the position
and conduct of the house being alike excellent.

Round the corner to the left, commences The Esplanade, extending under
the castle walls, and along the bank of the river for a considerable
distance.  This promenade is mentioned in the 13th chapter of “Edwin
Drood,” being the scene of the last interview between Edwin and Rosa,
when they mutually agreed to cancel the irksome bond between them—

    “They walked on by the river.  They began to speak of their separate
    plans.  He would quicken his departure from England, and she would
    remain where she was, at least as long as Helena remained.  The poor
    dear girls should have their disappointment broken to them gently,
    and, as the first preliminary, Miss Twinkleton should be confided in
    by Rosa, even in advance of the reappearance of Mr. Grewgious.  It
    should be made clear in all quarters that she and Edwin were the best
    of friends.  There had never been so serene an understanding between
    them since they were first affianced.”

Leaving Rochester by The Bridge, crossing the Medway, we may bestow a
passing thought on _Richard Doubledick_ as he came over the same, “with
half a shoe to his dusty feet,” in the year 1799, limping into the town
of Chatham.  (See “The Seven Poor Travellers,” previously mentioned.)

On the north side of the river, the Rambler enters the town of _Strood_,
and may proceed through the same, about two miles on the Gravesend Road,


the last residence of Charles Dickens.  It is situated on the left-hand
side, nearly opposite the _Falstaff Inn_.  The house was purchased by him
on the 14th of March 1856, for £1790; and he afterwards projected and
carried out many costly additions and improvements thereto.  On the
first-floor landing is displayed an illuminated frame (the work of Mr.
Owen Jones), which reads as follows:—

“THIS HOUSE, GADSHILL PLACE, stands on the summit of Shakespeare’s
Gadshill, ever memorable for its association with Sir John Falstaff in
his noble fancy—‘_But_, _my lads_, _my lads_, _to-morrow morning_, _by
four o’clock_, _early at Gadshill_! _there are pilgrims going to
Canterbury with rich offerings_, _and traders riding to London with fat
purses_: _I have vizards for you all_; _you have horses for

On this residence Dickens had fixed his choice in his boyish days.  It
had always held a prominent place amid the recollections connected with
his childhood.  Forster says that “upon first seeing it as he came from
Chatham with his father, and looking up at it with admiration, he had
been promised that he might live in it himself, or some such house, when
he came to be a man, if he would only work hard enough.”  It is pleasant
to record that this ambition was gratified in after life, when the dream
of his boyhood was realised.

In the contiguous shrubbery was placed a Swiss Chalet, presented to
Dickens by his friend Mr. Fechter, which arrived from Paris in
ninety-four pieces, fitting like the joints of a puzzle.  Our author was
fond of working in this chalet during the summer months; and in it, much
of the material of his latest work was prepared.

In sad association with Gadshill Place, we must refer to the unexpected
Death of Charles Dickens, which occurred here on the 9th of June 1870.
He had been feeling weary and fatigued for some days previous to this
date, but had nevertheless continued to work with cheerfulness, writing
in the chalet, in preparation of the sixth number of “Edwin Drood.”  On
the 8th of June, whilst at dinner, he was suddenly attacked with
apoplexy, and never spoke afterwards; and on the evening of the following
day—with one rolling tear and one deep sigh—his gentle spirit soared
beyond these earthly shadows,

                    “Into the Land of the Great Departed,
                            Into the Silent Land.”

An interval being allowed for refreshments at the Falstaff Inn, _à
discrétion_, we may resume the road onwards to the nearest station of
HIGHAM—about a mile distant—whence the South-Eastern Railway may be taken
for the homeward journey.  At five miles’ distance we reach Gravesend,
which is situated at the foot of the hills, extending for some two miles
on the south side of the Thames.  This town is the boundary of the port
of London, at which many outward and homeward bound vessels on foreign
service receive or discharge their passengers and freight.  As we pass
this station we may remember that in chapter 57 of “David Copperfield,”
Gravesend is referred to as the starting-point of Mr. Peggotty and his
niece, emigrating to Australia, and accompanied by _Martha_, _Mrs.
Gummidge_, _and the Micawber family_.  The parting with his friends David
describes as follows:—

    “We went over the side into our boat, and lay at a little distance to
    see the ship wafted on her course.  It was then calm, radiant sunset.
    She lay between us and the red light, and every taper line and spar
    was visible against the glow.  A sight at once so beautiful, so
    mournful, and so hopeful, as the glorious ship lying still on the
    flushed water, with all the life on board her crowded at the
    bulwarks, and there clustering for a moment, bareheaded and silent, I
    never saw.  Silent, only for a moment.  As the sails rose to the
    wind, and the ship began to move, there broke from all the boats
    three resounding cheers, which those on board took up and echoed
    back, and which were echoed and re-echoed . . .  Surrounded by the
    rosy light . . . they solemnly passed away.”

Continuing the homeward journey by South-Eastern Railway, the Rambler
will arrive in due course at the station of GREENWICH, eighteen miles
from Gravesend.  Here alighting, a short walk eastward, on the south side
of the line—through _London Street_, turning right by end of _Church
Street_—will lead us to the entrance of Greenwich Park.  This well-known
place of popular resort was referred to by Dickens in his first
contributions to the _Evening Chronicle_, 1835, which were afterwards
collected under the name of “Sketches by Boz.”  The sketch is entitled
“_Greenwich Fair_,” and gives descriptions of the doings in the park at
that festival, as holden aforetime in this locality—

    “The principal amusement is to drag young ladies up the steep hill
    which leads to the Observatory, and then drag them down again at the
    very top of their speed, greatly to the derangement of their curls
    and bonnet-caps, and much to the edification of lookers-on from

From the Park entrance we may now proceed towards the river by _Church
Street_, on the left hand of which, past _London Street_, stands the
Church of St. Alphege, a handsome edifice in classic style.  The happy
wedding of _Bella Wilfer_ and _John Rokesmith_, otherwise _Harmon_, here
took place, in the presence of a “gruff and glum old pensioner” from the
neighbouring hospital, with two wooden legs.  We may also recall the
circumstance of Mr. and Mrs. Boffin’s attendance, that worthy couple
being hid away near the church organ.

Following the route northward, we may soon reach _King William Street_,
by the river side, in which is situated Quartermaine’s Ship Tavern.  This
is the place where the “lovely woman” and her father once dined together
on the occasion of their “innocent elopement.”  (See “Our Mutual Friend,”
chapter 8, Book 2.)  It may be also remembered as the hotel at which was
celebrated the wedding dinner of _Mr. and Mrs. Rokesmith_ aforesaid,
“dear little Pa” being the honoured guest of that blissful opportunity.
We may here also recollect the dignified bearing of the head waiter—The
Archbishop of Greenwich—“a solemn gentleman in black clothes and a white
cravat, who looked much more like a clergyman than _the_ clergyman, and
seemed to have mounted a great deal higher in the church.”

Leaving GREENWICH, a short ride of twenty minutes (six miles), following
the course of the river, will bring us to the CHARING CROSS TERMINUS, in
central London.

Excursion to Canterbury and Dover

Route by London, Chatham and Dover Railway, _viâ_ Sittingbourne and
Faversham to Canterbury; The Queen’s Head Inn, “the little hotel”
patronised by the Micawbers—By Mercery Lane and Christ Church Gate to
Cathedral Close for King’s School, the Establishment at which David
Copperfield was educated—Dr. Strong’s House—The Fleur de Lys Hotel; Mr.
Dick’s stopping-place at Canterbury—The George and Dragon Inn; the old
London Coach Office—Palace Street and Church of St. Alphege; the scene of
Dr. Strong’s marriage to Miss Annie Markleham—No. 65 North Lane, the
“’umble dwelling” of Uriah Heep, afterwards the residence of the Micawber
Family—71 St. Dunstan Street; Mr. Wickfield’s house, and Home of
Agnes—Canterbury to Dover—Corner of Church and Castle Streets, Market
Place; David’s resting-place—Priory Hill, Stanley Mount; Miss Betsy
Trotwood’s Residence—“The King’s Head”; Mr. Lorry, Lucie Manette, and
Miss Pross—The Staplehurst Disaster—Postscript to “Our Mutual Friend.”

The excursion proposed in Ramble VI. to Chatham, Rochester, Gadshill,
etc. (see page 82), could be advantageously extended to include
CANTERBURY and DOVER, for visiting the localities in these towns
associated with the history of David Copperfield.

Beyond Chatham the journey is continued on the LONDON, CHATHAM AND DOVER
RAILWAY, by three minor stations to SITTINGBOURNE, formerly a favourite
resting-place for pilgrims (as its name would seem to indicate) _en
route_ for Canterbury; but the modern mode of travel only now
necessitates a halt of twenty minutes.  Passing TEYNSHAM and FAVERSHAM,
the train proceeds by the intermediate station of SELLING, to the fair
old city of


pleasantly situated on the banks of the Stour.  Seat of the Primate of
England, where, as Mr. Micawber writes, “the society may be described as
a happy admixture of the agricultural and the clerical.”  A quaint and
quiet cathedral town, redolent with fragrant memories of _Agnes
Wickfield_, fairest type of English womanhood—her father, and friends.

Proceeding from the station towards the Cathedral, by CASTLE STREET, we
reach the old Roman road of WATLING STREET (extending from Chester to
Dover), at the south corner of which (right), and facing ST. MARGARET
STREET, stands the “Queen’s Head Inn.”  This is “the little hotel”
patronised by Mr. and Mrs. Micawber on the occasion of their first visit
to Canterbury, as related in chapter 17 of “David Copperfield”—“Somebody
turns up.”

    “It was a little inn where Mr. Micawber put up, and he occupied a
    little room in it, partitioned off from the commercial room, and
    strongly flavoured with tobacco smoke.  I think it was over the
    kitchen, because a warm greasy smell appeared to come up through the
    chinks in the floor, and there was a flabby perspiration on the
    walls.  I know it was near the bar, on account of the smell of
    spirits and jingling of glasses.  Here, recumbent on a small sofa,
    underneath a picture of a race-horse, with her head close to the
    fire, and her feet pushing the mustard off the dumb-waiter at the
    other end of the room, was Mrs. Micawber, to whom Mr. Micawber
    entered first, saying, ‘My dear, allow me to introduce to you a pupil
    of Dr. Strong’s.’”

It will be remembered that the amiable lady thus referred to, here
confidentially explained to David the reason of their visit to this part
of the country—

    “‘Mr. Micawber was induced to think, on inquiry, that there might be
    an opening for a man of his talent in the Medway Coal Trade.  Then,
    as Mr. Micawber very properly said, the first step to be taken
    clearly was to come and see the Medway; which we came and saw.  I say
    ‘we,’ Master Copperfield, ‘for I never will,’ said Mrs. Micawber with
    emotion, ‘I never will desert Mr. Micawber. . . .  Being so near
    here, Mr. Micawber was of opinion that it would be rash not to come
    on and see the Cathedral—firstly, on account of its being so well
    worth seeing, and our never having seen it; and, secondly, on account
    of the great probability of something turning up in a cathedral

We may also recollect the dinner and convivial evening thereafter,
celebrated two days later at this address, when David attended as the
honoured guest of the occasion—

    “We had a beautiful little dinner.  Quite an elegant dish of fish;
    the kidney-end of a loin of veal, roasted; fried sausage-meat; a
    partridge, and a pudding.  There was wine, and there was strong ale;
    and after dinner Mrs. Micawber made us a bowl of hot punch with her
    own hands.  Mr. Micawber was uncommonly convivial.  I never saw him
    such good company.  He made his face shine with the punch, so that it
    looked as if it had been varnished all over.  He got cheerfully
    sentimental about the town, and proposed success to it, observing
    that Mrs. Micawber and himself had been made extremely snug and
    comfortable there, and that he never should forget the agreeable
    hours they had passed in Canterbury.”

Later on there is recorded in the Copperfield autobiography (chapter 42)
how David, accompanied by his aunt and friends—Messrs. Dick and
Traddles—sojourned for the night at this same hotel.  They had arrived at
Canterbury by the Dover Mail, as desired by Mr. Micawber, in readiness to
assist the next day at the memorable “Explosion” which resulted in the
final discomfiture of _Uriah Heep_, “the Forger and the Cheat”—

    “At the hotel where Mr. Micawber had requested us to await him, which
    we got into, with some trouble, in the middle of the night, I found a
    letter, importing that he would appear in the morning punctually at
    half-past nine.  After which, we went shivering at that uncomfortable
    hour to our respective beds, through various close passages, which
    smelt as if they had been steeped for ages in a solution of soup and

Following the course of St. Margaret Street northward, and passing (left)
the old CHURCH OF ST. MARGARET—recently restored by Sir Gilbert Scott—we
soon arrive at the central main thoroughfare, which here divides the
town, extending from St. Dunstan’s Church (west) to the New Dover Road,
leaving Canterbury on the east.

Crossing the HIGH STREET, and continuing northward through the narrow
thoroughfare of MERCERY LANE (on the opposite side)—once the resort of
the many pilgrims who came aforetime to worship at the shrine of
Thomas-à-Becket—we enter the precincts of the Cathedral by CHRIST CHURCH
GATE (16th century).

Turning to the right within the Close, and passing the secluded
residences of several “grave and reverend seigniors,” we may find, on the
farther side, King’s School, an educational establishment of good repute
and old foundation, pleasantly and quietly situated.  The school is
supervised by certain “worthy and approved good masters,” successors to
the amiable DOCTOR STRONG and assistants, under whose careful tutorship
David Copper-field was educated after his adoption by Miss Betsy
Trotwood.  In the commencement of chapter 16 of his autobiography, David
thus describes the place:—

    “Next morning, after breakfast, I entered on school life again.  I
    went, accompanied by Mr. Wickfield, to the scene of my future
    studies—a grave building in a courtyard, with a learned air about it
    that seemed very well suited to the stray rooks and jackdaws who came
    down from the Cathedral towers to walk with a clerkly bearing on the
    grass-plot—and was introduced to my new master, Doctor Strong.”

Doctor Strong’s Private Residence—at which “some of the higher scholars
boarded”—is an antiquated house, situated at the corner of LADY’S GREEN
(No. 1), at a short distance eastward.  Here David was a frequent
visitor, learning particulars of the Doctor’s history, and becoming
intimate with the various personages therewith connected.  Pleasant
reminiscences of the doings and sayings of _Mrs. Markleham_—“the Old
Soldier” (so called by the boys “on account of her generalship, and the
skill with which she marshalled great forces of relations against the
Doctor”)—the tender associations which cluster round the story of
_Annie_, the good doctor’s true-hearted wife; with a casual recollection
of the family cousin—_Mr. Jack Maldon_—(no better than he should be)—may
combine to enhance the interest of a visit to this old-fashioned but
comfortable home.

Crossing the LADY’S GREEN towards the gate of the ancient AUGUSTINIAN
MONASTERY, and proceeding onwards by MONASTERY STREET, we may find at the
end and corner of the street, on the left hand, a noteworthy
antique-looking house, partly incorporated with a second gate of the old
Monastery, at present the residence of a gentleman of the medical
profession.  In bygone time this house was a point of considerable
attraction to David during his later school-days at Canterbury, as being
the home of “The Eldest Miss Larkins,” his second love.  In chapter 18,
as we may remember, is contained a very pleasant piece of natural
sketching, entitled “A Retrospect,” comprising, _inter alia_, the story
of his youthful passion.  David says:—

    “I worship the eldest Miss Larkins.  The eldest Miss Larkins is not a
    little girl.  She is a tall, dark, black-eyed, fine figure of a
    woman.  The eldest Miss Larkins is not a chicken, for the youngest
    Miss Larkins is not that, and the eldest must be three or four years
    older.  Perhaps the eldest Miss Larkins may be about thirty.  My
    passion for her is beyond all bounds. . . .  Everything that belongs
    to her, or is connected with her, is precious to me.  Mr. Larkins (a
    gruff old gentleman with a double chin, and one of his eyes immovable
    in his head) is fraught with interest to me. . . .  I regularly take
    walks outside Mr. Larkins’s house in the evening, though it cuts me
    to the heart to see the officers go in, or to hear them up in the
    drawing-room, where the eldest Miss Larkins plays the harp.  I even
    walk, on two or three occasions, in a sickly spooney manner, round
    and round the house after the family are gone to bed, wondering which
    is the eldest Miss Larkins’s chamber (and pitching, I dare say now,
    on Mr. Larkins’s instead), wishing that a fire would burst out; that
    the assembled crowd would stand appalled; that I, dashing through
    them with a ladder, might rear it against her window, save her in my
    arms, go back for something she had left behind, and perish in the

The Drawing-Room here mentioned is situated above the old Monastery Gate,
between the two towers which stand on either side.  We may recollect it
was here that David, having received an invitation to a private ball
given at the Larkins’s, enjoyed his first dance with “his dear divinity;”
afterwards being introduced to _Mr. Chestle_, a hop-grower from the
neighbourhood of Ashford, “a friend of the family,” and—alas for
David!—the future husband of the eldest Miss Larkins—

    “I waltz with the eldest Miss Larkins!  I don’t know where, among
    whom, or how long.  I only know that I swim about in space with a
    blue angel, in a state of blissful delirium. . . .  I am lost in the
    recollection of this delicious interview, and the waltz, when she
    comes to me again, with a plain, elderly gentleman, who has been
    playing whist all night, upon her arm, and says, ‘Oh, here is my bold
    friend!  Mr. Chestle wants to know you, Mr. Copperfield.’  I feel at
    once that he is a friend of the family, and am much gratified. . . .
    I think I am in a happy dream.  I waltz again with the eldest Miss
    Larkins.  She says I waltz so well!  I go home in a state of
    unspeakable bliss, and waltz in imagination, all night long, with my
    arm round the blue waist of my dear divinity.”

Proceeding westward, we pass along the opposite roadway which faces the
house above referred to, by Church Street St. Paul, and Burgate Street,
to the Old Cathedral entrance.

As the Rambler returns, again traversing Mercery Lane, there may be noted
on the left—No. 14—a respectable Butcher’s Shop, now in the keeping of
Mr. Cornes.  It is evident from its position, near Christ Church Gate,
that this was the establishment where flourished, in days of yore, that
obnoxious “young butcher” who was “the terror of the youth of
Canterbury,” and the especial enemy of the pupils at King’s School.  In
chapter 18—“A Retrospect”—Copperfield writes as follows:—

    “There is a vague belief abroad that the beef suet with which he
    anoints his hair gives him unnatural strength, and that he is a match
    for a man.  He is a broad-faced, bull-necked young butcher, with
    rough red cheeks, an ill-conditioned mind, and an injurious tongue.
    His main use of this tongue is to disparage Dr. Strong’s young
    gentlemen.  He says publicly that if they want anything he’ll give it
    ’em.  He names individuals among them (myself included) whom he could
    undertake to settle with one hand, and the other tied behind him.  He
    waylays the smaller boys to punch their unprotected heads, and calls
    challenges after me in the open streets.  For these sufficient
    reasons I resolve to fight the butcher.

    “It is a summer evening, down in a green hollow, at the corner of a
    wall.  I meet the butcher by appointment.  I am attended by a select
    body of our boys; the butcher by two other butchers, a young
    publican, and a sweep.  The preliminaries are adjusted, and the
    butcher and myself stand face to face.  In a moment the butcher
    lights ten thousand candles out of my left eyebrow.  In another
    moment I don’t know where the wall is, or where I am, or where
    anybody is.  I hardly know which is myself and which the butcher; we
    are always in such a tangle and tussle, knocking about upon the
    trodden grass.  Sometimes I see the butcher, bloody but confident;
    sometimes I see nothing, but sit gasping on my second’s knee;
    sometimes I go in at the butcher madly, and cut my knuckles open
    against his face, without appearing to discompose him at all.  At
    last I awake, very queer about the head, as from a giddy sleep, and
    see the butcher walking off, congratulated by the two other butchers
    and the sweep and publican, and putting on his coat as he goes, from
    which I augur justly that the victory is his.”

But a few years afterwards David—ætat. 17—becomes a better match for his
opponent; and we read in the same chapter how—after his youthful
disappointment _in re_ “the eldest Miss Larkins”—having received new
provocation from the butcher, he goes out to battle a second time, and
gloriously defeats him.

Turning again on the right into the main central thoroughfare, we may
find, on the south side, the Fleur de Lys Hotel—34 High Street.  A
well-appointed and respectable establishment, at which, in the time of
Copperfield’s school-days, Mr. Dick was in the habit of stopping every
alternate Wednesday, arriving from Dover by the stage-coach on his
special fortnightly visits to David.  We read that

    “These Wednesdays were the happiest days of Mr. Dick’s life; they
    were far from being the least happy of mine.  He soon became known to
    every boy in the school, and though he never took an active part in
    any game but kite-flying, was as deeply interested in all our sports
    as any one among us.”

On the opposite (north) side of the road stands the old-fashioned George
and Dragon Inn—No. 18 High Street.  In the days of Copperfield, the
London and Dover Coach, passing _en route_ through Canterbury, stopped
here for change of horses.  At this inn, therefore, was the “COACH
OFFICE,” referred to in chapter 17 as being the place of arrival and
departure of Mr. Dick, as aforesaid.  This London Coach is also mentioned
in the closing paragraph of the same chapter, David being on his way to
offer Micawber a soothing word of comfort in reply to a dismal letter
just received from that “Beggared Outcast”—

    “Halfway there, I met the London coach with Mr. and Mrs. Micawber up
    behind; Mr. Micawber, the very picture of tranquil enjoyment, smiling
    at Mrs. Micawber’s conversation, eating walnuts out of a paper bag,
    with a bottle sticking out of his breast pocket.  As they did not see
    me, I thought it best, all things considered, not to see them.  So,
    with a great weight taken off my mind, I turned into a by-street that
    was the nearest way to school, and felt, upon the whole, relieved
    that they were gone, though I still liked them very much,

Turning on the right (northward) from High Street, by a short
intermediate road, the Rambler approaches PALACE STREET, on the east side
of which, near the western end of the Cathedral, stands the Church of St.
Alphege.  This edifice was casually referred to by the “Old Soldier,”
_Mrs. Markleham_, as the church where the marriage of her daughter Annie
with the worthy Dr. Strong was solemnised.  The reference occurs, by way
of interruption on the part of Mrs. M., during a very touching conference
between the doctor and his wife, as related in “Copperfield,” chapter
45—“Mr. Dick fulfils my aunt’s predictions.”

Passing onwards through ST. PETER’S STREET to WESTGATE STREET, crossing
the western branch of the river, we come by a turning on the right to
NORTH LANE, in which is situated the former Residence of Uriah Heep.  It
is a small two-storeyed house with plastered front, on the right side,
near the entrance of the lane—No. 65; the “’umble dwelling” to which
David was introduced as described in chapter 17 of his history—

    “We entered a low, old-fashioned room, walked straight into from the
    street, and found there Mrs. Heep, who was the dead image of Uriah,
    only short. . . .  It was a perfectly decent room, half parlour and
    half kitchen, but not at all a snug room.  The tea things were set
    upon the table, and the kettle was boiling on the hob.  There was a
    chest of drawers with an escritoire top, for Uriah to read or write
    at of an evening; there was Uriah’s blue bag lying down and vomiting
    papers; there was a company of Uriah’s books commanded by Mr. Tidd;
    there was a corner cupboard, and there were the usual articles of
    furniture.  I don’t remember that any individual object had a bare,
    pinched, spare look, but I do remember that the whole place had.”

Returning to the main street, we pass the ancient WEST GATE—a fine
specimen of medieval architecture, built between two massive round
towers, with battlements and portcullis—and continue westward by ST.
DUNSTAN STREET.  At a short distance onwards, on the south side of the
thoroughfare, nearly facing the approach to the SOUTH-EASTERN Railway
Station, there may be observed—No. 71—an old picturesque timbered house,
with three projecting gables and antiquated windows.  This was the
Residence of Mr. Wickfield, as described by David, in chapter 15, when he
was first taken to Canterbury by Miss Betsy Trotwood—

    “At length we stopped before a very old house, bulging out over the
    road; a house with long low lattice windows bulging out still
    farther, and beams with carved heads on the ends, bulging out too, so
    that I fancied the whole house was leaning forward, trying to see who
    was passing on the narrow pavement below.  It was quite spotless in
    its cleanliness.  The old-fashioned brass knocker on the low arched
    door, ornamented with carved garlands of fruit and flowers, twinkled
    like a star; the two stone steps descending to the door were as white
    as if they had been covered with fair linen; and all the angles and
    corners and carvings and mouldings, and quaint little panes of glass,
    and quainter little windows, though as old as the hills, were as pure
    as any snow that ever fell upon the hills.”

This house does not answer in every respect to the full description as
contained in the book.  The “little round tower that formed one side of
the house”—containing Uriah Heep’s circular office—being wanting to
complete; but we may readily imagine that this existed, some sixty years’
since, at the western side, in the space now occupied by some gates and a
roof of more modern erection.  This residence must certainly be located
in the _main London road_, as David—referring, at the close of chapter
15, as above, to his recent pedestrian journey from the Metropolis to
Dover—speaks of his “coming through that old city and passing that very
house he lived in, without knowing it.”

[Some friends resident at Canterbury have been disposed to locate Mr.
Wickfield’s house at No. 15 BURGATE STREET, now in occupation of the
legal firm of Messrs. Fielding and Plummer (names, by-the-bye, which are
used by Dickens in “The Cricket on the Hearth”); but neither the house
nor its position will in any way correspond with Copperfield’s
description of the same.]

Here then was the Home of _Agnes_—that finest delineation of feminine
portraiture ever conceived by our author—the central figure of the many
pure and beautiful associations which entwine themselves with the chief
interests of this most charming tale.  In view of the personal history
and character of its heroine, we may well understand Thackeray’s eulogium
of his contemporary, as providing for the delectation of his daughters
“the pure pages of David Copperfield;” and we can as readily appreciate
the preference of Charles Dickens himself, when he says:—

    “Of all my books I like this the best.  It will be easily believed
    that I am a fond parent to every child of my fancy, and that no one
    can ever love that family as dearly as I love them.  But, like many
    fond parents, I have, in my heart of hearts, a favourite child, and
    his name is David Copperfield.”

Leaving CANTERBURY by the direct line of the LONDON, CHATHAM AND DOVER
RAILWAY, we are carried onward through a pleasant country towards the
south-east coast; the white roads of the district indicating the abundant
chalkiness of the soil.  In Copperfield’s 13th chapter, narrating the
circumstances of his long tramp to Dover, he says, “From head to foot I
was powdered almost as white with chalk and dust as if I had come out of
a lime-kiln.”

Passing three minor stations, the train arrives at DOVER PRIORY—about
which more anon—whence it proceeds through an intervening tunnel to the
town station, at the old port of


The town is of especial interest to readers of “David Copperfield,” as
containing on its suburban heights the cottage residence of Miss Trotwood
and Mr. Dick.

Proceeding eastward from the station, a short distance along COMMERCIAL
QUAY; turning left, then right; and walking onwards _viâ_ SNARGATE, BENCH
and KING STREETS, the Rambler may reach the Market Place, centrally
situated in the lower part of the town, and may recall the circumstance
of poor David resting near at hand, on his arrival—a juvenile stranger in
a strange land—after a morning’s fruitless inquiry as to the whereabouts
of his aunt.  We read (in chapter 13) as follows:—

    “I inquired about my aunt among the boatmen first, and received
    various answers.  One said she lived in the South Foreland light, and
    had singed her whiskers by doing so; another, that she was made fast
    to the great buoy outside the harbour, and could be only visited at
    half-tide; a third, that she was locked up in Maidstone Jail for
    child stealing; a fourth, that she was seen to mount a broom in the
    last high wind and make direct for Calais.  The fly-drivers among
    whom I inquired were equally jocose and equally disrespectful; and
    the shopkeepers, not liking my appearance, generally replied without
    hearing what I had to say, that they had got nothing for me.  I felt
    more miserable and destitute than I had done at any period of my
    running away.  My money was all gone, I had nothing left to dispose
    of; I was hungry, thirsty, and worn out, and seemed as distant from
    my end as if I had remained in London.”

At the junction of CHURCH STREET and CASTLE STREET, both leading to and
from the Market Place—at the northeast angle—there may be noted the
Street Corner at which David sat down, considering the position of
affairs, and where he received the first practical intimation for the
proper direction of his search:—

    “The morning had worn away in these inquiries, and I was sitting on
    the step of an empty shop at a street corner, near the Market-place,
    deliberating upon wandering towards those other places which had been
    mentioned, when a fly-driver, coming by with his carriage, dropped a
    horsecloth.  Something good-natured in the man’s face, as I handed it
    up, encouraged me to ask him if he could tell me where Miss Trotwood
    lived. . . .  ‘I tell you what,’ said he.  ‘If you go up there,’
    pointing with his whip towards the heights, ‘and keep right on till
    you come to some houses facing the sea, I think you’ll hear of her.’”

Leaving the Market Place from its north-west corner, and keeping somewhat
to the left, the Rambler may ascend by CANNON and BIGGIN STREETS, as
indicated by the coachman’s whip, to the heights of Priory Hill, on which
elevation, in the neighbourhood of ST. MARTIN’S PRIORY and the PRIORY
FARM, there may be found several semi-detached residences pleasantly
overlooking the “silver streak” and the intervening town below.  Here, in
an eligible position, there may be seen Stanley Mount, a villa residence
of two storeys, with bow windows and contiguous lawn.  This house now
replaces an older one, which aforetime was the cottage at which the
worthy Miss Trotwood lived; the miniature lawn in front being the “patch
of green” over which that amiable lady asserted private right of way;
persistently maintaining it against all comers in general, and the Dover
donkey boys in particular—

    “The one great outrage of her life, demanding to be constantly
    avenged, was the passage of a donkey over that immaculate spot.  In
    whatever occupation she was engaged, however interesting to her the
    conversation in which she was taking part, a donkey turned the
    current of her ideas in a moment, and she was upon him straight.
    Jugs of water and watering-pots were kept in secret places, ready to
    be discharged on the offending boys, sticks were laid in ambush
    behind the door, sallies were made at all hours, and incessant war

Midway between Railway Stations and Quay, there may be noted The King’s
Head Hotel, as being the old Coaching House at which the London Mail
terminated its journey, and referred to in “The Tale of Two Cities” by
the name of “The Royal George.”  Here may be recalled the interview
related in chapter 4, which took place at this hotel between _Mr. Lorry_
and _Miss Manette_, and at which the reader is first introduced to the
eccentric _Miss Pross_—“dressed in some extraordinary tight-fitting
fashion”; wearing on “her head a most wonderful bonnet, like a Grenadier
measure (and a good measure too) or a great Stilton cheese.”

Returning to London by South-Eastern Rail, the Rambler will pass, about
half-way on the road, the picturesque village of Staplehurst.  Near this
station it may be remembered that, on June 9th, 1865, a sad disaster
occurred to the train in which Mr. Dickens was a traveller.  The
_Postscript_ to “Our Mutual Friend” contains the following reference:—

    “Mr. and Mrs. Boffin (in their manuscript dress) were on the
    South-Eastern Railway with me, in a terribly destructive accident.
    When I had done what I could to help others, I climbed back into my
    carriage—nearly turned over a viaduct, and caught aslant upon the
    turn—to extricate the worthy couple.  They were very much soiled, but
    otherwise unhurt. . . .  I remember with devout thankfulness that I
    can never be much nearer parting company with my readers for ever
    than I was then, until there shall be written against my life the two
    words with which I have this day closed this book—The End.”

_Excursion to Henley-on-Thames_

Route by Great Western Railway _viâ_ Maidenhead and Twyford to Henley—The
Red Lion Inn, place of accommodation for Mr. Eugene Wrayburn—Marriage of
Mr. Wrayburn and Lizzie Hexam—The Anchor Inn, the “little inn” at which
Bella Wilfer first visited Lizzie Hexam—Henley Railway Station—The Tow
Path, scene of the interview between Lizzie and Eugene—Marsh Mill, at
which Lizzie was employed—Neighbourhood where Betty Higden died—Shiplake
Churchyard, where Betty was buried—“A cry for help”—West bank of Thames,
Henley Bridge and Poplar Point, the neighbourhood where occurred Bradley
Headstone’s attack on Eugene Wrayburn—Lizzie’s walk by Marsh Lock to the
Eastern Tow Path beyond Henley Bridge—Her rescue of Eugene—Henley _viâ_
Aston and Medmenham to Hurley Lock, “Plashwater Weir Mill” Lock, Rogue
Riderhood, Deputy Lockkeeper—Final scene of the Tragedy—Churchyard of
Stoke Pogis—Mr. Micawber’s Quotation—The Homeward Journey—John Harmon’s

A very delightful country excursion may be made for visiting the
neighbourhood of Henley-on-Thames, of especial interest to the readers of
“Our Mutual Friend.”

It may be remembered that _Lizzie Hexam_, desirous of avoiding the
attentions of her (then) unworthy lover, _Mr. Eugene Wrayburn_, left
London secretly, with the assistance of Riah—representative of the
honourable firm of Messrs. Pubsey and Co.; that, by his recommendation,
she obtained a situation at a PAPER MILL (then under Jewish management),
at some distance from the Metropolis, and remained for a time undisturbed
in her country employment; that, thereafter, _Eugene Wrayburn_ obtained
her address by bribing the drunken father of “_Jenny Wren_,” the dolls’
dressmaker, and so followed Lizzie to her retreat, being in his turn
watched and followed by the passionate and jealous schoolmaster, _Bradley
Headstone_, who attempted his life on the river bank; that, near at hand,
was the ANGLER’S INN, to which Eugene—nearly dead—was carried by the
heroic and devoted Lizzie, who saved him from a watery grave, and where
“effect was given to the dolls’ dressmaker’s discovery,” one night, some
weeks later, by their romantic marriage, while it was yet doubtful
whether the bridegroom would survive; that the death of _Betty Higden_
occurred “ON THE BORDERS OF OXFORDSHIRE,” near the mill at which _Lizzie
Hexam_ was engaged, Lizzie herself attending the last moments of the
dying woman, and accepting her last request; that in accordance with such
request poor Betty was decently interred in a contiguous churchyard, the
charges being defrayed by her own hard earnings, specially saved for the
purpose; and that, on this occasion, the first meeting of Lizzie and
_Miss Bella Wilfer_ took place, when a very interesting and touching
interview ensued, which greatly assisted Bella in confirmation of a brave
and righteous decision _in re_ money _versus_ love.  Also that, at no
great distance from this locality, was situated “PLASHWATER WEIR MILL
LOCK,” where _Rogue Riderhood_ did duty as deputy lock-keeper, and where,
at the last, he and _Bradley Headstone_ were drowned.

These localities are in the neighbourhood of HENLEY, and may be readily
verified by the intelligent Rambler, adopting the excursion by land and
water, as subjoined.

Leaving PADDINGTON TERMINUS of the Great Western Railway, we pass
WESTBOURNE PARK JUNCTION, and the well-arranged grounds of _Kensal Green
Cemetery_ (in which repose the mortal remains of Leigh Hunt, Sidney
Smith, John Leech, and Thackeray) on the right, travelling westward by
the suburban stations of _Acton_, _Ealing_, and _Castle Hill_, and cross
the Wharncliffe Viaduct to HANWELL.

To the left may be seen the handsome building of the MIDDLESEX LUNATIC
ASYLUM. We next arrive at SOUTHALL, and afterwards cross the Grand
Junction Canal to HAYES and WEST DRAYTON.  Our train now passes from
Middlesex to Buckinghamshire, and steams onwards in the neighbourhood of
_Langley Park_—seen on the right.  The tower of Langley Church may be
observed on the left, rising from the trees, as we speed forward to
SLOUGH, where we obtain a distant glimpse of the Royal Castle of Windsor,
two miles southward.

Resuming the journey we come, in four miles’ run, to the pleasant village
of TAPLOW, on the borders of the Thames (here dividing the counties of
Buckinghamshire and Berkshire), and within easy distance of _Burnham
Beeches_, a favourite picnic resort.  The train now crosses the river,
next arriving at MAIDENHEAD, a market town on the Thames.  On the right,
observation may be taken of Maidenhead Bridge, a noble erection of
thirteen arches.  Thereafter we soon arrive at TWYFORD JUNCTION, where we
change (unless seated in a special through carriage) for Henley, situated
four miles northward, and served by a branch line.  The town itself is
very pleasantly situated on the Thames, with an old church and handsome
bridge, but is of special interest to Dickensian students as containing
the INN at which _Mr. Eugene Wrayburn_ found accommodation on the
occasion of his journey in pursuit of Lizzie Hexam.  See “Our Mutual
Friend,” book 3, chapter 1, in which Bradley Headstone, returning to
Plashwater Weir, is described as reporting the circumstance to the deputy

    “‘Lock ho!  Lock.’  It was a light night, and a barge coming down
    summoned him (Riderhood) out of a long doze.  In due course he had
    let the barge through and was alone again, looking to the closing of
    his gates, when Bradley Headstone appeared before him, standing on
    the brink of the Lock.  ‘Halloa,’ said Riderhood.  ‘Back a’ready,
    T’otherest?’  ‘He has put up for the night at an Angler’s Inn,’ was
    the fatigued and hoarse reply.  ‘He goes on, up the river, at six in
    the morning.  I have come back for a couple of hours’ rest.’”

The Red Lion Inn thus referred to is situated north of Henley Bridge, on
the west bank of the river, and is a favourite resort for disciples of
Izaak Walton and boating men in general.  Here it was that Eugene
Wrayburn—after the murderous attack by the schoolmaster—was brought
almost lifeless by Lizzie, when rescued by her from the river, as
narrated in chapter 6—

    “She ran the boat ashore, went into the water, released him from the
    line, and by main strength lifted him in her arms and laid him in the
    bottom of the boat.  He had fearful wounds upon him, and she bound
    them up with her dress torn into strips.  Else, supposing him to be
    still alive, she foresaw that he must bleed to death before he could
    be landed at his inn, which was the nearest place for succour. . . .
    She rowed hard—rowed desperately, but never wildly—and seldom removed
    her eyes from him in the bottom of the boat.  She had so laid him
    there as that she might see his disfigured face; it was so much
    disfigured that his mother might have covered it, but it was above
    and beyond disfigurement in her eyes.  The boat touched the edge of
    inn lawn, sloping gently to the water.  There were lights in the
    windows, but there chanced to be no one out of doors.  She made the
    boat fast, and again by main strength took him up, and never laid him
    down until she laid him down in the house.”

The landing-place and patch of inn lawn, above indicated, may now be
verified as belonging to the “RED LION” at Henley aforesaid.  The lawn is
a favourite standpoint for spectators interested in the HENLEY ROYAL
REGATTA, which takes place every year usually about the beginning of

The marriage of Eugene and Lizzie took place at this same inn some weeks
later, while it was yet uncertain that Eugene would recover; the _Rev.
Frank Milvey_ officiating at the bedside, _Bella_ and her husband, _Mr.
Lightwood_, _Mrs. Milvey_, and _Jenny Wren_ being duly in attendance—

    “They all stood round the bed, and Mr. Milvey, opening his book,
    began the service, so rarely associated with the shadow of death; so
    inseparable in the mind from a flush of life and gaiety and health
    and hope and joy.  Bella thought how different from her own sunny
    little wedding, and wept.  Mrs. Milvey overflowed with pity, and wept
    too.  The dolls’ dressmaker, with her hands before her face, wept in
    her golden bower.  Reading in a low, clear voice, and bending over
    Eugene, who kept his eyes upon him, Mr. Milvey did his office with
    suitable simplicity.  As the bridegroom could not move his hand, they
    touched his fingers with the ring, and so put it on the bride.  When
    the two plighted their troth, she laid her hand on his, and kept it
    there.  When the ceremony was done, and all the rest departed from
    the room, she drew her arm under his head, and laid her own head down
    on the pillow by his side.  ‘Undraw the curtains, my dear girl,’ said
    Eugene, after a while, ‘and let us see our wedding-day.’  The sun was
    rising, and his first rays struck into the room, as she came back and
    put her lips to his.  ‘I bless the day!’ said Eugene.  ‘I bless the
    day!’ said Lizzie.”

[The clergyman and friends who assisted on this interesting occasion as
above, left London from Waterloo Station.  We may remember that Mrs.
Rokesmith, escorted by Mr. Lightwood, came into town by rail from
Greenwich.  Thus they would change trains at WATERLOO JUNCTION, and adopt
the _South-Western Route_ as being the more convenient, travelling to
Reading, and driving thence to Henley.  It was at this terminus that
Bradley Headstone first heard (from Mr. Milvey) of the intended wedding,
and was so seriously upset by the news, that an attack of epilepsy ensued
in consequence.  We thus read in chapter 11, book 4, with reference to
Bella and her escort:—

    “From Greenwich they started directly for London, and in London they
    waited at a railway station until such time as the Rev. Frank Milvey,
    and Margaretta, his wife, with whom Mortimer Lightwood had been
    already in conference, should come and join them. . . .  Then the
    train rattled among the house-tops, and among the ragged sides of
    houses, torn down to make way for it, over the swarming streets, and
    under the fruitful earth, until it shot across the river. . . .  A
    carriage ride succeeded near the solemn river. . . .  They drew near
    the chamber where Eugene lay.”

This is certainly descriptive of the SOUTH-WESTERN RAILWAY, and is _not_
applicable to the Great Western Route.]

For full particulars the reader is referred to chapter 11, book 4.  On
the occasion of Bella Wilfer’s FIRST VISIT to Henley, and the
introduction of the two girls to each other, as narrated in chapter 9,
book 3 (in association with the burial of old Betty Higden), mention is
made of “_the little inn_,” at which Bella’s friends were then
accommodated.  This was _not_ the “Red Lion,” but, in all probability,
was The Anchor Inn, a small, but very comfortable hostelry in _Friday
Street_, near the river.  Visitors desiring to combine economy with
homeliness, are recommended to follow Miss Wilfer’s lead in this regard,
and commit themselves to the hospitable care of the present landlord.

The Railway Station at Henley is referred to in the last-named chapter as
being near at hand, when “the Rev. Frank and Mrs. Frank, and Sloppy, and
Bella and the Secretary set out to walk to it;” the two last dropping
behind, for a little confidential conversation on the road.  We read that

    “The railway, at this point knowingly shutting a green eye and
    opening a red one, they had to run for it.  As Bella could not run
    easily so wrapped up, the Secretary had to help her.  When she took
    her opposite place in the carriage corner, the brightness in her face
    was so charming to behold, that on her exclaiming, ‘What beautiful
    stars and what a glorious night!’ the Secretary said, ‘Yes,’ but
    seemed to prefer to see the night and the stars in the light of her
    lovely little countenance, to looking out of window.”

A short walk of five minutes from the station, southward by the riverside
(west bank), will bring the Rambler to The Tow Path, the scene of that
memorable interview between Lizzie and Eugene, recorded in chapter 6,
book 4, as taking place previous to the catastrophe by which Wrayburn
nearly lost his life.  The path leads to Marsh Mill, about half a mile
from Henley; a large and important paper mill, now in the occupation of
Mr. Wells, situated near the weir, with its long wooden bridge leading to
the lock.  This was the mill at which Lizzie Hexam, secretly leaving
London, found refuge and occupation, on the recommendation of her old
friend Mr. Riah, her worthy employers being a firm of Hebrew nationality.
We first read of this mill in connection with the closing scenes of
_Betty Higden’s_ history, as narrated in chapter 8, book 3, and headed
“The end of a long journey”—

    “There now arose in the darkness a great building full of lighted
    windows.  Smoke was issuing from a high chimney in the rear of it,
    and there was the sound of a water-wheel at the side.  Between her
    and the building lay a piece of water, in which the lighted windows
    were reflected, and on its nearest margin was a plantation of trees.
    ‘I humbly thank the Power and the Glory,’ said Betty Higden, holding
    up her withered hands, ‘that I have come to my journey’s end!’”

The Death of Betty here occurred; as, sinking on the ground, and
supporting herself against a tree “whence she could see, beyond some
intervening trees and branches, the lighted windows,” her strength gave

    “‘I am safe here,’ was her last benumbed thought.  ‘When I am found
    dead at the foot of the Cross, it will be by some of my own sort;
    some of the working people who work among the lights yonder.  I
    cannot see the lighted windows now, but they are there.  I am
    thankful for all!’”

We have the satisfaction of reading that the poor woman’s hopes were
realised, for _Lizzie Hexam_ returning from the mill, found her lying
among the trees as described, and tended her at the last, with helpful
and loving hands—

    “A look of thankfulness and triumph lights the worn old face.  The
    eyes, which have been darkly fixed upon the sky, turn with meaning in
    them towards the compassionate face from which the tears are
    dropping, and a smile is on the aged lips as they ask, ‘What is your
    name, my dear?’  ‘My name is Lizzie Hexam.’  ‘I must be sore
    disfigured.  Are you afraid to kiss me?’  The answer is, the ready
    pressure of her lips upon the cold but smiling mouth.  ‘Bless ye!
    Now lift me, my love.’  Lizzie Hexam very softly raised the
    weather-stained grey head, and lifted her as high as Heaven.”

The Burial, as detailed in the following chapter, must have taken place
in the little churchyard of the contiguous village of SHIPLAKE (about
three-quarters of a mile distant), the service being conducted by the
Rev. Frank Milvey, and attended by the Secretary and poor _Sloppy_ as

“A cry for help.”  It may be interesting to indicate the local sequence
of events on that memorable Saturday evening, when Bradley Headstone,
impelled by wild resentment and furious jealousy, did his best to murder
his more favoured rival, as described in chapter 6, book 4, under the
above heading.  It will be remembered that, on the evening in question,
Eugene Wrayburn having forced an appointment with Lizzie Hexam, met her
on the path by the river, when a very affecting farewell interview
ensued.  This interview occurring on the towpath—tolerably secluded at
and after twilight—about halfway between Henley and Marsh (see _Marcus
Stone’s_ Illustration, “The Parting by the River”), Eugene strolled
slowly towards his inn, while Lizzie walked sorrowfully, as a matter of
course, in the opposite direction.  We read that, passing Bradley
Headstone (disguised as a bargeman)—

    “Eugene Wrayburn went the opposite way, with his hands behind him,
    and his purpose in his thoughts.  He passed the sheep, and passed the
    gate, and came within hearing of the village sounds, and came to the
    bridge.  The inn where he stayed, like the village and the mill, was
    not across the river, but on that side of the stream on which he
    walked . . . feeling out of humour for noise or company, he crossed
    the bridge, and sauntered on: looking up at the stars as they seemed
    one by one to be kindled in the sky, and looking down at the river as
    the same stars seemed to be kindled deep in the water.  A
    landing-place overshadowed by a willow, and a pleasant boat lying
    moored there among some stakes, caught his eye as he passed along.”

Thus it will be seen how Eugene, following the _west bank_ of the Thames
to Henley, and thereafter crossing Henley Bridge, pursued the course of
his meditations past the landing-place on the opposite side, walking
onwards by the towpath thence continued, in the direction of POPLAR

The Murderous Attack upon him by Headstone, in the darkening shades of
nightfall, must have here occurred, not far from the bridge, and opposite
to the town, Wrayburn being thrown into the river by his assailant, and
so left for dead.

Lizzie Hexam, endeavouring to regain composure, went towards Marsh, and
must have crossed by The Lock Gates to the main road beyond, turning in
the direction of Henley.  She thereafter walked slowly onwards in the
neighbourhood of the bridge at its eastern side, and thus unconsciously
came again near to, and following behind, her lover, on the

Eastern Tow Path beyond the bridge, as above mentioned.  Hereabouts,
hearing “the sound of blows, a faint groan, and a fall into the river,”
she ran towards the spot from which the sounds had come—not far distant,
on the riverside path, northward from the bridge.  We are all familiar
with the story of Lizzie’s heroic rescue of Eugene from the river.
Finding a boat on the north side of HENLEY BRIDGE—

    “She passed the scene of the struggle—yonder it was—on her left, well
    over the boat’s stern—she passed on her right the end of the village
    street (New Street) . . . looking as the boat drove, everywhere,
    everywhere for the floating face.”

Finding and recovering the body, she rowed “back against the stream,”
landing at the lawn of the RED LION INN as previously described.

The Rambler may now take a short trip by boat down the river six miles
from Henley, for visiting THE LOCK where _Rogue Riderhood_ acted for a
time, as deputy superintendent.

Leaving HENLEY, we may note, on the left, the mansion of _Fawley Court_,
beyond which, passing REGATTA ISLAND, we arrive at GREENLANDS, in the
occupation of the Right Hon. W. H. Smith (not unknown in political and
literary circles).  The house is pleasantly situated at the bend of the
river.  We next arrive at _Hambledon Lock_, two miles from Henley;
thereafter reaching ASTON, as we proceed down the stream to MEDMENHAM,
with its picturesque Abbey, founded in the reign of King John, standing
on the north bank.  Below Medmenham is Hurley Lock, which is our present
destination.  It is contiguous to NEW LOCK WEIR, and to the village of
HURLEY, situated on the right bank of the river.  This is known to
readers of “Our Mutual Friend” as Plashwater Weir Mill Lock, at whose
gates _Riderhood_—whilom a “waterside character,” the partner of _Gaffer
Hexam_—officiated as deputy lock-keeper.  We are introduced to him as not
very wide-awake in this capacity, in chapter 1, book 4—

    “PLASHWATER WEIR MILL LOCK looked tranquil and pretty on an evening
    in the summer-time.  A soft air stirred the leaves of the fresh green
    trees, and passed like a smooth shadow over the river, and like a
    smoother shadow over the yielding grass.  The voice of the falling
    water, like the voices of the sea and the wind, was an outer memory
    to a contemplative listener; but not particularly so to Mr.
    Riderhood, who sat on one of the blunt wooden levers of his
    lock-gates, dozing.”

To this locality came Bradley Headstone, who, for sinister reasons of his
own, cultivated Riderhood’s acquaintance, making The Lock House a
convenient place of call, as he pursued Eugene Wrayburn in his quest,
full details of which may be found in chapters 1 and 7, book 6.  Here
also was enacted the final scene of the tragedy, as narrated in chapter
15, book 4, when Bradley Headstone drowned himself and Riderhood in the

    “Bradley had caught him round the body.  He seemed to be girdled with
    an iron ring.  They were on the brink of the Lock, about midway
    between the two sets of gates. . . .  ‘Let go!’ said Riderhood.
    ‘Stop!  What are you trying at?  You can’t drown me.  Ain’t I told
    you that the man as has come through drowning can never be drowned?
    I can’t be drowned.’  ‘I can be!’ returned Bradley, in a desperate,
    clenched voice.  ‘I am resolved to be.  I’ll hold you living, and
    I’ll hold you dead.  Come down!’  Riderhood went over into the smooth
    pit, backward, and Bradley Headstone upon him.  When the two were
    found, lying under the ooze and scum behind one of the rotting gates,
    Riderhood’s hold had relaxed, probably in falling, and his eyes were
    staring upward.  But he was girdled still with Bradley’s iron ring,
    and the rivets of the iron ring held tight.”

By road, HURLEY LOCK is but four miles distant from Henley; a pedestrian,
therefore, could make an easy short cut, as against a rower up the
stream; hence the assurance given by the deputy lock-keeper to his
impatient visitor (see book 4, chapter 1):—

    “‘Ha, ha!  Don’t be afeerd, T’otherest,’ said Riderhood.  ‘The
    T’other’s got to make way agin the stream, and he takes it easy.  You
    can soon come up with him.  But wot’s the good of saying that to you!
    You know how fur you could have outwalked him betwixt anywheres about
    where he lost the tide—say Richmond—and this, if you had had a mind
    to it.’”

Travelling homeward on the return to London, it may be desirable to break
the journey at SLOUGH—eighteen miles from Paddington—whence may be
conveniently visited the rustic village and cemetery of Stoke Pogis,
about a mile and a half northward from the station.  The latter contains
the tomb of the poet Gray, and is the scene of his famous “Elegy in a
Country Churchyard.”  It may be remembered that from this well-known poem
Mr. Micawber’s Quotation was taken, as an appropriate conclusion to one
of his many friendly but grandiloquent epistles, confirming an important
appointment.  In “David Copperfield,” at the end of chapter 49, we read
of Micawber’s expressed determination to unmask his “foxey” employer, and
to crush “to undiscoverable atoms that transcendent and immortal
hypocrite and perjurer, Heep”; and we may recall his “most secret and
confidential letter,” soon afterwards received by David, as containing
the following reference:—

    “The duty done, and act of reparation performed, which can alone
    enable me to contemplate my fellow mortal, I shall be known no more.
    I shall simply require to be deposited in that place of universal
    resort, where

       ‘Each in his narrow cell for ever laid,
       The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep.’

                                               With the plain Inscription,
                                                        WILKINS MICAWBER.”

So, as the evening shades prevail, “near and nearer drawn” through “the
glimmering landscape,” we again approach the lights of London Town, with
(it may be hoped) pleasant reminiscences of the foregoing excursions.
Should the Rambler, like Mr. John Harmon on a similar occasion, be
accompanied by a friend, who perchance may be “nearer and dearer than all
other,” he may appropriately endorse John Harmon’s reflections as he made
the same journey under blissful circumstances (see “Our Mutual Friend,”
book 3, end of chapter 9)—

    “O, boofer lady, fascinating boofer lady!  If I were but legally
    executor of Johnny’s will.  If I had but the right to pay your legacy
    and take your receipt!  Something to this purpose surely mingled with
    the blast of the train as it cleared the stations, all knowingly
    shutting up their green eyes and opening their red ones when they
    prepared to let the boofer lady pass.”

_By Great Eastern Route from London to Yarmouth_

Liverpool Street Station—Epping Forest—Buckhurst Hill—Chigwell
Village—Chigwell Churchyard; Resting-Place of Barnaby Rudge and his
Mother—“Grip” the Raven—The “King’s Head Inn”—“The Maypole”—Mr.
Cattermole’s Frontispiece—The Bar—The Landlord, John Willett—Dolly
Varden—The Visit of the Varden Family—The Warren; Residence of Mr.
Haredale and his Niece—By Main Line to Ipswich—The Great White Horse
Hotel in Tavern Street—The Apartment of the Middle-Aged Lady—Mr.
Pickwick’s Misadventure—St. Clement’s Church—Job Trotter—The Green Gate,
Residence of G. Nupkins, Esq.—Mary the Pretty Housemaid—Sam Weller’s
First Love—Ipswich to Great Yarmouth—Mr. Peggotty’s Boat-house—Home of
Little Emily—The Two London Coaches—The “Angel Hotel”—David’s Dinner in
the Coffee-Room—The Friendly Waiter—The “Star Hotel”—Headquarters of
Copperfield and Steerforth—Miss Mowcher’s First Introduction—Unlocalised
Sites—Blundeston—Blunderstone Rookery—Early Childhood of
Copperfield—Somerleyton Park.

A pleasant drive from London to Chigwell is described in chapter 19 of
“Barnaby Rudge,” and may be still taken about twelve miles by road,
starting from Whitechapel Church _viâ_ Mile-End and Bow, thence crossing
the River Lea, and proceeding, in the county of Essex, by way of
_Stratford_, _Leytonstone_, _Snaresbrook_, and _Wilcox Green_.  But time
will be saved by adopting a convenient train, leaving Liverpool Street
Station (Great Eastern Railway) for _Buckhurst Hill_—on the Ongar Branch
Line—in the neighbourhood of Epping Forest, a district formerly preserved
by the old monarchs of Merrie England for the enjoyment of field sports
and the pleasures of the chase.

From this point a country walk (under two miles), turning eastward, and
to the left after crossing the long intervening bridge, will lead in due
course to the main road at Chigwell.  Coming into the village we pass, at
the corner on the right, Chigwell Church, surrounded by its quiet
churchyard.  This locality will be remembered as having afforded a
resting-place to Barnaby and his mother after their visit to Mr. Haredale
at _The Warren_ (chapter 25).  “In the churchyard they sat down to take
their frugal dinner”—Grip, the raven, being one of the party—“walking up
and down when he had dined with an air of elderly complacency, which was
strongly suggestive of his having his hands under his coat tails, and
appearing to read the tombstones with a very critical taste.”  On the
other side of the main road, a very little way onward (left), stands the
old King’s Head Inn, the original “local habitation,” if not “the name,”
of the ancient hostelry so intimately associated with the central and
domestic interests of the aforesaid historical novel, and known to us
therein as The Maypole, “an old building with more gable ends than a lazy
man would care to count on a sunny day; its windows, old diamond pane
lattices; its floors sunken and uneven; its ceilings blackened by the
hand of time, and heavy with massive beams; with its overhanging storeys,
drowsy little panes of glass, and front bulging out and projecting over
the pathway.”

This description is appropriate to the house as it stands at present, a
fine old specimen of the timbered architecture of bygone centuries; but
it may be remarked that THE ILLUSTRATION drawn by Cattermole, which forms
the frontispiece in the recent editions of “Barnaby Rudge,” is altogether
beside the mark; for the designer has furnished therein, an elaborate and
ornate picture of the old inn which does not correspond with fact, but
rather remains in evidence of the beauty and exuberance of his artistic
imagination.  Here, then, we may recall the visit of Mr. and Mrs. Varden,
accompanied by their daughter, the charming Dolly, “the very pink and
pattern of good looks, in a smart little cherry-coloured mantle, with a
hood of the same drawn over her head, and, upon the top of that hood, a
little straw hat, trimmed with cherry-coloured ribbons, and worn the
merest trifle on one side—just enough, in short, to make it the wickedest
and most provoking head-dress that ever malicious milliner devised.”

In the same connection The “Bar” of the old “Maypole,” the preparation
for dinner, and the kitchen are thus described:—

    “All bars are snug places, but the Maypole’s was the very snuggest,
    cosiest, and completest bar that ever the wit of man devised.  Such
    amazing bottles in old oaken pigeon-holes; such gleaming tankards
    dangling from pegs at about the same inclination as thirsty men would
    hold them to their lips; such sturdy little Dutch kegs ranged in rows
    on shelves; so many lemons hanging in separate nets, and forming the
    fragrant grove already mentioned in this chronicle, suggestive, with
    goodly loaves of snowy sugar stowed away hard by, of punch, idealised
    beyond all mortal knowledge; such closets, such presses, such drawers
    full of pipes, such places for putting things away in hollow window
    seats, all crammed to the throat with eatables, drinkables, or
    savoury condiments; lastly, and to crown all, as typical of the
    immense resources of the establishment, and its defiances to all
    visitors to cut and come again, such a stupendous cheese!

    “It is a poor heart that never rejoices—it must have been the
    poorest, weakest, and most watery heart that ever beat which would
    not have warmed towards the Maypole bar.  Mrs. Varden’s did directly.
    She could no more have reproached John Willet among those household
    gods, the kegs and bottles, lemons, pipes, and cheese, than she could
    have stabbed him with his own bright carving-knife.  The order for
    dinner too—it might have soothed a savage.  ‘A bit of fish,’ said
    John to the cook, ‘and some lamb chops (breaded, with plenty of
    ketchup), and a good salad, and a roast spring chicken, with a dish
    of sausages and mashed potatoes, or something of that sort.’
    Something of that sort!  The resources of these inns!  To talk
    carelessly about dishes which in themselves were a first-rate holiday
    kind of dinner, suitable to one’s wedding-day, as something of that
    sort, meaning, if you can’t get a spring chicken, any other trifle in
    the way of poultry will do—such as a peacock, perhaps!  The kitchen,
    too, with its great broad cavernous chimney; the kitchen, where
    nothing in the way of cookery seemed impossible; where you could
    believe in anything to eat they chose to tell you of.  Mrs. Varden
    returned from the contemplation of these wonders to the bar again,
    with a head quite dizzy and bewildered.  Her housekeeping capacity
    was not large enough to comprehend them.  She was obliged to go to
    sleep.  Waking was pain, in the midst of such immensity.”

The Warren, residence of Mr. Haredale and his niece, an old red-brick
house, standing in its own grounds, was situated about a mile eastward
from the Maypole, and was thence accessible by a path across the fields,
from the garden exit of the inn, to its position on the border of
Hainault Forest.  (See final paragraph of chapter 19, “Barnaby Rudge.”)
From many suggestions in the book, it occupied, in all probability, the
site of _Forest House_, not a great distance from Chigwell Row; but of
this no certainty exists.

                                * * * * *

CHIGWELL TO IPSWICH.  It will be best to return from _Buckhurst Hill_ by
rail to Stratford or Liverpool Street, in order to travel by fast main
line train, to the good old town of Ipswich, our next destination.  The
journey—_viâ_ Chelmsford and Colchester—will occupy about two hours,
during which we may recall the memorable occasion of Mr. Pickwick’s
excursion per coach from the “Bull Inn,” Whitechapel, to this ancient
capital of Suffolk, attended by the faithful Sam, Mr. Weller, senior,
driving, and beguiling the tediousness of the way with conversation of
considerable interest—“possessing the inestimable charm of blending
amusement with instruction.”  Full details will be found on reference to
the “Pickwick Papers,” chapter 22, together with the account of Mr. P.’s
introduction to his fellow-traveller, Mr. Peter Magnus, “a red-haired
man, with an inquisitive nose and blue spectacles.”  On arrival at the
station at Ipswich, the wayfarer, crossing by bridge over the _Gipping_
river, may proceed straight onwards through _Princes Street_ (five
minutes) to _Tavern Street_.  Turning to the right, along this
thoroughfare, he will soon see the Great White Horse Hotel, on the left
side of Tavern Street.  Tramcars from the station pass the hotel; also
omnibus meets all trains.  Telegraphic address—Pickwick, Ipswich.  In the
chapter before referred to is contained the following description:—

    “In the main street of Ipswich, on the left-hand side of the way, a
    short distance after you have passed through the open space fronting
    the Town Hall, stands an inn, known far and wide by the appellation
    of the Great White Horse, rendered the more conspicuous by a stone
    statue of some rapacious animal with flowing mane and tail,
    distinctly resembling an insane cart-horse, which is elevated above
    the principal door.  The Great White Horse is famous in the
    neighbourhood in the same degree as a prize ox, or county
    paper-chronicled turnip, or unwieldy pig—for its enormous size.
    Never were such labyrinths of uncarpeted passages, such clusters of
    mouldy, ill-lighted rooms, such huge numbers of small dens for eating
    or sleeping in beneath one roof, as are collected together within the
    four walls of the Great White Horse at Ipswich.”

The Dickensian Rambler will well remember this hotel as the scene of Mr.
Pickwick’s “romantic adventure with a middle-aged lady in yellow
curl-papers,” related _in extenso_ in the same chapter as above.
Information as to the exact bedroom allotted to Mr. Pickwick on the
occasion of his visit to this place is, unfortunately, not afforded by
local tradition; but the apartment occupied by “Miss Witherfield,” whose
privacy Mr. P. inadvertently, but so unhappily, invaded, is indicated to
visitors on the second floor—No. 36, according to recent rearrangement of
enumeration, formerly known as No. 6.

Poor Mr. Pickwick, on his escape from his awkward predicament, was unable
to find his own room, but was at last rescued from his dilemma by his
faithful servitor—

    “After groping his way a few paces down the passage, and, to his
    infinite alarm, stumbling over several pairs of boots in so doing,
    Mr. Pickwick crouched into a little recess in the wall, to wait for
    morning as philosophically as he might.

    “He was not destined, however, to undergo this additional trial of
    patience; for he had not been long ensconced in his present
    concealment when, to his unspeakable horror, a man, bearing a light,
    appeared at the end of the passage.  His horror was suddenly
    converted into joy, however, when he recognised the form of his
    faithful attendant.  It was indeed Mr. Samuel Weller, who after
    sitting up thus late, in conversation with the Boots, who was sitting
    up for the mail, was now about to retire to rest.

    “‘Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick, suddenly appearing before him, ‘where’s my

    “Mr. Weller stared at his master with the most emphatic surprise; and
    it was not until the question had been repeated three several times,
    that he turned round, and led the way to the long-sought apartment.

    “‘Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick, as he got into bed.  ‘I have made one of
    the most extraordinary mistakes to-night that were ever heard of.’

    “‘Wery likely, sir,’ said Mr. Weller drily.

    “‘But of this I am determined, Sam,’ said Mr. Pickwick, ‘that if I
    were to stop in this house for six months, I would never trust myself
    about it alone again.’

    “‘That’s the wery prudentest resolution as you could come to, sir,’
    replied Mr. Weller.  ‘You rayther want somebody to look arter you,
    sir, wen your judgment goes out a wisitin’.’”

By way of _Upper Brook Street_, _Tacket Street_, and _Orwell Place_, we
come to _Fore Street_, _St. Clement’s_ (a thoroughfare in which still
remain several old houses of the sixteenth century), and soon reach the
whereabouts of St. Clement’s Church, towards which, on the morning
following the disasters of the night of their arrival, Mr. Samuel Weller
bent his steps, and

    “endeavoured to dissipate his melancholy by strolling among its
    ancient precincts.  He had loitered about for some time, when he
    found himself in a retired spot—a kind of courtyard of venerable
    appearance—which he discovered had no other outlet than the turning
    by which he had entered.  He was about retracing his steps, when he
    was suddenly transfixed to the spot by a sudden appearance; and the
    mode and manner of this appearance we now proceed to relate.

    “Mr. Samuel Weller had been staring up at the old brick houses now
    and then, in his deep abstraction, bestowing a wink upon some
    healthy-looking servant girl as she drew up a blind, or threw open a
    bedroom window, when the green gate at the bottom of the yard opened,
    and a man having emerged therefrom, closed the green gate very
    carefully after him, and walked briskly towards the very spot where
    Mr. Weller was standing.”

This personage proved to be none other than Mr. Job Trotter, whose black
hair and mulberry suit were at once recognised by Sam, though their owner
did his best to evade detection:—

    “As the green gate was closed behind him, and there was no other
    outlet but the one in front, however, he was not long in perceiving
    that he must pass Mr. Samuel Weller to get away.  He therefore
    resumed his brisk pace, and advanced, staring straight before him.
    The most extraordinary thing about the man was, that he was
    contorting his face into the most fearful and astonishing grimaces
    that ever were beheld.  Nature’s handiwork never was disguised with
    such extraordinary artificial carving, as the man had overlaid his
    countenance with in one moment.”

The Green Gate thus alluded to may yet be seen in a passage or court at
the bottom of _Angel Lane_ (leading to Back Street).  It is the last
garden gate in the churchyard, a short distance from Church Street.  The
same courtyard and gate will be remembered as the official entrance to
the Residence of George Nupkins, Esq., the Worshipful Mayor of Ipswich,
before whom the Pickwickian party were arraigned, in charge of the
redoubtable chief constable of the town.  We read in chapter 25 as

    “Mr. Weller’s anger quickly gave way to curiosity when the procession
    turned down the identical courtyard in which he had met with the
    runaway Job Trotter; and curiosity was exchanged for a feeling of the
    most gleeful astonishment, when the all-important Mr. Grummer,
    commanding the sedan-bearers to halt, advanced with dignified and
    portentous steps to the very green gate from which Job Trotter had
    emerged, and gave a mighty pull at the bell-handle which hung at the
    side thereof.  The ring was answered by a very smart and pretty-faced
    servant-girl, who, after holding up her hands in astonishment at the
    rebellious appearance of the prisoners, and the impassioned language
    of Mr. Pickwick, summoned Mr. Muzzle.  Mr. Muzzle opened one-half of
    the carriage gate to admit the sedan, the captured ones, and the
    specials, and immediately slammed it in the faces of the mob. . . .

    “At the foot of a flight of steps, leading to the house door, which
    was guarded on either side by an American aloe in a green tub, the
    sedan-chair stopped.  Mr. Pickwick and his friends were conducted
    into the hall, whence, having been previously announced by Muzzle,
    and ordered in by Mr. Nupkins, they were ushered into the worshipful
    presence of that public-spirited officer.”

And we all recollect the resulting _exposé_ of the designs of Mr. Alfred
Jingle (_alias_ Captain Fitzmarshall), and the return by Mr. Weller of
“Job Trotter’s shuttlecock as heavily as it came.”

It should also be not forgotten that it was at this house Mr. Weller met
with his lady-elect, Mary, the Pretty Housemaid (afterwards maid to Mrs.
Winkle), and that here the first passage of first love occurred between
them.  For the pleasant narration of the episode, reference should be
made to the conclusion of the foregoing chapter:—

    “Now, there was nobody in the kitchen but the pretty housemaid; and
    as Sam’s hat was mislaid, he had to look for it, and the pretty
    housemaid lighted him.  They had to look all over the place for the
    hat.  The pretty housemaid, in her anxiety to find it, went down on
    her knees, and turned over all the things that were heaped together
    in a little corner by the door.  It was an awkward corner.  You
    couldn’t get at it without shutting the door first.

    “‘Here it is,’ said the pretty housemaid.  ‘This is it, ain’t it?’

    “‘Let me look,’ said Sam.

    “The pretty housemaid had stood the candle on the floor; as it gave a
    very dim light, Sam was obliged to go down on his knees before he
    could see whether it really was his own hat or not.  It was a
    remarkably small corner, and so—it was nobody’s fault but the man’s
    who built the house—Sam and the pretty housemaid were necessarily
    very close together.

    “‘Yes, this is it,’ said Sam.  ‘Good-bye!’

    “‘Good-bye!’ said the pretty housemaid.

    “‘Good-bye!’ said Sam; and as he said it, he dropped the hat that had
    cost so much trouble in looking for.

    “‘How awkward you are,’ said the pretty housemaid.  ‘You’ll lose it
    again, if you don’t take care.’

    “So, just to prevent his losing it again, she put it on for him.

    “Whether it was that the pretty housemaid’s face looked prettier
    still, when it was raised towards Sam’s, or whether it was the
    accidental consequence of their being so near to each other, is
    matter of uncertainty to this day; but Sam kissed her.

    “‘You don’t mean to say that you did that on purpose,’ said the
    pretty housemaid, blushing.

    “‘No, I didn’t then,’ said Sam; ‘but I will now.’

    “So he kissed her again.

    “‘Sam!’ said Mr. Pickwick, calling over the banisters.

    “‘Coming, sir,’ replied Sam, running upstairs.

    “‘How long you have been!’ said Mr. Pickwick.

    “‘There was something behind the door, sir, which perwented our
    getting it open, for ever so long, sir,’ replied Sam.”

                                * * * * *

Resuming the journey onwards by rail from Ipswich, the route is continued
_viâ Saxmundham Junction_, _Halesworth_, and _Beccles_, to the South Town
Station at Great Yarmouth, a well-known and favourite seaside resort, of
much interest to the Dickensian Rambler, as being intimately associated
with the personal history and experience of David Copperfield.  Visitors
are recommended, for reasons hereafter to be seen, to select as their
place of sojourn either the “_Star Hotel_” on the Hall Quay, or the
“_Angel_,” near the market-place.  Any thoroughfare leading eastward from
either of these will conduct to the _Marine Parade_, in full view of the
German Ocean.

Towards the southern end of this sea frontage of the town, there may be
localised the spot where once stood the Home of Little Emily, “a black
barge or some other kind of superannuated boat, high and dry on the
ground, with an iron funnel sticking out of it for a chimney.  There was
a delightful door cut in the side; it was roofed in, and there were
little windows in it.”

The position of this old boat-house, as belonging to Dan’l Peggotty, was
at the upper extremity of the _South Denes_, a flat and grassy
expanse—beyond the _Wellington Pier_ and _South Battery_—in the
neighbourhood of the _Nelson Column_, facing the sea.

In chapter 22 we find a reference to the South Town ferry, crossing the
Yare, “to a flat between the river and the sea, Mr. Peggotty’s house
being on that waste place, and not a hundred yards out of the track.”

[There is a small wooden erection, more than a mile and a half distant,
on the sea-front near _Gorleston Pier_—between two well-built
houses—assuming the name of _Peggotty’s Hut_; but this is an evident
absurdity and misnomer.]

Here, then, we may recall the many interests and incidents connected with
the experiences of the Peggotty family, and the sorrowful history of
Little Emily, notably the fateful occasion of STEERFORTH’S FIRST VISIT,
concerning which David records in chapter 21 of his autobiography, to the
following effect:—

    “Em’ly, indeed, said little all the evening; but she looked, and
    listened, and her face got animated, and she was charming.
    Steerforth told a story of a dismal shipwreck (which arose out of his
    talk with Mr. Peggotty), as if he saw it all before him—and little
    Em’ly’s eyes were fastened on him all the time, as if she saw it too.
    He told us a merry adventure of his own, as a relief to that, with as
    much gaiety as if the narrative were as fresh to him as it was to
    us—and little Em’ly laughed until the boat rang with the musical
    sounds, and we all laughed (Steerforth too), in irresistible sympathy
    with what was so pleasant and lighthearted.  He got Mr. Peggotty to
    sing, or rather to roar, ‘When the stormy winds do blow, do blow, do
    blow;’ and he sang a sailor’s song himself, so pathetically and
    beautifully, that I could have almost fancied that the real wind
    creeping sorrowfully round the house, and murmuring low through our
    unbroken silence, was there to listen.”

Thus commenced the sad story of the poor girl’s fascination and
subsequent flight with Steerforth, never more to return to the old home.
In this connection we may recall the graphic and powerful description of
the great Storm at Yarmouth, as contained in chapter 55, when Ham met his
fate in the gallant attempt to rescue the last survivor of a wrecked and
perishing crew, Steerforth himself:—

    “They drew him to my very feet—insensible—dead.  He was carried to
    the nearest house; and, no one preventing me now, I remained near
    him, busy, while every means of restoration was tried; but he had
    been beaten to death by the great wave, and his generous heart was
    stilled for ever.

    “As I sat beside the bed, when hope was abandoned and all was done, a
    fisherman, who had known me when Emily and I were children, and ever
    since, whispered my name at the door.

    “Sir,’ said he, with tears starting to his weather-beaten face,
    which, with his trembling lips, was ashy pale, ‘will you come over

    “The old remembrance that had been recalled to me was in his look.  I
    asked him, terror-stricken, leaning on the arm he held out to support

    “‘Has a body come ashore?’

    “He said, ‘Yes.’

    “‘Do I know it?’ I asked then.

    “He answered nothing.

    “But he led me to the shore.  And on that part of it where she and I
    had looked for shells, two children—on that part of it where some
    lighter fragments of the old boat, blown down last night, had been
    scattered by the wind—among the ruins of the home he had wronged—I
    saw him lying with his head upon his arm, as I had often seen him lie
    at school.”

In the days of Copperfield, Two Coaches ran between Great Yarmouth and
London—“The Blue” and “The Royal Mail.”  On the occasion of David’s first
journey to his school at Blackheath, he travelled by the former of these,
from The Angel Hotel, in the Market Place.  We may here recall his dinner
of chops in the coffee-room, at which the “friendly waiter” assisted,
helping himself to the lion’s share.

In chapter 5 of his History, David relates the attendant circumstances of
this, his second visit to Yarmouth; and how, starting as above from the
hotel, his dinner—ordered and paid for in advance—was mainly consumed by
proxy, ale included.  We read that the waiter, “a twinkling-eyed,
pimple-faced man, with his hair standing upright all over his head,”
invited himself to the meal:—

    “He took a chop by the bone in one hand, and a potato in the other,
    and ate away with a very good appetite, to my extreme satisfaction.
    He afterwards took another chop, and another potato; and after that
    another chop and another potato.  When we had done, he brought me a
    pudding, and having set it before me, seemed to ruminate, and to
    become absent in his mind for some moments.

    “‘How’s the pie?’ he said, rousing himself.

    “‘It’s a pudding,’ I made answer.

    “‘Pudding!’ he exclaimed.  ‘Why, bless me, so it is!  What!’ looking
    at it nearer.  ‘You don’t mean to say it’s a batter-pudding?’

    “‘Yes, it is indeed.’

    “‘Why, a batter-pudding,’ he said, taking up a table-spoon, ‘is my
    favourite pudding.  Ain’t that lucky?  Come on, little ’un, and let’s
    see who’ll get most.’

    “The waiter certainly got most.  He entreated me more than once to
    come in and win, but what with his table-spoon to my tea-spoon, his
    despatch to my despatch, and his appetite to my appetite, I was left
    far behind at the first mouthful, and had no chance with him.  I
    never saw any one enjoy a pudding so much, I think; and he laughed,
    when it was all gone, as if his enjoyment of it lasted still.”

On his return journey from London, we find him coming down by “The Mail,”
which stopped at The Star Hotel, on the Hall Quay, where the bedchamber,
“The Dolphin,” was assigned for his accommodation.  He and his friend
Steerforth, in after visits, frequently adopted this “Royal Mail”
conveyance, making headquarters at the “Star Hotel.”

The “volatile” _Miss Mowcher_ is first introduced to us at this

In chapter 22 we have the full account of David’s visit to Yarmouth in
company with Steerforth.  They “stayed for more than a fortnight in that
part of the country,” during which time Littimer, being in attendance one
evening at this hotel during dinner, informed them that Miss Mowcher was
making one of her professional visits to the town, and desired an
opportunity of waiting on his master.  David says:—

    “I remained, therefore, in a state of considerable expectation until
    the cloth had been removed some half-an-hour, and we were sitting
    over our decanter of wine before the fire, when the door opened, and
    Littimer, with his habitual serenity quite undisturbed, announced:

    “‘Miss Mowcher!’

    “I looked at the doorway and saw nothing.  I was still looking at the
    doorway, thinking that Miss Mowcher was a long while making her
    appearance, when, to my infinite astonishment, there came waddling
    round a sofa which stood between me and it, a pursy dwarf, of about
    forty or forty-five, with a very large head and face, a pair of
    roguish grey eyes, and such extremely little arms, that, to enable
    herself to lay a finger archly against her snub nose as she ogled
    Steerforth, she was obliged to meet the finger half-way, and lay her
    nose against it.  Her chin, which was what is called a double-chin,
    was so fat that it entirely swallowed up the strings of her bonnet,
    bow and all.  Throat she had none; waist she had none; legs she had
    none, worth mentioning; for though she was more than full-sized down
    to where her waist would have been, if she had had any, and though
    she terminated, as human beings generally do, in a pair of feet, she
    was so short that she stood at a common-sized chair as at a table,
    resting a bag she carried on the seat.”

Sites Unlocalised.  At this distance of time it is impossible to indicate
the locality of “_The Willing Mind_”—patronised by Mr. Peggotty—the
residence of _Mr. and Mrs. Barkis_, or the establishment of _Messrs Omer
and Joram_.  The last is described as being “in a narrow street,” and
should be doubtless looked for in the older part of the town.

Blundeston, the birthplace of Copperfield, may be visited from
_Somerleyton Station_, on the line between Yarmouth and Lowestoft.  The
village, with its round-towered church, is situated about four miles
eastward from the railway.  The house indicated in the novel as
_Blunderstone Rookery_ stands next the church.  The excursion could
include, _en route_, a visit to Somerleyton Park, open to the public on

_London to Dorking and Portsmouth_

Nicholas Nickleby and Smike on their travels—Excursion by Coach, “The
Perseverance”—Route to Dorking—Residence of Mr. and Mrs. Tony Weller—The
“Marquis of Granby”—The Rev. Mr. Stiggins and his “pertickler vanity”—The
downfall of Stiggins—The old Horse-trough—Dorking to Portsmouth—Parentage
of Dickens—Registration of Charles John Huffham Dickens—Birthplace of
Dickens—The Theatre-Royal—The Old Theatre—Unlocalised
Localities—Portsmouth to London—Westminster Abbey—Tomb of Dickens—His
Funeral as reported by the _Daily News_, June 1870—Poetical Tribute—The
future Outlook.

In the early days of the present century, Nicholas Nickleby leaving
London with Smike, bound for Portsmouth, took the high road _viâ_
Kingston and Godalming (with a view, _en passant_, of the Devil’s
Punch-bowl); walking steadily onward until arrival, on their second day’s
march, at a roadside inn—probably in the neighbourhood of _Horndean_.
Here they met with Mr. Vincent Crummles, of histrionic fame, and ended
their more immediate perplexities by an engagement with that gentleman.
There was no railway communication in those times, and coach fare was
expensive; but now-a-days we have adopted a cheaper and more speedy means
of transit, and may reach Portsmouth from London quickly, by two lines of

As, in the following excursion, it is proposed to make an intermediate
visit _en route_ to the residence (once on a time) of Mr. and Mrs. Tony
Weller, a journey by coach is recommended to Dorking, as affording a
suitable compliment to Mr. Weller’s memory and profession.  A delightful
journey may thus be made by “The Perseverance” coach, which starts every
week-day during the season, from Northumberland Avenue, at 10.45 A.M.,
and travels four-in-hand, _viâ_ Roehampton, Kingston, Surbiton, Epsom,
Leatherhead, Mickleham, and Boxhill, and arrives at Dorking, in time for
luncheon at the “White Horse Hotel,” at which the coach stops.

The interest of this country town centres, for Pickwickian readers, in
the “_Marquis of Granby_,” once an inn.  It exists no longer as such,
having been long since converted into a grocer’s establishment.  It will
be found in the High Street, opposite the Post Office, at the side of
_Chequers’ Court_, which runs between it and the _London and County
Bank_.  The old sign-board, the cosy bar, with its store of choice wines
and pine-apple rum (Mr. Stiggins’s “pertickler vanity”), and the
horse-trough in which the reverend gentleman was half drowned by the
irate Weller, senior, are now among the things that are not; but the old
house still remains _in situ_, altered to the uses of its present

In chapter 27 of the Pickwick records we read of Sam’s first pilgrimage
to Dorking, on which occasion he paid his filial respects to his
mother-in-law, the rather stout lady of comfortable appearance, who
conducted the business of the house; and made his acquaintance with the
Rev. Mr. Stiggins of saintly memory.  The description of the
establishment is given as follows:—

    “The ‘Marquis of Granby’ in Mrs. Weller’s time was quite a model of a
    roadside public-house of the better class—just large enough to be
    convenient, and small enough to be snug.  On the opposite side of the
    road was a large sign-board on a high post, representing the head and
    shoulders of a gentleman with an apoplectic countenance, in a red
    coat with deep-blue facings, and a touch of the same blue over his
    three-cornered hat, for a sky.  Over that again were a pair of flags;
    beneath the last button of his coat were a couple of cannon; and the
    whole formed an expressive and undoubted likeness of the Marquis of
    Granby of glorious memory.

    “The bar window displayed a choice collection of geranium plants, and
    a well-dusted row of spirit phials.  The open shutters bore a variety
    of golden inscriptions, eulogistic of good beds and neat wines; and
    the choice group of countrymen and hostlers lounging about the
    stable-door and horse-trough, afforded presumptive proof of the
    excellent quality of the ale and spirits which were sold within.  Sam
    Weller paused, when he dismounted from the coach, to note all these
    little indications of a thriving business, with the eye of an
    experienced traveller; and having done so, stepped in at once, highly
    satisfied with everything he had observed.”

Mr. Stiggins, the clerical friend and spiritual adviser of the worthy
hostess, having fully ingratiated himself in her good graces, was in the
habit of making himself very much at home at “The Marquis”; greatly
appreciating the creature comforts there obtainable, and the good liquors
kept in stock.  In point of fact, knowing when he was well off, he lived
well—if not wisely—on Mrs. Weller’s hospitable bounty, and made
headquarters at this Dorking inn.  On the occasion of Sam’s first visit
before referred to—in chapter 27, as above—this estimable character is
thus introduced to the notice of Pickwickian students:—

    “He was a prim-faced, red-nosed man, with a long, thin countenance,
    and a semi-rattlesnake sort of eye—rather sharp, but decidedly bad.
    He wore very short trousers, and black-cotton stockings, which, like
    the rest of his apparel, were particularly rusty.  His looks were
    starched, but his white neckerchief was not, and its long limp ends
    straggled over his closely-buttoned waistcoat in a very uncouth and
    unpicturesque fashion.”

    “The fire was blazing brightly under the influence of the bellows,
    and the kettle was singing gaily under the influence of both.  A
    small tray of tea things was arranged on the table, a plate of hot
    buttered toast was gently simmering before the fire, and the
    red-nosed man himself was busily engaged in converting a large slice
    of bread into the same agreeable edible, through the instrumentality
    of a long brass toasting-fork.  Beside him stood a glass of reeking
    hot pine-apple rum and water, with a slice of lemon in it; and every
    time the red-nosed man stopped to bring the round of toast to his
    eye, with the view of ascertaining how it got on, he imbibed a drop
    or two of the hot pine-apple rum and water, and smiled upon the
    rather stout lady, as she blew the fire.”

The downfall of Stiggins.  The season of his prosperity came to a sad
ending after the demise of his patroness; and in chapter 52 we read of
his reverse of fortune, and the final _congé_ given to the reverend
gentleman by the irate Mr. Weller, senior, who dismissed him from his
household chaplaincy, in a manner more peremptory than pleasant:—

    “He walked softly into the bar, and presently returning with the
    tumbler half full of pine-apple rum, advanced to the kettle which was
    singing gaily on the hob, mixed his grog, stirred it, sipped it, sat
    down, and taking a long and hearty pull at the rum and water, stopped
    for breath.

    “The elder Mr. Weller, who still continued to make various strange
    and uncouth attempts to appear asleep, offered not a single word
    during these proceedings; but when Stiggins stopped for breath, he
    darted upon him, and snatching the tumbler from his hand, threw the
    remainder of the rum and water in his face, and the glass itself into
    the grate.  Then, seizing the reverend gentleman firmly by the
    collar, he suddenly fell to kicking him most furiously, accompanying
    every application of his top-boots to Mr. Stiggins’s person, with
    sundry violent and incoherent anathemas upon his limbs, eyes, and

    “‘Sammy,’ said Mr. Weller, ‘put my hat on tight for me.’

    “Sam dutifully adjusted the hat with the long hatband more firmly on
    his father’s head, and the old gentleman, resuming his kicking with
    greater agility than before, tumbled with Mr. Stiggins through the
    bar, and through the passage, out at the front door, and so into the
    street; the kicking continuing the whole way, and increasing in
    vehemence, rather than diminishing, every time the top-boot was

    “It was a beautiful and exhilarating sight to see the red-nosed man
    writhing in Mr. Weller’s grasp, and his whole frame quivering with
    anguish as kick followed kick in rapid succession; it was a still
    more exciting spectacle to behold Mr. Weller, after a powerful
    struggle, immersing Mr. Stiggins’s head in a horse-trough full of
    water, and holding it there until he was half-suffocated.”

The old horse-trough, as depicted by “Phiz” in the original illustrated
title-page of the book, has long since given place to local alteration
and improvement; but “hereabouts it stood.”

There are many pleasant and humorous associations connected with this old
place of country entertainment, as duly set forth in the Pickwick annals;
but it should be remembered that many years have passed since their
publication (1837), and that men and manners have greatly changed and
bettered.  It is satisfactory to reflect that Mr. Stiggins and his
brethren have altogether become obsolete in English middle-class society,
and that the protest so embodied sixty years since is no longer
necessary.  In these happier days, earnestness and ability have, in the
main, superseded laziness and cant.

                                * * * * *

DORKING TO PORTSMOUTH.  The journey being resumed by railway, we travel
southward and westward through the pleasant fields and pasture lands of
Sussex, _viâ_ Horsham and Chichester, to the old town of Portsmouth,
where, in Landport, Portsea, Charles Dickens was born, on Friday, the 7th
of February 1812.  He was the second son (in a family of eight, six
surviving infancy) of Mr. John Dickens, a clerk in the Navy Pay Office at
the Dockyard.  The name of his mother, previous to her marriage, was
Elizabeth Barrow.  The baptismal record at Portsea registers him as
CHARLES JOHN HUFFHAM DICKENS, but he very seldom used any other signature
than the one with which we are all familiar.  On arrival at the
Portsmouth town station, we leave the railway, turning to the right, and
proceed onwards, in the main thoroughfare of Commercial Road.  Thus we
shortly reach, in due course, The Birthplace of Dickens.  The house (No.
387 Commercial Road, Landport) stands about half a mile northward (to the
right) from the railway station, with a neat forecourt.  It bears a
tablet recording date of the event, as above.

South of the station (leftward), beyond the Town Hall, will be found, on
the right, The Theatre Royal; but it should be noted that this is _not_
the establishment referred to in “Nicholas Nickleby.”

That old theatre, at which Nicholas—adopting the professional _alias_ of
“Johnson”—made his histrionic _début_ under the managerial auspices of
Mr. Vincent Crummles, occupied, some eighty years since, the present site
of The Cambridge Barracks, in the _High Street_, farther onwards.

We read in the same book that the _Crummles_ family resided at the house
of one Bulph, a pilot; that _Miss Snevellicci_ had lodgings in Lombard
Street, at the house of a tailor, where also _Mr. and Mrs. Lillyvick_
found temporary accommodation; and that _Nicholas_ and _Smike_ lived in
two small rooms, up three pair of stairs, at a tobacconist’s shop, on the
Common Hard.  But it is not possible to particularise these places;
indeed, it is altogether doubtful whether they had any special assignment
in the mind of the author himself.

                                * * * * *

Leaving Portsmouth, at convenience, by the _Brighton and South Coast
Railway_, we may take the return journey to London in about three hours,
arriving at the West End Terminus of the line, _Victoria Station_.  From
this point we may revisit, _viâ Victoria Street_, about half a mile in
distance, Westminster Abbey, containing the TOMB OF DICKENS, which will
be found in the classic shade of the _Poets’ Corner_.  At the time of his
death the _Times_ “took the lead in suggesting that the only fit
resting-place for the remains of a man so dear to England was the Abbey,
in which most illustrious Englishmen are laid;” and accordingly, on the
14th of June, the funeral took place, with a strict observance of
privacy.  In Dean Stanley’s “WESTMINSTER ABBEY” the following statement
is given:—

    “Close under the bust of Thackeray lies Charles Dickens, not, it may
    be, his equal in humour, but more than his equal in his hold on the
    popular mind, as was shown in the intense and general enthusiasm
    shown at his grave.  The funeral, according to Dickens’s urgent and
    express desire in his will, was strictly private.  It took place at
    an early hour in the summer morning, the grave having been dug in
    secret the night before; and the vast solitary space of the Abbey was
    occupied only by the small band of mourners, and the Abbey clergy,
    who, without any music except the occasional peal of the organ, read
    the funeral service.  For days the spot was visited by thousands;
    many were the flowers strewn upon it by unknown hands; many were the
    tears shed by the poorer visitors.  He rests beside Sheridan,
    Garrick, and Henderson.”

The plain stone covering the tomb is inscribed

                               CHARLES DICKENS,

               Born February 7th, 1812.    Died June 9th, 1870.

Report of the Funeral, as published in the _Daily News_, June 15th,
1870:—“Charles Dickens lies, without one of his injunctions respecting
his funeral having been violated, surrounded by poets and men of genius.
Shakespeare’s marble effigy looked yesterday into his open grave; at his
feet are Dr. Johnson and David Garrick; his head is by Addison and
Handel; while Oliver Goldsmith, Rowe, Southey, Campbell, Thomson,
Sheridan, Macaulay, and Thackeray, or their memorials, encircle him; and
‘Poets’ Corner,’ the most familiar spot in the whole Abbey, has thus
received an illustrious addition to its peculiar glory. . . .  Dickens’s
obsequies were as simple as he desired.  The news that a special train
left Rochester at an early hour yesterday morning, and that it carried
his remains, was soon telegraphed to London; but every arrangement had
been completed beforehand, and there was no one in the Abbey; no one to
follow the three simple mourning coaches and the hearse; no one to
obtrude upon the mourners.  The waiting-room at Charing Cross Station was
set apart for the latter for the quarter of an hour they remained there;
the Abbey doors were closed directly they reached it; and even the
mourning coaches were not permitted to wait.  A couple of street cabs and
a single brougham took the funeral party away when the last solemn rites
were over, so that passers-by were unaware that any ceremony was being
conducted; and it was not until a good hour after that the south transept
began to fill.  There were no cloaks, no weepers, no bands, no scarfs, no
feathers, none of the dismal frippery of the undertaker.  We yesterday
bade the reader turn to that portion of ‘Great Expectations,’ in which
the funeral of Joe Gargery’s wife is described; he will there find full
details of the miserable things omitted.  In the same part of the same
volume he will find reverent allusion to the time when ‘those noble
passages are read which remind humanity how it brought nothing into the
world and can take nothing out, and how it fleeth like a shadow, and
never continueth long in one stay;’ and will think of the solemn scene in
Westminster Abbey, with the Dean reading our solemn burial service, the
organ chiming in, subdued and low, and the vast place empty, save for the
little group of heart-stricken people by an open grave; a plain oak
coffin, with a brass plate bearing the inscription:—

                              ‘CHARLES DICKENS,

                           Born February 7th, 1812,

                            Died June 9th, 1870’;

a coffin strewed with wreaths and flowers by the female mourners; and
then dust to dust and ashes to ashes!  Such was the funeral of the great
man who has gone.  In coming to the Abbey, in the first coach were the
late Mr. Dickens’s children—Mr. Charles Dickens, jun., Mr. Harry Dickens,
Miss Dickens, Mrs. Charles Collins.  In the second coach were Mrs.
Austin, his sister; Mrs. Charles Dickens, jun.; Miss Hogarth, his
sister-in-law; Mr. John Forster.  In the third coach Mr. Frank Beard, his
medical attendant; Mr. Charles Collins, his son-in-law; Mr. Dewey, his
solicitor; Mr. Wilkie Collins; Mr. Edmund Dickens, his nephew.

“By the orders of the Dean of Westminster, the officials were instructed
to keep the grave open until six o’clock last evening, and all who came
had the melancholy satisfaction of seeing not only the grave itself, but
the polished oak coffin which contained the remains of the lamented
deceased.  A raised platform was placed around the grave, and two of the
vergers of the Abbey were in attendance to prevent crowding and preserve
order, an almost unnecessary precaution, for all who came, comprising
persons of various classes, conducted themselves in the most exemplary
manner.  In the afternoon, when the fact of the interment became
generally known, and that the coffin was to be seen, the crowds arriving
at the Abbey became very great, and between twelve and six o’clock many
thousands of persons had been present.  Large numbers paid a simple
tribute to the memory of the deceased by throwing the flowers they wore
in their coat or dress on to the coffin, until, towards the close of the
afternoon, it was completely covered with these simplest offerings of
public affection.”

                                * * * * *

The following Poetical Tribute, _in Memoriam_, was, at that sad time,
contributed to the public Press, and is worthy of remembrance:—

    “The Artist sleeps, yet friends are here he gave
       The fair dream-children that his fancy drew;
    A phantom crowd still gathers at his grave,
       And in each character he lives anew.

    “Soft winds of summer breathe along the fane,
       The honoured sepulchre where Dickens lies;
    An Emigravit write we in our pain—
       He is not dead—the artist never dies.

    “The statesman wins the mantle of a peer,
       The warrior boasts all titles of renown;
    We leave one laurel only on his bier,
       And England’s love is greater than a crown.”

                                                                   “S. C.”

                                * * * * *

So long as the art of printing remains in Society, and the powers of
affection, appreciation, and sympathy survive in the hearts of
Anglo-Saxons—of the Old World or the New—the name and fame of CHARLES
DICKENS will be ever held fresh and green amongst us.  And, through the
coming summer-dawn of time—amidst the destined agencies slowly evolving
the brighter omens of the future—his genius shall remain co-operant.
For, let us rest assured that “the thoughts of men are widened with the
process of the suns”; that the wheel of time is rolling, surely for an
end; and that all worthy labour in the cause of human progress shall
become Immortal, as it helps to make the world purer, gentler, and more
Christian; and hastens onwards the fulfilment of its nobler destiny.


“The Pickwick Papers”; Mrs. Bardell’s House—The Spaniards’ Inn
[Wellington Academy].  “Oliver Twist”; Mr. Brownlow’s Residence—Fagin and
Bill Sykes.  “Nicholas Nickleby”; The London Tavern—Mrs. Nickleby and
Kate in Thames Street—Mortimer Knag’s Library—General Agency
Office—Messrs. Cheeryble Brothers—Residence of Mrs. Wititterly.  “Barnaby
Rudge”; The Golden Key—Cellar of Mr. Stagg—The Black Lion Tavern.
“Martin Chuzzlewit”; Anthony Chuzzlewit and Son—Montague Tigg, Esq., Pall
Mall—Tom Pinch and Ruth at Islington.  “Dombey & Son”; Polly Toodles at
Staggs Gardens—Miss Tox and Major Bagstock, Princess Place—Mrs.
MacStinger and Captain Cuttle, No. 9 Brig Place.  “David Copperfield”;
Mr. Creakle’s Establishment, Salem House—The Micawber family—Residence of
Mrs. Steerforth—Doctor and Mrs. Strong—Mr. and Mrs. D. Copperfield—Mr.
Traddles’s lodgings.  “Bleak House”; Addresses of Mr. Guppy and his
Mother—Apartments of Mr. Jarndyce—Mr. and Mrs. Smallweed, Mount
Pleasant—George’s Shooting Gallery—Mr. and Mrs. Bagnet—Harold Skimpole
and family.  “Little Dorrit”; The House of Mrs. Clennam—Residence of Mr.
Tite Barnacle—The Patriarchal Casby.  “Tale of Two Cities”; Old Church of
St. Pancras in the Fields.  “Great Expectations”; Private Residence of
Mr. Jaggers—Wemmick’s Castle, Walworth—Mr. Barley, _alias_ old
Gruff-and-Glum.  “Our Mutual Friend”; Gaffer Hexam’s House—The Six Jolly
Fellowship Porters—Rogue Riderhood and his Daughter—Mr. Twemlow’s
Lodgings—The Veneerings and the Podsnaps—Boffin’s Bower.—Mr. R. Wilfer’s
Residence—Establishment of Mr. Venus.  “Mystery of Edwin Drood”; The
Opium Smokers’ Den.

The various localities referred to in the foregoing RAMBLES comprise all
the more interesting and better-known points which the Reader of Dickens
would most naturally desire to visit.  In addition to these, however,
there are several places mentioned in the many works of “The inimitable
Boz” which may be enumerated, but cannot for the following reasons be
included in such specified routes:—

(1) Neighbourhoods have, in course of years, altogether changed, making
it extremely difficult (in many cases impossible) to specify with
exactitude the former situation of old houses, which have long become
part and parcel of the forgotten past, “lost to sight” and now only “to
memory dear.”

(2) The indications given in the various tales have, in some cases, been
purposely rendered vague and uncertain; it being the evident aim of the
author to avoid precision, and to afford no definite clue to the position
of many places named.

(3) Some of the localities specified are situated at a considerable
distance from any main line of route, and can be visited only by separate
excursion specially undertaken for the purpose.

In the following addendum these uncertain or distant addresses are given
under the headings of those books in which they respectively occur; in
order that Ramblers, if so disposed, may—in the words of Mr.
Peggotty—“fisherate” for themselves.


Mrs. Bardell’s House was located in _Goswell Street_, certainly in a
central position; for we read that, as Mr. Pickwick looked from his
chamber-window on the world beneath,

    “Goswell Street was at his feet, Goswell Street was on his right
    hand, as far as the eye could reach, Goswell Street extended on his
    left, and the opposite side of Goswell Street was over the way.”

The “Spaniards’ Inn” at _Hampstead_ may be remembered as the scene of the
tea-party at which _Mrs. Bardell_ and a few select friends enjoyed
themselves, previous to her unexpected arrest and removal to the Fleet
Prison, at the suit of _Messrs. Dodson and Fogg_.  There still exists the
“Spaniards” at Heath End, Hampstead Heath.

[Visitors to Hampstead may be disposed to visit the site once occupied by
Mr. Jones’s School, called the “Wellington Academy,” at which Dickens
received some two years’ technical education; being a little over
fourteen years old when he left.  The house is now in possession of the
INLAND REVENUE OFFICE, at the corner of Granby Street, 247 Hampstead
Road; part of the premises abutting on the London and North-Western
Railway, the formation of which demolished the old schoolroom and


Mr. Brownlow’s Residence, in “a quiet shady street near Pentonville,”
cannot he fairly localised.  In the days of “Oliver Twist,” Mr. George
Cruikshank, the illustrator of the book, lived at _Myddelton Terrace_,
Pentonville; and possibly Dickens bethought himself of this vicinity in

Fagin’s House in _Whitechapel_ and the residence of _Bill Sykes_ cannot,
with any fairness, be accurately indicated.  The latter is spoken of as
being in “one of a maze of mean and dirty streets, which abound in the
close and densely populated quarter of Bethnal Green.”


The London Tavern, at which was held the Meeting in promotion of “The
United Metropolitan Improved Hot Muffin and Crumpet Baking and Punctual
Delivery Company,” once (many years since) occupied the site of the ROYAL
BANK OF SCOTLAND, 123 _Bishopsgate Street Within_, on the left hand
entering the street from Cornhill.

Mrs. Nickleby and her daughter Kate lived, per favour of their amiable
relative, in _Thames Street_.  This business thoroughfare has undergone
considerable reconstruction since the days of their tenancy, and the
particular dwelling intended cannot be identified.  The place is
described as a “large, old dingy house, the doors and windows of which
were so bespattered with mud that it would have appeared to have been
uninhabited for years.”

Mr. Mortimer Knag kept a small circulating library “in a by-street off
Tottenham Court Road,” where also lived his sister, _Miss Knag_, the
presiding genius of Madame Mantalini’s establishment; and we may remember
the evening when Mrs. Nickleby and Kate were graciously invited to supper
at this abode of literary genius.

The General Agency Office, at which Nicholas Nickleby obtained the
address of _Mr. Gregsbury_, _M.P._, Manchester Buildings, Westminster
(also one of the lost localities of London), and where he first met
_Madeline Bray_, has no specified direction in the book.  There have been
few such agencies existent in a central position in London.

Messrs. Cheeryble Brothers had their place of business in a small City
square.  “Passing along Threadneedle Street, and through some lanes and
passages on the right,” we read that Nicholas was conducted by _Mr.
Charles Cheeryble_ to the place in occupation of the firm—

    “The City square has no enclosure, save the lamp-post in the middle,
    and no grass but the weeds which spring up around its base.  It is a
    quiet, little-frequented, retired spot, favourable to melancholy and
    contemplation, and appointments of long waiting. . . .  In
    winter-time the snow will linger there long after it has melted from
    the busy streets and highways.  The summer’s sun holds it in some
    respect, and while he darts his cheerful rays sparingly into the
    square, keeps his fiery heat and glare for noisier and less imposing
    precincts.  It is so quiet, that you can almost hear the ticking of
    your own watch, when you stop to cool in its refreshing atmosphere.
    There is a distant hum—of coaches, not of insects—but no other sound
    disturbs the stillness of the square.”

The Residence of Mrs. Wititterly is referred to as having been pleasantly
situated in Cadogan Place, Sloane Street—

    “Cadogan Place is the one slight bond which joins two extremities; it
    is the connecting link between the aristocratic pavements of Belgrave
    Square and the barbarism of Chelsea.  It is in Sloane Street, but not
    of it.  The people of Cadogan Place look down upon Sloane Street, and
    think Brompton low.  They affect fashion, too, and wonder where the
    New Road is.  Not that they claim to be on precisely the same footing
    as the high folks of Belgrave Square and Grosvenor Place, but that
    they stand, in reference to them, rather in the light of those
    illegitimate children of the great, who are content to boast of their
    connexions, although their connexions disavow them.”


“The Golden Key”—the house of honest _Gabriel Varden_, the locksmith—was
in Clerkenwell, situated in a quiet street not far from the Charter

    “A modest building, not very straight, not large, not tall, not
    bold-faced, with great staring windows, but a shy, blinking house,
    with a conical roof going up into a peak over its garret window of
    four small panes of glass, like a cocked hat on the head of an
    elderly gentleman with one eye.  It was not built of brick, or lofty
    stone, but of wood and plaster; it was not planned with a dull and
    wearisome regard to regularity, for no one window matched the other,
    or seemed to have the slightest reference to anything beside itself.”

This was its description one hundred years ago, and its exact whereabouts
cannot now be ascertained.  There are some old plaster-fronted houses,
evidently belonging to the last century, still to be found in _Albemarle
Street_, near _St. John’s Square_, but none of these fairly correspond
with the description of “The Golden Key.”

The Cellar of Mr. Stagg was situated in _Barbican_.  We read that its
position was “in one of the narrowest of the narrow streets which diverge
from that centre, in a blind court or yard, profoundly dark, unpaved, and
reeking with stagnant odours.”

“The Black Lion” Tavern can only be identified as being situated in
Whitechapel.  It was a favourite resort of _Mr. John Willett_, landlord
of the “MAYPOLE INN” at _Chigwell_, when he came to town; and we may
remember it as the scene of _Dolly Varden’s_ satisfactory interview with
her lover Joe, after his return from “the Salwanners.”


Anthony Chuzzlewit and Son had their place of business near _Aldersgate
Street_.  Their dreary residence was the bridal home of Mercy
Pecksniff—married by Jonas Chuzzlewit—and we may recollect her reception
at this establishment by the worthy _Sairey Gamp_.  To this house Jonas
returned after the murder of Montague Tigg, and was here arrested by his
relative _Chevy Slyme_, in the presence of his uncle and Mark Tapley.
Its situation is described as being in

    “A very narrow street, somewhere behind the Post Office, where every
    house was in the brightest summer morning very gloomy; and where
    light porters watered the pavement, each before his own employer’s
    premises, in fantastic patterns in the dog-days; and where spruce
    gentlemen, with their hands in the pockets of symmetrical trousers,
    were always to be seen in warm weather contemplating their undeniable
    boots in dusty warehouse doorways, which appeared to be the hardest
    work they did, except now and then carrying pens behind their ears.”

Montague Tigg, Esq., the Chairman of the _Anglo-Bengalee Insurance
Company_, lived in luxurious chambers in _Pall Mall_; and we may remember
the morning when Jonas Chuzzlewit called at the residence of his chief,
and was disagreeably surprised to find his friend in full possession of
his secret history—with _Mr. Nadgett_ in attendance.

Tom Pinch and his sister _Ruth_ lodged at “Merry Islington,” “in a
singular little old-fashioned house, up a blind street,” where they were
accommodated with two small bedrooms and a triangular parlour, the
householder being the inscrutable _Mr. Nadgett_.  In “Martin Chuzzlewit”
are contained many pleasant episodes associated with these modest
apartments; where, as we all know, little Ruth made her first culinary
experiment, and was pleasantly surprised the next morning to find the
merry present of a cookery-book awaiting her in the parlour (sent by John
Westlock), with the beefsteak pudding leaf turned down and blotted out.


Polly Toodles (otherwise Richards) lived with her husband and her
“apple-faced” family, at _Stagg’s Gardens_, _Camden Town_, at the time
when the London and North-Western Railway was in course of construction—

    “As yet the neighbourhood was shy to own the railroad.  One or two
    bold speculators had projected streets, and one had built a little,
    but had stopped among the mud and ashes to consider further of it.  A
    bran new tavern, redolent of fresh mortar and size, and fronting
    nothing at all, had taken for its sign the ‘Railway Arms;’ but that
    might be rash enterprise—and then it hoped to sell drink to the
    workmen.  So the Excavators’ house of Call had sprung up from a
    beer-shop, and the old-established Ham and Beef Shop had become the
    Railway Eating House, with a roast leg of pork daily, through
    interested motives of a similar immediate and popular description.”

In a later chapter of “Dombey” we read of Stagg’s Gardens having vanished
from the earth—

    “Where the old rotten summer-houses once had stood, palaces now
    reared their heads, and granite columns of gigantic girth opened a
    vista to the railway world beyond.  The miserable waste ground, where
    the refuse matter had been heaped of yore, was swallowed up and gone,
    and in its frowzy stead were tiers of warehouses, crammed with rich
    goods and costly merchandise.  The old bye-streets now swarmed with
    passengers and vehicles of every kind: the new streets that had
    stopped disheartened in the mud and waggon-ruts, formed towns within
    themselves, originating wholesome comforts and conveniences belonging
    to themselves, and never tried nor thought of until they sprung into

Miss Lucretia Tox had apartments at _Princess Place_, an address not
included in the London Directory; and _Major Bagstock_ also had chambers
in the immediate vicinity, a genteel but somewhat inconvenient
neighbourhood.  Miss Tox’s residence is described as

    “A dark little house, that had been squeezed at some remote period of
    English history into a fashionable neighbourhood at the west end of
    the town, where it stood in the shade, like a poor relation of the
    great street round the corner, coldly looked down upon by mighty
    mansions.  It was not exactly in a court, and it was not exactly in a
    yard, but it was in the dullest of No-Thoroughfares, rendered anxious
    and haggard by double knocks. . . .  There is a smack of stabling in
    the air of Princess Place, and Miss Tox’s bedroom (which was at the
    back) commanded a vista of mews, where hostlers, at whatever sort of
    work engaged, were continually accompanying themselves with
    effervescent noises, and where the most domestic and confidential
    garments of coachmen and their wives and families usually hung like
    Macbeth’s banners on the outer walls.”

Mrs. MacStinger presided at _No. 9 Brig Place_, finding accommodation for
_Captain Cuttle_ as her first floor lodger, previous to the time of his
hurried and secret removal to the quarters of _The Wooden Midshipman_.
We read that the house was situated

    “On the brink of a little canal near the India Docks, where the air
    was perfumed with chips, and all other trades were swallowed up in
    mast, oar, and block making, and boat building.  Then the ground grew
    marshy and unsettled.  Then there was nothing to be smelt but rum and
    sugar.  Then Captain Cuttle’s lodgings, at once a first floor and a
    top storey, in Brig Place, were close before you.”


Mr. Creakle’s educational establishment, “_Salem House_,” was, we are
told, “down by Blackheath.”  A large, dull house, standing away from the
main road among some dark trees, and surrounded by a high wall.  The
character of Mr. Creakle seems to have been drawn from life; being, in
fact, a portrait of the proprietor of the “_Wellington Academy_,”
Hampstead Road, previously referred to.  _Dr. Danson_, an old
schoolfellow of Dickens, writing to Mr. Forster, states that this “Mr.
Jones was a Welshman, a most ignorant fellow, and a mere tyrant, whose
chief employment was to scourge the boys.”  Also, Mr. Forster, speaking
of the school, says, “it had supplied some of the lighter traits of Salem
House for ‘Copperfield.’”

Mr. Micawber lived in Windsor Terrace, City Road, at the time he first
received young David Copperfield as a lodger, and previous to the crisis
in his pecuniary affairs which removed him to KING’S BENCH PRISON in the

We also read, later in the book, of the Micawbers as located in a little
street near _The Veterinary College_, _Camden Town_, what time _Mr.
Traddles_ was their lodger; and we may remember how the astute Mr.
Micawber took advantage of the circumstance, by obtaining the friendly
signature of his inmate as security, in the matter of two bills “not
provided for.”

Mrs. Steerforth resided in “an old brick house at _Highgate_, on the
summit of the hill; a genteel, old-fashioned house, very quiet, and very
orderly,” from which position a comprehensive view was obtainable of “all
London lying in the distance like a great vapour, with here and there
some lights twinkling through it.”  In connection with this house we may
recall the characters of _Rosa Dartle_ and the respectable serving-man

Doctor and Mrs. Strong also lived in a cottage at Highgate after their
removal from Canterbury; and _Mr. and Mrs. David Copperfield_ resided in
the same neighbourhood, with _Betsy Trotwood_ established in a convenient
cottage near at hand.

Mr. Traddles, in his bachelor days, had lodgings behind the parapet of a
house in _Castle Street_, _Holborn_.  This thoroughfare has now changed
its name, and is known as FURNIVAL STREET.  It may be found on the south
side of Holborn, and west of Fetter Lane, leading to Cursitor Street.


Mr. Guppy mentioned his address as 87 _Penton Place_, _Pentonville_; but
the London Directory does not now include the number specified.  The
residence of _Mrs. Guppy_, his mother, is stated as having been 302 _Old
Street Road_; previous to the time when a house was taken (by mother and
son) in _Walcot Square_, _Lambeth_, on the south side of the Thames, and
Mr. Guppy started on his independent professional career.

Mr. Jarndyce once sojourned in London, “at a cheerful lodging near
_Oxford Street_, over an upholsterer’s shop,” at which also Ada Clare and
Esther Summerson were accommodated.

Mr. and Mrs. Smallweed vegetated, with their grandchildren, “in a rather
ill-favoured and ill-savoured neighbourhood, though one of its rising
grounds bears the name of _Mount Pleasant_.”  This beatific neighbourhood
will be found north of _Clerkenwell Road_ (approached by _Laystall
Street_), in the neighbourhood of the MIDDLESEX HOUSE OF CORRECTION.

George’s Shooting Gallery is memorable as the place where _Gridley_—“the
man from Shropshire”—died; where also _Poor Jo_, clinging to the spars of
the Lord’s Prayer, drifted out upon the unknown sea.  It is described as
“a great brick building, composed of bare walls, floors, roof-rafters,
and skylights; on the front of which was painted ‘George’s Shooting
Gallery.’”  Its location is given as being up a court and a long
whitewashed passage, in

    “That curious region lying about the Haymarket and Leicester Square,
    which is a centre of attraction to indifferent foreign hotels and
    indifferent foreigners, racket courts, fighting men, swordsmen,
    foot-guards, old china, gambling-houses, exhibitions, and a large
    medley of shabbiness and shrinking out of sight.”

Mr. Bagnet and his “old girl” kept house and home on the Surrey side of
the river; but no more precise indication of their whereabouts is given
than is contained in the following reference:—

    “By Blackfriars’ Bridge, and Blackfriars’ Road, Mr. George sedately
    marches to a street of little shops lying somewhere in that ganglion
    of roads from Kent and Surrey, and of streets from the bridges of
    London, centreing in the far-famed Elephant who has lost his castle.”

The Town House of Sir Leicester and Lady Dedlock was situated in a dull
aristocratic street in the western district of London,

    “Where the two long rows of houses stare at each other with that
    severity, that half-a-dozen of its greatest mansions seem to have
    been slowly stared into stone, rather than originally built in that
    material.  It is a street of such dismal grandeur, so determined not
    to condescend to liveliness, that the doors and windows hold a gloomy
    state of their own in black paint and dust, and the echoing mews
    behind have a dry and massive appearance, as if they were reserved to
    stable the stone chargers of noble statues.”

Harold Skimpole and family had their residence in the _Polygon_, near to
the EUSTON TERMINUS (on the east side), in the centre of _Clarendon
Square_, _Somers Town_.  The house is described as being sadly in want of

    “Two or three of the area railings were gone; the water-butt was
    broken; the knocker was loose; the bell-handle had been pulled off a
    long time, to judge from the rusty state of the wire; and dirty
    footprints on the steps were the only signs of its being inhabited.”


The House of Mrs. Clennam was situated not far from the river, in the
neighbourhood of _Upper Thames Street_.  We read that Arthur Clennam, on
his arrival in London,

    “Crossed by Saint Paul’s and went down, at a long angle, almost to
    the water’s edge, through some of the crooked and descending streets
    which lie (and lay more crookedly and closely then) between the river
    and Cheapside . . . passing silent warehouses and wharves, and here
    and there a narrow alley leading to the river, where a wretched
    little bill, ‘Found Drowned,’ was weeping on the wet wall; he came at
    last to the house he sought.  An old brick house, so dingy as to be
    all but black, standing by itself within a gateway.”

Mr. Tite Barnacle had his residence in _Mews Street_, _Grosvenor Square_—

    “It was a hideous little street of dead wall, stables, and dunghills,
    with lofts over coach-houses inhabited by coachmen’s families, who
    had a passion for drying clothes, and decorating their window-sills
    with miniature turnpike-gates.  The principal chimney-sweep of that
    fashionable quarter lived at the blind end of Mews Street. . . .  Yet
    there were two or three small airless houses at the entrance end of
    Mews Street, which went at enormous rents on account of their being
    abject hangers-on to a fashionable situation; and whenever one of
    these fearful little coops was to be let (which seldom happened, for
    they were in great request), the house agent advertised it as a
    gentlemanly residence in the most aristocratic part of the town,
    inhabited solely by the élite of the beau monde.”

The Patriarchal Casby, with his daughter—the irrepressible _Flora_—and
_Mr. F.’s Aunt_,

    “Lived in a street in the Gray’s Inn Road, which had set off from
    that thoroughfare with the intention of running at one heat down into
    the valley, and up again to the top of Pentonville Hill; but which
    had run itself out of breath in twenty yards, and had stood still
    ever since.  There is no such place in that part now; but it remained
    there for many years, looking with a baulked countenance at the
    wilderness patched with unfruitful gardens, and pimpled with eruptive
    summer-houses, that it had meant to run over in no time.”


In this Tale we read of the funeral of _Cly_, the Old Bailey Informer;
the interment taking place in the burial-ground attached to the ancient
church of St. Pancras in the Fields.  This edifice still exists in
PANCRAS ROAD (east side, opposite _Goldington Crescent_), which leads
from King’s Cross, northward, to Kentish Town.  There is a church of the
same name to be found in the EUSTON ROAD—east of _Upper Woburn Place_,
but this is altogether another and more modern structure than the one
above referred to.  A century since, at the time of the funeral
described, the name of this locality was literally correct; the church
being situated in the outlying fields of the suburban village of PANCRAS.
We may here recollect the fishing expedition undertaken by _Mr. Cruncher_
and his two companions, on the night following the funeral; when young
_Jerry_ quietly followed his “honoured parent,” and assured himself of
the nature of his father’s secret avocation.


Mr. Jaggers, the Old Bailey lawyer, had his private residence on the
south side of _Gerrard Street_, _Soho_, where he lived in solitary state,
with his eccentric housekeeper, the mother of Estella: “Rather a stately
house of its kind, but dolefully in want of painting, and with dirty

Wemmick’s Castle at _Walworth_ is altogether a place of the past;
Walworth being now one of the most populous and crowded of metropolitan
districts.  We read that in Pip’s time

    “It appeared to be a collection of black lanes, ditches, and little
    gardens, and to present the aspect of a rather dull retirement.
    Wemmick’s house was a little wooden cottage in the midst of plots of
    garden, and the top of it was cut out and painted like a battery
    mounted with guns.”

Mr. Barley, _alias Old Gruff-and-Glum_, lived at _Mill Pond Bank_, by
Chinks’s Basin and the Old Green Copper Rope-walk.  Pip says the place
was anything but easy to find.  Losing himself among shipbuilders’ and
shipbreakers’ yards, he continues the description of his search as

    “After several times falling short of my destination, and as often
    overshooting it, I came unexpectedly round a corner, upon Mill Pond
    Bank.  It was a fresh kind of place, all circumstances considered,
    where the wind from the river had room to turn itself round; and
    there were two or three trees in it, and there was the stump of a
    ruined windmill, and there was the Old Green Copper Rope-walk—whose
    long and narrow vista I could trace in the moonlight, along a series
    of wooden frames set in the ground, that looked like superannuated
    haymaking rakes, which had grown old and lost most of their teeth.
    Selecting from the few queer houses upon Mill Pond Bank, a house with
    a wooden front and three storeys of bow-window (not bay-window, which
    is another thing), I looked at the plate upon the door, and read
    there Mrs. Whimple . . . the name I wanted.”


The House of Gaffer Hexam, the humble home of _Lizzie Hexam_ and her
brother, was situated somewhere in the district of _Limehouse_, near the
river.  In a description given of the route by which Messrs. Lightwood
and Wrayburn approached this locality, we read—

    “Down by the Monument, and by the Tower, and by the Docks; down by
    Ratcliffe, and by Rotherhithe. . . .  In and out among vessels that
    seemed to have got ashore, and houses that seemed to have got
    afloat—among bowsprits staring into windows, and windows staring into
    ships—the wheels rolled on, until they stopped at a dark corner,
    river-washed and otherwise not washed at all, where the boy alighted
    and opened the door.”

“The Six Jolly Fellowship Porters” was located in this same vicinity,
overlooking the river.  A waterside public-house, kept by _Miss Abbey
Patterson_, who enforced a certain standard of respectability among her
numerous clients, and conducted the house with a strict regard to
discipline and punctuality—

    “Externally, it was a narrow, lop-sided, wooden jumble of corpulent
    windows heaped one upon another, as you might heap as many toppling
    oranges, with a crazy wooden verandah impending over the water;
    indeed, the whole house, inclusive of the complaining flagstaff on
    the roof, impended over the water, but seemed to have got into the
    condition of a faint-hearted diver who has paused so long on the
    brink that he will never go in at all. . . .  The back of the
    establishment, though the chief entrance, was there so contracted
    that it merely represented, in its connection with the front, the
    handle of a flat iron set upright on its broadest end.  This handle
    stood at the bottom of a wilderness of court and alley; which
    wilderness pressed so hard and close upon the ‘Six Jolly Fellowship
    Porters,’ as to leave the hostelry not an inch of ground beyond its

Rogue Riderhood and his daughter _Pleasant_ traded at _Limehouse Hole_,
in the same district as above, where they kept “a leaving shop” for
sailors; advancing small sums of money on the portable property of
seafaring customers.  Mr. Riderhood did not stand well in the esteem of
the neighbourhood, which “was rather shy in reference to the honour of
cultivating” his acquaintance, his daughter being the more respectable
and respected member of the firm.

Mr. Twemlow, “an innocent piece of dinner furniture,” often in request in
certain West-end circles of society, lodged in _Duke Street_, _St.
James’s_, “over a livery stable-yard.”

The Location of the Veneering Family is described as “a bran-new house,
in a bran-new quarter,” designated by the appellation of “_Stucconia_;”
while their intimate friends The Podsnaps flourished “in a shady angle
adjoining _Portman Square_.”

Boffin’s Bower, the home in which we are first introduced to the Golden
Dustman and his wife, was to be found “about a mile and a quarter up
Maiden Lane, Battle Bridge,” in the close vicinity of the Mounds of Dust
for which Mr. Harman was the contractor.

The Location of Mr. R. Wilfer and family was in the northern district of
_Holloway_, beyond Battle Bridge, divided therefrom by “a tract of
suburban Sahara, where tiles and bricks were burnt, bones were boiled,
carpets were beat, rubbish was shot, dogs were fought, and dust was
heaped by contractors.”

The Establishment of Mr. Venus was in _Clerkenwell_, among

    “The poorer shops of small retail traders in commodities to eat and
    drink and keep folks warm, and of Italian frame-makers, and of
    barbers, and of brokers, and of dealers in dogs and singing-birds.
    From these, in a narrow and a dirty street devoted to such callings,
    Mr. Wegg selects one dark shop-window with a tallow candle dimly
    burning in it, surrounded by a muddle of objects vaguely resembling
    pieces of leather and dry stick, but among which nothing is
    resolvable into anything distinct, save the candle itself in its old
    tin candlestick, and two preserved frogs fighting a small-sword


In the first chapter of the tale we are introduced to “the meanest and
closest of small rooms,” where, “through the ragged window-curtain, the
light of early day steals in from a miserable court.”  A man

    “Lies dressed, across a large unseemly bed, upon a bedstead that has
    indeed given way under the weight upon it.  Lying, also dressed, and
    also across the bed, not longwise, are a Chinaman, a Lascar, and a
    haggard woman.  The two first are in a sleep or stupor; the last is
    blowing at a kind of pipe, to kindle it.”

This Opium Smokers’ Den had its location in an eastern district of
London, probably the _Shadwell_ neighbourhood of the LONDON DOCKS, but no
precise indication of its whereabouts is given in the tale.  We read of
John Jasper starting from his hotel in _Falcon Square_: “Eastward, and
still eastward, through the stale streets, he takes his way, until he
reaches his destination—a miserable court, specially miserable among many


is readily attainable from _Charing Cross_ (or any other) station of the
_District Metropolitan Railway_.  Entrance in _Cromwell Road_, five
minutes’ walk, on the north side, from South Kensington Station.

The Forster Collection—on the first floor—in this museum contains several
of the earlier LETTERS written by Dickens to Forster, and the pen-and-ink
sketch by _Maclise_, representing the “Apotheosis of ‘Grip,’” the
celebrated Raven, who departed this life at No. 1 Devonshire Terrace,
March 12th, 1841.  There are also here exhibited The Manuscripts of the
principal WORKS OF DICKENS, together with a _Proof Copy_ of “David
Copperfield,” showing the corrections of the Author.  Most of these lie
opened, each at its first page; and it is interesting to observe the
careful interlineations and alterations with which the various original
copies were amended.  In the case of “The Mystery of Edwin Drood,” the
sorrowful memento of its final page is exposed to view, as being the last
sheet written by the “vanished hand” of our much loved and faithful

                   [Picture: Charles Dickens Signature]


ACCADEMY, Turveydrop’s, 65

Adam Street, 5

Adelphi Arches, The, 5

— Hotel, The, 5

Albany, The, 62

Aldgate High Street, 70

— Pump, 71

Almshouses, Watts’s, 95

Apartments of Captain Cuttle, 156

— Major Bagstock, 156

— Miss Tox, 156

— Mrs. Gamp, 50

— Richard Carstone, 52

— The Kenwigses, 64

— Tom Pinch, 155

Apotheosis of “Grip,” 164

Artful Dodger at Court, The, 8

— Dodger at Work, The, 37

Astley’s Theatre, 78

                                * * * * *

BAGNET, Mr., 159

Bailey, Junior, 50, 72

Bank, Child’s, 20

— of England, 67

— Tellson’s, 20

Bardell v. Pickwick, 29

Bardell’s House, Mrs., 151

Barley, Mr., 161

Barnacle, Mr. Tite, 160

Barnard’s Inn, 45

Barnett’s Hotel, 3

Bedfordbury, 4

Bell Tavern, The, 27

— Yard, 20

Belle Sauvage Yard, 26

Bethlehem Hospital, 77

Bevis Marks, 69 70

Billickin, Mrs., 51

Bishop’s Court, 17

Black Lion, The, 154

Bleeding Hart Yard, 40

Blinder, Mrs., 20

Bloomsbury Square, 52

“Blue Boar,” The, 68

Blunderstone Rookery, 140

Blundeston, 140

Boarding House, Todgers’s, 71

Bob Sawyer’s Lodging, 74

Boffin, House of Mr., 59

Boffin’s Bower, 163

Boot Tavern, 55

Borough, The, 72

Bouverie Street, 24

Bow Street Police Court, 8

Bradbury & Evans, 24

Bradley Headstone, 23

Bream’s Buildings, 19

Broad Court, 8

Brook Street, Grosvenor Sq, 60

Brownlow’s Residence, Mr., 3

Buckhurst Hill, 128

Buckingham Street, 5

Buffet, Spiers and Pond’s, 46

Bull and Anchor Tavern, 49

Bull Inn Yard, The, 76

Burial Ground, Nemo’s, 9

Butler’s Wharf, 33


AUGUSTINIAN Monastery, 106

Burgate Street, 111

Butcher, The obnoxious, 108

Canterbury, City of, 103

Castle Street, 104

Christchurch Gate, 106

Doctor Strong, 106

Faversham, 103

Fleur de Lys Hotel, 109

George and Dragon Inn, 109

Home of Agnes, 111

— Mr. Larkins, 107

King’s School, 106

Lady’s Green, The, 106

Larkins, The eldest Miss, 107

London Coach Office, 109

London, Chatham & Dover Station 103, 112

Margaret Street, 104, 105

Markleham, Mrs., 110

Mercery Lane, 105, 108

Micawbers, The, 104

Monastery Street, 106

North Lane (No. 65), 110

Palace Street, 110

Queen’s Head Inn, 104

Residence of Dr. Strong, 106

— Mr. Wickfield, 111

— Uriah Heep, 110

St. Alphege, Church of, 110

— Dunstan Street, 111

— Margaret’s Church, 105

Sittingbourne, 103

Teynsham, 103

Watling Street, 104

                                * * * * *

CARLISLE House, 66

Carnaby Street, 64

Carstone’s Apartments, Richard, 53

Casby, Mr., 160

Castle, The, 28

Chadband, Rev. Mr., 19

Chambers of Copperfield, 5

— Mr. Fledgby, 62

— Mr. Grewgious, 48

— Mr. Tartar, 48

— John Westlock, 46

Chandos Street (No. 3), 4

Chapman & Hall, Messrs., 63

Charing Cross Terminus, 3, 31, 102

Charles Darnay’s Trial, 36


— Clover Lane Academy, 87

— Fort Pitt, 87

— Military Hospital, 87

— Providence Chapel, 87

— Railway Street, 86

— Recreation Ground, 88

— Rome Lane, 86

— The Brook, 87

Cheeryble Bros., Messrs., 153

Chester, Edward, 22

— Sir John, 22, 23

Chevy Slyme, 155

Chichester Rents, 17

Chicksey, Veneering, & Co., 71

Chigwell, 129

— Church, 129

— King’s Head, 129

Children’s Hospital, The, 53

Child’s Bank, 20

Chivery’s Shop, 76

Christchurch, 77

Church, Dulwich, 83

— Emmanuel, 82

— St. Alphege, 101

— St. Dunstan’s, 23

— St. George’s, 73

— St. John the Evangelist’s, 79

— St. Mary-le-Bow, 28

— St. Pancras in the Fields, 161

— Street, 79

Chuzzlewit & Son, 154

Clare Court, 10

Claridge’s Hotel, 60

Clennam’s House, Mrs., 160

Clerkenwell Green, 37

Clifford’s Inn Passage, 23

Cloisterham, 88

Coavinses’ Castle, 17

Cobham, 84

Cook’s Court, 18

Cooling Village, 91

Copperfield’s Chambers, 5

Cornhill, 68

Court of Chancery, 16

Covent Garden Market, 7, 8

— Theatre, 8

Craven Street (No. 39), 3

Creakle’s Establishment, Mr., 157

Crisparkle, Rev. S., 92

Cross Keys Inn, The, 28

Crown Inn, The, 64

Crozier Hotel, The, 98

Curiosity Shop, The Old, 11

Cursitor Street, 17

                                * * * * *

_Daily News_ Office, 24

Dean’s Court, 27

Dedlock Mansion, The, 159

Devonshire House, 60

— Street, 53

— Terrace, 57

Dickens, Amateur Acting of, 61

— Death of, 100

— Dining-House of, 10

Dickens at Lamert’s Factory, 3

— Letters of, 164

— Manuscripts of, 164

— Memorial Tablet, 92

— Readings of, 9, 62

— Residences of, 46, 48, 55, 87, 99

— at School, 87

— Tomb of, 146

Dickens’s Establishment, Mrs., 56

Doctor Slammer, 98

Doctors’ Commons, 27

Dodson & Fogg, Messrs , 68

Dolls’ Dressmaker, The, 79

Dombey & Son’s Offices, 30

Dombey’s Residence, Mr., 58, 59

Dorking, 141

— “Marquis of Granby”, 142

— “White Horse,” 142

— Rev. Mr. Stiggins, 143

— ,,    ,,  Downfall of, 144

Doubledick, Richard, 98

Doughty Street (No. 48), 55

                                * * * * *


COPPERFIELD’S Resting Place, 113

Dover Priory, 112-114

Dover, Town of, 112

King’s Head Hotel, 114

Market Place Corner, 113

Miss Manetty and Mr. Lorry, 114

Priory Hill, 114

Residence of Miss Trotwood, 114

Stanley Mount, 114

Staplehurst Disaster, 115

                                * * * * *

Doyce & Clennam’s Factory, 40

Dulwich Church, 83

Durdles, A night with, 93

Durdles’s Lodgings, 93

                                * * * * *

EDWIN Drood and Rosa, 98

Ely Place, Holborn, 41

Emigration of Peggotty, &c., 100

Emmanuel Church, 82

Escort in London, 120

Establishment of Mr. Waterbrook, 41

Eugene Wrayburn, 23, 123

Exchequer Coffee House, 79

Execution of the Mannings, 76

                                * * * * *

FAGIN’S House, 152

Falcon Hotel, 34

Falstaff Inn, 99

Fang, Mr. J. P., 38, 39

Feast of the Three Hobgoblins, 71

Feenix Town House, 60

Field Lane, 39

Finches of the Grove, The, 7

First Avenue Hotel, 49

— Readings, Dickens’s, 9

Fish Street Hill, 71

Fleet Market, 25

— Prison, 25

Flite, Miss, 16

Folly Ditch, 32

Forest House, Chigwell, 131

Forge, Joe Gargery’s, 90

Forster Collection, The, 164

Forster’s House, Mr., 14

Foundling Hospital, The, 54

Fountain Court, Temple, 21

Fox-under-the-Hill, The, 6

Freeman’s Court, 68

Funeral of Dickens, 147

Furnival’s Inn, 46

                                * * * * *

GADSHILL Place, 99

Gaffer Hexam’s House, 162

Gamp, Mrs., 50

Garden Court, Temple, 21

Gargery’s Forge, Joe, 91

Gate of the Temple, 21

General Agency Office, 153

George and Vulture Inn, The, 68

George the IVth, The Old, 12

George Yard, The, 68

George’s Shooting-Gallery, 158

Giles, Rev. William, 87

Golden Cross Hotel, The, 1

— Key, The, 154

— Square, 63

Goldsmith’s Buildings, 23

Gordon, Lord George, 60

— Riots, The, 36, 44

Goswell Street, 151

Gower Street, 56, 57

Gravesend, 100

Gray’s Inn, 49

Great Ormond Street, 53

— Yarmouth, 135

— Angel Hotel, 138

— Coaches, 138

— Home of Little Emily, 136

— Star Hotel, 138

— Storm at, 137

Green Dragon Tavern, The, 68

Greenwich Park, 101

Gridley’s Lodgings, 20

Grip, The Raven, 28

— Apotheosis of, 164

Grocers’ Hall Court, 29

Guild of Literature and Art, 61

Guildhall, The, 28

Guppy, Mr., 62, 158

Guppy’s Address, Mr., 158

— Mrs., 158

                                * * * * *

HAMPSTEAD, 151, 152

Hanging Sword Alley, 24

Harley Street, 58

Hatchett’s Hotel, 61

Hatton Yard, 38

Hawdon, Capt., 17

                                * * * * *


A CRY for Help, 122

Anchor Inn, 121

Aston, 124

Attack by Headstone, 123

Betty Higden, Death of, 122

— Burial of, 122

Death of Riderhood and Headstone, 125

Eastern Tow Path, 124

Eugene Wrayburn, 123

Fawley Court, 124

Greenlands, 124

Harmon’s Reflections, 127

Henley Bridge, 123

Hurley Lock, 125

Kensal Green Cemetery, 117

Lizzie Hexam, 119, 122, 123

Lock House, Hurley, 125

Marriage of Eugene and Lizzie, 119

Marsh Lock, 123

— Mill, 121

Medmenham Abbey, 124

Micawber’s Quotation, 126

Plashwater Weir Mill Lock, 124, 125

Railway Station, Henley, 121

Red Lion Inn, 118

— Lawn, 119

Rescue of Eugene, 119

Rogue Riderhood, 125

Stoke Pogis Churchyard, 126

Tow Path, The, 121

Waterloo Station, 120

                                * * * * *

Her Majesty’s Theatre, 80

Hexam’s House, 162

Holborn Restaurant, The, 14

— Viaduct, 37

Hope Brothers, Messrs., 26

Horndean, 141

Horse and Groom, The, 13

— Guards, The, 80

Horsemonger Lane Gaol, 76

Horseshoe Restaurant, The, 66

Hospital, Bethlehem, 77

— Children’s, The, 53

— Foundling, The, 54

Hotel, Adelphi, 5

— Barnett’s Private, 3

— Cecil, 5

— Claridge’s, 60

— Falcon, 34

— First Avenue, 49

— Golden Cross, 1

— Hatchett’s, 61

— Hummums, 7

— Tavistock, 7

— Woods’, 47

House of Sampson Brass, 70

— Sol Gills, 69

_Household Words Office_, 7

Hugh, 23

Hungerford Market, 3

— Stairs, 3

                                * * * * *


— Residence of Mr. Nupkins, 134

— St. Clement’s Church, 133

— White Horse Hotel, 131

                                * * * * *

JACOB’S Island, 32

Jaggers, Offices of Mr., 35

— Residence of Mr., 161

Jarndyce, Mr., 158

Jarndyce v. Jarndyce, 16

Jellyby’s Residence, Mrs., 41

Jenny Wren, 79, 119

Jerry Cruncher’s Apartments, 24

— Cruncher’s Employment, 161

Jingle, Mr., 2, 97, 134

Job Trotter, 133

John Jasper, Apartments of, 94

Johnny’s Will, 54

Julius Handford, Mr., 79

                                * * * * *

KENGE & Carboy’s Offices, 16

Kenwigs Family, The, 64

King’s Bench Prison, 74, 75

“King’s Head,” Chigwell, 129

King’s Head Court, 71

Kingsgate Street, 50

Knag, Mr. and Miss, 153

Krook’s Warehouse, 17

                                * * * * *

LAING, Mr. J. P., 39

Lambeth Palace, 78

— Road, 78

Lamert’s Blacking Factory, 3

— Warehouse, 3

Langdale’s Distillery, 39

Lant Street, 74

Leadenhall Street, 69

Leather Bottle Inn, The, 84

Letters of Dickens, 164

Lewsome’s Illness, 49

Lightwood’s Offices, 23

Lincoln’s Inn Chambers, 18

— Fields, 14, 15

— Hall, 16

— Old Square, 16

Lirriper’s Lodgings, 11

Little Britain, 35

London Bridge, 72

— Coffee Tavern, The, 26

— Stereoscopic Company, 28

— Street, 32

— Tavern, The, 152

Lucretia Tox, Miss, 156

                                * * * * *


Magpie and Stump, The, 12

Manette, Doctor, 66

— Street, 66

Mansfield, Lord, 52

— Street, 58

Mansion House, The, 29

Mantalini, Madame, 59

Manuscripts of Dickens, 164

Mark Tapley, 6, 29

Market, Covent Garden, 7, 8

— Farringdon, 25

— Fleet, 25

— Hungerford, 3

Marshall Street, 65

Marshalsea Place, 73

— Prison, 73

Martha’s Lodging, 65

— Suicidal attempt, 78

Martin Chuzzlewit, 6, 21

“Maypole Inn,” The, 129

Memorial Hall, The, 25

Merdle, Mr., 58

Micawber, Mr., 157

Mill Bank Street, 78

— Street, 32

Mincing Lane, 71

Minor Canon Corner, 92

Minories, 70, 71

Monk’s Vineyard, The, 91

Mowcher, Miss, 139

                                * * * * *

NADGETT, Mr., 155

Nancy and Rose Maylie, 72

Neckett’s Lodging, 20

Nemo’s Burial, 9

— Lodging, 17

Newgate Prison, 35

— Burning of, 36

Newman Noggs, 64

— Street, 65

Newman’s Court, 68

Nickleby’s Office, Ralph, 63

Noah Claypole, 72

Norie & Wilson, Messrs., 69

Nuns’ House, The, 89

                                * * * * *

OBELISK, St. George’s, 77

Office of Chicksey & Co., 71

— Daily News, The, 24

— Dodson & Fogg, 68

— Dombey & Son, 30

— Jaggers, Mr., 35

— Kenge & Carboy, 16

— Lightwood & Wrayburn, 23

— Perker, Mr., 49

— Pubsey & Co., 69

— Ralph Nickleby, 63

— Spenlow & Jorkins, 27

Old Bailey, The, 36

— Curiosity Shop, The, 11, 12

— Gruff-and-Glum, 161

— Palace Yard, 79

Old Ship Tavern, The, 17

— Square, Lincoln’s Inn, 16

Olde Cheshire Cheese, Ye, 24

Oliver Twist at Court, 38

— enlightened, 37

— entering London, 38

Opium Smokers’ Den, The, 164

Osborn’s Hotel, 5

“Our House,” 59

                                * * * * *

PAPER Buildings, Temple, 22

Park, St. James’s, 80

Parliament Street, 79

Peabody’s Buildings, 4

Pecksniff’s Downfall, 22

Peggotty, Mr., 100

— House of, 136

Perker’s Offices, 49

Piccadilly, 61, 62

Pickwick’s Discovery, 85

— Imprisonment, 25

— Retirement, 83

— Travels, 2, 61

— Trial, 28

Pip’s Chambers, 21

P. J. T., 48

Plornish’s Home, 40

Podsnaps, The, 8

Poetical Tribute, 149

Police Court, Bow Street, 8

— Hatton Garden, 38

Portsmouth, 145

— Birthplace of Dickens, 145

— Cambridge Barracks, 145

— Street, 11

— Theatre, 145

Portugal Street, 13

Post Office, Charing Cross, 1

— General, 34

Poultry, The, 29

Princess Place, 156

Prison, The Fleet, 25

— King’s Bench, 74, 75

— Marshalsea, 73

Procter, Miss Adelaide, 97

Pubsey & Co., 69

Pump Court, Temple, 22

                                * * * * *

QUARTERMAINE’S Ship Tavern, 101

Queen Square, 53

Quilp’s House, 33

— Wharf, 33

                                * * * * *

RAILWAY Street, Chatham, 86

Red Lion, The, 70, 80

Residence of Brownlow, Mr., 3

— Dickens, 46, 48, 55, 87, 99

— Dombey, Mr., 58, 59

— Gordon, Lord G., 60

— Jellyby, Mrs., 41

— La Creevy, Miss, 6

— Lammles, The, 62

— Mansfield, Lord, 52

— Merdle, Mr., 58

— Micawber, Mr., 157

— Nickleby, Mrs., 152

— Pickwick, Mr., 83

— Snagsby, Mr., 18

— Tulkinghorn, Mr., 14

— Veneerings, 163

Restaurant, Epitaux’s, 81

Richard Doubledick, 98


— Bridge, 98

— Bull Hotel, 97

— Cathedral, 92

— College Gate, 94

— Crown Hotel, 98

— Crypts, The, 93

— Eastgate House, 89

— Esplanade, 98

— Minor Canon Row, 92

— Restoration Mouse, 90

— St. Nicholas Church, 94

— Sapsea’s House, 90

— Theatre, 88

— The Vines, 99

— Watts’s Charity, 95

Rogue Riderhood, 163

Rokesmith Wedding, The, 101

Roman Bath, 10

Rosa Budd, 47, 48

Rowland & Son, 40

Rudge, Mrs., 72

Rules of King’s Bench, 74, 75

                                * * * * *

SACKVILLE Street, 62

Saffron Hill, Great, 38, 39

— Little, 38

St. Alphege Church, 101

— Clement Danes, 11

— Dunstan’s Church, 23

— George’s Church, 73

— ,, Obelisk, 77

— James’s Hall, 62

— ,, Park, 80

St. John the Evangelist’s Church, 79

— Martin’s Hall, 9

— Martin’s-le-Grand, 34

— Mary Axe, 69

— Mary-le-Bow Church, 28

— Pancras in the Fields, 161

— Paul’s Churchyard, 27

Sackville Street, 62

Salem House, 157

Sampson Brass, 70

Sam’s Valentine, 68

Sapsea, Mr., 90

Saracen’s Head, The, 36

Satis House, 90

Sawyer’s Lodging, Bob, 74

Seven Poor Travellers, The, 96

“Six Jolly Fellowship Porters The,” 162

Skimpole Family, The, 159

Slammer, Doctor, 98

Smallweed Family, The, 158

Smithfield, 35

Snagsby’s Residence, 18

Snevellicci, Mr., 8

Snow Hill, 37

Sole Street Station, 84

Sol’s Arms, The, 17, 18

Somerleyton Park, 140

Southampton Street, 51

South Kensington Museum, 164

South Square, 49

Southwark Bridge, 34

Spaniards’ Inn, The, 151

Spa Road Station, 31

Spenlow & Jorkins, 27

Spiers & Pond’s Buffet, Messrs, 42

Stagg’s Cellar, 154

— Gardens, 155

Staple Inn, 48

Steerforth, Mrs., 157

Strong’s House, Dr., 158

Stryver’s Chambers, 22

Surrey Theatre, 77

Swan and Sugar Loaf, The, 32

Sweedlepipes, House of, 50

Swiss Châlet, 99

Sydney Carton, 22, 24

Symond’s Inn, 19

                                * * * * *


Tavern, Black Lion, The, 154

Tavern, Boot, The, 55

— Bull and Anchor, The, 49

— Coffee, London, The, 27

— Green Dragon, The, 68

— London, The, 26

— Old George IVth, The, 12

— Old Ship, The, 17

— Quartermaine’s Ship, 101

— “Six Jolly Fellowship Porters”, 162

Tavistock Hotel, The, 7

— House, 56

— Square, 56

Tellson’s Bank, 20

Temple Bar, 20

— Church, 23

— Fountain, 21

— Garden Court, 21

— Gate, 21

— Paper Buildings, 22

— Pump Court, 22

Thames Street, 160

Thavies Inn, 41

Theatre, Astley’s, 78

— Covent Garden, 8

— Her Majesty’s, 80

— Rochester, 88

— Surrey, The, 77

Three Cripples, The, 40

Tigg, Montague, 155

Toby Veck, 23

Todger’s Boarding House, 71

Tom All-Alone’s, 4

Tom Pinch’s Apartments, 155

Toodles, Polly, 155

Took’s Court, 18

Toots’s Excursions, 71

Tox, Miss Lucretia, 156

Traddles, Home of, 49

Traddles’s Lodgings, 158

Travellers, Seven Poor, 95

Trial of Charles Darnay, 36

Trinity House, 34

Tulkinghorn’s Residence, Mr., 14

Tupman’s Retreat, 84

Turveydrop’s Academy, 65

Twemlow, Mr., 163

Twinkleton, Miss, 51

                                * * * * *

VARDEN Family, The, 129

Veneering Family, The, 163

Venus, Mr., 163

                                * * * * *

WALTER Wilding, 54

Warren, The, 131

Waterbrook’s Establishment, 41

Watts, Richard, 95

Wedding of Mr. Snodgrass, 83, 84

Welbeck Street, 60

Weller, Sam, 84, 135

— Tony, 26

Weller’s Rendezvous, 13

Wellington Academy, 152

— Street, Strand, 7

Wemmick’s Castle, 161

— Wedding, 83

Westminster Abbey, 79, 146

White Hart Inn, The, 72

White Horse Cellars, The, 61

Wigmore Street, 59

Wilfer Family, The, 57

  — Residence of, 163

Willet, John, 130

Wimpole Street, 59

Wititterly, Mrs., 153

Wooden Midshipman, The, 69–71

Wood Street, 28

Woods’ Hotel, 47

                                * * * * *


Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese, 24

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