Rambles in Dickens' Land

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:—

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 yonder?’

“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 me—

“‘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 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.”

The “volatile” Miss Mowcher is first introduced to us at this establishment.

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.

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 railroad.

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 occupancy.

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:—

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.”

“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 body.

“‘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 lifted.

“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.”

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.

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.

‘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.

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.

(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.

THE PICKWICK PAPERS.

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.

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—

BARNABY RUDGE.

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

“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.”

MARTIN CHUZZLEWIT.

“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.

DOMBEY AND SON.

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—

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 existence.”

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.”

“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.”

DAVID COPPERFIELD.

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 Borough.

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.”

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.

BLEAK HOUSE.

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.

“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 repair—

“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.”

TALE OF TWO CITIES.

GREAT EXPECTATIONS.

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 windows.”

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 follows:—

OUR MUTUAL FRIEND.

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—

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 MYSTERY OF EDWIN DROOD.

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 such.”

THE SOUTH KENSINGTON MUSEUM

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.