The Letters of Charles Dickens Volume Iii Part 46

Watson seemed, when I saw him last, to be holding on as by a sheet-anchor to theatricals at Christmas. Then, O rapture! but be still, my fluttering heart.

This is one of what I call my wandering days before I fall to work. I seem to be always looking at such times for something I have not found in life, but may possibly come to a few thousands of years hence, in some other part of some other system. G.o.d knows. At all events I won't put your pastoral little pipe out of tune by talking about it. I'll go and look for it on the Canterbury road among the hop-gardens and orchards.

Ever faithfully your Friend, JOE.

[Sidenote: Mr. Charles Knight.]

10, CAMDEN CRESCENT, DOVER, _Sunday, Aug. 1st, 1852._

MY DEAR KNIGHT,

I don't see why you should go to the s.h.i.+p, and I won't stand it. The state apartment will be occupied by the Duke of Middles.e.x (whom I think you know), but we can easily get a bed for you hard by. Therefore you will please to drive here next Sat.u.r.day evening. Our regular dinner hour is half-past five. If you are later, you will find something ready for you.

If you go on in that way about your part, I shall think you want to play Mr. Gabblewig. Your role, though a small one on the stage, is a large one off it; and no man is more important to the Guild, both on and off.

My dear friend Watson! Dead after an illness of four days. He dined with us this day three weeks. I loved him as my heart, and cannot think of him without tears.

Ever affectionately.

[Sidenote: Mr. Mark Lemon.]

DOVER, _August 5th, 1852._

MY DEAR MARK,

Poor dear Watson was dead when the paragraph in the paper appeared. He was buried in his own church yesterday. Last Sunday three weeks (the day before he went abroad) he dined with us, and was quite well and happy.

She has come home, is at Rockingham with the children, and does not weakly desert his grave, but sets up her rest by it from the first. He had been wandering in his mind a little before his death, but recovered consciousness, and fell asleep (she says) quite gently and peacefully in her arms.

I loved him very much, and G.o.d knows he deserved it.

Ever affectionately.

[Sidenote: The Earl of Carlisle.]

10, CAMDEN CRESCENT, DOVER, _Thursday, Aug. 5th, 1852._

MY DEAR LORD CARLISLE,

'Peared to me (as Uncle Tom would say) until within these last few days, that I should be able to write to you, joyfully accepting your Sat.u.r.day's invitation after Newcastle, in behalf of all whom it concerned. But the Sunderland people rushed into the field to propose our acting there on that Sat.u.r.day, the only possible night. And as it is the concluding Guild expedition, and the Guild has a paramount claim on us, I have been obliged to knock my own inclinations on the head, cut the throat of my own wishes, and bind the Company hand and foot to the Sunderland lieges. I don't mean to tell them now of your invitation until we shall have got out of that country. There might be rebellion.

We are staying here for the autumn.

Is there any hope of your repeating your visit to these coasts?

Ever faithfully yours.

[Sidenote: The Hon. Mrs. Watson.]

10, CAMDEN CRESCENT, DOVER, _August 5th, 1852._

ON THE DEATH OF MR. WATSON.

MY DEAR, DEAR MRS. WATSON,

I cannot bear to be silent longer, though I know full well--no one better I think--how your love for him, and your trust in G.o.d, and your love for your children will have come to the help of such a nature as yours, and whispered better things than any friends.h.i.+p can, however faithful and affectionate.

We held him so close in our hearts--all of us here--and have been so happy with him, and so used to say how good he was, and what a gentle, generous, n.o.ble spirit he had, and how he shone out among commoner men as something so real and genuine, and full of every kind of worthiness, that it has often brought the tears into my eyes to talk of him; we have been so accustomed to do this when we looked forward to years of unchanged intercourse, that now, when everything but truth goes down into the dust, those recollections which make the sword so sharp pour balm into the wound. And if it be a consolation to us to know the virtues of his character, and the reasons that we had for loving him, O how much greater is your comfort who were so devoted to him, and were the happiness of his life!

We have thought of you every day and every hour; we think of you now in the dear old house, and know how right it is, for his dear children's sake, that you should have bravely set up your rest in the place consecrated by their father's memory, and within the same summer shadows that fall upon his grave. We try to look on, through a few years, and to see the children brightening it, and George a comfort and a pride and an honour to you; and although it _is_ hard to think of what we have lost, we know how something of it will be restored by your example and endeavours, and the blessing that will descend upon them. We know how the time will come when some reflection of that cordial, unaffected, most affectionate presence, which we can never forget, and never would forget if we could--such is G.o.d's great mercy--will s.h.i.+ne out of your boy's eyes upon you, his best friend and his last consoler, and fill the void there is now.

May G.o.d, who has received into His rest through this affliction as good a man as ever I can know and love and mourn for on this earth, be good to you, dear friends, through these coming years! May all those compa.s.sionate and hopeful lessons of the great Teacher who shed divine tears for the dead bring their full comfort to you! I have no fear of that, my confidence is certainty.

I cannot write what I wish; I had so many things to say, I seem to have said none. It is so with the remembrances we send. I cannot put them into words.

If you should ever set up a record in the little church, I would try to word it myself, and G.o.d knows out of the fulness of my heart, if you should think it well.

My dear Friend, Yours, with the truest affection and sympathy.

[Sidenote: Mr. W. C. Macready.]

HoTEL DES BAINS, BOULOGNE, _Tuesday Night, Oct. 5th, 1852._

ON THE DEATH OF MRS. MACREADY.

MY DEAREST MACREADY,

I received your melancholy letter while we were staying at Dover, a few days after it was written; but I thought it best not to write to you until you were at home again, among your dear children.

Its tidings were not unexpected to us, had been antic.i.p.ated in many conversations, often thought of under many circ.u.mstances; but the shock was scarcely lessened by this preparation. The many happy days we have pa.s.sed together came crowding back; all the old cheerful times arose before us; and the remembrance of what we had loved so dearly and seen under so many aspects--all natural and delightful and affectionate and ever to be cherished--was, how pathetic and touching you know best!

But my dear, dear Macready, this is not the first time you have felt that the recollection of great love and happiness a.s.sociated with the dead soothes while it wounds. And while I can imagine that the blank beside you may grow wider every day for many days to come, I _know_--I think--that from its depths such comfort will arise as only comes to great hearts like yours, when they can think upon their trials with a steady trust in G.o.d.

My dear friend, I have known her so well, have been so happy in her regard, have been so light-hearted with her, have interchanged so many tender remembrances of you with her when you were far away, and have seen her ever so simply and truly anxious to be worthy of you, that I cannot write as I would and as I know I ought. As I would press your hand in your distress, I let this note go from me. I understand your grief, I deeply feel the reason that there is for it, yet in that very feeling find a softening consolation that must spring up a hundred-thousandfold for you. May Heaven prosper it in your breast, and the spirits that have gone before, from the regions of mercy to which they have been called, smooth the path you have to tread alone! Children are left you. Your good sister (G.o.d bless her!) is by your side. You have devoted friends, and more reasons than most men to be self-reliant and stedfast. Something is gone that never in this world can be replaced, but much is left, and it is a part of her life, her death, her immortality.

Catherine and Georgina, who are with me here, send you their overflowing love and sympathy. We hope that in a little while, and for a little while at least, you will come among us, who have known the happiness of being in this bond with you, and will not exclude us from partic.i.p.ation in your past and future.

Ever, my dearest Macready, with unchangeable affection, Yours in all love and truth.

[Sidenote: Mr. W. H. Wills.]

HoTEL DES BAINS, BOULOGNE, _Tuesday, Oct. 12th, 1852._

MY DEAR WILLS,