The Letters of Charles Dickens Volume Iii Part 74

[Sidenote: Miss Power.]

TAVISTOCK HOUSE, _December 15th, 1856._

MY DEAR MARGUERITE,

I am not _quite_ clear about the story; not because it is otherwise than exceedingly pretty, but because I am rather in a difficult position as to stories just now. Besides beginning a long one by Collins with the new year (which will last five or six months), I have, as I always have at this time, a considerable residue of stories written for the Christmas number, not suitable to it, and yet available for the general purposes of "Household Words." This limits my choice for the moment to stories that have some decided specialties (or a great deal of story) in them.

But I will look over the acc.u.mulation before you come, and I hope you will never see your little friend again but in print.

You will find us expecting you on the night of the twenty-fourth, and heartily glad to welcome you. The most terrific preparations are in hand for the play on Twelfth Night. There has been a carpenter's shop in the garden for six weeks; a painter's shop in the school-room; a gasfitter's shop all over the bas.e.m.e.nt; a dressmaker's shop at the top of the house; a tailor's shop in my dressing-room. Stanfield has been incessantly on scaffoldings for two months; and your friend has been writing "Little Dorrit," etc. etc., in corners, like the sultan's groom, who was turned upside-down by the genie.

Kindest love from all, and from me.

Ever affectionately.

[Sidenote: Mr. William Charles Kent.]

TAVISTOCK HOUSE, _Christmas Eve, 1856._

MY DEAR SIR,

I cannot leave your letter unanswered, because I am really anxious that you should understand why I cannot comply with your request.

Scarcely a week pa.s.ses without my receiving requests from various quarters to sit for likenesses, to be taken by all the processes ever invented. Apart from my having an invincible objection to the multiplication of my countenance in the shop-windows, I have not, between my avocations and my needful recreation, the time to comply with these proposals. At this moment there are three cases out of a vast number, in which I have said: "If I sit at all, it shall be to you first, to you second, and to you third." But I a.s.sure you, I consider myself almost as unlikely to go through these three conditional achievements as I am to go to China. Judge when I am likely to get to Mr. Watkins!

I highly esteem and thank you for your sympathy with my writings. I doubt if I have a more genial reader in the world.

Very faithfully yours.

FOOTNOTES:

[23] Of Mr. Wilkie Collins.

[24] This note was written after hearing from Mr. Forster of his intended marriage.

PROLOGUE TO "THE LIGHTHOUSE."

(Spoken by CHARLES d.i.c.kENS.)

_Slow music all the time, unseen speaker, curtain down._

A story of those rocks where doomed ships come To cast them wreck'd upon the steps of home, Where solitary men, the long year through-- The wind their music and the brine their view-- Warn mariners to shun the beacon-light; A story of those rocks is here to-night.

Eddystone lighthouse

[_Exterior view discovered._

In its ancient form; Ere he who built it wish'd for the great storm That shiver'd it to nothing; once again Behold outgleaming on the angry main!

Within it are three men; to these repair In our frail bark of Fancy, swift as air!

They are but shadows, as the rower grim Took none but shadows in his boat with him.

So be _ye_ shades, and, for a little s.p.a.ce, The real world a dream without a trace.

Return is easy. It will have ye back Too soon to the old beaten dusty track; For but one hour forget it. Billows rise, Blow winds, fall rain, be black ye midnight skies; And you who watch the light, arise! arise!

[_Exterior view rises and discovers the scene._

THE SONG OF THE WRECK.

I.

The wind blew high, the waters raved, A ship drove on the land, A hundred human creatures saved, Kneeled down upon the sand.

Threescore were drowned, threescore were thrown Upon the black rocks wild, And thus among them, left alone, They found one helpless child.

II.

A seaman rough, to shipwreck bred, Stood out from all the rest, And gently laid the lonely head Upon his honest breast.

And travelling o'er the desert wide, It was a solemn joy, To see them, ever side by side, The sailor and the boy.

III.

In famine, sickness, hunger, thirst, The two were still but one, Until the strong man drooped the first, And felt his labours done.

Then to a trusty friend he spake, "Across the desert wide, O take this poor boy for my sake!"

And kissed the child and died.

IV.

Toiling along in weary plight, Through heavy jungle, mire, These two came later every night To warm them at the fire.

Until the captain said one day, "O seaman good and kind, To save thyself now come away, And leave the boy behind!"

V.

The child was slumb'ring near the blaze, "O captain, let him rest Until it sinks, when G.o.d's own ways Shall teach us what is best!"

They watched the whitened ashy heap, They touched the child in vain; They did not leave him there asleep, He never woke again.

This song was sung to the music of "Little Nell," a ballad composed by the late Mr. George Linley, to the words of Miss Charlotte Young, and dedicated to Charles d.i.c.kens. He was very fond of it, and his eldest daughter had been in the habit of singing it to him constantly since she was quite a child.