Pickwickian Studies Part 5

This method of calling attention to the merits of wares was a French one--a sort of _reclame_ introduced by Villemessant in his journal _La Sylphide_. Thus "Pickwick" was quite "up-to-date." After Jingle had gone off to Doctors Commons for his license, Sam renewed his efforts, "burnis.h.i.+ng a pair of _painted tops_, worn by a farmer." Then, interrogated by Perker, he described the tenants of the inn by their boots--a pair of "Hessians" in 13, two pair of "halves," with six "tops."

In chapter x.x.xiv. we have another allusion to blacking. "No man," said Sam, "ever talked in poetry 'cept a beadle on Boxin' Day, _or Warren's blackin'_." This referred to the rhymes--or verses--with which the firm filled the newspapers in praise of their article. It will be remembered that Mrs. Jarley, in the "Old Curiosity Shop," employed "a poet" to celebrate her waxworks in similar fas.h.i.+on, and who was content with a few s.h.i.+llings for each effort. We may be certain that this was a boyish recollection, and that he had seen this blacking "poet" making his calls in Chandos Street or haggling for his miserable wage. The beadle, also alluded to, was a prominent figure with Boz; but he has disappeared, with his huge c.o.c.ked hat, scarlet waistcoat, and uniform. He is to be seen in Wilkie's brilliant picture in the National Gallery. It is evident from the pa.s.sage that he came round on Boxing Day for his _douceur_, reminding his patrons, as the dustmen now do sometimes, by a copy of verses. Sam adds that no one did this sort of thing except the persons mentioned--"and _Rowland's oil_, or some of them low fellows." The perfumer could only have been half pleased with this uncomplimentary form. Still, such as it was, it _was_ an advertis.e.m.e.nt. Boz also makes several allusions to the inventor, Bramah, mentioning Bramah locks and keys with plugs, &c. Old Weller talks of being locked up "in a fireproof chest with a patent _Bramin_." Bramah's hydraulic press was a scientific novelty then, as were also his "patent safes." Bramah appears to have advertised in "Pickwick." These _reclames_ are of a rather elaborate kind, as when Lowten arrived at the office (lii), we are told, he drew "a Bramah key from his pocket, with a small plug therein to keep the dust out." Then "comforting himself with this reflection, Mr. Lowten extricated the plug from the door key; having opened the door, re-plugged and re-pocketed his Bramah."

NOTE.--The horrors of the Blacking episode were ever present to d.i.c.kens'

recollection, and, as if under a sort of fascination, he later seemed almost impelled to refer to them. Thus, in Copperfield, we find him describing, but under a disguise, the same incident. As when he was sent to Murdstone and Grimby's warehouse, it was still the was.h.i.+ng and labelling of bottles--"_not of blacking_," but of wines and spirits.

"When the empty bottles ran short, there were labels to be pasted on the full ones, or corks to be fitted to them, &c." But there is also another allusion to the same, but curiously veiled, when he speaks of the carman, Tipp, who "wore a red jacket." Now, to this day Day and Martin's carmen wear red jackets, and Warren's men probably did so; but, at all events, it is clearly an allusion to the costume of the blacking drivers. There are allusions to blacking in Little Dorrit and Bleak House.

CHAPTER V. SINGLE SPEECH TRUNDLE

This gentleman, as we know, was the affianced husband of Isabella Wardle, and to the scenes of their marriage, the festivities, &c., we owe some pleasing incidents. Trundle was a good specimen of the _cypher_ or nullity; naturally, he is a figure at Manor Farm, but does nothing, and practically says nothing. He was clearly a neighbouring squire of limited ideas, or plain country gentlemen, that could do no more than love his Isabella. Yet, while Boz describes the "affairs" of Arabella and Winkle, of Emily and Snodgra.s.s, he wholly pa.s.ses by Trundle and his _inamorata_. We can see what manner of man Trundle was, as he is shown seated in the barouche, at the review, between the two sisters, each with long ringlets and parasols. He is a good-looking young man, with mutton- chop whiskers and black hair, on which his hat is set jauntily. He is described as "a young gentleman apparently enamoured of one of the young ladies in scarfs and pattens." Wardle introduced him in a rather patronising way. "This is my friend, Mr. Trundle." When the firing began, there was much agitation among the young ladies, screaming, &c., so that the gentlemen had to support them: Mr. Trundle "was actually obliged to hold one of them up." But after the lunch was unpacked, the wine uncorked, &c., there came a remarkable development--Trundle actually spoke, made the one single remark that is recorded of him in the whole chronicle! Never before or after did he say a word. He was, in fact, "single speech Trundle." And what were these words: "Will you permit me to have the pleasure, Sir?" said Mr. Trundle to Mr. Winkle; a proposal to "take wine with him," as it is called, Winkle had a bottle all to himself on the box seat, which, no doubt, attracted the reticent Trundle. The two gentlemen not only took wine together, but had "a gla.s.s round, ladies and all." But we should note that Trundle phrase, the almost too humble form: "Will you permit me the pleasure, Sir." It looks as though Trundle were "an a.s.s," as it is called. The fact remains, however, that Trundle's single speech was: "Will you permit me to have the pleasure, Sir?"

After a few days' interval, when Mr. Pickwick and party found their way to Manor Farm, there were games _galore_, and at the "round one,"

Isabella and Trundle, we are told, "went partners," so all was going on well. The Squire had been nearly brought up to the point. It is painful to come to the conclusion, but Isabella's admirer, though a country gentlemen, was nothing of a sportsman, and rather a poor creature. When Mr. Pickwick and his followers were up early and out at the rook shooting, we find no Trundle. He was lying a-bed, no doubt. Stranger still, when the whole party went in for a day to Muggleton for the cricket match, Trundle was the only one who stayed behind. He remained with the ladies, for a purpose, no doubt; still, ladies don't like this sort of thing. The evening came. "Isabella and Emily strolled out with Mr. Trundle." I have an idea that on this very day matters came to a crisis in that quarter. Everything favoured--all the men were away--he may have seized the opportunity to "propose." At all events, we are significantly told that at the supper "Isabella Wardle devoted herself _exclusively_ to Mr. Trundle." Pointed enough, surely. We may be fortified in this view by finding that on the return of the party, all dead drunk, at one in the morning, on Trundle was specially cast the degrading menial duty of carrying Wardle to bed--his future father-in- law.

Did Boz dislike this man all this while, or did he feel that he could do nothing with him in the story? It is certain, however, that in the talks at Bury over the Bardell action, the Boarding School adventure, &c., we never hear the sound of Trundle's voice. He is effaced. He makes no remark on anything.

One of Boz's most daring pantomime changes, is the sudden arrival of old Wardle at Bury, when Mr. Pickwick was released from the cupboard--and sandwich bags--in Miss Tomkins' school. The door was unlocked, and there stood Wardle and the silent Trundle. A rather lame account is given of the coincidence. Mr. Pickwick naturally asked, "How did you come here?"

"Trundle and I came down here for some good shooting on the first," &c.

Now, here it is evident Wardle good-naturedly saddled himself with the company of the silent man, but he had his reasons. Trundle was now son- in-law _elect_. They were both at the "Angel" at Bury, and for some days here were Mr. Pickwick and his "followers." There was the exciting notice of action _re_ Bardell v. Pickwick. There had nearly been Pott v.

Pott and Winkle. And yet, all the time, this Trundle listens, and eats and drinks; but there is no sign of him on the record. He is busy maintaining his character as a cypher.

Everything, however, points to show the all but comtemptuous opinion that was held of this Trundle. Wardle had been there two or three days when Winkle and the others came over from Eatanswill, yet he had never told Mr. Pickwick or Winkle that Trundle was to be married at Christmas, and that they were all to be invited to the wedding. By the oddest of coincidences, Tupman and Snodgra.s.s, getting down from the coach at the "Angel," were met by Wardle, who at once said, "I have _just been_ telling Pickwick that we must have you all down at Christmas. We're going to have a wedding." But I doubt if this _be_ an oversight. The fact was, no one thought anything of that cypher Trundle, or of his marriage--a matter of no importance to anybody. That this is the true explanation is plain, for Snodgra.s.s, fancying that the wedding was of _his_ lady, turned pale. What was old Wardle's remark? Most significant of Trundle's _status_. "Don't be frightened," he said, "_it's only_ Trundle _there_ and Bella." "Only Trundle there," _i.e._, only that poor insignificant thing there! No more depreciatory words could be chosen, or put into the mouth of an honest country gentleman. I am certain that old Wardle gave his child reluctantly to this soft sort of fellow--"Only Trundle there!" Then for the shooting party. We hear of Tupman and Winkle even, with their guns, &c., but not a sign of this Trundle, a country gentleman, supposed to enjoy field sports. If Tupman and Winkle had to carry their guns reversed "like privates at a funeral," was Trundle excepted? We cannot tell, for he is not even named. Or was he of the shooting party at all? It has always seemed astonis.h.i.+ng that Winkle should have been allowed, particularly by Mr. Pickwick, to join the _second_ shooting party. Everyone seemed to have forgotten his first performance, when he might have shot his friend Tupman dead, and, as it was, "peppered" him severely. Tupman would naturally have objected to so dangerous a companion. Wardle, at whose home the casualty occurred, merely said, "I beg my friend Winkle's pardon, though; he has had some practice." Was this ironical? I fancy the whole scene had pa.s.sed out of the author's mind.

Well, the Christmas season having come round--and certainly Trundle must have been a very feeble creature to allow himself to be "kept over" for so long a time--the whole party a.s.sembled at Manor Farm; now there, and on such an occasion at least, Trundle, being one of the two central figures, will certainly a.s.sert himself. We shall expect to see and hear him to good effect. Never was there a greater mistake. As the Pickwickians arrived, the whole "house party" were in the lane to greet them; we are told in careless fas.h.i.+on that among them "there were Isabella and _her faithful_ Trundle," _i.e._, the poor insignificant "chap" who was about to enter the family by particular favour. Then Mr.

Pickwick was told that they had all been to "inspect the furniture and fittings-up of the new house which the young couple were to tenant." This is very significant, for it throws a certain light on Trundle's situation. It is plain that this house was on Wardle's property, and that Trundle had none of his own. It was, in fact, a poorish match and the young couple were dependent more or less on Wardle. Even the old lady didn't like it, she resented their going to look at the house, and her son, to soothe her, made this significant speech: "Recollect Bella; _come_, _you must keep her spirits up_, _poor girl_." "Poor girl!" "Keep her spirits up!" Why?

On the wedding day, however, Trundle made an effort to a.s.sert himself. He was "in high feather and spirits," _i.e._, awkwardly pretended to be, but, of course, took n.o.body in. Indeed, we are told he was "a little nervous withal." We may be sure he was, and therefore looking "more of an a.s.s" than ever. For such _must_ appear to be a really nervous man in high spirits and going to be married. All the girls were in tears, Wardle himself quite broken down, for they knew what was before the poor child. At the wedding banquet Mr. Pickwick made an admirable, natural speech, which was greeted with tumults of applause, and was reported word for word. Then we are told how Wardle proposed Mr. Pickwick; Mr.

Pickwick, the old lady; Snodgra.s.s, Tupman, the poor relations, all had their speeches; but there is not a single word of Trundle, who appears to have been mumchance--no one wanted him. In his speech at the wedding, the amiable Pickwick had, of course, to give the expected conventional praises to Trundle. But how guarded he is! "G.o.d bless 'em," he says; "my young friend I believe to be a very excellent and manly fellow." I _believe_, _i.e._, he did not _know_ it. "Manly," we might question, for in manliness he was deficient. We could hear the rustics below: "Squire Trundle manly! he! he! not he!" But on the bride, Mr. Pickwick was enthusiastic: "I _know_ her," he said, "to be a very, very amiable and lovely girl; I admire, love, and esteem her." At the close he prayed that Wardle's daughter "might enjoy all the happiness that even he could desire." Not that he was sure of, but that he could desire. But Trundle, the cypher, no one thought of him, no one cared about his speech. Most likely, in his "nervousness," he mumbled forth some indistinct words which no one could hear, so it was best and most charitable to pa.s.s him by altogether in the report. At the dance at night, where he surely would have led off the movements, still not a word of him. And at last, "long before Mr. Pickwick was weary of dancing, the newly-married pair had retired from the room." Mr. Lang fancies that they had gone upstairs; but I imagine they repaired to their new home close by. But then, with that minuteness which never fails Boz, we had been told that they were not to go there till after the Christmas holidays.

But, after all, one might be inclined to doubt this theory of the young pair remaining at the house. For do we not find that on the next day, which was Christmas day, when there was the going to Church, and the skating and sliding, and Mr. Pickwick's immersion, there is no mention of the happy pair? It looks as though they were at their own home.

After this, many events occurred. Mr. Pickwick was "tried" and "conwicted," as old Weller has it; was sent to prison and released. On his return from Birmingham we have some signs of Wardle and his family.

That gentleman was sorely disturbed by Emily's "goings on" with Snodgra.s.s, and forecasted another imprudent marriage like Trundle's. He had a suitable match for her in his eye: "a young gentleman down in our neighbourhood," but Arabella's elopement set the fire to the powder, and here it is worth while comparing the marriages of Emily and her sister Isabella as a test of the relative importance of Snodgra.s.s and this Trundle. The one took place in London with great show and pomp, all the family going up specially for it. "A handsome portion was bestowed on Emily," but there is not a word to show that Trundle received a halfpenny.

Then followed the scenes at Osborne's Hotel in the Adelphi, when all was made up and Snodgra.s.s accepted. And now, at last, we hear something of Trundle. Mrs. T., as we might expect, was in an "interesting way," and had to be informed of what was going on. But it had to be broken to her by Trundle, in right of his office. Good, easy man! We can hear him: "the news will be too much for her" (this is on the record). She would insist on going, and it would be fatal. He would, of course, implore her not to agitate herself in her present state. As a matter of course he was all astray. The news was _not_ too much for her. She ordered at once a cap and a new dress, and declared that she _would_ go up for the wedding. The horrified Trundle, who had clearly no authority whatever, called in the Doctor to exert _his_, which he did in this way: by leaving it all to herself. Boz emphasizes it, by way of contrast to Trundle, saying that "he was a wise and _discreet fellow_."

Of course the foolish Trundle was put aside; the lady went and suffered no harm. This proves that Trundle was the _mari de la femme_, with no will of his own.

At Dulwich Church, the bridegroom was met "by the bride, the maids, the Winkles, the Wardles, and Trundles," always to be last and insignificant.

In course of time we are told that Mr. Pickwick was much troubled at first by the numerous applications made to him to act as G.o.dfather to the offspring of his friends! These came from Mr. Winkle, Mr. Snodgra.s.s, and Mr. Trundle. Last of course. Poor soul! We can see him, grown elderly, sitting at his own table, smiling or silent, or with an occasional "yes, my dear," "certainly, my dear," "by all means, my dear."

CHAPTER VI. MUGGLETON AND ITS CRICKET

The situation and real name of Muggleton has always been a hotly debated point; many have been the speculations and many the suggestions as to the original. I was once inclined to adopt Gravesend, on the statement of the author's daughter, that, one day, driving with her father towards Cobham, he said that "it was here that Mr. Pickwick dropped his whip."

Cobham would be on the way to Gravesend.

Now what was Muggleton? A large town, with Mayor, Burgesses, and Freemen--an ancient and loyal Borough, much given to pet.i.tioning Parliament. It is insinuated that these pet.i.tions were guided by Stiggins-like instincts--"a zealous advocacy of Christian principles combined with a devoted attachment to commercial rights. Hence they were against negro slavery abroad and _for_ the factory system at home. They were for abolis.h.i.+ng Sunday trading in the streets, and for maintaining the sale of church livings." A member of Boz's family has a.s.sured me that Maidstone was in the author's mind: it is only some eight miles from Rochester. But "The Bull" waiter informed the Pickwickians that Muggleton was nearly double the distance, or fifteen miles; while Gravesend is about six miles from Rochester--so the evidence of distance does not help us. Where, too, did Mr. Pickwick drop his whip? The Pickwickian enthusiast can ascertain this--'an he will--by a little calculation. After leaving "The Bull," the tall quadruped exercised his "manoeuvre" of darting to the side of the road, rus.h.i.+ng forward for some minutes--_twenty times_--which would cover about an hour. In the etching, there is a picture of the spot--a hedge-lined road. Mr.

Pickwick and his friends had to walk the whole way; yet they arrived late in the afternoon. No one could walk from Rochester to Maidstone in that time.

It was natural that Mr. Pickwick should drop his whip--but most unnatural that he should ask Winkle to dismount and pick it up for him; and most unnatural of all that Winkle, in his precarious situation, should consent to dismount. The ordinary course would be that Tupman or Snodgra.s.s should get down. Then, for the great marvel of all, we have Mr.

Pickwick, who _would not_ get down, or _could not_ get down to pick up his whip, getting down to help Mr. Winkle on to his horse! Thus, on the two occasions, the useless or lazy Tupman and Snodgra.s.s kept their seats.

It has been claimed--by the late Charles d.i.c.kens the younger--that Town Malling was Muggleton, and on the ground that it has always had a reputation for good cricket. It is not far from Maidstone. But this is easily disposed of. Muggleton is described as an important corporate town, with a Mayor, etc. Further, the cricketing at Muggleton was of the poorest sort. There was an elderly gentleman playing who could not stop the b.a.l.l.s--a slim one was. .h.i.t on the nose--they were a set of "duffers,"

in fact. As for d.i.c.kens knowing nothing about cricket, as Mr. Lang contends, I can say, that he was always interested in it. I myself have seen him sit the whole day in a marquee, during a match got up by himself at Gads Hill, marking (or "notching") in the most admirable manner.

Anything he did or described, he did and described according to the best fas.h.i.+on he could compa.s.s.

Wis.h.i.+ng, however, to investigate this knotty question thoroughly, I lately communicated with the Town Clerk of Maidstone, Mr. Herbert Monckton, who was good enough to search the Books with reference to certain queries which I furnished. d.i.c.kens states of the mysterious and unnamed Borough, that it had its Mayor, Burgesses, and Freemen--which at once excludes Town Malling which the younger Charles d.i.c.kens had selected. The Clerk has found that, at the period in question, there were 813 Freemen on the roll. It has always been held to be "an ancient and loyal Borough," but this, of course, most boroughs of its standing would claim to be. Boz speaks of innumerable Pet.i.tions to Parliament, and Mr. Monckton tells me that he has found many pet.i.tions in the Books--one in 1828 _against_ the Licensing Bill, which seems to prove that Maidstone, like Muggleton, "mingled a zealous advocacy of Christian principles with a devoted attachment to commercial rights." Then as to the description: Both Maidstone and Muggleton have an open square for the market: there are also in both places in the square a fire office, linendraper, corn factor, saddler, grocer, shoe-shop, but apparently no distiller. It was curious, certainly, that there should be an Inn with so odd a sign as the Blue Lion in Maidstone--and also a post bearing this sign, in front. Then as to the cricket, the cricket field was in the Meadow, Maidstone, not far from the High Street; while at Muggleton, we are told that Mr. Pickwick's friends "had turned out of the main street and were already within sight of the field of battle."

And here we may admire the wonderful walking powers that Boz allots to his heroes--Tupman and Pickwick, who were elderly persons and stout withal. Fifteen miles to Muggleton--two miles further to Manor Farm--and all done between eleven o'clock, and a period "late in the afternoon"--say five o'clock. At a later visit came the memorable five-and-twenty-mile walk to get an appet.i.te for dinner. The truth was, such stretches were as nothing to Boz himself. Walking was his grand pastime and one absolute necessity. He tramped on with an amazing energy and vigour, which, as I know from experience, it was impossible to match. Sometimes he walked the streets for nearly the whole night. This personal element helps to explain many things in "Pickwick" which contains the early life of Boz.

CHAPTER VII. GOSWELL STREET

A question that has often exercised ingenious folk is, why did Mr.

Pickwick choose to live in Goswell Street? rather, why did Boz select such a quarter for him? Of course, at that time, it was really a "genteel" neighbourhood, as anyone can see who walks along the desolate streets and terraces, the forlorn squares and enclosures that are close by, and where the New River runs. Nothing is more depressing than the aspect of these fallen places; but, in Mr. Pickwick's time, they had not been very long erected. Indeed, this offers yet another department which his wonderful Book suggests: that it is the best record of all the changes that have taken place in London. This Goswell Street tenancy shows clearly that the neighbourhood was a desirable one for residents of position. Mr. Pickwick was a City man, and his club met in Huggin Lane, in the City. He generally put up, or, as Bob Sawyer had it, "hung out,"

at the "George and Vulture," also in the City. One side of Goswell Street, in those days--a road ascending to the old Angel Inn--faced, near the top, a number of the pretentious squares and terraces I have been describing. That interesting old theatre, Sadler's Wells, was in the rear, and the New River pa.s.sed beneath it or beside it, and, quite uncovered in those days, rippled along on its course from the country.

All the houses were private houses. Some enthusiasts have actually identified Mrs. Bardell's apartments--but without a particle of evidence.

Now it has become a busy thoroughfare, with a noisy tramway: nearly all the houses have been turned into shops, and Mr. Pickwick could scarcely recognize his old quarters. The whole region bears a faded air.

Amateurs, who love exploring their London, will find entertainment in wandering about Islington and the adjoining districts, experiencing quite a new sensation and hardly realizing that they are so close to Aldersgate. The New River itself, which ends its course here, is a pleasant attraction, with its great basin, and ancient offices by the edge of the water.

Imitating Elia, I once set out from here, and followed its course and its many windings far out into the country, taking up the journey on successive days, going towards its source in Hertfords.h.i.+re, and a most pleasant, interesting voyage of discovery it was. For it so winds and bends, now pa.s.sing through fields and demesnes, now skirting towns and villages, that it is just as picturesque as any natural stream. Such being its attractions, Mr. Pickwick was virtually living in the country or in the suburbs, and enjoying the fine, keen, inspiring air which the jaded Londoner from lower districts may, even now, still inhale. There is no Goswell Street now, but Goswell _Road_--a very noisy, clattering thoroughfare.

Another remark to be made is this:--how much do we owe to the vivifying power of Boz's descriptions of these old Towns, Inns, and Streets? The ordinary provincial town--unsung and undescribed by him--remains what it is and nothing more. York and Manchester stir no memories, and are unvisited by pilgrims, because _they are not in Pickwick_. Boz seems to have found the true _interpretation_ and inner meaning of each place, and has actually preserved the tone and flavour that existed in his own time.

This continues even now. As we stroll through Rochester or Ipswich, Bath or Bury, Pickwick and his friends walk with us. And, as if well contented to rest under the spell, these antique towns have made no effort at change, but remain much as they were.

And this prompts the question: _Where did Mrs. Cluppins live_? At the trial we learned that she was a friend and neighbour of Mrs. Bardell's, one of her _commeres_. She had "looked in" on the momentous morning, having been out to purchase "kidney pertaties," yet, on their Hampstead junketting, we find her coming with the Raddles, in their cab, all the way from Lant Street, Borough. She was clearly Mrs. Raddle's friend and neighbour. Perhaps she had moved, though this is not likely. The household G.o.ds of such, like Elia's, strike a deep root.

In his descriptions of the Bardell party's journey to Hampstead, which ended so disastrously, the art of Boz is shown as usual by supplying the notion of movement--he seems to take us along up the northern heights--we feel the pleasurable antic.i.p.ations of a party of pleasure for the lower middle cla.s.s. From the lower end of Goswell Street--where Mr. Pickwick's lodgings must have been, for, in the upper part, there are no houses opposite for Mrs. Raddle to call at--it must have been a long drive for the party. I a.s.sume they must have made for Kentish Town, and toiled up Haverstock Hill at a walk, for the coach was heavily laden enough.

Pleasant Hampstead! One is always glad to find Boz a.s.sociating his humour with places that we are deeply interested in. The Hampstead of this hour, though changed enough, may remind us very fairly of Boz's time. It has still the attractions of the old-fas.h.i.+oned, red-brick houses, and terraces, the mixture of green, and the charming, even seductive, heath. "The Spaniards" at Hampstead--Boz calls it "_The_ Spaniard"--is scarcely altered from the day of the Bardell visit, and is as picturesque as ever with its Tea Gardens and Bowers. I never pa.s.s it without seeming to see Jackson's hackney-coach waiting and the Sheriff's man at the gate taking his drink. The other Inn, also bound up with memories of Boz, "Jack Straw's Castle," also stands, but one reads with alarm on this day of grace (June 12th, 1898):--

There are few Londoners who will not grieve to hear that the well-known inn on the Spaniards Road, "Jack Straw's Castle," famous as the rendezvous of authors, artists, statesmen, and many a celebrity of old days, is going the way of other ancient buildings. The low rooms and quaint interior of the hostel are now being entirely transformed and modernised. The only concession made to the prejudices of the old frequenters of the inn is that the outer face is to be preserved intact. To the pa.s.ser by, no great change will perhaps be apparent; but within, the charm of the place will have vanished entirely. A s.p.a.cious saloon bar flooded with glaring light, with modern furniture and appliances, is to take the place of the old rooms, coffee-room, billiard-room, and bar. In fact, it is to become a modern hotel. The change is quite enough to make the shade of d.i.c.kens arise. As John Forster has told us, the great novelist loved this old chop-house, and, after a ramble on the Heath, often adjourned here for a good, wholesome dinner.

CHAPTER VIII. MARY HOGARTH