they were not mere matters of manipulation and routine; but that
they required from those who performed them much natural
intelligence, much super-added cultivation, readiness of reference,
quickness of resource, an excellent memory, and a clear
understanding. He most gratefully acknowledged that he had never
gone through the sheets of any book that he had written, without
having presented to him by the correctors of the press something
that he had overlooked, some slight inconsistency into which he had
fallen, some little lapse he had made – in short, without having
set down in black and white some unquestionable indication that he
had been closely followed through the work by a patient and trained
mind, and not merely by a skilful eye. And in this declaration he
had not the slightest doubt that the great body of his brother and
sister writers would, as a plain act of justice, readily concur.
For these plain reasons he was there; and being there he begged to
assure them that every one present – that every speaker – would
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Dickens, Charles – Speeches, Literary & Social
have a patient hearing, whatever his opinions might be.
[The proceedings concluded with a very cordial and hearty vote of
thanks to Mr. Dickens for taking the chair on the occasion.]
Mr. Dickens briefly returned thanks, and expressed the belief that
their very calm and temperate proceedings would finally result in
the establishment of relations of perfect amity between the
employers and the employed, and consequently conduce to the general
welfare of both.
SPEECH: LONDON, NOVEMBER 2, 1867.
[On Saturday evening, November 2, 1867, a grand complimentary
farewell dinner was given to Mr. Dickens at the Freemasons’ Tavern
on the occasion of his revisiting the United States of America.
Lord Lytton officiated as chairman, and proposed as a toast – “A
Prosperous Voyage, Health, and Long Life to our Illustrious Guest
and Countryman, Charles Dickens”. The toast was drunk with all the
honours, and one cheer more. Mr. Dickens then rose, and spoke as
follows:]
NO thanks that I can offer you can express my sense of my reception
by this great assemblage, or can in the least suggest to you how
deep the glowing words of my friend the chairman, and your
acceptance of them, have sunk into my heart. But both combined
have so greatly shaken the composure which I am used to command
before an audience, that I hope you may observe in me some traces
of an eloquence more expressive than the richest words. To say
that I am fervently grateful to you is to say nothing; to say that
I can never forget this beautiful sight, is to say nothing; to say
that it brings upon me a rush of emotion not only in the present,
but in the thought of its remembrance in the future by those who
are dearest to me, is to say nothing; but to feel all this for the
moment, even almost to pain, is very much indeed. Mercutio says of
the wound in his breast, dealt him by the hand of a foe, that –
“‘Tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a church door; but ’tis
enough, ’twill serve.” I may say of the wound in my breast, newly
dealt to me by the hands of my friends, that it is deeper than the
soundless sea, and wider than the whole Catholic Church. I may
safely add that it has for the moment almost stricken me dumb. I
should be more than human, and I assure you I am very human indeed,
if I could look around upon this brilliant representative company
and not feel greatly thrilled and stirred by the presence of so
many brother artists, not only in literature, but also in the
sister arts, especially painting, among whose professors living and
unhappily dead, are many of my oldest and best friends. I hope
that I may, without presumption, regard this thronging of my
brothers around me as a testimony on their part that they believe
that the cause of art generally has been safe in my keeping, and
that it has never been falsely dealt with by me. Your resounding