Chapter 12: , headed “A Night with Durdles,” contains a description of the (3)

We read in the same book that the _Crummles_ family resided at the house of one Bulph, a pilot; that _Miss Snevellicci_ had lodgings in Lombard Street, at the house of a tailor, where also _Mr. and Mrs. Lillyvick_ found temporary accommodation; and that _Nicholas_ and _Smike_ lived in two small rooms, up three pair of stairs, at a tobacconist’s shop, on the Common Hard. But it is not possible to particularise these places; indeed, it is altogether doubtful whether they had any special assignment in the mind of the author himself.

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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.

Report of the Funeral, as published in the _Daily News_, June 15th, 1870:—“Charles Dickens lies, without one of his injunctions respecting his funeral having been violated, surrounded by poets and men of genius. Shakespeare’s marble effigy looked yesterday into his open grave; at his feet are Dr. Johnson and David Garrick; his head is by Addison and Handel; while Oliver Goldsmith, Rowe, Southey, Campbell, Thomson, Sheridan, Macaulay, and Thackeray, or their memorials, encircle him; and ‘Poets’ Corner,’ the most familiar spot in the whole Abbey, has thus received an illustrious addition to its peculiar glory. . . . Dickens’s obsequies were as simple as he desired. The news that a special train left Rochester at an early hour yesterday morning, and that it carried his remains, was soon telegraphed to London; but every arrangement had been completed beforehand, and there was no one in the Abbey; no one to follow the three simple mourning coaches and the hearse; no one to obtrude upon the mourners. The waiting-room at Charing Cross Station was set apart for the latter for the quarter of an hour they remained there; the Abbey doors were closed directly they reached it; and even the mourning coaches were not permitted to wait. A couple of street cabs and a single brougham took the funeral party away when the last solemn rites were over, so that passers-by were unaware that any ceremony was being conducted; and it was not until a good hour after that the south transept began to fill. There were no cloaks, no weepers, no bands, no scarfs, no feathers, none of the dismal frippery of the undertaker. We yesterday bade the reader turn to that portion of ‘Great Expectations,’ in which the funeral of Joe Gargery’s wife is described; he will there find full details of the miserable things omitted. In the same part of the same volume he will find reverent allusion to the time when ‘those noble passages are read which remind humanity how it brought nothing into the world and can take nothing out, and how it fleeth like a shadow, and never continueth long in one stay;’ and will think of the solemn scene in Westminster Abbey, with the Dean reading our solemn burial service, the organ chiming in, subdued and low, and the vast place empty, save for the little group of heart-stricken people by an open grave; a plain oak coffin, with a brass plate bearing the inscription:—

‘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.

“By the orders of the Dean of Westminster, the officials were instructed to keep the grave open until six o’clock last evening, and all who came had the melancholy satisfaction of seeing not only the grave itself, but the polished oak coffin which contained the remains of the lamented deceased. A raised platform was placed around the grave, and two of the vergers of the Abbey were in attendance to prevent crowding and preserve order, an almost unnecessary precaution, for all who came, comprising persons of various classes, conducted themselves in the most exemplary manner. In the afternoon, when the fact of the interment became generally known, and that the coffin was to be seen, the crowds arriving at the Abbey became very great, and between twelve and six o’clock many thousands of persons had been present. Large numbers paid a simple tribute to the memory of the deceased by throwing the flowers they wore in their coat or dress on to the coffin, until, towards the close of the afternoon, it was completely covered with these simplest offerings of public affection.”

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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.”

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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.