of proving a failure; for there can be no doubt that had the publication of his serial been discontinued at this particular period, there was little or no probability that other publishers would have undertaken the risk of any other literary venture of his. And he might consequently have lived and died, great as his gifts and genius were, without being known in the world of literature. How true it is that there is a tide in the affairs of men !

"By the time the 'Pickwick Papers' had reached their twelfth number, that being half of the numbers. of which it was originally intended the work should consist, Messrs. Chapman and Hall were so gratified with the signal success to which it had now attained, that they sent Mr. Dickens a cheque for £500, as a practical expression of their satisfaction with the sale. The work continued steadily to increase in circulation until its completion, when the sale had all but reached 40,000 copies. In the interval between the twelfth and concluding number, Messrs. Chapman and Hall sent Mr. Dickens several cheques, amounting in all to £3,000, in addition to the fifteen. guineas per number which they had engaged at the beginning to give him. It was understood at the time that Messrs. Chapman and Hall made a clear profit of nearly £20,000 by the sale of the 'Pickwick Papers,' after paying Mr. Dickens in round numbers £3,500.

"Probably," concludes Mr. Grant, "there are few instances on record in the annals of literature in

which an author rose so rapidly to popularity and attained so great a height in it as Mr. Dickens. His popularity was all the more remarkable because it was reached while yet a mere youth. He was incomparably the most popular author of his day before he had attained his twenty-sixth year; and what is even more extraordinary still, he retained the distinction of being the most brilliant author of the age until the very hour of his death,—a period of no less than thirty-five years."

Since the illustrious author's decease even the bookbinders who had the charge of "Pickwick" have been claiming the honour of stitching the sheets together, and giving their recollections to the newspapers. It having been stated in the Daily Telegraph that "it was a question between Messrs. Chapman and Hall and their binder, Mr. Bone" (the gentleman who bound the book now in the reader's hand) "whether a greater or less number than seven hundred copies should be stitched in wrappers, instead of hundreds, it soon became necessary to provide for the sale of thousands; and the green covers of 'Pickwick' were seen all over the country." But a Mr. Joseph Aked, of Green Street, Leicester Square, on the following day sent this correction to the same journal :

"Sir,-In your sketch of the life and death of Mr. Charles Dickens, in yesterday's Telegraph, you state that the first order given to the binder for Part I. of the 'Pickwick' was 700 copies, and it was a

question between Messrs. Chapman and Hall, and Mr. Bone, the binder, whether a greater or less number than 700 should be stitched in wrapper.

"The first order for Part I. of the 'Pickwick' was for 400 copies only, and the order was given to myself to execute (not to Mr. Bone) by Messrs. Chapman and Hall, the publishers, who in those days did not consult the binder about the number of copies they would require. Also the first number, stitched and put in the green cover, was done by myself, my workpeople having left off work for the day.

"Before the completion of the work the sale amounted to nearly 40,000, the orders being given to myself and to Mr. Bone."

Readers of "Pickwick" found the style so fresh and novel, so totally unlike the forced fun and unreal laughter of the other light reading of their time, that the smallest scrap from any portion of the work was deemed worthy of frequent quotation-a gem in itself. We have seen a little book-now very rare, and not to be found in the British Museum-of which thousands and thousands of copies must have been sold by Mr. Park, of Long Lane, and Mr. Catnach, of Seven Dials, bearing the title of "Beauties of Pickwick."

The famed Pickwick cigar-the "Penny Pickwick" of our childhood-is too well known to need any comment. It was a "brand" originally made by a manufacturer in Leman Street, Minories, and sold in boxes and papers decorated with Mr.

Pickwick, hat off, bowing to you in the politest manner, and offering for your notice a long scroll, setting forth the excellence of the cigar-a small cheroot, and containing about one half of the tobacco used in a cigar of this kind sold at 2d. At the present day "Pickwicks" are patronized almost entirely by cab-drivers.

Then there were "Pickwick" hats, with narrow brims curved up at the sides as in the figure of the immortal possessor of that name; "Pickwick " canes, with tassels; and "Pickwick" coats, with brass and horn buttons, and the cloth invariably dark green or dark plum. The name "Pickwick" is said to have been taken from the hamlet or cluster of houses which formed the last resting-stage for coaches going to Bath,* which town, it will be remembered, was the scene of Sam Weller's chaffing of "Blazes," the redbreeched footman.

But to return to the work as a literary composition. "The Pickwick Papers" stands alone from all Dickens's works. Like "Robinson Crusoe," "Tom Jones," "Gulliver," "Rabelais," "Tristram Shandy,"

"PICKWICK (97 m.).-A degree of importance is attached to this small place, from its contiguity to Corsham House (1 m.), the celebrated seat of Paul Cobb Methuen, Esq., whose superb collection of paintings are the theme and admiration of every visitor. On the right of Pickwick stands Hartham Park, the seat of Jay, Esq., and Pickwick Lodge, belonging to Caleb Dickenson, Esa."-" Walks Through Bath." By Pierce Egan, 1819.

"The Vicar of Wakefield," and half a score more, it will never die out or be forgotten. It is crammed with rollicking fun and drollery. You may read it fifty times and never tire of it. Open it at whatever page you will, the charm is such that one cannot put it down without feeling thoroughly amused and delighted. We may remark that the well-known song, "The Ivy Green," which William Henry Russell used to sing with such éclat, five-and-twenty years since, first appeared in "Pickwick." It is the only poetry contained in any of Dickens's novels. Judging from its merits, the author would doubtlessly have taken a very fair stand as a poet. In "Shy Neighbourhoods" ("Uncommercial Traveller"), speaking of walking one night half-asleep, dozing heavily, and slumbering continually, he observes, "I made immense quantities of verses on that pedestrian occasion (of course I never make any when I am in my right senses)."

Concerning the inimitable "Pickwick," Blackwood, many years since, in an article entitled "A Remonstrance with Dickens," thus bears testimony: "As to what the best bits are, only he who brings a virgin palate is, perhaps, qualified to discriminate, of so rich materials is the whole compounded; and to this day we are lost in admiration of the wealth of humour which could go on, page after page, chapter after chapter, month after month, to the close of a long work, pouring forth, from a source seemingly inexhaustible, fun, and incident, and description, and character, ever fresh, vivid, and new, which, if distri