POSTSCRIPT
IN LIEU OF PREFACE
When I devised this story, I foresaw the likelihood that a class ofreaders and commentators would suppose that I was at great pains toconceal exactly what I was at great pains to suggest: namely, that MrJohn Harmon was not slain, and that Mr John Rokesmith was he. Pleasingmyself with the idea that the supposition might in part arise outof some ingenuity in the story, and thinking it worth while, in theinterests of art, to hint to an audience that an artist (of whateverdenomination) may perhaps be trusted to know what he is about in hisvocation, if they will concede him a little patience, I was not alarmedby the anticipation.
To keep for a long time unsuspected, yet always working itself out,another purpose originating in that leading incident, and turning it toa pleasant and useful account at last, was at once the most interestingand the most difficult part of my design. Its difficulty was muchenhanced by the mode of publication; for, it would be very unreasonableto expect that many readers, pursuing a story in portions from monthto month through nineteen months, will, until they have it before themcomplete, perceive the relations of its finer threads to the wholepattern which is always before the eyes of the story-weaver at his loom.Yet, that I hold the advantages of the mode of publication to outweighits disadvantages, may be easily believed of one who revived it in thePickwick Papers after long disuse, and has pursued it ever since.
There is sometimes an odd disposition in this country to dispute asimprobable in fiction, what are the commonest experiences in fact.Therefore, I note here, though it may not be at all necessary, thatthere are hundreds of Will Cases (as they are called), far moreremarkable than that fancied in this book; and that the stores of thePrerogative Office teem with instances of testators who have made,changed, contradicted, hidden, forgotten, left cancelled, and leftuncancelled, each many more wills than were ever made by the elder MrHarmon of Harmony Jail.
In my social experiences since Mrs Betty Higden came upon the scene andleft it, I have found Circumlocutional champions disposed to bewarm with me on the subject of my view of the Poor Law. Mr friend MrBounderby could never see any difference between leaving the Coketown'hands' exactly as they were, and requiring them to be fed with turtlesoup and venison out of gold spoons. Idiotic propositions of a parallelnature have been freely offered for my acceptance, and I have beencalled upon to admit that I would give Poor Law relief to anybody,anywhere, anyhow. Putting this nonsense aside, I have observed asuspicious tendency in the champions to divide into two parties; theone, contending that there are no deserving Poor who prefer death byslow starvation and bitter weather, to the mercies of some RelievingOfficers and some Union Houses; the other, admitting that there are suchPoor, but denying that they have any cause or reason for what they do.The records in our newspapers, the late exposure by THE LANCET, and thecommon sense and senses of common people, furnish too abundant evidenceagainst both defences. But, that my view of the Poor Law may not bemistaken or misrepresented, I will state it. I believe there has beenin England, since the days of the STUARTS, no law so often infamouslyadministered, no law so often openly violated, no law habitually soill-supervised. In the majority of the shameful cases of disease anddeath from destitution, that shock the Public and disgrace the country,the illegality is quite equal to the inhumanity--and known languagecould say no more of their lawlessness.
On Friday the Ninth of June in the present year, Mr and Mrs Boffin (intheir manuscript dress of receiving Mr and Mrs Lammle at breakfast)were on the South Eastern Railway with me, in a terribly destructiveaccident. When I had done what I could to help others, I climbed backinto my carriage--nearly turned over a viaduct, and caught aslant uponthe turn--to extricate the worthy couple. They were much soiled, butotherwise unhurt. The same happy result attended Miss Bella Wilfer onher wedding day, and Mr Riderhood inspecting Bradley Headstone's redneckerchief as he lay asleep. I remember with devout thankfulness that Ican never be much nearer parting company with my readers for ever, thanI was then, until there shall be written against my life, the two wordswith which I have this day closed this book:--THE END.
September 2nd, 1865.
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