e great
thing about _Master Humphrey's Clock_, besides the fact that it was the
frame-work of _The Old Curiosity Shop_. He remembers that Mr. Pickwick
and the Wellers rise again from the dead. Dickens makes Samuel Pickwick
become a member of Master Humphrey's Clock Society; and he institutes a
parallel society in the kitchen under the name of Mr. Weller's Watch.

Before we consider the question of whether Dickens was wise when he did
this, it is worth remarking how really odd it is that this is the only
place where he did it. Dickens, one would have thought, was the one man
who might naturally have introduced old characters into new stories.
Dickens, as a matter of fact, was almost the one man who never did it.
It would have seemed natural in him for a double reason; first, that his
characters were very valuable to him, and second that they were not very
valuable to his particular stories. They were dear to him, and they are
dear to us; but they really might as well have turned up (within reason)
in one environment as well as in another. We, I am sure, should be
delighted to meet Mr. Mantalini in the story of _Dombey and Son_. And he
certainly would not be much missed from the plot of Nicholas Nickleby.
"I am an affectionate father," said Dickens, "to all the children of my
fancy; but like many other parents I have in my heart of hearts a
favourite child; and his name is David Copperfield." Yet although his
heart must often have yearned backwards to the children of his fancy
whose tale was already told, yet he never touched one of them again even
with the point of his pen. The characters in _David Copperfield_, as in
all the others, were dead for him after he had done the book; if he
loved them as children, it was as dead and sanctified children. It is a
curious test of the strength and even reticence that underlay the
seeming exuberance of Dickens, that he never did yield at all to
exactly that indiscretion or act of sentimentalism which would seem most
natural to his emotions and his art. Or rather he never did yield to it
except here in this one case; the case of _Master Humphrey's Clock_.

And it must be remembered that nearly everybody else did yield to it.
Especially did those writers who are commonly counted Dickens's
superiors in art and exactitude and closeness to connected reality.
Thackeray wallowed in it; Anthony Trollope lived on it. Those modern
artists who pride themselves most on the separation and unity