even. He knew all the turns, the
Johnsonian twists, "Why, sirs," &c., and used them in his letters. He
was permeated with the Johnsonian ether; that detail, that description of
trifling things which was in Boswell, attracted him, and he felt it; and
the fact remains that Pickwick is written on _the principles_--no copy--of
the great biography, and that Boz applied to a mere fictional story what
was related in the account of a living man. And it is really curious
that Boswell's "Life of Johnson" should be the only other book that
tempts people to the same rage for commentary, illustrations, and
speculations. These are of exactly the same character in both books.

The MS. that Mr. Pickwick so oddly found in the drawer of his inkstand at
Mrs. Craddock's, Royal Crescent, Bath, offered another instance of Boz's
ingenious methods of introducing episodical tales into his narrative. He
was often hard put to it to find an occasion: they were highly useful to
fill a space when he was pressed for matter. He had the strongest
_penchant_ for this sort of thing, and it clung to him through his life.
Those in "Pickwick" are exceedingly good, full of spirit and "go," save
one, the "Martha Lobbs" story, which is a poorish thing. So good are the
others, they have been taken out and published separately. They were no
doubt written for magazines, and were lying by him, but his Bath
story--"The True Legend of Prince Bladud"--was written specially. It is
quite in the vein of Elia's Roast Pig story, and very gaily told. He had
probably been reading some local guide-book, with the mythical account of
Prince Bladud, and this suggested to him his own humorous version. At
the close, he sets Mr. Pickwick a-yawning several times, who, when he had
arrived at the end of this little manuscript--which certainly could not
have been compressed into "a couple of sheets of writing-paper," but
would have covered at least ten pages--replaced it in the drawer, and
"then, with a _countenance of the utmost weariness_, lighted his chamber
candle and went upstairs to bed." And here, by the way, is one of the
amusing oversights which give such a piquancy to "Pickwick." Before he
began to read his paper, we are carefully told that Mr. Pickwick
"unfolded it, lighted his bedroom candle that it might burn up to the
time he had finished." It was Mr. C. Kent who pointed this out to him,
when Boz seized the volume and humorously made as though he would hurl