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Artists' Benevolent Fund； which I now call on you to pledge； has
connected with it； and has arisen out of another artists'
association； which does not ask you for a health； which never did；
and never will ask you for a health； which is self…supporting； and
which is entirely maintained by the prudence and providence of its
three hundred artist members。 That fund； which is called the
Artists' Annuity Fund； is； so to speak； a joint and mutual
Assurance Company against infirmity； sickness； and age。 To the
benefits it affords every one of its members has an absolute right；
a right； be it remembered； produced by timely thrift and self…
denial； and not assisted by appeals to the charity or compassion of
any human being。 On that fund there are； if I remember a right；
some seventeen annuitants who are in the receipt of eleven hundred
a…year； the proceeds of their own self…supporting Institution。 In
recommending to you this benevolent fund； which is not self…
supporting； they address you； in effect； in these words：… 〃We ask
you to help these widows and orphans； because we show you we have
first helped ourselves。 These widows and orphans may be ours or
they may not be ours； but in any case we will prove to you to a
certainty that we are not so many wagoners calling upon Jupiter to
do our work； because we do our own work； each has his shoulder to
the wheel； each； from year to year； has had his shoulder set to the
wheel； and the prayer we make to Jupiter and all the gods is simply
this … that this fact may be remembered when the wagon has stopped
for ever； and the spent and worn…out wagoner lies lifeless by the
roadside。
〃Ladies and Gentlemen； I most particularly wish to impress on you
the strength of this appeal。 I am a painter； a sculptor； or an
engraver； of average success。 I study and work here for no immense
return； while life and health； while hand and eye are mine。 I
prudently belong to the Annuity Fund； which in sickness； old age；
and infirmity； preserves me from want。 I do my duty to those who
are depending on me while life remains； but when the grass grows
above my grave there is no provision for them any longer。〃
This is the case with the Artists' Benevolent Fund； and in stating
this I am only the mouthpiece of three hundred of the trade； who in
truth stands as independent before you as if they were three
hundred Cockers all regulated by the Gospel according to
themselves。 There are in existence three artists' funds； which
ought never to be mentioned without respect。 I am an officer of
one of them； and can speak from knowledge； but on this occasion I
address myself to a case for which there is no provision。 I
address you on behalf of those professors of the fine arts who have
made provision during life； and in submitting to you their claims I
am only advocating principles which I myself have always
maintained。
When I add that this Benevolent Fund makes no pretensions to
gentility； squanders no treasure in keeping up appearances； that it
considers that the money given for the widow and the orphan； should
really be held for the widow and the orphan； I think I have
exhausted the case； which I desire most strenuously to commend to
you。
Perhaps you will allow me to say one last word。 I will not consent
to present to you the professors of Art as a set of helpless
babies； who are to be held up by the chin； I present them as an
energetic and persevering class of men； whose incomes depend on
their own faculties and personal exertions； and I also make so bold
as to present them as men who in their vocation render good service
to the community。 I am strongly disposed to believe there are very
few debates in Parliament so important to the public welfare as a
really good picture。 I have also a notion that any number of
bundles of the driest legal chaff that ever was chopped would be
cheaply expended for one really meritorious engraving。 At a highly
interesting annual festival at which I have the honour to assist；
and which takes place behind two fountains； I sometimes observe
that great ministers of state and other such exalted characters
have a strange delight in rather ostentatiously declaring that they
have no knowledge whatever of art； and particularly of impressing
on the company that they have passed their lives in severe studies。
It strikes me when I hear these things as if these great men looked
upon the arts as a sort of dancing dogs； or Punch's show； to be
turned to for amusement when one has nothing else to do。 Now I
always take the opportunity on these occasions of entertaining my
humble opinion that all this is complete 〃bosh；〃 and of asserting
to myself my strong belief that the neighbourhoods of Trafalgar
Square； or Suffolk Street； rightly understood； are quite as
important to the welfare of the empire as those of Downing Street；
or Westminster Hall。 Ladies and Gentlemen； on these grounds； and
backed by the recommendation of three hundred artists in favour of
the Benevolent Fund； I beg to propose its prosperity as a toast for
your adoption。
SPEECH： THE FAREWELL READING。 ST。 JAMES'S HALL； MARCH 15； 1870。
＇With the 〃Christmas Carol〃 and 〃The Trial from Pickwick；〃 Mr。
Charles Dickens brought to a brilliant close the memorable series
of public readings which have for sixteen years proved to audiences
unexampled in numbers； the source of the highest intellectual
enjoyment。 Every portion of available space in the building was；
of course； last night occupied some time before the appointed hour；
but could the St。 James's Hall have been specially enlarged for the
occasion to the dimensions of Salisbury Plain； it is doubtful
whether sufficient room would even then have been provided for all
anxious to seize the last chance of hearing the distinguished
novelist give his own interpretation of the characters called into
existence by his own creative pen。 As if determined to convince
his auditors that； whatever reason had influenced his
determination； physical exhaustion was not amongst them； Mr。
Dickens never read with greater spirit and energy。 His voice to
the last retained its distinctive clearness； and the transitions of
tone； as each personage in the story； conjured up by a word； rose
vividly before the eye； seemed to be more marvellous than ever。
The vast assemblage； hushed into breathless attention； suffered not
a syllable to escape the ear； and the rich humour and deep pathos
of one of the most delightful books ever written found once again
the fullest appreciation。 The usual burst of merriment responsive
to the blithe description of Bob Cratchit's Christmas day； and the
wonted sympathy with the crippled child 〃Tiny Tim；〃 found prompt
expression； and the general delight at hearing of Ebenezer
Scrooge's reformation was only checked by the saddening remembrance
that with it the last strain of the 〃carol〃 was dying away。 After
the 〃Trial from Pickwick；