A Day With Charles Dickens

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L^^'Rav^nHill SYDNEY CARTON ON THE SCAFFOLD."They said of him, about the City that night, that

it was the peacefullest man's face ever beheld there.Many added that he looked sublime and prophetic."iA Tale of Two Cities,)


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A DAY WITHCHARLES DICKENSjT was a glorious June morning

in the year 1857. The scarletgeraniums, dear for theirbrilliance and colour to theirmaster's heart, were in fullflamboyance of flower ; the

syringas were sending wafts ofsweetness throughthe garden : lovely shadows lay beneath thetwo great cedar trees,when a smallish, active,brown-bearded man, strongly resembling a sea-captain ashore, came out to survey his littledomain, in all its pomp of midsummer, whileyet the dew was on it : for there was to him,as he had said, * * something incomparably solemnin the still solitude of the morning."

It is seldom that the man in his maturitymay fulfil the half-impossible aspirations ofboyhood : but Charles Dickens had donethis to the very letter. As a child he haddesired this quaint old Georgian house ofGadshill on the Dover Road, with its magnifi-cent views of Cobham Woods, the distant


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A DAY WITH CHARLES DICKENSThames, the nearer Medway, the statelycontours of Rochester Castle and Cathedral.And now, at forty-five years of age, behold himensconced as the owner thereof. ** A gravered brick house," he had written of it, ** whichI have added to, and stuck bits upon, in allmanner of ways, so that it is as pleasantlyirregular, and as violently opposed to allarchitectural ideas as the most hopeful mancould possibly desire."

The bronzed, hardy-looking man, with a**face like steel," as Mrs. Carlyle had termedit, looked eagerly to and fro, casting his eyesof extraordinary brilliancy over the gloriouspanorama of the landscape and the sunlitsplendours of the flowers : then, with the quicklight step of a practised pedestrian, he crossedthe road in front of the house, by an under-ground passage, to a shrubbery on the oppositeside. Here was the Swiss chalet whichFechter had sent him from Paris, and whichDickens had turned into a study. ** I have putfive mirrors," he told a friend, **in the chaletwhere I write, and they reflect and refract, inall kinds of ways, the leaves that are quiveringat the windows, and the great fields of wavingcorn, and the sail-dotted river. My room is up

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A DAY WITH CHARLES DICKENSamong the branches of the trees ; and the birdsand butterflies fly in and out, and the greenbranches shoot in at the open windows, and thelights and shadows of the clouds seem to comeand go with the rest of the company. Thescent of the flowers, and indeed of everythingthat is growing for miles and miles, is mostdelicious."

The great author ran upstairs and busiedhimself, with alert movements and dexteroustouches, in setting his papers in order for theday's work : for he was the most methodical ofmen. No writer, it has been said, ever lived,of greater industry and more systematic method.In short, as his daughter Mamie wrote of him,'* he was tidy in every wayin his mind, in hishandsome and graceful person, in his work, inkeeping his writing-table drawers, in his largecorrespondence, in fact in his whole life."Sometimes, indeed, this propensity to tidinessdeveloped into a fidgetty fussiness of detail,so that he would entirely re-arrange the wholefurniture of some hotel bedroom where he wasonly staying for the night.He could not write unless everything wasplaced exactly ready to his hand in apple-pieorder, and unless he had, ranged around and

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A DAY WITH CHARLES DICKENSbefore him, that singular variety of objects uponwhich he wished his eye to rest in any momen-tary respite from actual work. A Httle cup fullof fresh flowers was invariably one of thoseobjects,a bronze group of toads duellinggilt leaf with a seated rabbita huge paperknifea French statuette of a dog-fanciercarrying a multiplicity of little dogs. And,amongst these heterogeneous odds and ends,the most popular and the most widely-read manof his timeperhaps of any timeevolved hisintricate plots, and created that unrivalledportrait-gallery, which was and is unique in the-annals of literature. Four months after he beganto write, he was famous : his career had knownno checks, no blights, no returned MSS., nosicknesses of hope deferred. ** His literary lifewas a triumphal procession," and his characterswere already household words. It is hardlypossible to understand in this present day, whennovels are multiplied into a weariness of theflesh, the feverish excitement and anticipation,the immense furore, which anticipated and hailedthe issue of the monthly parts of ** Pickwick'*

. and its successors : when Oxford undergraduatesraced each other for the mail coach to securethe first copies, and men told each other seriously

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A DAY WITH CHARLES DICKENSin the City that ** Quilp is dead ! " But at thetime of which we write, some sixty years ago,men had hardly got over their wonder at thecheery optimism of the famous author or ceasedchuckling over Mr. Winkle's skating exploits,and the anxieties of Sam Weller over hiscarefully-concocted ** Walentine."

**A what ! " exclaimed Mr. Weller,apparently horror-stricken by the word.

**A walentine," replied Sam.**Samivel, Samivel," said Mr. Weller in

reproachful accents, **I did'nt think you'd ha'done it ... . after actiwally seein' andbein' in the company of your own mother-in-law, vich I should ha' thought was a morallesson as no man could never ha' forgotten tohis dyin' day ! . . . . Begin again,Sammy."Sam read as follows : ** Lovely creetur Ifeel myself ashamed and completely circum-scribed in a dressin' of yer, for you are anice girl and nothing but it !

"That's a werry pretty sentiment," saidthe elder Mr. Weller, removing his pipe tomake way for the remark. '*Yes, I thinkit is rayther good," observed Sam, highlyflattered.


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A DAY WITH CHARLES DICKENS**Wot I like in that 'ere style of writin',"

said the elder Mr. Weller, **is, that there'aint no callin' names in itno Wenuses nornothin' o' that kind. Wot's the good ofcallin' a young 'ooman a Wenus or an angel,Sammy? You might just as well call her agriffin, or a unicorn, or a King's arms at once."(The Pickwick Papers.)

Dickens, having completed his preparationsto the smallest detail, returned to the house,that methodical, comfortable house, **thesweetest and cleanliest I have ever been in,"as Marcus Stone said. In all the minutiae ofhousehold management he took a personal andmasterful interest : every detail was ordered byhis own tastes. It was an ideal home in manyrespects : and especially arranged with a viewto the comfort of those countless visitors whomCharles Dickens loved to entertain. In thehall, which was hung with Hogarth prints, wasa large letterbox with the postal hours conspic-uously printed on it. In every bedroom wasthe most somniferous of beds, the most luxuriousof sofas, the easiest of chairs : not to mention awriting-table supplied with every kind of paperand envelopes and continuous provision of newquill pens. A small library of books, a lighted

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Painting by L. Raven Hill, THE TWO WELLERS."That's a werry pretty sentiment," said the elder

Mr. Weller, removing his pipe to make way for theremark ** Yes, I think it is rayther good," observedSam, highly flattered." (The Pickwick Papers),


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A DAY WITH CHARLES DICKENSfire in winter, a shining copper kettle and atray with every appurtenance for tea, completedthe plenishing of the room : and as a conse-quence of this thorough-going preparation forevery possible need, no servants were evervisible in the house, except at meal-times : this,perhaps, was the chief characteristic of Gadshill.The household appeared to be conducted byinvisible agencies, much like the enchantedpalace in Beauty and the Beast,

Breakfast was at nine : besides the novelisthimself, and his wife,a plump, handsome,amiable, typical Early-Victorian woman,wereseveral members of his large family, the ten sonsand daughters who were growing up aroundhim. Two or three guests were usually present:men of note and name, happy to dwell awhilein that vivacious company, and in that pre-eminently hospitable home. It was a merrybreakfast table ; for Dickens, who could tell astory well himself, was also a capital listener.He was now, as Hans Andersen had observed,in his best years, ** so youthful, lively, eloquent,and rich in humour, through which the warmestcordiahty ever shone Select thbest of Charles Dickens' works, form from thisthe image of a man, and you have Dickens."

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A DAY WITH CHARLES DICKENSBreakfast over, the visitors dispersed toamuse themselves,and that was easy enough,

in a charming atmosphere of summer warmthand dolce far niente. They smoked, read thepapers, and pottered about the garden in sweetcontent until midday : some, indeed, wentwalks or drives, but it was much less troubleto potter.

The strenuous host, however, was alreadyhard at work. He had begun, with his usualorderliness, by scanning every corner of hiskingdom : ** seeing that all was in its place inthe several rooms, visiting also the dogs, stables,and kitchen garden, and closing, unless theweather was very bad indeed, with a turn ortwo round the meadow before settling to hisdesk." (Forster). He was usually accompaniedon this progress by his magnificent St. Bernard,Linda : but this was only one of many caninefavourites.

Dickens' love for dogs is not manifested inhis novels to the extent that one might expect.With the exception of Bill Sikes' dog. Bull's-eye,in Oliver Twist, which plays so prominent a partthrough the tragedy of the escaped murderer,there are to be found but few instances of a dogfiguring notably, as it does in many of Scott's tales.

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A DAY WITH CHARLES DICKENSHe took a keen delight in the birds, especiallythe nightingales, around Gadshill ; but that heknew one species from another is quite problem-atical. Grip, the Raven in Barnaby Rudge, istreated more as one of the dramatispersonce thanas a typical bird. And, indeed, it is the peculi-arity of Dickens, that with all his indubitabledelight in out-door pursuits, he still regardednature mainly as a mise-en'Scene. Scenery wasto him the back-ground, or the drop-curtain,animal and bird-life were but the chorus,thesunshine, or the moonbeams, were simply extralimelight effects upon the stage of his inexhaust-ible dramatic imagination. Take, for example,the opening chapter of The Chimes, which de-monstrates his method of visualising the wind.

**The night wind has a dismal trick ofwandering round and round a building of thatsort, and moaning as it goes : and of trying,with its unseen hand, the windows and thedoors : and seeking out some crevices by whichto enter. And when it has got in : as one notfinding what it seeks, whatever that may be, itwails and howls to issue forth again ; and, notcontent with stalking through the aisles, andgliding round and round the pillars, and, temptingthe great organ, soars up to the roof, and strives

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A DAY WITH CHARLES DICKENSto rend the rafters ; then flings itself despairinglyupon the stones below, and passes, muttering,into the vaults. Anon it comes up stealthily,and creeps along the walls, seeming to read, inwhispers, the Inscriptions Sacred to the Dead.At some of these, it breaks out shrilly, as withlaughter : and at others, moans and cries as if itwere lamenting . . Ugh ! Heaven preserveus, sitting snugly round the fire ! It has anawful voice, that wind at midnight, singing in achurch !

In every book that proceeded from the penof Dickens, the same minuteness of observationand description was used for the same effects.The result, although it left the reader a verylong way from the original simplicities of nature,was undeniably fine ; the limelighting was doneby a master-hand.

His daily inspection of the little estate per-formed, the novelist ascended to his sanctum inthe chalet, and there wrote for a good threehourssedulously, carefully,thorough in allthat he undertook, plodding on with neitherhaste nor faltering, deliberately covering sheetafter sheet in his small neat handwriting. Forhe took himself very seriously as regards hisprofession: and considered system, in this as

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A DAY WITH CHARLES DICKENSin all other matters, to be the very foundationof it.

** I never could have done what I havedone," he said, "without the habits of punctu-ality, order and diligence ; without the deter-mination to concentrate myself upon one objectat a time, no matter how quickly its successorshould come upon its heels . . . WhateverI have tried to do in life, I have tried withall my heart to do well ... In great aimsand small, I have always been thoroughly inearnest."

**In the matter of concentrated toil andclear purpose and unconquerable worldlycourage, he was like a straight sword." Andalthough the Dickens villains never eventuallyusurp, like Scott's, the place and interest due tothe hero,although he painted good and bad inthe most uncompromising colours,this admira-tion of the set, strong purpose is very notice-able, even in the characters of the vilest. Onehas only to recall Carker, in Dombey and Son,Jasper, in Edwin Drood, Jonas, in MartinChuzzlewit, as examples of this unswervingcourse towards some goal which becomes,humanly speaking, through very force of thatpurpose, inevitable. By virtue also of this set

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A DAY WITH CHARLES DICKENSunflinching aim, the weak acquire strangestrength ; and to Dickens, whose main end,consciously or unconsciously, was to reveal the'*soul of goodness in things evil," the portrayalof this gradual recovery of lost chances, thisslow retrieval of errant steps, must have been alabour of love. Its most signal exponent, may-be, is Sydney Carton in the Tale of Two Cities,the reckless and devil-may-care Carton, puri-fied by passionate emotion, climbing on theladder of a hopelessly-unrequited love to aheight of self-sacrifice where few can follow himthe height of the guillotine platform where he^ands in another man's name. In the Tale ofTwo Cities, Dickens reached a summit, andmaintained a solemn nobility of attitude, whichhe only touched in this one historical novel ofhis. Humour is here for the most part a minorquantity ; but in the man who becomes, at thecrucial moment, the central figure of the piece,there is an austere joyfulness of altruism, whichcan bring tears to the eyes of the most blasenovel-reader.**They said of him, about the city thatnight, that it was the peacefullest man's faceever beheld there. Many added that he lookedsublime and prophetic.

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A DAY WITH CHARLES DICKENS"One of the most remarkable sufferers bythe same axea womanhad asked at the foot

of the same scaffold, not long before, to beallowed to write down the thoughts that wereinspiring her. If he had given any utterance tohis, they would have been these."

** *I see the lives for which I lay down mylife, peaceful, useful, prosperous and happy, inthat England which I shall see no more. I seeHer with a child upon her bosom, who bearsmy name.'

** * I see that child who lay upon her bosomand who bore my name, a man winning his wayup in that path of life which once was mine. Isee him winning it so well, that my name ismade illustrious there by the light of his. I seethe blots I threw upon it, faded away. I seehim . . bringing a boy of my name with aforehead that I know and golden hair, to thisplace . . and I hear him tell the child mystory, with a tender and a faltering voice.'

* 'It is a far, far better thing that I do, thanI have ever done ; it is a far, far better rest thatI go to, than I have ever known.' "

{A Tale of Two Cities.)Charles Dickens was not, to outward

semblance, what is usually termed a religious19


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A DAY WITH CHARLES DICKENSman ; yet his morning and evening prayerswere part of his unvarying routine, and headhered to them with a child's punctuality.Strongly Church of England, yet averse fromforcing his opinions on others, he was apassionate hater of cant and rant, rather than apassionate lover of any special form of devotion.His Christianity, one might infer, was more ofthe head than of the heart ; but it was aninflexible and deeply-rooted conviction none theless.

** Try to do to others," he wrote, when hisyoungest son was leaving for Australia, **asyou would have them do to you, and do not bediscouraged if they fail sometimes. It is muchbetter for you that they should fail in obeyingthe greatest rule laid down by Our Saviour,than that you should. I put a New Testamentamong your books for the very same reasons,and the very same hopes, that made me writean easy account of it for you when you were alittle child. Because it is the best book thatever was, or ever will be, known in the world :and because it teaches you the best lessons bywhich any human creature, who tries to betruthful and faithful to duty, can possibly beguided. As your brothers have gone away one

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A DAY WITH CHARLES DICKENSby one, I have written to each such words as Iam now writing to you, and have entreated themall to guide themselves by the Book, puttingaside the interpretations and inventions of man.

** You will remember that you have neverat home been worried about religious observ-ances or mere formalities. You will thereforeunderstand the better what I now solemnlyimpress upon you, the truth and beauty of theChristian religion as it came from Christ Him-self. . . . Never abandon the wholesomepractice of saying your own private prayers,night and morning. I have never abandoned itmyself, and I know the comfort of it."

And undoubtedly, Charles Dickens, ** whoalone of modern writers did really destroy someof the wrongs he hated, and bring about someof the reforms he desired," was as powerful anexponent of practical Christianity as ever ledan apparently forlorn hope in the eternalcrusade against evil. ** He was a good man,"it has been written of him, ** as men go in thisbewildering world of ours : brave, transparent,tender-hearted, scrupulously independent andhonourable." And Carlyle, not born to flatter,called him ** the good, the gentle, high-gifted,ever-friendly, noble Dickensevery inch of

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A DAY WITH CHARLES DICKENShim an honest man;" a philanthropist, as Jowettsaid, ** in the true sense."

The midsummer morning passed all toosoon, and the novelist at last threw down hispen with a sigh of relief. The last page of LittleDorrit was completed : in a few days the tale,which had been issued in monthly numbers,would be published as a whole ; and a certainsense of strain was now exchanged for acorresponding relaxing of mental effort.

( ** When I sit down to my book," he wrote,**some beneficent power shows it all to me,and tempts me to be interested, and I don'tinvent itreally do not but see it, and write itdown. ... It is only when it all fades awayand is gone, that I begin to suspect that itsmomentary relief has cost me something."y

**He is said to have declared . . . thatevery word uttered by his characters wasdistinctly heard by him before it was writtendown." Yet on the other hand he averred,** I work slowly and with great care, and nevergive way to my invention recklessly, but con-stantly restrain it." It is possible that so fertile,so spendthrift an invention needed the bit ratherthan the spur. To take the briefest glance atthe immense range, scope and variety of Charles

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A DAY WITH CHARLES DICKENSDickens' creations, is absolutely dazzling andbewildering. One may accuse him of staginess,of exaggeration, of ** pushing the hilarity to thepoint of incredible character-drawing," debasingsentiment into sentimentalism, and turningcomedy into farce. The fact remains that thereare ** chords in the human mind," as Mr. Guppyremarked in Bleak House, which he touched asno novelist of wider scholarship and loftier stylehas done : that * * in everybody there is a certainthing that loves babies, that fears death, thatlikes sunlight: that thing enjoys Dickens." Andpossibly, as a specimen of robust humour drawnwith the most incisively delicate touches, thereis no portrait to surpass that of Dick Swiveller.Dickens took an infinity of pains and trouble inthe composing of The Old Curiosity Shop : theimpending fate of Little Nell weighed upon hismind, till even his customary good sleep forsookhim. But he worked up conscientiously for **agreat eflFect at last with the Marchioness," andgot itin those inimitable chapters where DickSwiveller introduces her to cribbage.

**Now," said Mr. Swiveller, putting twosixpences into a saucer, and turning the wretchedcandle, when the cards had been cut and dealt,** those are the stakes. Ifyou win, you get 'em all.

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A DAY WITH CHARLES DICKENSIf I win, I get 'em. To make it seem more realand pleasant, I shall call you the Marchioness,do you hear ? " The small servant nodded.**Then, Marchioness," said Mr. Swiveller,**fire away!" The Marchioness, holding thecards very tight in both hands, considered whichto play : and Mr. Swiveller, assuming the gayand fashionable air which such society required,took another pull at the tankard, and waited forthe lead. . . ** The Baron Sampsono Brassoand his fair sister are (you tell me) at theplay ? " said Mr. Swiveller, leaning his left armheavily upon the table, and raising his voice,and his right leg, after the manner of a theatri-cal bandit. The Marchioness nodded. **Ha!"said Mr. Swiveller, with a portentous frown,**'Tis well. Marchioness! but no matter.Some wine there. Ho ! " He illustrated thesemelodramatic morsels by handing the tankardto himself with great humility, receiving ithaughtily, drinking from it fiercely, and smack-ing his lips fiercely." (The Old Curiosity Shop,)

Luncheon-time having now arrived, Dickensput his writing-table in order, fastened his paperstogether, and returned to the house. He glancedwith fond admiration, as he passed by, at the in-creasing splendour of his flower-beds. Colour

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L"*Rav!nHill ^^^^ SWIVELLER AND THE MARCHIONESS."The Marchioness, holding the cards very tight in

both hands, considered which to play ; and Mr.Swiveller, assuming the gay and fashionable air whichsuch society required, . . . waited for the lead."(The Old Curiosity Shop.)


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A DAY WITH CHARLES DICKENSwas with him a passionmanifested, it must beconfessed, in a somewhat crude and barbarousform. For the tender nuances and mezzotintsbeloved of the painter, the exquisite gradationsof beauty, *' silent silver lights and darks un-dreamed of," he cared little. He revelled inprofusions and in sudden shocks of strongcolour : not only to look upon, but to wear.He was capable of combining a bright greenwaistcoat with a vivid scarlet tie and a hugebouquet in his buttonhole ; or of a sky-blue coatwith red cuffs, with a huge gold chain and tie-pin. But these trifling eccentricities endearedhim the more, perhaps, to his friends, whoappreciated the true lovable worth of the man.Some of these friends were already awaiting himnow. Albert Smith, the novelist and entertainer,with the high treble voice. Frank Stone, thetall good-looking painter ; Wilkie ColUns, withhis small form and huge spectacles. They satdown, full of mirth and gaiety, at the com-fortable table, which was bright with flowers,and at whicha daring innovationthe disheswere handed round to each guest, instead ofbeing planked down simultaneously according tothe custom of the period. Luncheon at Gadshillwas a substantial meal : although the host himself

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A DAY WITH CHARLES DICKENSrarely ate more than a little bread and cheeseand ale. No ** shop " talk jarred upon the easyflow of conversation, as far as he himselfwas concerned : for * * there never was so re-markable an author as Dickens," to quote JohnForster, ** who carried so little of authorship intoordinary social intercourse. . . . Traces ortriumphs of literary labour were no part of theinfluence he exerted over friends. To them hewas only the pleasantest of companions, withwhom they forgot that he had ever writtenanything." He had sound but not reconditetastes in literature ; of Tennyson's poems, forinstance, he was a profound admirer : but any-thing which was * * caviare to the general " wasout of his focus altogether. He had but amiddle-class appreciation of painting : in musiche had little interest, and it is rarely alludedto in his writings. The ordinary songs of theday, whether jovial or sentimental, and the inci-dental music to melodramas, suflSced his simpleneeds.

Yet a livelier, a more amusing and charmingcompanion could hardly exist, than Dickenswhen surrounded by his family and friends.He not only gave, as R. H. Home said, **thegeneral impression of a first-rate practical in-

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A DAY WITH CHARLES DICKENStellect, with no nonsense about him," but hewas singularly genial in conversation. Avoidingargument, and evincing the broadest sympathies,he never talked for effect, but was full of ** lighteasy talk, and touch-and-go fun." Althoughhis expression, in the words of Frith, had settledinto ** that of one who has reached the topmostrung of a very high ladder, and is perfectly awareof his position," he was perfectly unaffected andunassuming, as breezy and bracing in personalityas the sea-captain home for a holiday, which hisappearance so frequently suggested.

Luncheon over, Dickens' astounding vi-tality, which never allowed him to lounge, nowevinced itself in proposing a game of bowls uponthe lawn. Not all his guests had sufficientenergy to join him : some preferring the cool-ness of the billiard room, and others finding, inthe library with its rows of sham book-titles,that Hansard's Guide to Refreshing Sleep was byno means a misnomer. The novelist, after halfan hour's energetic bowling, returned to hischalet workroom. In addition to actual creativework, he had a vast amount of editorial businessin connection with Household Words, and an enor-mous correspondence to cope with. The success-ful author of those days had neither amanuensis, -

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A DAY WITH CHARLES DICKENSstenographer, or typist, and the quantity of sheermanual labour entailed was consequently verygreat ; though, to a man of Dickens' remarkablepersonal activity, this was all part of the day'swork and could never be regarded as a hardship.He was shut up in the chalet till six o'clock,the dinner-hour : and then at last he might layby his literary labours, and find fresh outlets forhis mental and bodily unrest.

Fresh visitors had arrived during the after-noon : James White, the kindly jovial Scotsman,one of Dickens' dearest friends,the small, thin,dull-looking Procter (** Barry Cornwall") andhis daughter Adelaide, a charming but singularlyplain woman : and the Carlyles, husband andwife: the one, tall, lean, rugged, with **thehead of a thinker, the eye of a lover, and themouth of a peasant," and the other slim, bright,upright, with her great lustrous eyes of gypsyblack : the most brilliant conversationalist, per-haps, that ever entered that house.

But Dickens was not a man, per se, whoattracted women : especially clever ones. Hewas intimate with but **few women of anygreat strength of character, or power of will."He was too domineering for them, too fond ofhis own way. And although they must some-

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Painted by L, Raven Hill. MR. MICAWBER IN HIS ELEMENT.** I never saw a man so thoroughly enjoy himself . .

as Mr. Micawber that afternoon. It was wonderfulto see his face shining at us out of a thin cloud of thesedelicate fumes, as he stirred, and mixed, and tasted."CDavid Copperfield.


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A DAY WITH CHARLES DICKENStimes have yieldedeven the most intellectualto the charm of that rich, deep, full voice,* * capable of imparting without effort every toneand half-tone of emotion . . . that any spokenwords may demand" (Justin McCarthy), it iscertain that the prevalent type of Dickensheroine was not cast in a very mighty mould.To be charming, virtuous, gay and lively,pretty, as a matter of course,to be, poten-tially, the most loving and domesticated ofwives for the not-particularly-deserving herothat was the recognised formula for thecharacteristic Dickens' ingenue. And even iffew of his women sink to the childishness ofDora, the great heroines of English fiction arenot to be found among them. Dolly Vardenis an excellent specimen of her attractivesisterhood.

** The very pink and pattern of good looks,in a smart little cherry-coloured mantle, with ahood of the same drawn over her head, andupon the top of that hood, a little straw hattrimmed with cherry-coloured ribbons, andworn the merest trifle on one sidejust enough,in short, to make it the wickedst and most pro-voking head-dress that ever malicious millinerdevised. And not to speak of the manner

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A DAY WITH CHARLES DICKENSin which these cherry - coloured decorationsbrightened her eyes, or vied with her lips, orshed a new bloom on her face, she wore sucha cruel little muF, and such a heartrending pairof shoes, and was surrounded and hemmedin, as it were, by aggravations of all kinds."{Barnaby Rudge,)

Dinner was the same genial and delightfulmeal that lunch had been, enlivened by themost entertaining conversation, full of wit andfree from the least spice of ill-nature : in allpoints a comfortable repast. Comfort, indeed,**is, like charity, a very English instinct," andDickens, the most inherently, almost insularlyEnglish of all our great writers, positively wor-shipped this ideal of comfort : whether in theabstract or in the concrete. It is quite obviousthat he relished nothing better than describingthe preparations for a meal made as comfortableas circumstances would allow. In cases wherethe fare was of the plainest, the company of thehumblest, you can almost see him rubbing hishands over the prospect of these folk about toenjoy themselves. There is a gusto, a flavourof absurd satisfaction, even in Mr. Pecksniffsintroductory repast for the benefit of youngMartin Chuzzlewit.

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A DAY WITH CHARLES DICKENS"Festive preparations on rather extensive

scale were already completed, and the two MissPecksniffs were awaiting their return withhospitable looks. There were two bottles ofcurrant wine, white aiid red ; a dish of sand-wiches (very long and very slim) ; another ofapples ; another of captains' biscuits (which arealways a moist and jovial sort of viand) ; a plateoforanges cut up small and gritty ; with powderedsugar, and a highly geological home-made cake.The magnitude of these preparations quite tookaway Tom Pinch's breath : for though the newpupils were usually let down softly, as one maysay, particularly in the wine department, whichhad so many stages of declension that sometimesa young gentleman was a whole fortnight ingetting to the pump ; still, this was a banqueta sort of Lord Mayor's feast in private life ; asomething to think of and hold on by, after-wards.

To this entertainment, which apart fromits own intrinsic merits had the additional choicequality, that it was in strict keeping with thenight, being both light and cool, Mr. Pecksniffbesought the company to do full justice.

**Mr. Pinch, if you spare the bottle, weshall quarrel !"....

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A DAY WITH CHARLES DICKENS**This," he said, in allusion to the party,

not the wine, **is a mingling that repays onefor much disappointment and vexation. Let usbe merry." Here he took a captain's biscuit.**It is a poor heart that never rejoices; andour hearts are not poor. No !

With such stimulants to merriment did hebeguile the time, and do the honours of thetable ; while Mr. Pinch, perhaps to assurehimself that what he saw and heard was holidayreality, and not a charming dream, ate of every-thing, and in particular disposed of the slimsandwiches to a surprising extent." {MartinChuzzlewif).

It is the same hankering desire aftercomfortto the limit of circumstanceswhichpervades the account of David Copperfield'sparty to the Micawbers and Mr. Traddles.

* * Having laid in the materials for a bowl ofpunch, to be compounded by Mr. Micawber ;having provided a bottle of lavender water, twowax candles, a paper of mixed pins, and a pin-cushion, to assist Mrs. Micawber in her toiletat my dressing table ; having also caused the firein my bedroom to be lighted for Mrs. Micawber'sconvenience : and having laid the cloth withmy own hands : I awaited the result with

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Painted by L. Raven HilL DOLLY VARDEN.** The very pink and pattern of good looks, in a

smart little cherry-coloured mantle . . . and alittle straw hat trimmed with cherry-coloured ribbons,and worn the merest trifle on one side." (BarnabyRudge,)


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A DAY WITH CHARLES DICKENScomposure. . . . When I conducted Mrs.Micawber to my dressing-table, and she sawthe scale on which it was prepared for her, shewas in such raptures that she called Mr.Micawber to come and look. ... I informedMr. Micawber that I relied upon him for abowl of punch, and led him to the lemons. Hisrecent despondency, not to say despair, wasgone in a moment. I never saw a man sothoroughly enjoy himself amid the fragrance oflemon peel and sugar, the odour of burning rum,and the steam of boiling water, as Mr. Micaw-ber did that afternoon. It was wonderful tosee his face shining at us out of a thin cloud ofthese delicate fumes, as he stirred and mixedand tasted." {David Copperfield).

When the various guests had departed fortown, as the evening wore on, the indefatigablenovelist set out for his daily walk. Never wasso determined a devotee of **Shanks's Mare."**I am incapable of rest," he told Forster, **IfI could not walk fast and far, I should justexplode and perish." So he took pleasure inexploring the whole beautiful Kentish neigh-bourhood, for miles and miles around, and** discovered that the seven miles betweenMaidstone and Rochester is one of the most

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A DAY WITH CHARLES DICKENSbeautiful walks in England." He would walkround Cobham Park and village, or through themarshes to Gravesend, or to the weird anddreary churchyard at Cooling. And this extra-ordinary delight in merely covering so muchdistance, finds outcome and evidence in nearlyall his books. The long, long miles by whichOliver Twist tramped to Barnet : the vagueperpetual peregrination of Nell and her agedgrandfather,the Dover Road on which DavidCopperfield spent such weary days, thewanderings of Nicholas Nickleby and Smike,and a score of other instances, all bear witnessto the keen observation, the excellent memory,and the personal experience of Charles Dickenshimself.

When at last he reached Gadshill oncemore, the moth-time and the twilight surroundedit. Scents of syringas and roses floated out towelcome him at the gate : the exquisite odoursof a June evening rose like incense from thewhole surrounding country. He saw, by thelights in the upper windows, that his youngerchildren were retiring to rest : and ran, unex-hausted, inexhaustible, upstairs,to sing thema jolly song or two, that they might go to sleepmerry and light-hearted.

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A DAY WITH CHARLES DICKENSFor Dickens was excessively fond of child-ren. The remembrance of his own unhappy

childhood, far from souring him, inspired himwith the desire to make life sunny for others.He could enter, as the veriest child himself,buoyant and boisterous, into all their littlefrolics and amusements. He delighted to playnursery games, to dance Sir Roger de Coverley :and his easily-stirred emotions responded readilyto any hint of pathos or tragedy in child-life. Inmany parts of his work there is, as has beenpointed out, ** evidence of some peculiar affec-tion for a strange sort of little girl." A queerlittle girl, too old or too young for her years,full of startling possibilities,you have only tothink one moment to recall the Marchioness inThe Old Curiosity ShopJenny Wren in OurMutual FriendTattycoram in Little Dorrit ;Little Dorrit herself : though she perhaps ranksmore readily beside the touching figure of LittleNell. The episode of the tiny runaway couplein the Holly Tree Inn is another charming exampleof sympathetic understanding towards the childmind. And perhaps there are few passagesin English literature more fraught with lachrymcererum than those which treat of Johnny in theChildren's Hospital.

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A DAY WITH CHARLES DICKENS**He had to be washed and tended, and

remedies were applied : and though those officeswere far, far more skilfully and lightly donethan anything had been done for him in hislittle life, so rough and short, they would havehurt and tired him but for an amazing circum-stance which laid hold of his attention. Thiswas no less than the appearance on his one littleplatform, in pairs, of All Creation, on its wayinto his own particular ark : the elephant leading,and the fly, with a diffident sense of his size,politely bringing up the rear. A very littlebrother lying in the next bed with a broken leg,was so enchanted by this spectacle that hisdelight exalted its enthralling interest. . . . Themite with a broken leg was restless and weariedbut after a while turned his face towards Johnny'sbed to fortify himself with a view of the ark,and so fell asleep. On most of the beds, thetoys were yet grouped as the children hadleft them when they last laid themselvesdown ; and, in their innocent grotesquenessand incongruity they might have stood for thechildren's dreams. The doctor came in tosee how it fared with Johnny. And he andRokesmith stood together, looking down withcompassion on him. **What is it, Johnny?"

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A DAY WITH CHARLES DICKENSRokesmith was the questioner, and put an armround the poor baby as he made a struggle.* Him," said the Httle fellow, ** Those ! " Thedoctor was quick to understand children, and,taking the horse, the ark, the yellow bird, andthe man in the guards, from Johnny's bed, softlyplaced them on that of his next neighbour, themite with the broken leg. With a weary yeta pleased smile, and with an action as if hestretched his little figure out to rest, the childheaved his body on the sustaining arm, and,seeking Rokesmith's face with his lips, said,**A kiss for the boofer lady." Having nowbequeathed all he had to dispose of, andarranged his affairs in this world, Johnny, thusspeaking, left it." (Our Mutual Friend).

The oft-quoted death of little Paul Dombey,the poignant sadness of the gradual decline ofLittle Nell, the piteous ending of poor Jo, areworthy pendants to this. Yet perhaps the talewhich carried, as in a nutshell, the epitome ofDickens' whole cheery philosophy The Christ-mas Carolalso contains the most popular ex-ample of his genuine power to draw tears,inthe touching portraiture of Tiny Tim. Fromthe moment when little Bob Cratchit enters tothe tremendous event of the Christmas dinner,

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A DAY WITH CHARLES DICKENS**his threadbare clothes darned up and brushedto look seasonable, and Tiny Tim upon hisshoulder. Alas for Tiny Tim, he bore a littlecrutch, and had his limbs supported by an ironframe ! "to the vision of the father goingupstairs and kissing the little face of the deadchild,this stunted, ricketty, crippled creaturetook a firm hold of the reader's heart : and thereis no one but is conscious of a pang of relief onsubsequently hearing that **Tiny Tim did NOTdie." *

But, as has been observed, **the real workof Dickens was the revealing of a certain gro-tesque greatness inside obscure and even un-attractive type. It reveals the great paradox ofspiritual things, that the inside is always largerthan the outside." And nowhere did he demon-strate this paradox more successfully, than indepicting poor, and plain, and even deformedchildren. . . .

. . Working and walking, talking andthinking, had at length brought the day to anend, and laid a pleasant lassitude of fatigue overthat exuberant and indomitable energy. Withfootsteps a little slower than his wont, themaster of Gadshill, lighting a cigar, went roundthe garden in the fragrant dusk : then, with the

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A DAY WITH CHARLES DICKENSexactness and punctuality which characterisedhis every deed, he entered the house at a givenminute, and was soon plunged in a sleep ofabsolute profundity. There, for a few briefhours, the restless mind and body were quies-cent. **As to repose," he had written, **forsome men there's no such thing in this life :but even for him there was the temporary res-pite and refreshment which may be born of amidsummer night's dream.

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A Day With Charles Dickens