(which, strange to say, appeared almost unnoticed at first in the magazine in which Mr. Hood published them)—I am proud, I say, to think that some words of appreciation of mine reached him on his death-bed, and pleased and soothed him in that hour of manful resignation and pain. As for the charities of Mr. Dickens, multiplied kindnesses which he has conferred upon us all; upon our children; upon people educated and uneducated; upon the myriads here and at home, who speak our common tongue; have not you, have not I, all of us reason to be thankful to this kind friend, who soothed and charmed so many hours, brought pleasure and sweet laughter to so many homes; Fashion'd so slenderly, Young, and so fair! Ere her limbs frigidly Stiffen too rigidly, Decently-kindly Smoothe and compose them; And her eyes close them, Staring so blindly! Dreadfully staring Through muddy impurity, Perishing gloomily, Cold inhumanity, Burning insanity, Into her rest. Cross her hands humbly Over her breast! Owning her weakness, Her evil behavior, And leaving with meekness Her sins to her Saviour' made such multitudes of children happy; endowed us with such a sweet store of gracious thoughts, fair fancies, soft sympathies, hearty enjoyments. There are creations of Mr. Dickens's which seem to me to rank as personal benefits; figures so delightful, that one feels happier and better for knowing them, as one does for being brought into the society of very good men and women. The atmosphere in which these people live is wholesome to breathe in; you feel that to be allowed to speak to them is a personal kindness; you come away better for your contact with them; your hands seem cleaner from having the privilege of shaking theirs. Was there ever a better charity sermon preached in the world than Dickens's Christmas Carol? I believe it occasioned immense hospitality throughout England; was the means of lighting up hundreds of kind fires at Christmas time; caused a wonderful outpouring of Christmas good feeling; of Christmas punch-brewing; an awful slaughter of Christmas turkeys, and roasting and basting of Christmas beef. As for this man's love of children, that amiable organ at the back of his honest head must be perfectly monstrous. All children ought to love him. I know two that do, and read his books ten times for once that they peruse the dismal preachments of their father. I know one who, when she is happy, reads Nicholas Nickleby; when she is unhappy, reads Nicholas Nickleby; when she is tired, reads Nicholas Nickleby; when she is in bed, reads Nicholas Nickleby; when she has nothing to do, reads Nicholas Nickleby; and when she has finished the book, reads Nicholas Nickleby over again. This candid young critic, at ten years of age, said, "I like Mr. Dickens's books much better than your books, papa ;" and frequently expressed her desire that the latter author should write a book like one of Mr. Dickens's books. Who can? Every man must say his own thoughts in his own voice, in his own way; lucky 1 The following is from the "Curate's Walk," in Punch, for 1847. "It was the third out of the four bell-buttons at the door at which the Curate pulled; and the summons was answered after a brief interval. "I must premise that the house before which we stopped was No. 14, Sedan Buildings, leading out of Great Guelph-street--Dettingen-street, Culloden-street, Minden Square and Upper and Lower Caroline Row form part of the same quarter --a very queer and solemn quarter to walk in, I think, and one which always suggests Fielding's novels to me. I can fancy Captain Booth strutting before the very door at which we were standing, in tarnished lace, with his hat cocked over his eye, and his hand on his hanger; or Lady Bellaston's chair and bearers coming swinging down Great Guelph-street, which we have just quitted to enter Sedan Buildings. "Sedan Buildings is a little flagged square, ending abruptly with the huge walls of Bluck's Brewery. The houses, by many degrees smaller than the large decayed tenements in Great Guelph-street, are still not uncomfortable, although shabby. There are brass plates on the doors, two on some of them; or simple names, as 'Lunt,' 'Padgemore,' &c., (as if no other statement about Lunt and Padgemore were necessary at all) under the bells. There are pictures of mangles before two of the houses, and a gilt arm with a hammer sticking out from one. I never saw a Goldbeater. What sort of a being is he, that he always sticks out his ensign in dark, mouldy, lonely, dreary, but somewhat respectable places? What powerful Mulciberian fellows they must be, those Goldbeaters, whacking and thumping with huge mallets at the precious metals all day. I wonder what is Goldbeater's skin? and if they get impregnated with the metal? and are their great arms under their clean shirts on Sundays, all gilt and shining? It is a quiet, kind, respectable place somehow, in spite of its shabbiness. Two pewter pints and a jolly little half-pint are hanging on the railings in perfect confidence, basking in what little sun comes into the Court. A group of small children are making an ornament of oyster shells in one corner. Who has that half-pint? Is it for one of those small ones, or for some delicate female recommended to take beer? The windows in the Court, upon some of which the sun glistens, are not cracked, and pretty clean; it is only the black and dreary look behind which gives them a poverty-stricken appearance. No curtains or blinds. A bird-cage and a very few pots of flowers here and there. This-with the exception of a milkman talking to a whitey-brown woman, made up of bits of flannel and strips of faded chintz and calico seemingly, and holding a long bundle which cried-this was all I saw in Sedan Buildings while we were waiting until the door should open. "At last the door was opened, and by a porteress so small, that I wonder how she could ever have reached up to the latch. She bobbed a curtsey and smiled is he who has such a charming gift of nature as this, which brings all the children in the world trooping to him, and being fond of him. at the Curate, whose face gleamed with benevolence too, in reply to that saluta tion. "Mother not at home?' says Frank Whitestock, patting the child on the head. "Mother's out charing, sir,' replied the girl; 'but please to walk up, sir.' And she led the way up one or two pairs of stairs to that apartment in the house which is called the second-floor front; in which was the abode of the charwoman. "There were two young persons in the room, of the respective ages of eight and five, I should think. She of five years of age was hemming a duster, being perched on a chair at the table in the middle of the room. The elder, of eight, politely wiped a chair with a cloth for the accommodation of the good-natured Curate, and came and stood between his knees, immediately alongside of his umbrella, which also reposed there, and which she by no means equalled in height. "These children attend my school at Saint Timothy's,' Mr. Whitestock said; ' and Betsy keeps the house while her mother is from home.'. "Any thing cleaner or neater than this house it was impossible to conceive. There was a big bed, which must have been the resting-place of the whole of this little family. There were three or four religious prints on the walls, besides two framed and glazed, of Prince Coburg and the Princess Charlotte. There were brass candlesticks, and a lamb on the chimney-piece, and a cupboard in the corner, decorated with near half-a-dozen of plates, yellow bowls, and crockery. And on the table there were two or three bits of dry bead, and a jug with water, with which these three young people (it being then near three o'clock) were about to make the ir meal called tea. "That little Betsy, who looks so small, is nearly ten years old; and has been a mother ever since the age of about five. I mean to say, that her own mother having to go out upon her charing operations, Betsy assumes command of the room during her parent's absence: has nursed her sisters from babyhood up to the present time keeps order over them, and the house as clean as you see it: and goes out occasionally and transacts the family purchases of bread, moist sugar, and mother's tea. They dine upon bread, tea and breakfast upon bread when they have it, or go to bed without a morsel. Their holiday is Sunday, which they spend at Church and Sunday-school. The younger children scarcely ever go out save on that day, but sit sometimes in the sun, which comes in pretty pleasantly; sometimes blue in the cold, for they very seldom see a fire except to heat irons by, when mother has a job of linen to get up. Father was a journeyman book-binder, who died four years ago, and is buried among thousands and thousands of the nameless dead who lie crowding the black churchyard of St. Timothy's parish. "The Curate evidently took especial pride in Victoria, the youngest of these I remember when that famous Nicholas Nickleby came out, seeing a letter from a pedagogue in the north of En three children of the charwoman, and caused Betsy to fetch a book which lay at the window, and bade her read. It was a Missionary Register which the Curate opened hap-hazard, and this baby began to read out in an exceedingly clear and resolute voice about "The island of Raritongo is the least frequented of all the Caribbean Archipelago. Wankyfungo is four leagues southeast by east, and the peak of the crater of Shuagnahua is distinctly visible. The Irascible entered Raritongo Bay on the evening of Thursday 29th, and the next day the Rev. Mr. Flethers, Mrs. Flethers, and their nine children, and Shangpooky, the native converted at Cacabawgo, landed and took up their residence at the house of Ratatua, the principal chief, who entertained us with a yam, a pig, &c., &c., &c. 'Raritongo, Wankifungo, Archipelago. I protest this little woman read off each of these long words with an ease which perfectly astonished me. Many a lieutenant in Her Majesty's Heavies would be puzzled with words of half the length. Whitestock, by way of reward for her scholarship, gave her another pat on the head; having received which present with a curtsey, she went and put back the book into the window, and clambering back into the chair, resumed the hemming of the blue duster. "I suppose it was the smallness of these people, as well as their singular, neat and tidy behaviour, which interested me so. Here were three creatures not so high as the table, with all the labours, duties, and cares of life upon their little shoulders, working and doing their duty like the biggest of my readers; regular, labori ous, cheerful-content with small pittances, practising a hundred virtues of thrift and order. 46 'Elizabeth, at ten years of age, might walk out of this house, and take the com mand of a small establishment. She can wash, get up linen, cook, make purchases, and buy bargains. If I were ten years old and three feet in height, I would marry her, and we would go and live in a cupboard, and share the little half-pint pot of porter for dinner. 'Melia, eight years of age, though inferior in accomplishments to her sister, is her equal in size, and can wash, scrub, hem, go errands, put her hand to the dinner, and make herself generally useful. In a word, she is fit to be a little housemaid, to make every thing but the beds, which she can not as yet reach up to As for Victoria's qualifications, they have been mentioned before. I wonder whether the Princess Alice can read off Raritongo,' &c., as glibly as this surprising little animal. "I asked the Curate's permission to make these young ladies a present, and ac cordingly produced the sum of sixpence to be divided amongst the three. 'What will you do with it?' I said, laying down the coin. "They answered all three at once, and in a little chorus, 'We'll give it to mother. |