incomparable. His "company" was as well trained as any first-class professional company, and although always kind and pleasant, he was feared and looked up to by every member of his company. The rehearsals meant business and hard work, and sometimes even tears to a few, when all did not go quite satisfactorily. Each one knew that there could be no trifling, no playing at work. As in the children's performances so in these later ones did he know every part, and enter heart and soul into each character. If any new idea came into his head, he would at once propound it to the actor or actress, who, looking upon that earnest face and active figure, would do his or her very best to gain a managerial smile of approval.

He had a temporary theatre built out into the garden, and the scenes were painted by some of the greatest scenepainters of the day. A drop-scene, representing Eddystone lighthouse, by the late Clarkson Stanfield, R.A., was afterwards framed and covered with glass, and hung in the entrance hall of Gad's Hill.

Until he came into possession of Gad's Hill, Charles Dickens was in the habit of removing his whole household to some seaside place every summer. For many years Broadstairs was the favorite spot, and for some seasons he rented a house there, called Fort House. It stood on a hill surrounded by a nice garden, a little out of the town, and close to the cliff, and was a home of which he was very fond. Since those days the name of it has been changed to Bleak House. During these seaside visits he would take long walks, in all weathers and always accompanied by one faithful friend and companion and would get as brown and as weatherbeaten as any of the sailors about, of whom he was the special favorite. think he had some of the sailor element in himself. One always hears of sailors being so neat, handy, and tidy, and he possessed all these qualities to a wonderful extent. When a sea-captain retires, his garden is always the trimmest about, the gates are painted a bright green, and of course he puts up a flagstaff. garden at Gad's Hill was the trimmest, and the neatest green paint was on every place where it could possibly be put, and the flagstaff had an endless supply of flags.

I

The

In the play called "The Lighthouse," written by Mr. Wilkie Collins, the great effect at the end of an act was to come from a storm, and the rehearsing of this storm was a very serious matter indeed. There was a long wooden box with peas There was one year spent in Italy, in it, to be moved slowly up and down to when the children were still very young, represent rain a wheel to be turned for and another year in Switzerland, at Lau wind a piece of oilcloth to be dashed sanne; but after Broadstairs, Boulogne upon oilcloth and slowly dragged away, became the favorite watering-place. It for the waves coming up and then reced- was here, in a charming villa, quite out of ing, carrying the pebbles along with them the town, that he and his youngest son, a heavy weight rolled about upon the "the Plorn," would wander about the floor above the stage, for thunder, etc., etc. garden together admiring the flowers, the At the time of the storm the manager's little fellow being taught to show his adpart kept him on the stage, but during re- miration by holding up his tiny arms. hearsal he somehow or other managed to It was a pretty sight to watch them down be in the hall where the storm was worked, the long avenue, the baby looking so as well as on the stage, for he sometimes sweet in its white frock and blue ribbons, appeared with the rain, sometimes with either carried in his father's arms, or todthe wind, sometimes with the thunder, dling by his side with his little hand in until he had seen each separate part made his, and a most perfect understanding perfect. This storm was pronounced by between them. There were always anthe audience a most wonderful success. ecdotes to be told of the Plorn after these I know there was such a noise "behind walks, when his father invariably wound the scenes" that we could not hear our-up with the assertion that he was "a noselves speak, and it was most amusing to watch all the actors in their sailor dresses and their various "make-ups," gravely and solemnly pounding away at these raw materials.

Then the suppers after these evenings were so delightful! Many and many of the company, besides the dear manager, have passed away, but many still remain to remember them.

ble boy." Being the youngest of the family, he was made a great pet of, especially by his father, and was kept longer at home than any of his brothers had been.

Charles Dickens writes to his sister-inlaw in the year 1856: "Kiss the Piorn for me, and expound to him that I am always looking forward to meeting him again, among the birds and flowers in the garden on the side of the hill at Bou

any sudden noise, such as the dropping of a spoon, or the clatter of a plate, seemed to cause him real agony. He never could bear the least noise when he was writing, and waged a fierce war against all organ-grinders, bands, etc.

logne." And when he had to part with this son in 1868, he says in a letter to a friend, "Poor Plorn is gone to Australia. It was a hard parting at the last. He seemed to me to become once more my youngest and favorite little child as the day drew near, and I did not think I In 1856 the purchase of Gad's Hill was could have been so shaken." The house made. Charles Dickens had never been keeper at his office, who saw him after he inside the house until it was his own. had taken leave of the boy, told "how she For once we may hope and believe that had never seen the master so upset, and a childish dream was realized, for certhat when she asked him how Mr. Ed-tainly some of the happiest years of his ward went off he burst into tears, and couldn't answer her a word."

home life were spent in the house he had so coveted and admired when he was quite a small boy. "It has never been to me like any other house," were his own words.

During the years spent at Tavistock House one of his daughters was, for a time, a great invalid, and after a worse attack of illness than usual her father sug- For the first three years, Gad's Hill was gested that she should be carried as far only used by him as a summer residence, as the study, and lie on the sofa there, but after the sale of Tavistock House, in while he was at work. This was of 1860, it became his home; and from this course considered an immense privilege, time, until the year of his death, his great and even if she had not felt as weak and delight was to make "the little freehold " ill as she did, she would have been bound as comfortable, complete, and pretty as to remain as still and quiet as possible. possible. Every year he had some "bright For some time there was no sound to be idea,” or some contemplated "wonderful heard in the room but the rapid working improvement" to propound to us. And of the pen, when suddenly he jumped up, it became quite a joke between him and went to the looking-glass, rushed back to his youngest daughter who was conhis writing table and jotted down a few stantly at Gad's Hill- as to what the words; back to the glass again, this time next improvement was to be. These ad talking to his own reflection, or rather to ditions and alterations gave him endless the simulated expression he saw there, amusement and delight, and he would and was trying to catch before drawing it watch the growing of each one with the in words, then back again to his writing. utmost eagerness and impatience. The After a little he got up again, and stood most important out-door "improvement " with his back to the glass, talking softly he made, was a tunnel to connect the and rapidly for a long time, then looking garden with the shrubbery, which lay on at his daughter, but certainly never seeing the opposite side of the highroad, and her, then once more back to his table, and to steady writing until luncheon time. It was a curious experience, and a wonderful thing to see him throwing himself so entirely out of himself and into the character he was writing about. His daughter has very seldom mentioned this incident, feeling as if it would be almost a breach of confidence to do so. But in these reminiscences of her father, she considers it only right that this experience should be mentioned, showing as it does his characteristic earnestness and method of work.

Often, after a hard morning's writing, when he has been alone with his family, and no visitors in the house, he has come in to luncheon and gone through the meal without uttering a word, and then has gone back again to the work in which he was so completely absorbed. Then again, there have been times when his nerves have been strung up to such a pitch that

could only be approached by leaving the garden, crossing the road, and unlocking a gate. The work of excavation began, of course, from each side, and on the day when it was supposed that the picks would meet and the light appear, Charles Dickens was so excited that he had to "knock off work," and stood for hours waiting for this consummation, and when at last it did come to pass, the workmen were all "treated," and there was a general jubilee. This "improvement" was a great success, for the shrubbery was a nice addition to the garden, and moreover in it, facing the road, grew two very large and beautiful cedar-trees. Some little time after Monsieur Fechter sent his friend a two-roomed châlet, which was placed in the shrubbery. The upper room was prettily furnished, and fitted all round with looking-glasses to reflect the view, and was used by Charles Dickens as a study throughout the summer. He had a

passion for light, bright colors, and looking-glass. When he built a new drawing room he had two mirrors sunk into the wall opposite each other, which, being so placed, gave the effect of an endless corridor. I do not remember how many rooms could thus be counted, but he would often call some of us, and ask if we could make out another room, as he certainly could.

For one "improvement" he had looking-glass put into each panel of the dining. room door, and showing it to his youngest daughter said, with great pride, "Now, what do you say to this, Katie?" She laughed and said, "Well, really, papa, I think when you're an angel your wings will be made of looking-glass, and your crown of scarlet geraniums!"

He loved all flowers, but especially bright flowers, and scarlet geraniums were his favorites of all. There were two large beds of these on the front lawn, and when they were fully out, making one scarlet mass, there was blaze enough to satisfy even him. Even in dress he was fond of a great deal of color, and the dress of a friend who came to his daughter's wedding quite delighted him because it was trimmed with a profusion of cherry-colored ribbon. He used constantly to speak about it afterwards in terms of the highest admiration.

anything but the usually mild expression in his beautiful large brown eyes, and he would give many a look back before he thought it safe to be off again on his own account. Of all the large dogs - and there were many at different timesthese two were the best loved by their dear master.

Mrs. Bouncer, a little white Pomeranian with black eyes and nose, the very sweetest and most bewitching of her sex, was a present to the eldest daughter, and was brought by her, a puppy of only six weeks old, to Tavistock House. "The boys," knowing that the little dog was to arrive, were ready to receive their sister at the door, and escorted her, in a tremendous state of excitement, up to the study. But when the little creature was put down on the floor to be exhibited to Charles Dick ens, and showed her pretty figure and little bushy tail curling tightly over her back, they could keep quiet no longer, but fairly screamed and danced with delight. From that moment he took to the little dog and made a pet of her, and it was he who gave her the name of Mrs. Bouncer. He delighted to see her out with the large dogs, because she looked "so preposterously small" by the side of them. He had a peculiar voice and way of speaking for her, which she knew perfectly well and would respond to at once, running to him from any part of the house or garden directly she heard the call. To be stroked with a foot had great fascinations for Mrs. Bouncer, and my father would often and often take off his boot of an evening and sit stroking the little creature while he read or smoked for an hour together. And although there were times, I fear, when her sharp bark must have irritated him, there never was an angry word for Bouncer.

The large dogs at Gad's Hill were quite a feature of the place, and were also rather a subject of dread to outsiders. But this was desirable, as the house really required protection, standing as it did on the highroad, which was frequented by tramps of a wild and low order, who, in the hopping season, were sometimes even dangerous; and the dogs, though as gentle as possible to their own people, knew that they were the guardians of the place, and were terribly fierce to all intruders. Linda - a Then there was Dick, the eldest daughSt. Bernard, and a beautiful specimen of ter's canary, another important member that breed- - had been as a puppy living of the household, who came out of his in the garden at Tavistock House before cage every morning at breakfast time and she was taken to Gad's Hill. She and hopped about the table, pecking away at Turk, a mastiff, were constant companions anything he had a fancy for, and perching in all their master's walks. When he was upon the heads or shoulders of those presaway from home, and the ladies of the ent. Occasionally he would have naughty family were out alone with the dogs, Turk fits, when he would actually dare to peck would at once feel the responsibility of his master's cheek. He took strong likes his position, and guard them with unusual and dislikes, loving some people and really devotion, giving up all play in an instant hating others. But a word from his miswhen he happened to see any suspicious-tress called him to order at once, and he looking figure approaching; and he never made a mistake in discovering the tramp. He would then keep on the outside of the road, close to his mistresses, with an ominous turning up of the lip, and with

would come to her when so called from any part of the room. After she had been away from home she always on her return went to the room where Dick lived and │put her head just inside the door. At the

This is the grave of
DICK,

very sight of her the bird would fly to the | in consequence of his devotion to him. corner of his cage and sing as if his little He was always with his master, and used throat would burst. Charles Dickens con- to follow him about the garden and sit stantly followed his daughter and peeped with him while he was writing. One into the room behind her, just to see evening they were left together, the ladies Dick's rapturous reception of his mistress. of the house having gone to a ball in the When this pet bird died he had him buried neighborhood. Charles Dickens was readin the garden, and a rose-tree planted over ing at a small table on which a lighted his grave, and wrote his epitaph : — candle was placed, when suddenly the candle went out. He was much interested in his book, relighted the candle, gave a pat to the cat, who he noticed was looking up at him with a most pathetic expression, and went on with his reading. A few minutes afterwards, the light getting dim, he looked up and was in time to see puss deliberately put out the candle with his paw, and then gaze again appealingly at his master. This second appeal was understood, and had the desired effect. The book was shut, and puss was made a fuss with and amused till bedtime. His master was full of this anecdote when we all met in the morning.

The best of birds.

Born at Broadstairs, Midsr. 1851. Died at Gad's Hill Place, 14th Oct., 1866.

While Dick lived cats were of course tabooed, and were never allowed about the house; but after his death a white kitten called Williamina was given to one of the family, and she and her numerous offspring had a happy home at Gad's Hill. This cat ingratiated herself into favor with every one in the house, but she was particularly devoted to the master. Once, after a family of kittens had been born, she had a fancy that they should live in the study. So she brought them up, one by one, from the kitchen floor, where a comfortable bed had been provided for them, and deposited them in a corner of the study. They were taken down-stairs by order of the master, who said he really could not allow the kittens to be in his room. Williamina tried again, but again with the same result. But when the,third time she carried a kitten up the stairs into the hall, and from there to the study window, jumping in with it in her mouth, and laying it at her master's feet, until the whole family were at last before him, and she herself sat down beside them and gave him an imploring look, he could resist no longer, and Williamina carried the day. As the kittens grew up they became very rampagious, and swarmed up the curtains and played on the writing-table, and scam pered among the book-shelves, and made such a noise as was never heard in the study before. But the same spirit which influenced the whole house must have been brought to bear upon those noisy little creatures to keep them still and quiet when necessary, for they were never complained of, and they were never turned out of the study until the time came for giving them away and finding good homes for them. One kitten was kept, and, being a very exceptional cat, deserves to be specially mentioned. Being deaf, he had no name given him, but was called by the servants " the master's cat,"

During the summer months there was a constant succession of visitors at Gad's Hill, with picnics, long drives, and much happy holiday-making. At these picnics there was a frequent request to this lover of light and color of “Please let us have the luncheon in the shade at any rate." He came to his daughter one day and said he had "a capital idea" about picnic luncheons. He wished each person to have his or her own ration neatly done up in one parcel, to consist of a mutton pie, a hard boiled egg, a roll, a piece of butter, and a packet of salt. Of course this idea was faithfully carried out, but was not always the rule, as when the choice of food was put to the vote, it was found that many people cared neither for mutton pie nor hard-boiled egg. But "the capital idea" of separate rations was al ways followed as closely as possible.

Charles Dickens was a most delightful and genial host, had the power of putting the shyest people at ease with him at once, and had a charm in his manner peculiarly his own and quite indescribable. The charm was always there whether he was grave or gay, whether in his very funniest or in his most serious and earnest mood.

He was a strict master in the way of insisting upon everything being done perfectly and exactly as he desired, but, on the other hand, was most kind, just, and considerate.

His punctuality was a remarkable char. acteristic, and visitors used to wonder how it was that everything was done to

the very minute, "almost by clock-work," as some of them would remark.

It is a common saying now in the family of some dear friends, where punctuality is not quite so well observed, "What would Mr. Dickens have said to this?" or, "Ah! my dear child, I wish you could have been at Gad's Hill to learn what punctuality means!"

emotion. He often told how much he suffered over this story, and how it would have been impossible for him to have gone through with it had he not kept constantly before his eyes the picture of his own Plorn alive and strong and well.

His great neatness and tidiness have already been alluded to, as also his wonderful sense of order. The first thing he Charles Dickens was very fond of mu- did every morning, before going to work, sic, and not only of classical music. He was to make a complete circuit of the loved national airs, old tunes, songs, and garden, and then to go over the whole ballads, and was easily moved by anything house, to see that everything was in its pathetic in a song or tune, and was never place. And this was also the first thing tired of hearing his special favorites sung he did upon his return home, after long or played. He used to like to have mu- absence. A more thoroughly orderly nasic of an evening, and duets used to be ture never existed. And it must have played for hours together, while he would been through this gift of order that he read or walk up and down the room. A was enabled to make time-notwithstandmember of his family was singing a ballad ing any amount of work — to give to the one evening while he was apparently deep minutest household details. Before a in his book, when he suddenly got up, dinner party the menu was always subsaying, "You don't make enough of that mitted to him for approval, and he always word," and he sat down by the piano, made a neat little plan of the table, with showed her the way in which he wished the names of the guests marked in their it to be emphasized, and did not leave the respective places, and a list of “who was instrument until it had been sung to his to take in who" to dinner, and had consatisfaction. Whenever this song was stantly some "bright idea" or other as sung, which it often was, as it became a to the arrangement of the table or the favorite with him, he would always listen rooms. for that word, with his head a little on one side, as much as to say, "I wonder if she will remember."

There was a large meadow at the back of the garden in which, during the sum mer time, many cricket matches were held. Although never playing himself, he delighted in the game, and would sit in his tent, keeping score for one side, the whole day long. He never took to croquet; but had lawn-tennis been played in the Gad's Hill days, he would certainly have enjoyed it. He liked American bowls, at which he used constantly to play with his male guests. For one of his "improvements he had turned a waste piece of land into a croquet-ground and bowling green.

"

In the meadow he used to practise many of his "readings;" and any stranger passing down the lane and seeing him gesticulating and hearing him talking, laughing, and sometimes it may be weeping, must surely have thought him out of his mind. The getting up of these "readings "gave him an immense amount of labor and fatigue, and the sorrowful parts tried him greatly. For instance, in the reading of "Little Dombey," it was hard work for him so to steel his heart as to be able to read the death without breaking down or displaying too much

Among his many attributes, that of a doctor must not be forgotten. He was invaluable in a sick room, or in any sudden emergency; always quiet, always cheerful, always useful and skilful, always doing the right thing, so that his very presence seemed to bring comfort and help. From his children's earliest days his visits, during any time of sickness, were eagerly longed for and believed in, as doing more good than those even of the doctor himself. He had a curiously magnetic and sympathetic hand, and his touch was wonderfully soothing and quieting. As a mesmerist he possessed great power, which he used, most successfully, in many cases of great pain and distress. He had a strong aversion to saying good-bye, and would do anything he possibly could to avoid going through the ordeal. This feeling must have been natural to him, for as early as the "Old Curiosity Shop" he writes: "Why is it we can better bear to part in spirit than in body, and while we have the fortitude to bid farewell have not the nerve to say it? On the eve of long voyages, or an absence of many years, friends who are tenderly attached will separate with the usual look, the usual pressure of the hand, planning one final interview for the morrow, while each well knows that it is