was his calling for this child, who pleased our friend by his archness and merry ways, and who, to the old gentleman's unfailing delight, used to call him "Codd Colonel." "Tell little Fthat Codd Colonel wants to see him ;" and the little gown-boy was brought to him; and the Colonel would listen to him for hours; and hear all about his lessons and his play; and prattle, almost as childishly, about Dr. Raine, and his own early schooldays. The boys of the school, it must be said, had heard the noble old gentleman's touching history, and had all got to know and love him. They came every day to hear news of him; sent him in books and papers to amuse him; and some benevolent young souls God's blessing on all honest boys, say Ipainted theatrical characters, and sent them in to Codd Colonel's grandson. The little fellow was made free of gown-boys, and once came thence to his grandfather in a little gown, which delighted the old man hugely. Boy said he would like to be a little gown-boy; and I make no doubt, when he is old enough, his father will get him that post, and put him under the tuition of my friend Dr. Senior. So weeks passed away, during which our dear old friend still remained with us. His mind was gone at intervals, but would rally feebly; and with his consciousness returned his love, his simplicity, his sweetness. He would talk French with Madame de Florac, at which time his memory appeared to awaken with surprising vividness, his cheek flushed, and he was a youth again, a youth all love and hope, a stricken old man, with a beard as white as snow covering the noble, careworn face. At such times he called her by her Christian name of Léonore; he addressed courtly old words of regard and kindness to the aged lady; anon he wandered in his talk, and spoke to her as if they still were young. Now, as in those early days, his heart was pure; no anger remained in it; no guile tainted it only peace and good-will dwelt in it. Rosey's death had seemed to shock him for a while when the unconscious little boy spoke of it. Before that circumstance Clive had even forborne to wear mourning, lest the news should agitate his father. The Colonel remained silent and was very much disturbed all that day, but he never appeared to comprehend the fact quite; and once or twice afterward asked why she did not come to see him? She was prevented, he supposed, she was prevented, he said, with a look of terror; he never once otherwise alluded to that unlucky tyrant of his household, who had made his last years so unhappy. The circumstance of Clive's legacy he never understood; but more than once spoke of Barnes to Ethel, and sent his compliments to him, and said he should like to shake him by the hand. Barnes Newcome never once offered to touch that honored hand, though his sister bore her uncle's message to him. They came often from Bryanstone Square; Mrs. Hobson even offered to sit with the Colonel, and read to him, and brought him books for his improvement. But her presence disturbed him; he cared not for her books; the two nurses whom he loved, faithfully watched him; and my wife and I were admitted to him sometimes, both of whom he honored with regard and recognition. As for F. B., in order to be near his Colonel, did not that good fellow take up his lodging in Cistercian Lane, at the "Red Cow "? He is one whose errors, let us hope, shall be pardoned, quia multum amavit. I am sure he felt ten times more joy at hearing of Clive's legacy, than if thousands had been bequeathed to himself. May good health and good fortune speed him! Then he remained in his The days went on, and our hopes, raised sometimes, began to flicker and fail. One evening the Colonel left his chair for his bed in pretty good spirits, but passed a disturbed night, and the next morning was too weak to rise. bed, and his friends visited him there. for his little gown-boy, and the child was brought to him, and sat by the bed with a very awe-stricken face; and then gathered courage, and tried to amuse him by telling him how it was a half-holiday, and they were having a cricket-match with the St. Peter's boys in the green, and Grey Friars was in and winning. The Colonel quite understood about it; he would like to see the game; he had played many a game on that green when he was a boy. He grew excited; Clive dismissed his father's little 478 friend, and put a sovereign into his hand; and away he ran to say that Codd Colonel had come into a fortune, and to buy tarts, and to see the match out. I, curre, little white-haired gown-boy! Heaven speed you, little friend! After the child had gone, Thomas Newcome began to wander He talked louder; he gave the word of commore and more. mand, spoke Hindustanee as if to his men. Then he spoke words in French rapidly, seizing a hand that was near him, and But it was Ethel's hand which crying, "Toujours, toujours!" he took. Ethel and Clive and the nurse were in the room with him; the nurse came to us, who were sitting in the adjoining apartment; Madame de Florac was there, with my wife and Bayham. At the look in the woman's countenance Madame de Florac started up. "He is very bad, he wanders a great deal," the nurse whispered. The French lady fell instantly on her knees, and remained rigid in prayer. Some time afterwards Ethel came in with a scared face to our pale group. "He is calling for you again, dear lady," she said, going up to Madame de Florac, who was still kneeling, " and just now he said he wanted Pendennis to take care of his boy. She hid her tears as she spoke. will not know you." He She went into the room where Clive was at the bed's foot; the old man within it talked on rapidly for a while then again he would sigh and be still once more I heard him say hurriedly, "Take care of him when I'm in India ;" and then, with a heart-rending voice he called out, "Léonore, Léonore!" She was kneeling by his side now. The patient's voice sank into faint murmurs; only a moan now and then announced that he was not asleep. At the usual evening hour the chapel-bell began to toll, and Thomas Newcome's hands outside the bed feebly beat time. And just as the last bell struck, a peculiar sweet smile shone over his face, and he lifted up his head a little, and quickly said It was the word we used at school, "Adsum!" and fell back. when names were called; and lo, he, whose heart was as that of a little child, had answered to his name, and stood in the presence of The Master. DICKENS 1812-1870 CHARLES DICKENS was born at Portsmouth, England, in 1812, and died June 9, 1870. His father was at one time a reporter of parliamentary debates, and the son adopted the same calling. He became attached to the Morning Chronicle, and in its columns first appeared "Sketches by Boz," afterwards published in book form, 1836-37. These Sketches had a very cordial reception, and their success induced a publisher to engage Dickens and the artist Seymour to prepare an illustrated narrative of the adventures of a party of Cockney sportsmen. The result of this contract was "The Pickwick Papers," which at once became the most popular book of the day. It was followed at short intervals by "Nicholas Nickleby," "Oliver Twist," "The Old Curiosity Shop," and "Barnaby Rudge." In 1842 Dickens visited America, where he had a very cordial reception. In his "American Notes" and in "Chuzzlewit," both written soon afterwards, he dwelt with the severity which is inseparable from caricature (and Dickens was not only a literary artist and social reformer, but also a caricaturist) upon some of the obvious vanities and weaknesses of the American people. In 1853 he began to give public readings from his own books, and was no less successful as a reader than he had been as a writer. In 1868 he visited America for the second time, and gave readings in the principal cities to immense and delighted audiences. During the last year of his life he was engaged on a novel, "The Mystery of Edwin Drood," which he left unfinished. His death was sudden, and the announcement of it caused grief throughout the English-speaking world. "The Pickwick Papers," "Martin Chuzzlewit," "Nicholas Nickleby," and "David Copperfield," are generally esteemed the best of his books; the last is spe cially interesting as being largely autobiographical. His later novels, "Great Expectations" and "Our Mutual Friend," were less popular than their predecessors. Among English novelists Dickens stands alone; he occupies a field that none other has cultivated. He was a man of strong sympathies, quick to feel and plead for the poor and oppressed, and in his books he has done great service in the work of social and legal reform. His most conspicuous characteristic is humor, — natural, rich, and seemingly inexhaustible. The secret of his success seems to have consisted in an intuitive apprehension of popular needs and tastes. MR. PICKWICK'S DILEMMA MR. PICKWICK's apartments in Goswell Street, although on a limited scale, were not only of a very neat and comfortable description, but peculiarly adapted for the residence of a man of his genius and observation. His landlady, Mrs. Bardell, a deceased custom-house officer, was a comely woman of bustling manners and agreeable appearance, with a natural genius for cooking, improved by study and long practice into an exquisite talent. There were no children, no servants, no fowls. only other inmates of the house were a large man and a small boy, the first a lodger, the second a production of Mrs. Bardell's. - the relict1 and sole executrix of 1 widow: Lat. relictus, left behind The |