gave that peculiar grip of the hand to Emily’s lover, the French audience burst into cheers and rounds of applause.”  He said with reference to the preparation of his readings, that it was three months’ hard labor to get up one of his own stories for public recitation, and he thought he had greatly improved his presentation of the “Christmas Carol” while in this country.  He considered the storm scene in “David Copperfield” one of the most effective of his readings.  The character of Jack Hopkins in “Bob Sawyer’s Party” he took great delight in representing, and as Jack was a prime favorite of mine, he brought him forward whenever the occasion prompted.  He always spoke of Hopkins as my particular friend, and he was constantly quoting him, taking on the peculiar voice and turn of the head which he gave Jack in the public reading.

It gave him a natural pleasure when he heard quotations from his own books introduced without effort into conversation.  He did not always remember, when his own words were quoted, that he was himself the author of them, and appeared astounded at the memory of others in this regard.  He said Mr. Secretary Stanton had a most extraordinary knowledge of his books and a power of taking the text up at any point, which he supposed to belong to only one person, and that person not himself.

It was said of Garrick that he was the cheerfullest man of his age.  This can be as truly said of Charles Dickens.  In his presence there was perpetual sunshine, and gloom was banished as having no sort of relationship with him.  No man suffered more keenly or sympathized more fully than he did with want and misery; but his motto was, “Don’t stand and cry; press forward and help remove the difficulty.”  The speed with which he was accustomed to make the deed follow his yet speedier sympathy was seen pleasantly on the day of his visit to the School-ship in Boston Harbor.  He said, previously to going on board that ship, nothing would tempt him to make a speech, for he should always be obliged to do it on similar occasions, if he broke through his rule so early in his reading tour.  But Judge Russell had no sooner finished his simple talk, to which the boys listened, as they always do, with eager faces, than Dickens rose as if he could not help it, and with a few words so magnetized them that they wore their hearts in their eyes as if they meant to keep the words forever.  An enthusiastic critic once said of John Ruskin, “that he could discover the Apocalypse in a daisy.”  As noble a discovery may be claimed for Dickens.  He found all the fair humanities blooming in the lowliest hovel.  He never put on the good Samaritan:  that character was native to him.  Once while in this country, on a bitter, freezing afternoon,—­night coming down in a drifting snow-storm,—­he was returning with me from a long walk in the country.  The wind and baffling sleet were so furious that the street in which we happened to be fighting our way