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CONTENTS.
| Page. | |
| Chapter I. Seeing “Gad’s Hill” as a child.—His domestic side and home love.—His love of children.—His neatness and punctuality.—At the table, and as host.—The original of “Little Nell.” | [7] |
| Chapter II. Buying Christmas presents.—In the dance.—The merriest of them all.—As a conjurer.—Christmas at “Gad’s Hill.”—Our Christmas dinners.—A New Year’s Eve frolic.—New Year on the Green.—Twelfth Night festivities. | [25] |
| Chapter III. My father at his work.—Rooms in which he wrote.—Love for his child characters.—Genius for character drawing.—Nicholas Nickleby.—His writing hours.—His only amanuensis.—“Pickwick” and “Boz.”—Death of Mr. Thackeray. | [46] |
| Chapter IV. Fondness for Athletic Sports.—His love of bathing.—His study of the raven.—Calling the doctor in.—My father with our dogs.—The cats of “Gad’s Hill.”—”Bumble” and “Mrs. Bouncer.”—A strange friendship. | [69] |
| Chapter V. Interest in London birds.—Our pet bird “Dick.”—Devotion of his dogs.—Decision to visit America.—His arrival in New York.—Comments on American courtesies.—Farewell public appearances. | [88] |
| Chapter VI. Last words spoken in public.—A railroad accident in 1865.—At home after his American visit.—”Improvements” at “Gad’s Hill.”—At “Gad’s Hill” once more.—The closing day of his life.—Burial at Westminster. | [103] |
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
| Charles Dickens | Frontispiece |
| Mamie Dickens | Facing Dedication |
| Charles Dickens reading in the garden | page [7] |
| Mr. Pickwick slides | [25] |
| Mr. John Leech | [28] |
| Mr. Pickwick under the Mistletoe | [45] |
| Mrs. Bouncer | [86] |
| To Miss Dickens’ Pomeranian “Mrs. Bouncer” | [86] |
| The Empty Chair | [101] |
| Charles Dickens’ Grave | [127] |
CHAPTER I.
Seeing “Gad’s Hill” as a child.—His domestic side and home-love.—His love of children.—His neatness and punctuality.—At the table, and as host.—The original of “Little Nell.”
If, in these pages, written in remembrance of my father, I should tell you my dear friends, nothing new of him, I can, at least, promise you that what I shall tell will be told faithfully, if simply, and perhaps there may be some things not familiar to you.
A great many writers have taken it upon themselves to write lives of my father, to tell anecdotes of him, and to print all manner of things about him. Of all these published books I have read but one, the only genuine “Life” thus far written of him, the one sanctioned by my father himself,