s lingered long in his mind,
and both Captain Cuttle and Mr. Pecksniff quote them with
excellent appropriateness.

When he grew up he retained his love of vocal music, and showed
a strong predilection for national airs and old songs. Moore's
_Irish Melodies_ had also a special attraction for him. In
the early days of his readings his voice frequently used to
fail him, and Mr. Kitton tells us that in trying to recover
the lost power he would test it by singing these melodies to
himself as he walked about. It is not surprising, therefore,
to find numerous references to these songs, as well as to
other works by Moore, in his writings.

From a humorous account of a concert on board ship we gather
that Dickens possessed a tenor voice. Writing to his daughter
from Boston in 1867, he says:

We had speech-making and singing in the saloon of the
_Cuba_ after the last dinner of the voyage. I think I
have acquired a higher reputation from drawing out the
captain, and getting him to take the second in 'All's
Well' and likewise in 'There's not in the wide world'[2]
(your parent taking the first), than from anything
previously known of me on these shores.... We also sang
(with a Chicago lady, and a strong-minded woman from
I don't know where) 'Auld Lang Syne,' with a tender
melancholy expressive of having all four been united
from our cradles. The more dismal we were, the more
delighted the company were. Once (when we paddled i'
the burn) the captain took a little cruise round the
compass on his own account, touching at the Canadian
Boat Song,[3] and taking in supplies at Jubilate, 'Seas
between us braid ha' roared,' and roared like ourselves.

J.T. Field, in his _Yesterdays with Authors_, says: 'To hear him
sing an old-time stage song, such as he used to enjoy in his
youth at a cheap London theatre ... was to become acquainted
with one of the most delightful and original companions in
the world.'

When at home he was fond of having music in the evening. His
daughter tells us that on one occasion a member of his family
was singing a song while he was apparently deep in his book,
when he suddenly got up and saying 'You don't make enough of
that word,' he sat down by the piano and showed how it should
be sung.

On another occasion his criticism was more pointed.

One night a gentleman visitor insisted on singing
'By the sad sea waves,' which he did vi