the good luck is the butcher's, where is he?' Everybody handed over
the blushing butcher to the front, and there was a roar, and the
butcher felt himself obliged to put his hand in his pocket and take
the lot. The party so picked out in general does feel obliged to
take the lot--good four times out of six. Then we had another lot
the counterpart of that one and sold it sixpence cheaper, which is
always very much enjoyed. Then we had the spectacles. It ain't a
special profitable lot, but I put 'em on, and I see what the
Chancellor of the Exchequer is going to take off the taxes, and I
see what the sweetheart of the young woman in the shawl is doing at
home, and I see what the Bishops has got for dinner, and a deal
more that seldom fails to fetch up their spirits, and the better
their spirits the better they bids. Then we had the ladies'
lot--the tea-pots, tea-caddy, glass sugar-basin, half-a-dozen
spoons, and caudle cup--and all the time I was making similar
excuses to give a look or two, and say a word or two to my poor
child. It was while the second ladies' lot was holding 'em
enchained that I felt her lift herself a little on my shoulder to
look across the dark street. 'What troubles you darling?' 'Nothing
troubles me, father, I am not at all troubled. But don't I see a
pretty churchyard over there?' 'Yes, my dear.' 'Kiss me twice, dear
father, and lay me down to rest upon that churchyard grass, so soft
and green.' I staggered back into the cart with her head dropped on
my shoulder, and I says to her mother, 'Quick, shut the door! Don't
let those laughing people see.' 'What's the matter?' she cries, 'O
woman, woman,' I tells her, 'you'll never catch my little Sophy by
her hair again, for she has flown away from you.'"

Dickens' strongest characters, and those he loved most to paint, are
such as contain foibles and eccentricities, or much dulness and
ignorance in conjunction with the best feelings and intentions, so that
his teaching seems rather to be that we should look beyond mere external
trifles. Those he attacks are mostly middle-class people, or those
slightly below them--the dogs in office, and the dogs in the manger. The
artifice and cunning of the waiter of the Hotel at Yarmouth, where
little Copperfield awaits the coach, is excellently represented.

"The waiter brought me