of the jetty till we reached the toll-post. He put
his other arm around this, and exclaimed in theatrical tones that
he intended to hold me there till the sad sea waves should submerge
us. 'Think of the sensation we shall create.' Here I implored him
to let me go, and struggled hard to release myself. 'Let your mind
dwell upon the column in the "Times" wherein will be vividly
described the pathetic fate of the lovely E. P., drowned by Dickens
in a fit of dementia. Don't struggle, poor little bird; you are
helpless.' By this time the last gleam of light had faded out, and
the water close to us looked uncomfortably black. The tide was
coming up rapidly, and surged over my feet. I gave a loud shriek,
and tried to bring him back to common-sense by reminding him that
my dress--my best dress, my only silk dress--would be ruined. Even
this climax did not soften him; he still went on with his
serio-comic nonsense, shaking with laughter all the time, and
panting with his struggles to hold me. 'Mrs. Dickens,' I shrieked,
'help me! Make Mr. Dickens let me go--the waves are up to my
knees.' 'Charles,' cried Mrs. Dickens, 'how can you be so silly?
You will both be carried off by the tide!' And it was not until my
dress had been completely ruined that I succeeded in wresting
myself from him. Upon two other occasions he seized me and ran with
me under the cataract, and held me there until I was thoroughly
baptized and my bonnets a wreck of lace and feathers."

The same writer says,--and she is one who writes from familiar personal
acquaintance,--"To describe Dickens as always amiable, always just, and
always in the right, would be simply false and untrue to Nature;" and
she relates several anecdotes going to prove that he was sometimes
capricious, not always responsive to appeals for help, and other things
of that sort; all of which may be true and not be very damaging. This
writer tells still another story of his reckless fun-making, as
follows:--

"We were about to make an excursion to Pegwell Bay, and lunch
there. Presently Dickens came in in high glee, flourishing about a
yard of ballads, which he had bought from a beggar in the street.
'Look here,' he cried exultingly, 'all for a penny. One song alone
is worth a Jew's eye,--quite new and original, the subject being
the interesting announcem