on flashed from every part of it."

Another keen observer writes:--

"The French painter's remark that 'he was more like one of the old
Dutch admirals we see in picture galleries than a man of letters,'
conveyed an admirably true idea to his friends. He had, indeed,
much of the quiet, resolute manner of command of a captain of a
ship. He trod along briskly as he walked; as he listened, his
searching eye rested on you, and the nerves in his face quivered,
much like those in the delicately formed nostrils of a finely bred
dog. There was a curl or two in his hair at each side, which was
characteristic; and the jaunty way he wore his little morning hat,
rather on one side, added to the effect. But when there was
anything droll suggested, a delightful sparkle of lurking humor
began to kindle and spread to his mouth, so that, even before he
uttered anything, you felt that something irresistibly droll was at
hand."

Mr. Mackenzie tells us:--

"Dickens's personal taste in dress was always 'loud.' He loved gay
vests, glittering jewelry, showy satin stocks, and everything
rather _prononce_; yet no man had a keener or more unsparing
critical eye for these vulgarities in others. He once gave to a
friend a vest of gorgeous shawl pattern. Soon after, at a party, he
quizzed his friend most unmercifully for his stunning vest,
although he had on him at that very moment its twin brother or
sister, whichever sex vests belong to."

There was an almost morbid restlessness in the man, out of which arose
his habit of excessive walking. When he was writing one of his great
books he could not be away from London streets, and he used to walk
about in them at night for hours at a time, until his body was
completely exhausted; in this way only could he get sleep. When not
composing he loved long country walks, and probably injured his health
much in later life by the great length of these tramps across country.
His restlessness showed itself also in many other ways. The element of
repose was not in him. "My last special feat," he writes once when
unable to sleep, "was turning out of bed at two, after a hard day,
pedestrian and otherwise, and walking thirty miles into the country to
breakfast."

The story is told, too, of a night spent in private theatricals,
following a very laborious day for Dickens, and of his being so much
fresh