eam of their own
creations; recollecting, I suppose, even in their dreams, that they
have no real existence? _I_ never dreamed of any of my own
characters, and I feel it so impossible that I would wager Scott
never did of his, real as they are. I had a good piece of absurdity
in my head a night or two ago. I dreamed that somebody was dead. I
don't know who, but it's not to the purpose. It was a private
gentleman, and a particular friend; and I was greatly overcome when
the news was broken to me (very delicately) by a gentleman in a
cocked hat, top boots, and a sheet. Nothing else. "Good God!" I
said, "is he dead?" "He is as dead, sir," rejoined the gentleman,
"as a door-nail. But we must all die, Mr. Dickens; sooner or later,
my dear sir." "Ah!" I said. "Yes, to be sure. Very true. But what
did he die of?" The gentleman burst into a flood of tears, and said,
in a voice broken by emotion: "He christened his youngest child,
sir, with a toasting-fork." I never in my life was so affected as at
his having fallen a victim to this complaint. It carried a
conviction to my mind that he never could have recovered. I knew
that it was the most interesting and fatal malady in the world; and
I wrung the gentleman's hand in a convulsion of respectful
admiration, for I felt that this explanation did equal honor to his
head and heart!

What do you think of Mrs. Gamp? And how do you like the undertaker?
I have a fancy that they are in your way. O heaven! such green woods
as I was rambling among down in Yorkshire, when I was getting that
done last July! For days and weeks we never saw the sky but through
green boughs; and all day long I cantered over such soft moss and
turf, that the horse's feet scarcely made a sound upon it. We have
some friends in that part of the country (close to Castle Howard,
where Lord Morpeth's father dwells in state, _in_ his park indeed),
who are the jolliest of the jolly, keeping a big old country house,
with an ale cellar something larger than a reasonable church, and
everything like Goldsmith's bear dances, "in a concatenation
accordingly." Just the place for you, Felton! We performed some
madnesses there in the way of forfeits, picnics, rustic games,
inspections of ancient monasteries at midnight, when the moon was
shining, that would have gone to your heart, and, a