ts lay, and to provide himself
with what we call local colouring. He could jot down the suggestions, as
they came to his mind, of his future story. There was an irregularity in
such work which was to his taste. His very notes would be delightful to
read, partaking of the nature of pearls when prepared only for his own
use. But he could not bring himself to sit at his desk and do an
allotted task day after day. He accomplished what must be considered as
quite a sufficient life's work. He had about twenty-five years for the
purpose, and that which he has left is an ample produce for the time.
Nevertheless he was a man of fits and starts, who, not having been in
his early years drilled to method, never achieved it in his career.

He died on the day before Christmas Day, as has been said above, very
suddenly, in his bed, early in the morning, in the fifty-third year of
his life. To those who saw him about in the world there seemed to be no
reason why he should not continue his career for the next twenty years.
But those who knew him were so well aware of his constant sufferings,
that, though they expected no sudden catastrophe, they were hardly
surprised when it came. His death was probably caused by those spasms of
which he had complained ten years before, in his letter to Mr. Reed. On
the last day but one of the year, a crowd of sorrowing friends stood
over his grave as he was laid to rest in Kensal Green; and, as quickly
afterwards as it could be executed, a bust to his memory was put up in
Westminster Abbey. It is a fine work of art, by Marochetti; but, as a
likeness, is, I think, less effective than that which was modelled, and
then given to the Garrick Club, by Durham, and has lately been put into
marble, and now stands in the upper vestibule of the club. Neither of
them, in my opinion, give so accurate an idea of the man as a statuette
in bronze, by Boehm, of which two or three copies were made. One of them
is in my possession. It has been alleged, in reference to this, that
there is something of a caricature in the lengthiness of the figure, in
the two hands thrust into the trousers pockets, and in the protrusion of
the chin. But this feeling has originated in the general idea that any
face, or any figure, not made by the artist more beautiful or more
graceful than the original is an injustice. The face must be smoother,
the pose of the body must be more dignified, the proportions more
perfect, than in the person rep