that now at length I could go hither or thither in London's
immensity seeking for the places which had been made known to me by
Dickens.

'One day in the city I found myself at the entrance to Bevis Marks! I
had just been making an application in reply to some advertisement--of
course, fruitlessly; but what was that disappointment compared with
the discovery of Bevis Marks! Here dwelt Mr. Brass and Sally and the
Marchioness. Up and down the little street, this side and that, I went
gazing and dreaming. No press of busy folk disturbed me; the place was
quiet; it looked no doubt much the same as when Dickens knew it. I am
not sure that I had any dinner that day; but, if not, I daresay I did
not mind it very much.'

The broad flood under Thames bridges spoke to him in the very tones of 'the
master.' He breathed Guppy's London particular, the wind was the black
easter that pierced the diaphragm of Scrooge's clerk.

'We bookish people have our connotations for the life we do not live.
In time I came to see London with my own eyes, but how much better
when I saw it with those of Dickens!'

Tired and discouraged, badly nourished, badly housed--working under
conditions little favourable to play of the fancy or intentness of the
mind--then was the time, Gissing found, to take down Forster and read--read
about Charles Dickens.

'Merely as the narrative of a wonderfully active, zealous, and
successful life, this book scarce has its equal; almost any reader
must find it exhilarating; but to me it yielded such special
sustenance as in those days I could not have found elsewhere, and
lacking which I should, perhaps, have failed by the way. I am not
referring to Dickens's swift triumph, to his resounding fame and high
prosperity; these things are cheery to read about, especially when
shown in a light so human, with the accompaniment of so much geniality
and mirth. No; the pages which invigorated me are those where we see
Dickens at work, alone at his writing-table, absorbed in the task of
the story-teller. Constantly he makes known to Forster how his story
is getting on, speaks in detail of difficulties, rejoices over spells
of happy labour; and what splendid sincerity in it all! If this work
of his was not worth doing, why, nothing was. A troublesome letter has
arrived by the morning's post and threatens to spoil th