sitely
touching lines on the last page of _Edwin Drood_, written by the
master-hand that was so soon to be stilled for ever:--

[Illustration: Doorway Rochester Cathedral]

"A brilliant morning shines on the old City. Its
antiquities and ruins are surpassingly beautiful,
with the lusty ivy gleaming in the sun, and the
rich trees waving in the balmy air. Changes of
glorious light from moving boughs, songs of birds,
scents from gardens, woods and fields--or,
rather, from the one great garden of the whole of
the cultivated island in its yielding
time--penetrate into the Cathedral, subdue its
earthy odour, and preach the Resurrection and the
Life. The cold stone tombs of centuries ago grow
warm; and flecks of brightness dart into the
sternest marble corners of the building,
fluttering there like wings."

Having time to reflect on our experiences, we are able to understand how
greatly our feelings and ideas have been influenced for good, both
regarding the personality of the novelist and his writings.

In the course of our rambles we have interviewed many people in various
walks of life who knew Dickens well, and their interesting replies,
mostly given in their own words, vividly bring before our mental vision
the _man_ as he actually lived and moved among his neighbours, apart
from any glamour with which we, as hero-worshippers, naturally invest
him. We see him in his home, beloved by his family, taking kindly
interest, as a country gentleman, in the poor of the district, entering
into and personally encouraging their sports, and helping them in their
distress. To his dependents and tradesmen he was kind, just, and
honourable; to his friends genial, hospitable, and true; in himself
eager, enthusiastic, and thorough. No man of his day had more friends,
and he kept them as long as he lived. His favourite motto,
"courage--persevere," comes before us constantly. All that we heard on
the other side was contained in the expression--"rather masterful!"
Rather masterful? Of course he was rather masterful--otherwise he would
never have been Charles Dickens. What does he say in that unconscious
description of himself, which he puts into the mouth of Boots at _The
Holly-Tree Inn_, when referring to the father of Master Harry Walmers,
Junior?

"He was a gentleman of spirit, and go