whom he worshiped. Years later he met her again,
and what his feelings on that occasion must have been may be imagined
when we know that this Dora-grown-older was the original of "Flora" in
_Little Dorrit_.

The things that Dickens, writing constantly and copiously, found time to
do are wonderful. One of the matters in which he took great interest and
an active part was the children's theatricals. These were held each year
during the Christmas holiday season at Dickens's home, and while his
children and their friends were the principal actors, Dickens
superintended the whole, introduced three-quarters of the fun, and
played grown-up parts, adopting as his stage title the "Modern Garrick."

Though the story of these crowded years is quickly told, the years were
far from being uneventful in their passing. Occasional sojourns, either
with his family or with friends, in France and in Italy always made
Dickens but the more glad to be in his beloved London, where he seemed
most in his element and where his genius had freest play. This does not
mean that he did not enjoy France and Italy, or appreciate their
beauties, but simply that he was always an Englishman--a city
Englishman. His observations, however, on what he saw in traveling were
always most acute and entertaining.

His account of his well-nigh unsuccessful attempt to find the house of
Mr. Lowther, English charge d'affaires at Naples, with whom he had been
invited to dine, may be quoted here to show his power of humorous
description:

"We had an exceedingly pleasant dinner of eight, preparatory to which I
was near having the ridiculous adventure of not being able to find the
house and coming back dinnerless. I went in an open carriage from the
hotel in all state, and the coachman, to my surprise, pulled up at the
end of the Chiaja.

"'Behold the house' says he, 'of Signor Larthoor!'--at the same time
pointing with his whip into the seventh heaven, where the early stars
were shining.

"'But the Signor Larthoor,' returns the Inimitable darling, 'lives at
Pausilippo.'

"'It is true,' says the coachman (still pointing to the evening star),
'but he lives high up the Salita Sant' Antonio, where no carriage ever
yet ascended, and that is the house' (evening star as aforesaid), 'and
one must go on foot. Behold the Salita Sant' Antonio!'

"I went up it, a mile and a half I should think. I got into the
strangest places, among the wildest Neapolitans--kitchens,
washi