don.

Charles Dickens remained in the same unconscious state until the evening
of this day, when, at ten minutes past six, the watchers saw a shudder
pass over him, heard him give a deep sigh, saw one tear roll down his
cheek, and he was gone from them. And as they saw the dark shadow steal
across his calm, beautiful face, not one among them--could they have
been given such a power--would have recalled his sweet spirit back to
earth.

As his family were aware that Charles Dickens had a wish to be buried
near Gad's Hill, arrangements were made for his burial in the pretty
churchyard of Shorne, a neighbouring village, of which he was very fond.
But this intention was abandoned in consequence of a pressing request
from the Dean and Chapter of Rochester Cathedral that his remains might
be placed there. A grave was prepared and everything arranged, when it
was made known to the family, through Dean Stanley, that there was a
general and very earnest desire that Charles Dickens should find his
resting-place in Westminster Abbey. To such a fitting tribute to his
memory they could make no possible objection, although it was with great
regret that they relinquished the idea of laying him in a place so
closely identified with his life and his works. His name,
notwithstanding, is associated with Rochester, a tablet to his memory
having been placed by his executors on the wall of Rochester Cathedral.

With regard to Westminster Abbey, his family only stipulated that the
funeral might be made as private as possible, and that the words of his
will, "I emphatically direct that I be buried in an inexpensive,
unostentatious, and strictly private manner," should be religiously
adhered to. And so they were. The solemn service in the vast cathedral
being as private as the most thoughtful consideration could make it.

The family of Charles Dickens were deeply grateful to all in authority
who so carried out his wishes. And more especially to Dean Stanley and
to the (late) Lady Augusta Stanley, for the tender sympathy shown by
them to the mourners on this day, and also on Sunday, the 19th, when the
Dean preached his beautiful funeral sermon.

As during his life Charles Dickens's fondness for air, light, and gay
colours amounted almost to a passion, so when he lay dead in the home he
had so dearly loved, these things were not forgotten.

The pretty room opening into the conservatory (from which he had never
been removed since his seizure)