of
mine, at the corner of Second and Thirteenth streets. He never said
anything while there, until he came to pay his board bill, when bidding
my aunt farewell, he observed: _"Mrs. SAGOE, for terseness and brevity,
your steaks surpass any I have ever met with."_ Aunt Sarah had these
words neatly framed, and they have hung in her back parlor to this day.

Before he came again, the country had made wonderful progress. A new
generation had been born, including myself.]

When the steamer was signalled, I went down on the wharf. DICKENS was
standing near the rail, and wore a coat, vest, pants, and a hat. I
couldn't make out through the glass how much they cost, and I forgot to
ask him afterward. Shortly after she had hauled into the dock, I went on
board. We shook hands. Mr. DICKENS had a peculiar way of reserving his
right hand for this process, though on great occasions he would use
both. We employed all four, with the understanding that a more formal
demonstration should be made at PARKER'S. I offered to carry his valise.
Graciously declining my services, he betokened his appreciation of my
delicate attention by presenting me on the spot with a complete set of
his works--Author's Edition.

"My dear fellow," he whispered, "there's a Boston man down below,
blacking my other pair of boots, who'd feel hurt if I should let anybody
else take that bag."

I called upon him as soon as he was fairly settled, and found him in his
shirt-sleeves, writing vigorously. Mr. DICKENS'S intimate friends are
aware that he indulged in the habit, while writing, of occasionally
dipping his pen in the inkstand. I don't remember much about the room
except that there were several chairs (good chairs) and a table in it.
The distinguished occupant was sitting about nine and a half feet from
the door facing the Southwest, his hair well brushed, head a little
inclined to the right, except his eyes, which, were inclined to twinkle
as though he had just hit upon something particularly bright and happy.
The carpet was green with a red figure. You could see in a moment that
he was a man of genius. The room was lighted with gas. Was it possible
that the immortal author of "DICKENS'S Works" was before me? [Upon the
table was a cigar, half consumed, an inkstand, three pen-holders, a
bundle of envelopes, a brass key, several bouquets, a paper-cutter, a
stick of sealing-wax, a quantity of writing-paper, a table-cloth
(spread), a newspaper (the date has esc