them, were farther to
be delayed until the opening months of 1870. They were an offering from
Dickens by way of small compensation to Messrs. Chappell for the
breakdown of the enterprise on which they had staked so much. But here
practically he finished his career as a public reader, and what remains
will come with the end of what is yet to be told. One effort only
intervened, by which he hoped to get happily back to his old pursuits;
but to this, as to that which preceded it, sterner Fate said also No,
and his Last Book, like his Last Readings, prematurely closed.

FOOTNOTES:

[281] "I think I shall be pretty correct in both places as to the run
being on the Final readings. We had an immense house here" (Edinburgh,
12th of December) "last night, and a very large turnaway. But Glasgow
being shady and the charges very great, it will be the most we can do, I
fancy, on these first Scotch readings, to bring the Chappells safely
home (as to them) without loss."

[282] The close of the letter has an amusing picture which I may be
excused for printing in a note. "The only news that will interest you is
that the good-natured Reverdy Johnson, being at an Art Dinner in Glasgow
the other night, and falling asleep over the post-prandial speeches
(only too naturally), woke suddenly on hearing the name of 'Johnson' in
a list of Scotch painters which one of the orators was enumerating; at
once plunged up, under the impression that somebody was drinking his
health; and immediately, and with overflowing amiability, began
returning thanks. The spectacle was then presented to the astonished
company, of the American Eagle being restrained by the coat tails from
swooping at the moon, while the smaller birds endeavoured to explain to
it how the case stood, and the cock robin in possession of the
chairman's eye twittered away as hard as he could split. I am told that
it was wonderfully droll."

[283] I take from the letter a mention of the effect on a friend. "The
night before last, unable to get in, B. had a seat behind the screen,
and was nearly frightened off it, by the Murder. Every vestige of colour
had left his face when I came off, and he sat staring over a glass of
champagne in the wildest way."

[284] In this letter Dickens wrote: "I thank you heartily" (23rd of June
1869) "for your great kindness and interest. It would really pain me if
I thought you could seriously doubt my implicit reliance on your
professional skill and adv