* *

He was late in leaving the Chalet; but before dinner, which was ordered
at six o'clock with the intention of walking afterwards in the lanes, he
wrote some letters, among them one to his friend Mr. Charles Kent
appointing to see him in London next day; and dinner was begun before
Miss Hogarth saw, with alarm, a singular expression of trouble and pain
in his face. "For an hour," he then told her, "he had been very ill;"
but he wished dinner to go on. These were the only really coherent words
uttered by him. They were followed by some, that fell from him
disconnectedly, of quite other matters; of an approaching sale at a
neighbour's house, of whether Macready's son was with his father at
Cheltenham, and of his own intention to go immediately to London; but at
these latter he had risen, and his sister-in-law's help alone prevented
him from falling where he stood. Her effort then was to get him on the
sofa, but after a slight struggle he sank heavily on his left side. "On
the ground" were the last words he spoke. It was now a little over ten
minutes past six o'clock. His two daughters came that night with Mr.
Beard, who had also been telegraphed for, and whom they met at the
station. His eldest son arrived early next morning, and was joined in
the evening (too late) by his younger son from Cambridge. All possible
medical aid had been summoned. The surgeon of the neighbourhood was
there from the first, and a physician from London was in attendance as
well as Mr. Beard. But all human help was unavailing. There was effusion
on the brain; and though stertorous breathing continued all night, and
until ten minutes past six o'clock on the evening of Thursday the 9th of
June, there had never been a gleam of hope during the twenty-four hours.
He had lived four months beyond his 58th year.

* * * * *

The excitement and sorrow at his death are within the memory of all.
Before the news of it even reached the remoter parts of England, it had
been flashed across Europe; was known in the distant continents of
India, Australia, and America; and not in English-speaking communities
only, but in every country of the civilised earth, had awakened grief
and sympathy. In his own land it was as if a personal bereavement had
befallen every one. Her Majesty the Queen telegraphed from Balmoral "her
deepest regret at the sad news of Charles Dickens's death;" and this was
the sentiment alike of all cla