could never
concentrate on a settled pursuit; and though at the time we knew him
first he had taken up the profession of a sculptor, he abandoned it soon
afterwards. His mother, a woman distinguished by many remarkable
qualities, lived now in the English lake-country; and it was no fault of
hers that this home was no longer her son's. But what mainly had closed
it to him was undoubtedly not less the secret of such liking for him as
Dickens had. Fletcher's eccentricities and absurdities, often divided by
the thinnest partition from the most foolish extravagance, but
occasionally clever, and always the genuine though whimsical outgrowth
of the life he led, had a curious sort of charm for Dickens. He enjoyed
the oddity and humor; tolerated all the rest; and to none more freely
than to Kindheart during the next few years, both in Italy and in
England, opened his house and hospitality. The close of the poor
fellow's life, alas! was in only too sad agreement with all the previous
course of it; but this will have mention hereafter. He is waiting now to
introduce Dickens to the Highlands.

FOOTNOTES:

[37] Dickens refused to believe it at first. "My heart assures me Wilkie
liveth," he wrote. "He is the sort of man who will be VERY old when he
dies"--and certainly one would have said so.

[38] The speeches generally were good, but the descriptions in the text
by himself will here be thought sufficient. One or two sentences ought,
however, to be given to show the tone of Wilson's praise, and I will
only preface them by the remark that Dickens's acknowledgments, as well
as his tribute to Wilkie, were expressed with great felicity, and that
Peter Robertson seems to have thrown the company into convulsions of
laughter by his imitation of Dominie Sampson's PRO-DI-GI-OUS, in a
supposed interview between that worthy schoolmaster and Mr. Squeers of
Dotheboys. I now quote from Professor Wilson's speech:

"Our friend has mingled in the common walks of life; he has made himself
familiar with the lower orders of society. He has not been deterred by
the aspect of vice and wickedness, and misery and guilt, from seeking a
spirit of good in things evil, but has endeavored by the might of genius
to transmute what was base into what is precious as the beaten gold. . . .
But I shall be betrayed, if I go on much longer,--which it would be
improper for me to do,--into something like a critical delineation of
the genius of our illustrious guest.