the epitome of
all that he says of Rose Maylie.

"The very intelligence that shone in her deep blue eye, and was stamped
upon her noble head, seemed scarcely of her age, or of the world; and yet
the changing expression of sweetness and good humour, the thousand lights
that played upon the face and left no shadow there; above all, the smile,
the cheerful, happy smile, were for Home, and fireside peace and
happiness." She is then described as "playfully putting back her hair,
which was simply braided on her forehead; and threw into her beaming look
such an expression of affection and artless loveliness that blessed
spirits might have smiled to look upon her."

The earnestness, the feeling of sincerity thrown into this
description--the tone of reality--leave a conviction that this must have
been drawn from a person who had lived and in whom the writer had the
deepest interest. Further, it is clearly the description of a person who
had passed away: of one who was no longer with him. {66} "She was at the
theatre with us on Saturday night, well and happy, and expired in my arms
a few hours afterwards." So he wrote to Mr. Cox.

At the end, he returns to the subject, and retouches the picture:

"I would show Rose Maylie in all the bloom and grace of early
womanhood, shedding on her secluded path in life the soft and gentle
light that fell on all who trod it with her and shone into their
hearts; I would paint her _the life and joy of the fireside circle_,
and the lively summer group; I would follow her through the sultry
fields at noon, and hear the low tones of her sweet voice in the
moonlit evening walk; I would watch her in all her goodness and
charity abroad, and the untiring discharge of domestic duties at home;
I would summon before me again those joyous little faces that
clustered round her knee; I would recall the tone of that clear laugh,
and conjure up that sympathizing tear that glistened in the soft, blue
eye. These, and a thousand looks and smiles, and turns of thought and
speech, I would fain recall them, every one."

Again, it is clear that all this is personal, and written of one that he
knew and deeply loved.

In "Nickleby," there is yet another allusion to this sad subject--it is
suggested by Kate's grief for Smike:

"It is an exquisite and beautiful thing in our nature that, when the
heart is softened and touched by some tranquil happiness or
affect