previously
earned, by ministering so largely and laboriously to the world's
enjoyment.

Summing up in a few words what has already been related in detail,
one passing sentence may here recall to recollection the fact, that in
addition to the various works produced by the Novelist during the
last three lustres of his energetic life as a man of letters, he had
personally, within that busy interval of fifteen years, given in round
numbers at a moderate computation some 500 of these Public Readings--423
in a strictly professional capacity, the rest, prior to 1858, purely
out of motives of generosity, in his character as a practical
philanthropist. In doing this he had addressed as many as five hundred
enormous audiences, whose rapt attention he had always secured, and
who had one and all of them, without exception, welcomed his coming and
going with enthusiasm. During this period he had travelled over many
thousands of miles, by railway and steam-packet. In a single tour,
that of the winter of 1867 and 1868, in America, he had appeared before
upwards of 100,000 persons, earning, at the same time, over 200,000
dollars within an interval of very little more than four months
altogether.

Later on, the circumstances surrounding the immediate close of this
portion of the popular author's life, as a Public Reader of his own
works, will be described when mention is made of his final appearance
in St. James's Hall, on the night of his Farewell Reading. Before any
particular reference is made, however, to that last evening, it may
be advisable, as tending to make this record more complete, that there
should now be briefly passed in review, one after another, those minor
stories, and fragments of the larger stories, the simple recounting
of which by his own lips yielded so much artistic delight to a great
multitude of his contemporaries. Whatever may thus be remarked in
regard to these Readings will be written at least from a vivid personal
recollection; the writer, throughout, speaking, as before observed, from
his intimate knowledge of the whole of this protracted episode in the
life of the Novelist.

Whatever aid to the memory besides might have been thought desirable,
he has had ready to hand all through, in the marked copies of the very
books from which the author read upon these occasions, or from which, at
the least, he had the appearance of reading. For, especially towards
the last, Charles Dickens hardly ever glanced, ev