g of it, were unceasing and busy in his heart
ever and always.

But he had a sufficient capacity for a virtue, which, I think, seems
to be moribund among us--the virtue of moral indignation. Men and
their actions were not all much of a muchness to him. There was none
of the indifferentism of that pseudo-philosophic moderation, which,
when a scoundrel or a scoundrelly action is on the _tapis_, hints that
there is much to be said on both sides. Dickens hated a mean action or
a mean sentiment as one hates something that is physically loathsome
to the sight and touch. And he could be angry, as those with whom he
had been angry did not very readily forget.

And there was one other aspect of his moral nature, of which I am
reminded by an observation which Mr. Forster records as having been
made by Mrs. Carlyle. "Light and motion flashed from every part of it
[his face]. It was as if made of steel." The first part of the phrase
is true and graphic enough, but the image offered by the last words
appears to me a singularly infelicitous one. There was nothing of the
hardness or of the (moral) sharpness of steel about the expression of
Dickens's face and features. Kindling mirth and genial fun were
the expressions which those who casually met him in society were
habituated to find there, but those who knew him well knew also well
that a tenderness, gentle and sympathetic as that of a woman, was a
mood that his surely never "steely" face could express exquisitely,
and did express frequently.

I used to see him very frequently in his latter years. I generally
came to London in the summer, and one of the first things on my list
was a visit to 20, Wellington Street. Then would follow sundry other
visits and meetings--to Tavistock House, to Gadshill, at Verey's in
Regent Street, a place he much patronised, &c., &c. I remember one day
meeting Chauncy Hare Townsend at Tavistock House and thinking him a
very singular and not particularly agreeable man. Edwin Landseer I
remember dined there the same day. But he had been a friend of my
mother's, and was my acquaintance of long long years before.

Of course we had much and frequent talk about Italy, and I may say
that our ideas and opinions, and especially feelings on that subject,
were always, I think, in unison. Our agreement respecting English
social and political matters was less perfect. But I think that it
would have become more nearly so had his life been prolonged as mine
has be