I 



CHARLES DICKENS. 213 



i.Z()Z, was a great hit. Dickens described his manager as 

 always * going about with au immense bundle that looks 

 like a sofa cushion, but is in reality paper money, and it had 

 risen to the proportions of a sofa on the morring he left 

 for Philadelphia. Well, the work is hard, the climate is 

 hard, the life is hard; but so far the gain is enormous. My 

 cold steadily refuses to stir an inch. It distresses me 

 greatly at times, though it is always good enough to leave 

 me for the needful two hours. I have tried allopathy, 

 homoeopathy, cold things, warm things, sweet things, bitter 

 things, stimulants, narcotics, all with the same result. 

 Nothing will touch it.' This cold persistently remained 

 with him durifig this fatiguing ana exciting time, and he 

 suffered greatly from sleeplessness. He usually breakfasted 

 upon an &gg and a cup of tea, had a small dinner at threa 

 o'clock, a small quail or something equally light when he 

 came home at night. An egg beaten up in sherry before 

 he began to read, and the same between the parts, was his 

 other refreshment. 



Before leaving New York, there were five farewell nights ; 

 3298 dollars were the last receipts. A public dinner was 

 given in his honour at New York, Horace Greeley occupying 

 the chair. Dickens attended only with difficulty, and spoke 

 with pain. 



' It has been said in your newspapers,' he remarks, 'that 

 for months past I have been collecting materials for and 

 hammering away at a new book on America. This has 

 much astonished me, seeing that all that time it has been 

 perfectly well known to my publishers, on both sides of the 

 Atlantic, that I positively declared that no consideration on 

 earth should induce me to write one. But what I have 



