CHARLES DICKENS. 



I 



I 



drew the sorrows of the EngHsh poor drew also the picture of 

 the unselfishness, the kindness, the courageous patience, and 

 the tender thoughtfulness that lie concealed under many a 

 coarse exterior, and are to be found in many a degraded 

 home. When the little workhouse boy wins his way, pure and 

 undefiled, through the mass of wickedness around him ; when 

 the little orphan girl, who brings thoughts of heaven into the 

 hearts of all around her, is as the very gift of God to the old 

 man who sheltered her life, — these are scenes which no human 

 being can read without being the better of it. He laboured 

 to teach us that there is even in the worst of mankind a soul 

 of goodness — a soul worth revealing, worth reclaiming, worth 

 regenerating. He laboured to teach the rich and educated 

 how this better side was to be found, even in the most 

 neglected Lazarus, and to tell the poor no less to respect this 

 better part of themselves — to remember that they also have a 

 calling to be good and great, if they will but hear it 



• There is one more thought that arises on this occasion 

 As, in the parable, we are forcibly impressed with the awful 

 solemnity of the other world, so on this day a feeling rises in 

 us before which the most brilliant powers of genius and the 

 most lively sallies of wit wax faint. When, on Tuesday last, 

 we stood beside that open grave, in the still, deep silence of the 

 summer morning, in the midst of this vast solitary space, 

 broken only by that small band of fourteen mourners, it was 

 impossible not to feel that there is something more sacred than 

 any worldly glory, however bright, or than any mausoleum, 

 however mighty ; and that is the return of the human soul into 

 the hands of its Maker. Many, many are the feet that have 

 trodden, and will tread, the consecrated ground around his 

 grave. Many, many are the hearts which, both in the Old 



