James's Theatre, in which Charles Dickens took the principal character, and old Mr. Dickens was appointed bill-distributor for the evening. Charles had given strict orders that no one should be allowed behind the scenes. The elder Dickens, returning to the green-room, was surprised and indignant to see a man, as he thought, standing at the other end of the apartment. His blood boiled up in an instant, and he flew at him. His anger increased at seeing the figure advance toward him, and he rushed up to it and struck out with all his might—hitting a looking-glass with such violence that he had sore knuckles for some days afterward. The resemblance between old Mr. D. and Mr. Micawber was very slight. It consisted only in one or two peculiar traits, exaggerated in the description, and in the use of a pet phrase to the effect "that something was sure to turn up." The day previous to his death he seemed unusually well, and we none of us expected he would pass away so soon. He was first seriously taken ill whilst at dinner, and after he was put to bed I sent off immediately for Charles. He came as soon as possible. I was in the room when the old gentleman died. He expired about five o'clock in the morning, with little or no pain. Charles Dickens had been with him for hours, standing or sitting by the bedside, and holding his hand. He was much affected, and behaved throughout with great tenderness.
Mrs. Dickens was a little woman, who had been very nice-looking in her youth. She had very bright hazel eyes, and was as thoroughly good-natured, easy-going, companionable a body as one would wish to meet with. The likeness between her and Mrs. Nickleby is simply the exaggeration of some slight peculiarities. She possessed an extraordinary sense of the ludicrous, and her power of imitation was something quite astonishing. On entering a room she almost unconsciously took an inventory of its contents, and if anything happened to strike her as out of place or ridiculous, she would afterward describe it in the quaintest possible manner. In like manner she noted the personal peculiarities of her friends and acquaintances. She had also a fine vein of pathos, and could bring tears to the eyes of her listeners when narrating some sad event. She was slightly lame, having injured one of her legs by falling through a trap-door whilst acting in some private theatricals at the Soho Theatre, London. I am of opinion that a great deal of Dickens's genius was inherited from his mother. He possessed from her a keen appreciation of the droll and of the pathetic, as also considerable dramatic talent. Mrs. Dickens has often sent my sisters and myself into uncontrollable fits of laughter by her funny sayings and inimitable mimicry. Charles was decidedly fond of her, and always treated her respectfully and kindly. In the hour of her sad bereavement his conduct was noble. I remember he took her in his arms, and they both wept bitterly together. He told her that she must rely upon him for the future. He immediately paid whatever his father owed, and relieved his mother's mind on that score. To my husband and myself he expressed himself in the warmest manner as grateful for what little kindness we had been able to show his parents. He sent my husband a magnificent silver snuff-box lined with gold, on which was engraved this inscription:
"To Robert Davey,
A poor token of gratitude and respect,
in memory of my dear father.
Charles Dickens."
This heirloom is now in my eldest son's possession. It was accompanied by a beautiful and touching letter full of tenderness and terms of filial affection.
Mrs. Dickens was very fond of her daughter-in-law, Mrs. Charles, and has often told me that she believed "there was not another woman in all England so well suited to her son." Her daughter Letitia, Mrs. Austin, was often at our house at this time. She was an admirable woman, and greatly beloved by all who knew her.
Charles Dickens called frequently in Keppel street, and sometimes stayed to dinner. He was not a very talkative man,
