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If we look at the map of England, we will find on the southern coast the city of Portsmouth, which has an important harbor and is the principal English naval station. In this bustling city in the early part of the nineteenth century, Charles Dickens was born.

We can well imagine the boy Charles roaming with his companions along the different wharves of the harbor; we can fancy him looking at the white-capped waves as they rushed toward the shore; or we can see him watching the sailors and the marines on the big battleships lying at anchor in the bay.

The boy's father was not a good provider. He spent his earnings too easily. As a consequence, the family grew poorer and poorer, until finally Charles, a mere boy of nine years, was obliged to go to work in his cousin's blacking factory. For three or four years, he labored most willingly in this place. Then he was employed in a lawyer's office for a year or two.

During all this time Charles was a diligent student. He read over and over again the books in his father's library and others which were loaned to him. He did more; he carefully observed the conditions of the poor, and he mastered the difficulties of shorthand.

Thus equipped, he began his literary work by reporting law cases; and at the age of nineteen he became a parliamentary reporter. In this congenial work he commenced to climb the ladder of fame.

His first literary attempt, the Sketches of Boz, brought his name before the reading public, and the Pickwick Papers, which appeared shortly afterwards, made him famous. In his other works, which can be found in the public library, Dickens gives sketches of the lives of many of his friends, together with an account of his own life in David Copperfield.

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DICKENS

THE DEATH OF PAUL DOMBEY

It is oftentimes a source of genuine pleasure to go back in fancy to the days of early childhood; and to think of the many strange things we did, how we looked, what we liked, the friends we knew, and the games we played. The story of Dombey and Son carries us back to England in the year 1846. Little Paul makes his appearance in the very first chapter. Before he is a day old, his good mother dies. He is then intrusted to the care of an excellent nurse. But still he does not grow strong. Mr. Dombey, noticing the delicate health of his child, sends him to the seashore But this change of air fails to produce the desired effect. Little Paul is next sent to a private boarding school. He has now arrived at the age of six. He is so backward in his studies that his teacher is shocked beyond measure. But Paul tells her that he has spent most of his time in the open air trying to grow strong. His school days are not happy. When vacation comes, he is delighted to go back to his home. Every one in the vicinity likes him. "He is a very pretty child and thoughtful beyond his years." His father, a proud merchant, cares only for little Paul; because Paul enables him to retain the name "Dombey and Son." But when the child of his heart is called from this world, happiness seems to go out of his life. The following chapter from the story of Dombey and Son tells of the last moments of little Paul.

Little Dombey had not risen from his little bed. He lay there, listening to the noises in the street, quite tranquilly; not caring much how the time went, but watching it and watching everything.

When the sunbeams struck into his room through the rustling blinds, and quivered on the opposite wall, like golden water, he knew that evening was coming on, and that the sky was red and beautiful. As the reflection died away, and a gloom went creeping up the wall, he watched it deepen, deepen, deepen into night.

Then he thought how the long unseen streets were dotted with lamps, and how the peaceful stars were shining overhead. His fancy had a strange tendency to wander to the river, which he knew was flowing through the great city; and now he thought how black it was, and how deep it would look reflecting the hosts of stars; and, more than all, how steadily it rolled away to meet the sea.

As it grew later in the night, and footsteps in the street became so rare that he could hear them coming, count them as they passed, and lose them in the hollow distance, he would lie and watch the many-colored rings about the candle, and wait patiently for day.

His only trouble was the swift and rapid river. He felt forced, sometimes, to try to stop it, to stem its tide with his childish hands, or choke its way with sand; and when he saw it coming on resistless, he cried out; but a word from Florence, who was always at his side, restored him to himself; and, leaning his poor head upon her breast, he told Floy of his dream, and smiled.

When the day began to dawn again, he watched for the sun; and when its cheerful light began to sparkle in the room, he pictured to himself-pictured! he saw -the high church towers reviving, waking, starting into life once more, the river glistening as it rolled (but rolling as fast as ever), and the country bright with dew.

Familiar sounds and cries came by degrees into the street below; the servants in the house were roused and busy; faces looked in at the door, and voices asked his attendants how he was. Paul always answered for himself: "I am better. I am a great deal better, thank you! Tell papa so!"

By little and little he got tired of the bustle of the day, the noise of carriages and carts and people passing and repassing, and would fall asleep, or be troubled with a restless and uneasy sense again. "Why, will it never stop, Floy?" he would sometimes ask her. "It is bearing me away, I think!”

But she could always soothe and reassure him; and it was his daily delight to make her lay her head down on his pillow, and take some rest.

"You are always watching me, Floy. Let me watch you, now!"

They would prop him up with cushions in a corner of his bed, and there he would recline, the while she lay beside him, bending forward often to kiss her, and

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