[Illustration:  Dickens’ home, Gad’s hill, near Rochester.]

Personally, I could not blame the proprietor for his disinclination to admit visitors on other than the regular days, and it was impressed on me more than once during our trip that living in the home of some famous man carries quite a penalty, especially if the present owner happens to be a considerate gentleman who dislikes to deprive visitors of a glimpse of the place.  Such owners are often wealthy and the small fees which they fix for admittance are only required as evidence of good faith and usually devoted to charity.  With a full appreciation of the situation, it was not always easy to ask for the suspension of a plainly stated rule, yet we did this in many instances before our tour was over and almost invariably with success.  In the present case we were fortunate, for the gentleman who owned Gad’s Hill was away and the neat maid who responded to the bell at the gateway seemed glad to show us the place, regardless of rules.  It is a comfortable, old-fashioned house, built about 1775, and was much admired by Dickens as a boy when he lived with his parents in Rochester.  His father used to bring him to look at the house and told him that if he grew up a clever man, he might possibly own it some time.

We were first shown into the library, which is much the same as the great writer left it at his death, and the chair and desk which he used still stand in their accustomed places.  The most curious feature of the library is the rows of dummy books that occupy some of the shelves, and even the doors are lined with these sham leather backs glued to boards, a whim of Dickens carefully respected by the present owner.  We were also accorded a view of the large dining room where Dickens was seized with the attack which resulted in his sudden and unexpected death.  After a glimpse of other parts of the house and garden surrounding it, the maid conducted us through an underground passage leading beneath the road, to the plot of shrubbery which lay opposite the mansion.  In this secluded thicket, Dickens had built a little house, to which in the summer time he was often accustomed to retire when writing.  It was an ideal English June day, and everything about the place showed to the best possible advantage.  We all agreed that Gad’s Hill alone would be well worth a trip from London.  The country around is surpassingly beautiful and it is said that Dickens liked nothing better than to show his friends about the vicinity.  He thought the seven miles between Rochester and Maidstone the most charming walk in all England.  He delighted in taking trips with his friends to the castles and cathedrals and he immensely enjoyed picnics and luncheons in the cherry orchards and gardens.