From this year, 1836, until his death in 1870, he wrote a series of novels and stories with extraordinary speed and diligence. He travelled much, but never ceased writing. He gave many public readings from his own works. He visited the United States and Canada in 1842, and in 1867-68 gave readings in the eastern cities of the United States. Wherever he went he was received with acclaim, and he was at all times an object of public attention. His gifts were great, but no one who follows the story of his life can help being struck by his extraordinary capacity for hard work. All his life he laboured more assiduously than any ordinary person can work; and when he stopped writing, with one of his novels unfinished, he was, as far as we can tell, still in the enjoyment of almost undiminished powers as a writer. Dickens had been a sickly boy, often ill and suffering. As soon as he could be put to stand on a chair, so young was he, he had given childish recitations and sung childish songs for the entertainment of his father's and mother's friends. He was, in effect, as a child somewhat spoiled by too much attention. Throughout his mature life he {13} lived at white heat; ordinary quiet days had no attraction for him. He was inclined to think that people treated him unjustly. In truth, one is reluctantly compelled to admit that Dickens was over-sensitive and somewhat quarrelsome. These are, perhaps, the only faults, certainly the main faults, in his character. It can be said with justice, however, that he was continually under strain and pressure from overwork; he was, as well, excitable by temperament.