Friends of the Dickens Forum, Dickens is so much alive in the imaginations of his readers that again, here on June 9, 2015, [..... and here with your indulgence, dear friends, we will re-send the post of 2012] ..... it is sobering, and almost surprising, to reflect that is the 145th anniversary of Dickens's death. Told and re-told in one biography after the other, the shocking story retains its power to touch us. On Wednesday the 8th, "he put a flourish to the end of the last chapter of the sixth number of *The Mystery of Edwin Drood,* exactly the halfway point of the novel." Having sat down to dinner with Georgina, with whom he was alone save for the servants, writes Fred Kaplan, "Suddenly she noticed a striking change in his color and expression. He responded to her question, was he ill, "'yes, very ill; I have been very ill for the last hour.'" She wanted to send for a doctor immediately. But he said no. He would be all right. He would go on with dinner and he would be all right. And then he would go to London afterward. He began talking "rapidly and indistinctly--mentioning Forster." She begged him to lie down." 'Yes, on the ground,' he answered." He got up from the table. She tried to hold him but he slid through her arms, suddenly, immediately, and totally unconscious." The following day, the 9th, "At 6 P.M. his breathing declined. Ten minutes later a tear "trickled down his cheek," He gave a deep sigh, and stopped breathing altogether." When we read Kaplan and others, the run-up to this sudden death gives it an air of inevitability. It became clear that Dickens had been living at a high pitch of recklessness. His family and friends worried about him, but his spirits and high moments were still very high. His writing for *Drood* shows no signs of a flagging of mind or imaginative power. And so his sudden death, at the time of occurrence, took everyone by surprise. All England mourned. And--need we be told again?--he was only 58 years of age. Patrick McCarthy UC Santa Barbara Editor, Dickns-l