His benevolence, his active, energising desire for good to all God's creatures, and restless anxiety to be in some way active for the achieving of it, were unceasing and busy in his heart ever and always.
But he had a sufficient capacity for a virtue, which, I think, seems to be moribund among us--the virtue of moral indignation.

Men and their actions were not all much of a muchness to him.

There was none of the indifferentism of that pseudo-philosophic moderation, which, when a scoundrel or a scoundrelly action is on the _tapis_, hints that there is much to be said on both sides.

Dickens hated a mean action or a mean sentiment as one hates something that is physically loathsome to the sight and touch.

And he could be angry, as those with whom he had been angry did not very readily forget.
And there was one other aspect of his moral nature, of which I am reminded by an observation which Mr.Forster records as having been made by Mrs.Carlyle.