inclined to fall in with the sweeping allegations of Douglas Jerrold and other destructives, and either directly or indirectly to swell their cries for a violent social revolution. It may be, that calm reflection has induced far sounder views; and an instinctive dislike of these ravenous birds of carnage, which seem to scent the coming desolation and croak for their prey, may also have gone far to repel such alliance; and something, too, may have been wrought by the evidence of, and, if report may be credited, direct participation in, the charities of one of the most virtuous, noble-hearted, and Christian women with whose possession this country is blessed. But, however the change has been effected, it would certainly seem "for the time present" to be real. And, now, a truce to these more serious considerations; and let us devote a few words to comments on the humouristic excellencies of this great writer.

Genial sympathy with his fellow-men, and more especially with the pure and lovely, under a homely garb, and wearing the aspect of infantine innocence, is his predominant characteristic. No man, probably, has ever understood and pourtrayed children so well; realizing and dramatically rendering their sweet simplicity, their charming artlessness, and all their winning "words and ways." No man has ever depicted childlike characters, in various aspects and positions, with such truthfulness and delightful geniality, with such noble and genuine admiration and love. From Pickwick" to "Pinch," and the glorious "Captain Cuttle," as we may fitly denominate him, a range of portraitures of this class has been presented to us, unequalled in all the stores of humour of all ages. That an author, thus imbued with a pure and lovely childlike spirit, (and this he must possess who could write thus, despite his keen sagacity, sound sense, and knowledge of the world,) must be eminently Christian, from a moral point of view, will surely not be questioned. Christianity alone has taught us to reverence this simple purity of heart; which we love and admire the more, the more we are constrained to laugh at its singular methods of expression. And here, be it observed, that though imperfection be laughable, downright vice never is so. The failings of the good, whom, taken for all in all, we are compelled "to look up to," whom we long to emulate, at least, in their better qualities, these, despite their incongruity, are rarely painful, especially when they are of an intellectual, not a moral nature. We certainly do not regard our dear friend "Pinch" the less, because his excessive simplicity sometimes moves us to tears of pity; and the intimate reliance of " Cap'en Cuttle" on the wisdom of his friend "Bunsby," though not remarkably sensible, does most undoubtedly enhance the beauty

of his character, and makes us love him, and even esteem him more. The Christian virtues of meekness, faith, unhesitating reliance, charity, are all shadowed forth in the characters of these humouristic heroes; and, in the case of "The Captain," they do further assume a directly devotional development, which some readers may think calculated to throw ridicule on religion, but which to us only appears to hallow it in its most unintellectual guise. Thus, the strange use made by "Cap'en Cuttle" of the Common Prayer Book for devotional purposes, is to us at once affecting and humouristically delightful; and when he makes the wrong responses with such emphasis, and with such a humble and loving intention, we feel that a great practical lesson is conveyed to us, teaching us to bear with all such errors of comprehension, more especially in the poor, as are not inconsistent with the spirit of loving obedience. Let us not be imagined to vindicate pious frauds, because their immediate effect on the poor and lowly may be good, or to palliate any error in the preacher or instructor. Where the Church pays no strict regard to truth, the educated will necessarily cast off all religion; and the poor, too, in time are like to follow the example set by their superiors: as the scenes now enacted in Roman Catholic Germany and other foreign states may teach us. But, to resume, Dickens adds to this remarkable and delightful power of depicting children and childlike spirits, of whose like is "the kingdom of heaven,” a keen perception of the humorous in all classes, as evinced in "Sam Weller," and so many other creatures of his fertile fancy. We do not delight so much in the juvenile and aggressive class of characters of whom Sam is the type, because a certain amount of sauciness and real irreverence of spirit is manifest in their tone and deportment, for which their goodness of heart does not quite make amends: but even these have been softened down of late; for "Mark Tapwell," their latest representative, had more of the humility of a pure and noble heart than any of his predecessors. In " In "Dombey and Son," there is no individual exactly pertaining to this class; unless, indeed, "Miss Susan Nipper, that admirable embodiment of really amiable, but, at first, unpleasant, snappishness, pertain to the category, whose proximity for a long time to her almost too angelic and spiritual mistress, gradually corrects her propensities, and softens her into a most useful and pleasant member of society.

But we are hurrying out of bounds, pressing forward while so much lies behind us. First, before we consider "Dombey and Son," let us cast a rapid glance over the literary career of Mr. Dickens, and let us further enumerate one or two of his general qualities which we have as yet omitted to record. His graphic

his

power of "daguerreotyping" every object he has once beheld, in words, must not be forgotten; more especially his wondrous cognizance of all the ins and outs of the modern "urbs" of the world, which is emphatically "Town," London. Nor must we fail to acknowledge his keen powers of satire, developed in the portraiture of "Pecksniff" and so many other living characters, though on this point he must decidedly yield the palm to his great rival, or rather fellow-workman, Thackeray. Dickens came out at once "forty thousand strong," to speak colloquially. "Pickwick carried us all by storm. It is still esteemed by many best work. We admire it much, but cannot regard it in this light; for the earnestness, pathos, and poetry so conspicuous in his later great creations are almost wholly wanting to it. "Oliver Twist" was, in some respects, an advance; its subject, indeed, was eminently painful, and we must be allowed even to hazard the assertion, that some of the scenes in it, and more especially those connected with love matters, bordered on twaddle; but the exquisite touches of pathos here and there were revelations of beauty for which we were not prepared. Who can ever forget the exquisitely mournful and yet glad parting of the little dying orphan child and Oliver? Then came "Nicholas Nickleby;" we are compelled to pass on hurriedly, though we would willingly say much on each of these creations. As a whole, "Nicholas Nickleby" was a more pleasant work to us than either of those preceding it, though not, perhaps, as laughable as "Pickwick," or as powerful as "Oliver Twist." The story had far more of interest; and, perhaps, a higher artistic unity was attained. There was less, too, of caricature and exaggeration, and more reality in many respects, and a more equable balance of humour and pathos was preserved. Then came "The Old Curiosity Shop," more pathetic than any of its predecessors, though otherwise faulty; and then “Barnaby Rudge," possessing great merits too, and, perhaps, more manifest picturesqueness, more poetry of conception than its elder brethren. And then "Martin Chuzzlewit bodied forth; at first, forced and unnatural, begun by a very pert and "haberdasherlike" attack on all claims of ancestry and lofty birth, but afterwards assuming a special character of its own, sternly instructive in its American scenes, more directly moral than any other work from the same hand, genial and pious-hearted in the delineation of "Pinch" and his ways; as a whole, very delightful, though no doubt faulty also, because containing more of the strained and unnatural than its predecessors. Then came the Christmas books. The sketches of foreign travels we, for the present, pass over, confining ourselves to fiction. In the Christmas and New Year gifts there has decidedly been no advance.

was

The first delighted everybody from its geniality and practical utility. The second was very powerful, but rather bitter; admirable in its way, yet, perhaps, scarcely adapted for its purpose. The third, "The Cricket on the Hearth," though affected in parts, was pleasing as a whole, and in some passages delightful, but very defective in moral; encouraging a sentimental reserve betwixt husband and wife, calculated to effect extensive injury; and further, marvellously improbable. The last, "The Battle of Life," was infinitely below the level of the lowest of the former three; traces of a master-hand might, indeed, still be discerned in it; but improbability was therein developed into the impossible, and a false morbid notion of that holy thing, "self-sacrifice," inculcated, but too much in keeping with the exaggerations of the day; a loved and loving maiden being actually induced to abandon her lover and pretend to run away with another man, to the anguish and all but despair of that lover and her sister and father, in order that the said sister might have a chance of securing for herself that affection which the supposed lost one had cast away. And this childish, not childlike, mean, not noble, desire of the younger maid to rival her elder sister's natural and becoming self-sacrifice, since she was not beloved, is commended and held up by Charles Dickens as a model for the imitation of England's daughters! But let us not dwell on this unhappy theme.

Finally, then, "Dombey and Son" has appeared, in a great degree, to restore our confidence as to the moral soundness of this author and his recovery from morbid tendencies; and, on the other hand, to convince us that his reverence for revelation has deepened and is deepening. The first quarter of this work, up to little Dombey's death, is one of the most exquisite things in all literature; the sequel has great beauties, but suffers much by coming after it. Though we cannot understand the father's horror of the sweet sister, we can well understand why she should fail in replacing little Paul: we cannot attach that vivid interest to her which we did to the odd and yet so natural child, whose life and death are, from beginning to end, in such wonderful keeping with one another, and constitute in themselves a work of the highest art. But we have no intention of devoting a careful criticism to "Dombey and Son :" it is, in some respects, better written, though with more apparent labour, than any of the works that have gone before it. Its general purpose, to teach the valuelessness, in themselves, of the greatest earthly possessions, is highly to be commended; and the character of "Mr. Dombey," which elucidates this moral, is drawn with a master-hand, though the portraiture is exaggerated. "Mrs. Dombey" we think overdrawn, and her line of conduct appears to us most unnatural.

Such things may have happened in real life, but "truth is stronger than fiction:" that is, incongruities are discovered in life which may not be permitted in works of art. The probable alone is the relatively true; though, practically speaking, the all but impossible may have occurred. "Mr. Toots" is a delightful individuality in his way, and his union with "Miss Susan Nipper," despite her comparatively low origin, is highly satisfactory. Finally, "Dombey and Son" is, on many points, an advance; and, taken as a whole, evidence to us of yet higher powers residing in our author than he has till now exhibited : not that we believe he will exhibit these in straining after the romantic and poetical. No; unless correct principles, moral and intellectual, religious and political, broaden and deepen within his mind and soul, he will, in our opinion, retrograde in future works. But so much is certain; there is no standing still for Charles Dickens: if he adds to his stock of realized truths he will advance; if he does not, he will be driven to take refuge in exaggeration to avoid repetition; and then is sure to decline, perhaps to fall.

And now let us turn our attention to his great, in some respects, indeed, greater, contemporary, who, however, cedes the palm to him in various qualities of high art. For, first, Thackeray, though he has an accurate perception of the outward world in his way, cannot paint and describe as Dickens can; he has not that strong instinct of locality; he rather tells us what has happened than places all the scenes actually before us, as does the author of "Dombey and Son." Then, again, though he writes in the spirit of love, and though he has decidedly more of the serpent's wisdom, he is comparatively deficient in the harmlessness of the dove. He does not understand childhood in its ideal and ofttimes real purity and innocence, as does Dickens; his is a harsher, sterner view. He directs our attention to that "original sin" which manifests itself in the young child at so early a period: he has given us, indeed, one wonderful childlike and yet manly character, superior to any thing Dickens has achieved in that line, we mean "Dobbins ;" but "Amelia," though meant to be innocent and amiable, is really mean and selfish; and, after all his exaggerated encomiums, the author is compelled to confess as much himself. There is not much unity of design in " Vanity Fair," for to this we propose to confine our remarks. The "Snob Papers," the "Yellow-Plush Papers," the "Travels, Irish and Egyptian," "Jeames's Diary," "Christmas Tales," and various papers contributed to "Fraser's," have possessed great merit in their way, though this merit has been generally tinctured by flippancy, and sometimes attainted by downright want of taste; but they fall far below the level of this one great work of fiction, "Vanity Fair." It is called "a novel