young and sensitive minds should be reverent in the sight of so great a mystery; he should touch with a delicate finger that "fearful and wonderful" creation. The precious seed-vessel must open as it will, evolving its treasures one by one; to tear it open is to destroy that, which, left to its own soft skies and suns to perfect, is indestructible. We treat such things lightly; but in these schools it is that young minds may receive a taint, before they know that a breath has passed over them. There is less danger, because less temptation in the schools of worldly wisdom,

"Where knowledge ill begun in cold remark

On outward things, with formal inference ends."

III. But a third question arises, and one which this paper can only induce the reader to answer for himself. How far is the exhibition of grossness and violence profitable? Docs it practically attain its end in creating an active abhorrence of evil? If not, is it not trifling with dreadful subjects?

The common objection to such a doubt, is the vaunted excellence of a knowledge of the world, as it is called; and how can such a knowledge be gained without the aid of such vivid pictures as Mr. Dickens and Mr. Warren* afford? Ignorance, it is urged, is not innocence, and the like. Before an answer is sought for to this objection, let it be considered by whom it is urged. Are they not often those very persons who can least afford to touch pitch? Men, who palpably do not shrink from, or feel uncomfortable at the prospect? But if it does come sometimes from higher authority, it seems to be a sufficiently practical answer to say, that meeting with grossness and pollution in the world is another thing

*The Diary of a late Physician.

from seeking it. In the latter case we are presuming on our own stedfastness, and venturing to throw ourselves at least into scenes from which we have as yet been preserved by a power greater than ourselves.

But at any rate the objection makes for the truth of our assertion, viz. that something more than entertainment is the end of these writings. Thus then besides the first question, whether such scenes should be exhibited in detail at all, we must consider the manner in which it is done.

An attempt to distinguish between the main features of Mr. Dickens' scenes, and those of a like nature, as Shakspere's for instance, or Sir Walter Scott's, would here necessarily be very imperfect; but there are some few points which strike the reader at first view. It has been observed* that the grossness of Falstaff is carried off by the activity of his intellect. His humour prevents us from dwelling on his obscenity and dishonesty; "while men of all sorts take a pride to gird at me, I am not only witty in myself, but the cause that wit is in other men." Though our impression of him is that of a wicked man, yet we are never excited. Shakspere is always above his subject, however great it be. He paints men just as they are found in life, not divided by broad contrasts, and exaggerated lines of character, but just by those natural distinctions, which though they make individuals, do not exclude sympathy and association. We see the link between Hal and the "reverend vice," and even between them and Bardolph and Pistol. But who should confuse them? Besides, when we can trace it, we see a silver thread running through the whole story. For all that ordinary readers know, the evenings at the Boar's Head,

*C. Knight's Pictorial Shakspere.

thelast year's pippins, and the dish of carraways,” in Justice Shallow's orchard, may be as essential to the perfect piece as the speeches of Hotspur and Glendower. But to be able to discover this, we must rise with the writer above his subject. Without it we can only guess at the course of the story. The undulating stream catches only here and there the light, and though its own course be one and unbroken, it cannot be seen continuously but by those who can overlook all the dips and risings between which it flows. But still there may be more in this matter than is generally considered. Some of our readers may feel that they cannot dismiss it thus hastily in a temper of blind reverence for Shakspere. It would be a great thing to justify these scenes, (if possible,) on their own merit, not to leave that to the feelings of each individual reader. However, in default of this, the motto at the head of this paper must suffice for the occasion. Few candid readers will deny that Mr. Dickens' scenes leave different impressions from those of Shakspere and Sir Walter Scott. In the former, there is grossness and violence, vice made pitiable by its sufferings, good humour and ridicule, kind nature, and a few bright rays from a better world. The only persons introduced of a better caste have not a sufficiently positive character to relieve or elevate the reader from the heavy and melancholy sights around him. We have heard it remarked that Mr. Dickens has not drawn one woman worthy of the name, unless poor Nell be excepted. Wretchedness is represented in the mass, in broad shade and little light; which exaggeration is so great as to be unnatural, and therefore has only present effect. It is no answer to this to say, that the author writes from facts, and has chapter and verse for what he says. A literal copy may be, in com

position, an exaggeration. There is an art controlling and elevating nature; and in this art Mr. Dickens fails.

The reader desires a relief whether in prose or in poetry, Mr. Wordsworth says that in the latter, the metre itself is a diversion; it prevents the occurrence of pain without pleasure. Metre* and rhythm, while they are a veil of reserve thrown over the violent emotions of the writer, and the conductor of thoughts, the very strength and rapidity of which would make their utterance otherwise confused, have a similar effect on the reader. And in prose there are substitutes for metre. The very mechanism and rules by which the story is conducted, the scenery, the versatility of the writer in pourtraying character, the pauses and checks, which are given by the changes of scene, when skilfully managed, hold the reader back from the catastrophe. Besides the humour of Caleb Balderstone, (which has at least a tone of higher education than Sam Weller's,) the mystery thrown over the whole story by "Auld Alice," at the beginning, is a relief from the otherwise oppressive sense of pain at the end. Even the little scenes with Lucy and her favourite brother, give a sweet melancholy to her character.

And who thinks of Romeo and Juliet, but as a tale sweet beyond expression? Pain is not the feeling uppermost. Their tomb is beautiful, and

"A thing of beauty is a joy for ever;
Its loveliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness, but always keep

A bower quiet for us, and a sleep

Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing."

Now the only relief, we have observed, which Mr.

* See an article in the British Critic of 1838 or 1839 on the life of Sir W. Scott.

Dickens affords, is his acute sense of the ridiculous, and his kind nature. The former, in spite of its activity, can hardly be said to throw a warm sunlight on the scene; nor can it pretend to the high claims of Falstaff's intellect. Again, his kind nature is scarcely positive enough to relieve his reader from the deadening sense of the loathsomeness around him. It extends to all, from Nell to Tom Short, and the dancing dogs; and thus is too nearly allied to the ridiculous to be quite a sufficient guide through the haunts of misery and vice. Besides,

is it too much to say, that it as often sinks into an indolent and undistinguishing sympathy with suffering, as it rises into a bold and self-forgetting benevolence?

To many of our readers these remarks will appear severe; to some, we fear, unwarrantable. As to the former, let them remember, that the simple intention of this paper has been to raise the question of the practical good or evil of such publications, which the reader must answer for himself, according to Mr. Southey's rule. Thus a minute analysis of their merits as well as their defects was not needed. Omission of them does not constitute a denial of their existence. But a yet more serious misapprehension may occur. Once for all, then, let it be stated, that we have no thought of associating Mr. Dickens with Sir E. Bulwer and Lord Byron, in whose company he has been accidentally mentioned. He is free from the sensualism and idle sentiment of the one; he does not paint profligate gentlemen, and "women who can sympathize with virtue without being virtuous." And unless kindly feeling and sympathy can exist together with their contraries, he is as far from the pride and selfishness of the other. Yet at the same time it is quite possible that in the matter which he treats, the exciting apparatus