CHARLES DICKENS. front, "is a room in which an idea for a steeple occurred that I may one day give to the world. We work here, my dear Martin. Some architects have been bred in this room: a few, I think, Mr. Pinch ?" Tom fully assented; and, what is more, fully believed it. 66 "You see," said Mr. Pecksniff, passing the candle rapidly from roll to roll of paper, some traces of our doings here. Salisbury Cathedral from the north. From the south. From the east. From the west. From the south-east. From the nor'-west. A bridge. An almshouse. A jail. A church. A powder-magazine. A winecellar. A portico. A summer-house. An ice-house. Plans, elevations, sections, every kind of thing. And this," he added, having by this time reached another large chamber on the same story, with four little beds in it, this is your room, of which Mr. Pinch here is the quiet sharer. A southern aspect; a charming prospect; Mr. Pinch's little library, you perceive; everything agreeable and appropriate. If there is any additional comfort you would desire to have here at any time, pray mention it. Even to strangers-far less to you, my dear Martin-there is no restriction on that point." It was undoubtedly true, and may be stated in corroboration of Mr. Pecksniff, that any pupil had the most liberal permission to mention anything in this way that suggested itself to his fancy. Some young gentlemen had gone on mentioning the very same thing for five years without ever being stopped. 495 heavenly sky; sweet fresh air; merry bells. Oh, glorious! glorious! "What's to-day?" cried Scrooge, calling downward to a boy in Sunday clothes, who perhaps had loitered in to look about him. "Eh?" returned the boy, with all his might of wonder. "What's to-day, my fine fellow?" said Scrooge. "To-day," replied the boy. "Why, CHRISTMAS-DAY.' "It's Christmas-Day!" said Scrooge to himself. "I haven't missed it. The Spirits have done it all in one night. They can do anything they like. Of course they can. Of course they can. Hallo, my fine fellow !" "Hallo!" returned the boy. "Do you know the Poulterer's in the next street but one, at the corner?" Scrooge inquired. "I should hope I did," replied the lad. "An intelligent boy!" said Scrooge. "A remarkable boy! Do you know whether they've sold the prize Turkey that was hanging up there ?-Not the little prize Turkey: the big one?" "What, the one as big as me?" returned the boy. "What a delightful boy!" said Scrooge. "It's a pleasure to talk to him. Yes, my buck!" "It's hanging there now," replied the boy. "Is it?" said Scrooge. "Go and buy it." "WALK-ER!" exclaimed the boy. "No, no," said Scrooge, “ I am in earnest. Go and buy it, and tell 'em to bring it here, that I may give them the directions where to take it. Come back with the man, and I'll give you a shilling. Come back with him "The domestic assistants," said Mr. Peck-in less than five minutes, and I'll give halfsniff, "sleep above; and that is all." After a-crown!" which, and listening complacently as he went to the encomiums passed by his young friend on the arrangements generally, he led the way to the parlour again. Martin Chuzzlewit, Chap. v. SCROOGE'S CHRISTMAS. "I don't know what day of the month it is," said Scrooge; "I don't know how long I have been among the Spirits. I don't know anything. I'm quite a baby. Never mind. I don't care. I'd rather be a baby. Hallo! Whoop! Hallo here!" He was checked in his transports by the churches ringing out the lustiest peals he had ever heard. Clash, clash, hammer; ding. dong, bell. Bell, dong, ding; hammer, clang, clash! Oh, glorious, glorious! Running to the window, he opened it, and put out his head. No fog, no mist; clear, bright, jovial, stirring, cold; cold, piping for the blood to dance to; golden sunlight; The boy was off like a shot. He must have had a steady hand at a trigger who could have got a shot off half so fast. "I'll send it to Bob Cratchit's," whispered Scrooge, rubbing his hands, and splitting with a laugh. "He shan't know who sends it. It's twice the size of Tiny Tim. Joe Miller never made such a joke as sending it to Bob's will be!" The hand in which he wrote the address was not a steady one; but write it he did, somehow, and went down-stairs to open the street door, ready for the coming of the poulterer's man. As he stood there, waiting his arrival, the knocker caught his eye. "I shall love it as long as I live!" cried Scrooge, patting it with his hand. “I scarcely ever looked at it before. What an honest expression it has in its face! It's a wonderful knocker!—Here's the Turkey! Hallo! Whoop! How are you? Merry Christmas!" It was a turkey! He never could have stood upon his legs, that bird. He would have snapped 'em short off in a minute, like sticks of sealing-wax. Why, it's impossible to carry that to Camden Town," said Scrooge. "You must have a cab." The chuckle with which he said this, and the chuckle with which he paid for the Turkey, and the chuckle with which he paid for the cab, and the chuckle with which he recompensed the boy, were only to be exceeded by the chuckle with which he sat down breathless in his chair again, and chuckled till he cried. Shaving was not an easy task, for his hand continued to shake very much; and shaving requires attention even when you don't dance while you are at it. But if he had cut the end of his nose off, he would have put a piece of sticking-plaster over it, and been quite satisfied. "Fred!" says Scrooge. Dear heart alive, how his niece by mar riage started. Scrooge had forgotten, for the moment, about her sitting in the corner with the footstool, or he wouldn't have done it, on any account. "Why, bless my soul!" cried Fred. "Who's that?" "It's I. Your uncle Scrooge. I have come to dinner. Will you let me in, Fred?" Let him in! It's a mercy he didn't shake his arm off. He was at home in five minutes. Nothing could be heartier. His niece looked just the same. So did Topper when he came. So did the plump sister when she came. So did every one when they came. Wonderful party, wonderful games, wonderful unanimity, wonderful happiness. But he was early at the office next morning. Oh, he was early there. If he could only be there first, and catch Bob Cratchit coming late. That was the thing he had set his heart upon. He dressed himself "all in his best," and at last got out into the streets. The people And he did it; yes, he did! The clock were by this time pouring forth, as he had struck nine. No Bob. A quarter past. No seen them with the Ghost of Christmas Bob. He was full eighteen minutes and a Present; and walking with his hands be-half behind his time. Scrooge sat with his hind him, Scrooge regarded every one with door wide open, that he might see him come a delighted smile. He looked so irresistibly into the Tank. pleasant, in a word, that three or four goodhumoured fellows said "Good-morning, sir! A merry Christmas to you!" And Scrooge said often afterward, that of all the blithe sounds he had ever heard, those were the blithest in his cars. He went to church, and walked about the streets, and watched the people hurrying to and fro, and patted the children on the head, and questioned beggars, and looked down into kitchens of houses, and up to the windows; and found that everything could give him pleasure. He had never dreamed that any walk--that anything-could give him so much happiness. In the afternoon he turned his steps toward his nephew's house. He passed the door a dozen times before he had the courage to go up and knock. But he made a dash, and did it. "Is your master at home, my dear?" said Scrooge. "Nice girl! Very." 66 Yes, sir." "Where is he, my love?" said Scrooge. "He's in the dining-room, sir, along with mistress. I'll show you up-stairs, if you please." "Thank'ee. He knows me," said Scrooge, with his hand already on the dining-room lock. "I'll go in here, my dear." Ile turned it gently, and sidled his face in, round the door. They were looking at the table (which was spread out in great array); for these young housekeepers are always nervous on such points, and like to see that everything is right. His hat was off before he opened the door, his comforter too. He was on his stool in a jiffy, driving away with his pen, as if he were trying to overtake nine o'clock. "Hallo!" growled Scrooge, in his accustomed voice as near as he could feign it. "What do you mean by coming here at this time of day ?" "I am very sorry, sir," said Bob. "I am behind my time." "You are!" repeated Scrooge. "Yes. I think you are. Step this way, sir, if you please." "It's only once a year, sir," plended Bob, appearing from the Tank. "It shall not be repeated. I was making rather merry, yesterday, sir." Now, I'll tell you what, my friend," said Scrooge, "I am not going to stand this sort of thing any longer. And therefore," he continued, leaping from his stool, and giving Bob such a dig in the waistcoat that he staggered back into the Tank again: "and therefore I am about to raise your salary !" Bob trembled, and got a little nearer to the ruler. Ile had a momentary idea of knocking Scrooge down with it, holding him, and calling to the people in the court for help and a strait waistcoat. A merry Christmas, Bob!" said Scrooge, with an earnestness that could not be mistaken, as he clapped him on the back. "A merrier Christmas, Bob, my good fellow, than I have given you for many a year! I'll raise your salary, and endeavour to assist CHARLES DICKENS. your struggling family, and we will discuss your affairs this very afternoon over a Christmas bowl of smoking bishop, Bob! Make up the fires and buy another coal-scuttle before you dot another i, Bob Cratchit!" Scrooge was better than his word. He did it all, and infinitely more; and to Tiny Tim, who did Nor die, he was a second father. He became as good a friend, as good a master, and as good a man, as the good old city knew, or any other good old city, town, or borough in the good old world. Some people laughed to see the alteration in him, but he let them laugh, and little heeded them; for he was wise enough to know that nothing ever happened on this globe, for good, at which some people did not have their fill of laughter in the outset; and knowing that such as these would be blind any way, he thought it quite as well that they should wrinkle up their eyes in grins, as have the malady in less attractive forms. His own heart laughed: and that was quite enough for him. He had no further intercourse with Spirits, but lived upon the Total Abstinence Principle ever afterward; and it was always said of him, that he knew how to keep Christmas well, if any man alive possessed the knowledge. May that be truly said of us, and all of us! And so, as Tiny Tim observed, God bless Us, Every One! Christmas Carol, Stave 5. MATRIMONY. 497 "Never mind. It's all for my own good; vich is the reflection vith wich the penitent school-boy comforted his feelin's ven they flogged him," rejoined the old gentleman. The buxom female shook her head with a compassionate and sympathizing air; and, appealing to Sam, inquired whether his father really ought not to make an effort to keep up, and not to give way to that lowness of spirits? "As I don't rekvire any o' your conversation just now, mum, vill you have the goodness to re-tire?" inquired Mr. Weller, in a grave and steady voice. "Well. Mr. Weller," said the buxom female, "I'm sure I only spoke to you out of kindness." "Wery likely, mum," replied Mr. Weller. "Samivel, show the lady out, and shut the door arter her." This hint was not lost upon the buxom female; for she at once left the room, and slammed the door behind her, upon which Mr. Weller, senior, falling back in his chair in a violent perspiration, said: "Sammy, if I wos to stop here alone vun veek-only vun veek, my boy-that ere 'ooman 'ud marry me by force and wiolence afore it was over." "Wot! Is she so wery fond on you?" inquired Sam. Fond!" replied his father, "I can't keep her avay from me. If I was locked up in a fire-proof chest, vith a patent Brahmin, she'd find means to get at me, Sammy." "Wot a thing it is, to be so sought arter!" observed Sam, smiling. While the old gentleman was thus engaged, a very buxom-looking cook, dressed "I don't take no pride out on it, Sammy," in mourning, who had been bustling about replied Mr. Weller, poking the fire vehe in the bar, glided into the room, and bestow-mently: "it's a horrid sitiwation. I'm acing many smirks of recognition upon Sam, tiwally drove out o' house and home by it. silently stationed herself at the back of his The breath was scarcely out o' your poor father's chair, and announced her presence mother-in-law's body ven vun old 'ooman by a slight cough; the which, being disre- sends me a pot o' jam, and another a pot o' garded, was followed by a louder one. jelly, and another brews a blessed large jug "Hallo!" said the elder Mr. Weller, drop-o' camomile-tea, vich she brings in vith her ping the poker as he looked round, and hastily drew his chair away. "Wot's the matter now?" "Have a cup of tea, there's a good soul," replied the buxom female, coaxingly. "I von't," replied Mr. Weller, in a somewhat boisterous manner. "I'll see you" Mr. Weller hastily checked himself, and added in a low tone, "furder fust." "Oh, dear, dear! How adversity does change people!" said the lady, looking upwards. "It's the only thing 'twixt this and the doctor as shall change my condition," muttered Mr. Weller. "I really never saw a man so cross," said the buxom female. own hands." Mr. Weller paused with an aspect of intense disgust, and, looking round, added in a whisper: "They wos all widders, Sammy, all on 'em, 'cept the camomile-tea one, as wos a single young lady o' fifty-three." Sam gave a comical look in reply, and the old gentleman having broken an obstinate lump of coal, with a countenance expressive of as much earnestness and malice as if it had been the head of one of the widows last mentioned, said: "In short, Sammy, I feel that I ain't safe anyveres but on the box." 66 How are you safer there than anyveres else?" interrupted Sam. "Cos a coachman's a privileged indiwidual," replied Mr. Weller, looking fixedly at his son. "Vell, there's somethin' in that," said Sam. "If your gov'ner had been a coachman," reasoned Mr. Weller, "do you suppose as that 'ere jury 'ud ever ha' conwicted him, s' posin' it possible as the matter could ha' gone to that extremity? They durstn't ha' done it." "Wy not?" said Sam, rather despairingly. "Wy not?" rejoined Mr. Weller; "cos it 'ud ha' gone agin their consciences. A reg'lar coachman's a sort o' con-nectin' link betwixt singleness and matrimony, and every practicable man knows it." "Wot! You mean they're gen'ral fav'rites, and nobody takes advantage on 'em, p'raps?" said Sam. Ilis father nodded. Europe in 1833-34, and again, 1837-38, and 1852, removed to the city of New York in 1845, and died there December 17, 1871. The Italian Sketch-Book, by an American, Phila., 1835, 12mo, 3d edit., New York, 1849, 12mo; Isabel, or Sicily, a Pilgrimage, Phila., 1839, 12mo, Lond., 1846, 12mo, New York, 1852, 12mo; Rambles and Reveries, 1841, 12mo; Thoughts on the Poets, New York, 1846, 12mo, Lond., 1849, fp. 8vo, New York, 1851, 12mo, in German, Marburg, 1856, 12mo; Artist Life, or, Sketches of [23] American Painters, New York, 1847, 12mo; Characteristics of Literature Illustrated by the Genius of [22] Distinguished Men, Phila., 1849, 12mo: Second Series, 1851, 12mo; The Óptimist, a Series of Essays, New York, 1850, 12mo; The Life of Silas Talbot, New York, 1850, 18mo; Poems, Boston, 1851, 16mo; A Memorial of Horatio Greenough, New York, 1853, 12mo; Mental Portraits, or, Studies of Character, Lond.. 1853, 12mo; Leaves from the Diary of a Dreamer, Lond., 1853, 12mo (anon.); A Month in England, New York, 1853, 12mo: Essays, Biographical and Critical, or Studies of Character, Bost., 1857, Svo (includes all of the Mental Portraits save Irving and Hawthorne, with other Papers); The Character and Portraits of Washington, Illustrated with all the Prominent Portraits, New York, 1859, 4to; The Rebellion its Latent Causes and True Significance, New York, 1861, sq. 16mo, pp. 48; A Sheaf of Verse Bound for the Fair, New York, 1864. p. 8vo, pp. 48; America and her Commenta"Wery good, Samivel, a dispensation if tors, with a Critical Sketch of Travel in the you like it better," returned Mr. Weller: “I United States, New York, 1864, cr. 8vo; call it a dispensary, and it's always writ up The Criterion, New York, 1866, 16mo, Lond.; so at the places vere they gives you physic The Collector, 1868, cr. 8vo; Maga Papers for nothin' in your own bottles; that's all." about Paris, New York, 1867, 16mo; Book With these words, Mr. Weller re-filled of the Artists: American Artist Life, New and re-lighted his pipe, and once more sum-York, 1868, r. 12mo, large paper, 150 copies, moning up a meditative expression of coun- r. 8vo, largest paper, with photographs, 25 tenance, continued as follows: copies, 4to, and 30 Photographic Portraits for illustration, r. 8vo; Memoir of John Pendleton Kennedy, 1871, 2 vols. 8vo. Also minor publications, for which, and notices of preceding, see Allibone's Critical Dictionary of English Literature, iii. 2466-67. "How it ever come to that 'ere pass," resumed the parent Weller, "I can't say. Wy it is that long-stage coachmen possess such insiniwations, and is always looked up to,a-dored I may say,-by every young 'ooman in every town he vurks through, I don't know. I only know that so it is. It's a reg'lation of natur,-a dispensary, as your poor mother-in-law used to say." "A dispensation," said Sam, correcting the old gentleman. "Therefore, my boy, as I do not see the adwisability o' stoppin' here to be marri'd vether I vant to or not, and as at the same time I do not vish to separate myself from them interestin' members o' society altogether, I have come to the determination o' drivin' the Safety, and puttin' up vunce more at the Bell Savage, vich is my natural born element, Sammy." Pickwick, Chap. 52. HENRY THEODORE TUCK- a poet, essayist, critic, and biographer, was "No more interesting and instructive books can be found in our literature than Tuckerwan's Thoughts on the Poets, The Optimist, Characteristics of Literature, and Essays, Biographical and Critical. The two latter would be excellent books for the higher classes in schools; and the four should be in every district library in the land."-C. D. CLEVELAND: Compend, of Amer. Lit., 1859, 675, n. "He is an agreeable Essayist and a pleasing poet. The tendencies of his mind are strongly opposed to the false and chilling philosophy which sees nothing good but in material things which have a market value."-CHARLES KNIGHT: HalfHours with the Best Authors, Third Quarter, Thirty HENRY THEODORE TUCKERMAN. 499 Fourth Week, No. 232: A Defence of Enthusiasm of her children. "I have three here, and (by H. T. Tuckerman). A DEFENCE OF ENTHUSIASM. Let us recognize the beauty and power of true enthusiasm ; and, whatever we may do to enlighten ourselves and others, guard against checking or chilling a single earnest sentiment. For what is the human mind, however enriched with acquisitions or strengthened by exercise, unaccompanied by an ardent and sensitive heart? Its light may illumine, but it cannot inspire. It may shed a cold and moonlight radiance upon the path of life, but it warms no flower into bloom; it sets free no ice-bound fountains. Dr. Johnson used to say, that an obstinate rationality prevented him from being a Papist. Does not the same cause prevent many of us from unburdening our hearts and breathing our devotions at the shrines of Nature? There are influences which environ humanity too subtle for the dissecting-knife of reason. In our better moments we are clearly conscious of their presence, and if there is any barrier to their blessed agency it is a formalized intellect. Enthusiasm, too, is the very life of gifted spirits. Ponder the lives of the glorious in art or literature through all ages. What are they but records of toil and sacrifices supported by the earnest hearts of their votaries? Dante composed his immortal poem amid exile and suffering, prompted by the noble ambition of vindicating himself to posterity: and the sweetest angel of his paradise is the object of his early love. The best countenances the old painters have bequeathed to us are those of cherished objects intimately associated with their fame. The face of Raphael's mother blends with the angelic beauty of all his Madonnas. Titian's daughter and the wife of Corregio again and again meet in their works. Well does Foscolo call the fine arts the children of love. The deep interest with which the Italians hail gifted men inspires them to the mightiest efforts. National enthusiasm is the great nursery of genius. When Cellini's statue of Perseus was first exhibited on the Piazzi at Florence it was surrounded for days by an admiring throng, and hundreds of tributary sonnets were placed upon its pedestal. Petrarch was crowned with laurel at Rome for his poetical labours, and crowds of the unlettered may still be seen on the Mole at Naples, listening to a reader of Tasso. Reason is not the only interpreter of life. The fountain of action is in the feelings. Religion itself is but a state of the affection. I once met a beautiful peasant woman in the valley of the Arno, and asked the number Lord two in Paradise," she calmly replied, with a tone and manner of touching and grave simplicity. Her faith was of the heart. Constituted as human nature is, it is in the highest degree natural that rare powers should be excited by voluntary and spontaneous appreciation. Who would not feel urged to high achievement if he knew that every beauty his canvas displayed, or every perfect note he breathed, or every true inspiration of his lyre, would find an instant response in a thousand breasts? Brougham calls the word "impossible" the mother-tongue of little souls. What, I ask, can counteract self-distrust, and sustain the higher efforts of our nature, but enthusiasm ? More of this element would call forth the genius and gladden the life of New England. While the mere intellectual man speculates, and the mere man of acquisition cites authority, the man of feeling acts, realizes, puts forth his complete energies. His earnest and strong heart will not let his mind rest; he is urged by an inward impulse to embody his thoughts. He must have sympathy; he must have results. And nature yields to the magician, acknowledging him as her child. The noble statue comes forth from the marble, the speaking figure stands out from the canvas, the electric chain is struck in the bosoms of his fellows. They receive his ideas, respond to his appeal, and reciprocate his love. Constant supplies of knowledge to the intellect, and the exclusive culture of reason, may, indeed, make a pedant and logician; but the probability is, these benefits, if such they are, will be gained at the expense of the soul. Sentiment, in its broadest acceptation, is as essential to the true enjoyment and grace of life as mind. Technical information, and that quickness of apprehension which New Englanders call smartness, are not so valuable to a human being as sensibility to the beautiful, and a spontaneous appreciation of the divine influences which fill the realms of vision, of sound, and the world of action and feeling. The tastes, affections, and sentiments are more absolutely the man than his talents or acquirements. And yet it is by and through the latter that we are apt to estimate the character, of which they are, at best, fragmentary evidences. It is remarkable that, in the New Testament, allusions to the intellect are so rare, while the "heart" and the "spirit we are of" are ever appealed to. Sympathy is the "golden key" which unlocks the treasures of wisdom; and this depends upon vividness and warmth of feeling. It is therefore that Tranio advises,-"in brief, sir, study what you most effect." A code of |
