tials. Had George, however, dared to express his real sentiments, he would have preferred being left alone, hoping thus to escape the watchful eyes of those who could not do otherwise than feel pained by his conduct, and, above all, to be freed from the affectionate remonstrances of his sister, which he dreaded more than anything beside.

The eventful morning came, and Lucy, when arrayed in her pure white dress, appeared more beautiful than ever to her admiring lover. She took her accustomed place at the breakfast table, and the only difference observable in her countenance was, that her usually pale cheek was slightly flushed with the excitement of the occasion. Mrs Weldon was in good spirits, and George seemed little less pleased than Walter himself. Their only guests were an elderly man who had been intimate with the family for many years, and his youthful daughter, who were to perform the offices of father and bride's-maid. Never did a marriage seem to promise more durable happiness, though it was without the festivities which accompany the nuptials of the high-born and the wealthy. Walter, more from the desire to shield his retiring bride from vulgar curiosity than from pride, had engaged a coach to convey them to the church, and Lucy had just finally arranged her attire, when a vehicle drove up to the door. Ere she stepped forth to enter it, she turned to imprint a kiss of affection on the cheek of that beloved parent who was now about to yield her up to the protection of another, and as she did so, a scuffle in the passage attracted her attention, and caused a dread of she knew not what to so far overcome her, that she sunk almost fainting into her mother's arms.

What means this tumult?' cried Walter, darting towards the door, which George had opened; but his anger was exchanged for alarm, when he beheld the young man within the firm grasp of two sturdy fellows, who were evidently officers of justice.

'George Weldon is our prisoner,' exclaimed one of them, addressing the inquirer; and we have a warrant to search this house.'

He has only made himself expert at counterfeiting people's signatures,' returned the officer with a laugh.

Can this be true?' exclaimed Walter in breathless agitation, and the mysterious transaction which had so nearly caused the loss of his own character arose to his recollection as he spoke. George still maintained a dogged silence. The wedding party had by this time congregated at the parlour door, and their appearance denoting the ceremony which was about to have taken place, the men, supposing their prisoner to be the intended bridegroom, rudely commented on the change of scene which had occurred. Intreating them, for the sake of the females, to spare their taunts, Walter now hastened to the terrified Lucy, and endeavoured to dissipate her fears. Mrs Weldon could not believe that her son had been guilty of the crime of which he was accused, and in piteous accents begged of her intended son-in-law to accompany him, and do his utmost to save him from the ignominy of being imprisoned. 'If George can prove his innocence, he has nothing to fear,' pleaded the young man; but a sad presentiment filled his own mind, though he strove to buoy up others with hope.

The house now underwent a thorough search, and within the covers of an old pocket-book, which was found in the chamber of the unhappy young man, a number of pieces of paper were discovered, upon which mitations of signatures had been made. Walter endeaFoured to prevent this circumstance coming to Lucy's knowledge; but in vain; and so powerful was the shock her feelings sustained, that she was carried fainting from the scene of tumult to the house of their neighbour and friend Mr. Jones. The grief of the mother was not less

intense; already had she been a severe sufferer from the misconduct of others. Her married life had been a daily martyrdom, yet never had she endured anything so poignant as the present calamity. On Lucy's return to consciousness, she saw the necessity there was for the exercise of firmness on her part, that she might become her parent's comforter; and whilst disrobing herself of her bridal habiliments, and setting aside the few things which served to remind them of the happiness they had that morning anticipated, her mind was busily occupied in endeavouring to form some plan whereby she might serve her still tenderly-beloved, though unworthy brother. Walter returned, without bringing any cheering intelligence. The delinquent had been put into close confinement, there to await his trial at the next sessions.

We will pass over the period of intense solicitude which preceded the trial, and the still more harrowing anxieties which attended that event. Suffice it to say, that every exertion which affection could suggest was made for George. His mother and sister sacrificed almost all the worldly wealth they possessed to provide able counsel, which succeeded so far as to procure some mitigation of the sentence; and fourteen years of banishment was awarded him. In the course of the examination, the fraudulent act committed against Mr Gratton became known; but that gentleman, being aware of the intended connexion between Walter Ormond and Lucy, generously forbore to appear against him for their sakes.

No language can describe the feelings of the wretched family when the sentence was passed, and all hope of acquittal was over. The lacerated heart of the mother could bear no more: she fell a victim to the intensity of her grief, leaving her afflicted and orphan child to the protection of the high-principled young man, whose love had been but further cemented by the disgrace and misery which had overwhelmed them. It was the dying woman's last request, that the marriage of the young people should take place as soon as her remains were consigned to the grave; and happy was it for the sorrow-stricken girl that she possessed one faithful friend in this hour of deep distress. Sad, however, were the feelings with which she laid aside, for one day only, the habiliments of mourning, and arrayed herself in that bridal dress which seemed destined to be worn in sorrow.

Such are the scenes of misery, such is the devastation, a career of vice too often produces. The guilty cannot suffer alone; for one wrong action may bring a train of evils upon the innocent, the extent of which it is impossible to compute.

There was one other gentle breast which had received a wound not less severe than that Lucy had experienced, though it bled in secret. Catherine Jones, the daughter of Mrs Weldon's aged friend, had from childhood regarded George with affection, having, with the wilful blindness of love, drawn a veil over the imperfections of his character. Though no engagement had ever existed between them, she had reason to believe that the attachment was reciprocal, and her young heart had fondly anticipated a future of happiness as his wife. How keen, therefore, was her disappointment when she discovered that his principles were corrupted! But even when he became an outcast and an exile, she withheld not her sympathy, but pleaded his youth, and the evil example of his father, as an apology for the crimes of which he had been guilty.

It was nearly fifteen years subsequent to the period of George Weldon's banishment, that a man in the meridian of life, but whose wasted form, wan aspect, and grizzled hair, bespoke premature decay, stood on the threshold of the house which had once been the abode of the Weldons, and in a tremulous voice inquired if that family still resided there. The young woman to whom the question was addressed, after replying somewhat discourteously in the negative, shut the door abruptly in his face, deeming his appearance too suspicious

chubby sort of woman, whom in his happier moments he calls 'Dot,' on account of her diminutive appearance -a toymaker and a toy-merchant, both dealers in fancy articles, and having their own fancies reacted on by their occupation-a sailor youth, who has disguised himself as a deaf old gentleman—a blind girl, his sister, and daughter of Caleb Plummer, the toymaker already mentioned and May Fielding and her mother, a decayed gentlewoman, still tenacious of her gentility. These unpromising elements, however, are combined with so much skill and effect, as to impress us anew with an old conviction, that, in the hands of a true artist, there is nothing which may not be made interesting and pleasing. There is also no little delicacy of sentiment, situation, and character, involved in the treatment; and the whole is so evidently pervaded with a moral purpose, that it fails not to command at least the reader's respect. We feel, perhaps, this more than admiration for the talent displayed.

It will be convenient, before proceeding to extracts, to sketch an outline of the plot. Edward Plummer has returned, after many years' absence, from the golden South Americas,' but hears by the way that the girl, May Fielding, to whom formerly he was affianced, has long given him up for lost or dead, and is about to be married to Tackleton, the toy-merchant, for the sake of his wealth. Better to learn the true state of matters, he assumes the disguise before mentioned-packs himself into the carrier's van, installs himself in the carrier's house, and finally manages to get himself bedded and boarded there; in fact, he has contrived to let the little woman into his secret, who keeps it from her husband, as being the least likely of men to keep it from others. Circumstances at length become suspicious; and the attention of the good, honest carrier is directed to them by Tackleton, who is rather disposed to look on the 'ugly' than the handsome side of things, and who accordingly, as a toy-merchant, still patronised the hideous and demoniac in dolls, tumblers, Jack in the boxes, and giants, in preference to the beautiful and the amiable. The moral purpose of the book is contained in the results of these events: the jealous carrier shows himself both wiser and more merciful than Othello; and, in the end, his tempter a repentant Iago, with as little real malignity as could be desired.

In the working up of these simple materials, Mr Dickens invests with life and intelligence the inanimate as well as the living portion. He opens his story with describing the contest between the Kettle on the grate and the Cricket on the Hearth, and does this in a style of personification which, to say the least of it, is bold. The song of the Kettle he even gives in rhymed words, which, for the sake of a remark it suggests, we quote:

That this song of the Kettle's was a song of invitation and welcome to somebody out of doors, to somebody at that moment coming on towards the snug small home and the crisp fire, there is no doubt whatever. Mrs Peerybingle knew it perfectly, as she sat musing before the bearth. It's a dark night, sang the Kettle, and the rotten leaves are lying by the way; and above all is mist and darkness, and below all is mire and clay; and there's only one relief in all the sad and murky air; and I don't know that it is one, for it's nothing but a glare of deep and angry crimson, where the sun and wind together set a brand upon the clouds for being guilty of such weather; and the widest open country is a long dull streak of black; and there's hoar-frost on the finger-post, and thaw upon the track; and the ice it isn't water, and the water isn't free; and you couldn't say that anything is what it ought to be; but he's coming, coming, coming!

And here, if you like, the Cricket DID chime in! with a chirrup, chirrup, chirrup of such magnitude, by way of chorus; with a voice so astoundingly disproportionate to its size, as compared with the Kettle (size! you couldn't see it!), that if it had then and there burst itself like an overcharged gun; if it had fallen a victim on the spot, and chirruped its little body into fifty pieces;

it would have seemed a natural and inevitable consequence, for which it had expressly laboured. 'The Kettle had had the last of its solo performance. It persevered with undiminished ardour; but the Cricket took first fiddle, and kept it. Good Heaven, how it chirped! It's shrill, sharp, piercing voice resounded through the house, and seemed to twinkle in the outer darkness like a star. There was an indescribable little trill and tremble in it, at its loudest, which suggested its being carried off its legs, and made to leap again, by its own intense enthusiasm. Yet they went very well together, the Cricket and the Kettle. The burden of the song was still the same; and louder, louder, louder still they sang it in their emulation.'

Now, our readers will have perceived that this song of the Kettle, though written as verse, is printed as prose. This is a peculiarity in Mr Dickens's compositions which has not generally been perceived. It was, however, pointed out some time ago in 'The New Spirit of the Age;' and many passages adduced, written in blank verse, of irregular metres and rhythms, such as that employed by Southey and Shelley, in 'Thalaba' and Queen Mab.' The frequency of its occurrence indicates not only a design on the author's part to elevate his style by such means, but a poetic spirit in him, to which some kind of music is necessary as the natural utterance of its better thoughts. But the charm is a concealed charm; the varied harmony has still the look of uniform prose, and therefore steals unobserved into the reader's mind, who is pleased he knows not why. This is a little trick of style, which it is well, we think, to point out, particularly in such a work as the one under review, the merit of which is almost altogether dependent on style, and the poetic form of treatment which, with more or less success, is adopted.

This spirit and form of treatment is transparently manifest in the episode of the toymaker and his blind daughter. Here the writer has sought to exhibit, not without effect, the influence of art in its humblest form. From our first acquaintance with him, we discover his ruling passion. There is,' says he, rather a run on Noah's Arks at present. I could have wished to improve upon the family, but I don't see how it's to be done at the price. It would be a satisfaction to one's mind, to make it clearer which was Shems and Hams, and which was Wives. Flies an't on that scale neither, as com. pared with elephants, you know.' Such are the poor toymaker's truly artistic aspirations, justifying at once his relationship, though distant, with the Raphaels and the Michael Angelos. Another instance-""You couldn't have the goodness to let me pinch Boxer's tail, mum, for half a moment, could you?"

"Oh, never mind, mum," said the little man. mightn't like it, perhaps. There's a small order just come in for barking dogs; and I should wish to go as close to natur' as I could, for sixpence. That's all. Never mind, mum.'

'Caleb and his daughter were at work together in their usual working-room, which served them for their ordinary living room as well; and a strange place it was. There were houses in it, finished and unfinished, for dolls, of all stations in life. Suburban tenements for dolls of moderate means; kitchens and single apartments for dolls of the lower classes; capital town residences for dolls of high estate. Some of these establishments were already furnished according to estimate, with a view to the convenience of dolls of limited income; others could be fitted on the most expensive scale, at a moment's notice, from whole shelves of chairs and tables, sofas, bedsteads, and upholstery. The nobility and gentry and public in general, for whose accommodation these tenements were designed, lay, here and there, in baskets, staring straight up at the ceiling; but in denoting their degrees in society, and confining them to their respective stations (which experience shows to be lamentably difficult in real life), the makers of these dolls had far improved on nature, who is often froward

and perverse; for they, not resting on such arbitrary marks as satin, cotton-print, and bits of rag, had superadded striking personal differences which allowed of no mistake. Thus, the doll-lady of distinction had wax limbs of perfect symmetry; but only she and her compeers; the next grade in the social scale being made of leather; and the next of coarse linen stuff. As to the common people, they had just so many matches out of tinder-boxes for their arms and legs, and there they were-established in their sphere at once, beyond the possibility of getting out of it.

There were various other samples of his handicraft besides dolls in Caleb Plummer's room. There were Noah's Arks, in which the birds and beasts were an uncommonly tight fit, I assure you; though they could be crammed in anyhow at the roof, and rattled and shaken into the smallest compass. By a bold poetical license, most of these Noah's Arks had knockers on the doors; inconsistent appendages, perhaps, as suggestive of morning callers and a postman, yet a pleasant finish to the outside of the building. There were scores of melancholy little carts, which, when the wheels went round, performed most doleful music. Many small fiddles, drums, and other instruments of torture; no end of cannon, shields, swords, spears, and guns. There were little tumblers in red breeches, incessantly swarming up high obstacles of red tape, and coming down head first upon the other side; and there were innumerable old gentlemen of respectable, not to say venerable appearance, insanely flying over horizontal pegs, inserted for the purpose in their own street doors. There were beasts of all sorts; horses, in particular, of every breed, from the spotted barrel on four pegs, with a small tippet for a mane, to the thoroughbred rocker on his highest mettle. As it would have been hard to count the dozens upon dozens of grotesque figures that were ever ready to commit all sorts of absurdities, on the turning of a handle, so it would have been no easy task to mention any human folly, vice, or weakness, that had not its type, immediate or remote, in Caleb Plummer's room. And not in an exaggerated form; for very little handles will move men and women to as strange performances as any toy was ever made to undertake.

'In the midst of all these objects, Caleb and his daughter sat at work. The blind girl busy as a doll's dressmaker, and Caleb painting and glazing the fourpair front of a desirable family mansion.

* *

"So you were out in the rain last night, father, in your beautiful new greatcoat?" said Caleb's daughter. "In my beautiful new greatcoat !" answered Caleb, glancing towards a clothes-line in the room, on which the garment [a miserable robe, made of the old covering of a goods' bale] was carefully hung up to dry. "How glad I am you bought it, father!" "And of such a tailor, too," said Caleb. fashionable tailor. It's too good for me."

"Quite a

The blind girl rested from her work, and laughed with delight. "Too good, father! What can be too good for you?"

"I'm half ashamed to wear it, though," said Caleb, watching the effect of what he said upon her brightening face; "upon my word. When I hear the boys and people say behind me, 'Halloa! here's a swell!' I don't know which way to look. And when the beggar wouldn't go away last night, and, when I said I was a very common man, said, No, your honour! Bless your honour, don't say that!' I was quite ashamed. I really felt as if I hadn't a right to wear it."

Happy blind girl! How merry she was in her exul

"Made loose to the figure," suggested Caleb,

Yes, loose to the figure!" cried the blind girl, laughing heartily; "and in it you, dear father, with your merry eye, your smiling face, your free step, and your dark hair, looking so young and handsome!" "Halloa! halloa!" said Caleb. "I shall be vain presently."

I think you are already," cried the blind girl, pointing at him in her glee. "I know you, father! Ha, ha, ha! I've found you out, you see!"

'How different the picture in her mind from Caleb, as he sat observing her. She had spoken of his free step. She was right in that. For years and years he never once had crossed that threshold at his own slow pace, but with a footfall counterfeited for her ear; and never had he, when his heart was heaviest, forgotten the light tread that was to render hers so cheerful and courageous!

'Heaven knows! but I think Caleb's vague bewilderment of manner may have half originated in his having confused himself about himself and everything around him, for the love of his blind daughter. How could the little man be otherwise than bewildered, after labouring for so many years to destroy his own identity, and that of all the objects that had any bearing on it?' This is a delicate conception, and executed with much tenderness of feeling. Poor Caleb! He has also deceived his daughter on another point nigher her heart. He has represented Tackleton to her as their guardian angel, not as their stern taskmaster, which he really was; and she, in her blindness, had indulged an affection for him, the strength of which his intended marriage with another was to show. All the characters of the story are assembled at a pic-nic party held once a fortnight at Caleb Plummer's: on such an occasion, the state of her feelings could be concealed no longer. The old man's consequent distress is pathetic. He is again on a visit to Mrs Peerybingle's.

6.66

Bertha, my dear!" said Caleb, "I have something on my mind I want to tell you, while we three are alone. Hear me kindly. I have a confession to make to you, my darling!"

"A confession, father?"

"I have wandered from the truth, and lost myself, my child," said Caleb, with a pitiable expression in his bewildered face. "I have wandered from the truth, intending to be kind to you, and have been cruel."

'She turned her wonder-stricken face towards him and repeated “Cruel!"

"He accuses himself too strongly, Bertha," said Dot. "You'll say so presently. You'll be the first to tell him so."

"He cruel to me!" cried Bertha, with a smile of incredulity.

"Not meaning it, my child," said Caleb. "But I have been, though I never suspected it till yesterday. My dear blind daughter, hear me, and forgive me! The world you live in, heart of mine, doesn't exist as I have represented it. The eyes you have trusted in have been false to you."

'She turned her wonder-stricken face towards him still; but drew back, and clung closer to her friend.

"Your road in life was rough, my poor one," said Caleb, "and I meant to smooth it for you. I have altered objects, changed the characters of people, invented many things that never have been, to make you happier. I have had concealments from you, put deceptions on you-God forgive me!—and surrounded you with fancies."

"But living people are not fancies?" she said hurriedly, and turning very pale, and still retiring from him. "You can't change them."