The Liverpool Standard and General Commercial Advertiser. — Liverpool, Merseyside, England, 1855-12-11 00:00:00

ti , 9v 94t orrl,tvi OM ERC AL ADVERTISER. _1727.1 THE FIRESIDE. WHEN the snow-flakes softly rustle On the darkened window-pane, And the night-winds moan and murmur In a wild and fitful strain — Oh I how welcome is the cheerful, Brightly burning, ruddy light, Glowing from the evening fireside, Glowing, sparkling, warm and bright ! ford' Pre' Row the mellow beams are dancing On the ceiling, in the hall, E'en within the hearth's dark corners,• With a gentle glance they fall. And in the clear and pleasant radiance, As in the waves of gold it plays, Melts the soul that's filled with sadness, Lights the eye with radiant rays. Loved ones meet around the fireside, Through the dreary winter eve, Whilst the storm without is wildest, Tales of other days to weave. Songs that to the heart are dearest, Breathe upon the hallowed air ; Voices gay in mirth are mingled, " Household words" are sweetest there. 01/ 0' P °" f . 0 1 V. How the aged and the weary Look back to the happy hearth, Ily whose merry light they sported, Ere they tasted aught but mirth. Though the glow has long been faded, Brighter than of yore it burns, When the spirit, worn with wandering, To that cherished vision turns. Then while falling snow-flakes rustle On the darkened window-pane, Let us gather round the fireside, Heedless of the night-wind's reign. And when life's cold winter cometh, 'Mid the darkness and the storm, We'll again in memory's chamber Meet around the fireside warm. TO , to. ;=`'ect/ Ifir e itti" iY I r e ' tDe I?ErIEW S. F„borrit. By Charles Dickens. With Illus :,011s, by H. K. Browne. No. 1. London : ' i bury and Evans. 't in '° ll g a period has now elapsed since the h g World has been favoured with a con `B tale from the prolific and felicitously de ee Pen of Dickens, that the appearance of 1," 4 number of his promised serial has neces ' ereated a lively sensation in literary circles, et a blong the numerous thousands of every I in taste who were wont to inhale satisfac and extract delight from his vividly suo•ges 115rages. Dickens has now been so long before d el ineating as the acknowledged leader in the art fi' ai ntleating domestic character, and is so uni ay recognised as the skilful adept in por tlg manners and re-producing scenes, that announcement of a new work by . him has rally awakened gratifying expectation in the . 4 - of all classes of readers. As a delineative '‘l of the most consummate power and teem raney, he has no rival. His pictures of life I; l character are elaborated with the minute and tl t l iktaking accuracy of Hobima ; they embrace 'kllnprebensive and faithful individuality of *IA, s and are brilliant with the sparkling and s eelie t t and shadow of Rembrandt. His , 411 (1 j Ii rich with the bright vivacity of P rout , ‘ided at r kg in the broad fidelity of Constable, as occasion may require, with the wild [GRATIS. AND GENERAL C LIVERPOOL, TUESDAY, DECEMBER 11, 1855. Salvator Rosa and the stately mas - months. Hindoos, Russians , Chinese, Spaniards, Pm-, ambiguity of l t i u t g a u n e s se Englishmen, k Frenchmen, d Genoese, Neapo siveness of Poussin. To these inestimably valua ble peculiarities he adds all the advantages which thes'come to t e r s a c d e e n descendants t M s a from rse i l 1 e a s l l Titans,b uilders Venetians, of Babel,Gree - Turks, can be derived from a keen appreciation of the sought the shade alike —taking refuge in any hiding: realities of life which he perceives clearly place from a sea too intensely blue to be looked through all the mazy intricacies of situation and at, and a sky of purple, set with one great flaming jewel of fire the distorting influences of conventio nal arrange- The . universal stare made the eyes ache. Towards the ments—which he analyses with the care and distant line of Italian coast, indeed, it was a little relieved nicety of the most exact mental chemistry. That by light clouds of mist, slowly rising from the evaporation of the sea ; but it softened nowhere else. Far away the the emanations of a mind so r ichl y and so ssttaarriendgfroromadths,e hollow,deep in dust, from t,star t e h d e from it the interminable plain. variously gifted are eagerly looked fo r and cor dially welcomed, is a matter affordi n g no room Far away the dusty vines overhanging way side cottages, pa for surprise, but the contrary. Each one of his and the monotonous wayside avenues of parched trees n ow numerous contributions to our national without shade, drooped beneath the stare of earth and sky. literature has been received in its turn by his ad- creeping e didin drowsyi n b t e e l r l i s o , r i . n l o on d g d fi t l h es i of carts, the slowly ho horses e towards 0 with wa rd s the recum miring countrymen and countrywomen with an bent drivers, when they were awake ' , which rarely r hap avidity which gave clearest evidence of the de- pened; so did the exhausted labourers in the fields. Every light imparted by its predecessor. Of him it may thing that lived or grew, was oppressed by the glare ; except the lizard, passing swiftly over rough stone-walls, be truly said— and the cicala, chirping his dry hot chirp, like a rattle. And still he wrote, and still the wonder grew, The very dust was scorched brown, and something That one small head could carry all he knew. quivered in the atmosphere as if the air itself were panting. To attempt an analysis of the tale which Blinds, shutters, curtains, awnings, were all closed and i arrow. th The keepdrawntodit shot in like a white out the stare. Grant hot Grant it out of of but a chink or Dickens intends to lay before his re aders, under the quaint title of `c Little Dorrit," from the keyhole,churches an were the freest from it . Tocome contents of the opening number, and before he twilight of pillars and arches—dreamily dotted with wink himself has even in person introduced the he- ing lamps, dreamily peopled with ug l y old shadows p iousl y dozing, spitting, and begging—was to plunge into a fiery roine from whom the story derives its title, river, and swim for life to the nearest strip of shade. So, would be as presumptuous as it must necessarily with people lounging and lying wherever shade was ' with prove unedifying. We shall not attem p t the but little hum of tongues or barking of dogs, with occa performance of so fruitless a task , but sh all Con- sional jungling of discordant church bells, and - rattling of fine ourselves to the more pleasing, as it is also the vicious drums, Marseilles, a fact to be strongly smelt and tasted, lay broiling in the sun one day. easier and more becoming, service of laying before In contrast to this unmitigated glare, which, our readers an extract or two, which, whetting, in its aerial transparency and enervating fervour, as we have no doubt they will do, the curiosity of may rival the most glowing scenes by Canaletti, all who peruse them, will conduce yet farther to we have a picture, equally powerful, of London their gratification, by inducing them to " read, under the influence of its Sunday sombreness, as mark, and learn" for themselves the progress of that strikes the lively eye of Dickens. Instead the story, as it is developed in the succeeding of giving this, however, in which, to an English numbers. In following this course, however, it eye at least, there is less of novelty , we p refer cannot be improper to remark that D ickens, in transporting our friends, at the proper cost of this work, so far as it can be at present judged, Mr. Dickens, to a scene of sufficient moral and forsaking the hitherto beaten track of • strictly hysical g loom in the same sunny city of Mar- English manners, costume moral and p h y sical, p seilles. The locale is a prison ; the actors, or and scenery, intends to convey his readers rather the actor in the scene, is a dashing French through some portions of the Continent, and there to feed their imaginations and to gratify adventurer—who, in picture s q ue boldness of con their fancy by a gorgeous banque t of such ception and vigour of de lineation, will bear corn " weeds and wild-flowers" as may prese nt them- Parison with any of Sa lvator's bandits—and a selves to him as worthy of present ation in poor Italian smuggler , name d Cavalletto, who forms a striking contrast to the "bold, bad man:' those " fresh fields and pastures new." MONSIEUR RIGAUD. Premising that the headings are our own " What an infernal hole this is!" said Monsieur Rig,Mi, our opening shall be. a picture of breaking a long pause. " Look at the light of day. Day ? MARSEILLES AND ITS SUNSHINE. The light of yesterday week, the light of six months ago, Thirty years ago, Marseilles lay burning in the sun, the light of six years ago. So slack and dead!" It came one day. languishing down a square funnel that blinded a window A blazing sun upon a fierce August day was no greater in the staircase wall, lthrough, Cavalletto," h the sky . was never rarity in southern France then, than at any other time, seen—nor a-thing ,. e se. .‘ .said Monsieur before or since. Everything in Marseilles, and about Rigaud . , suddenly withdrawing his case from this funnel, Marseilles,. had stared at the fervid sky, and been stared at in return, until a staring habit had become universal to which they had both involuntarily turned their eyes, there. Strangers were stared out of countenance by iyou know me for a gentleman ?"—" Surely, surely !" " How long have we been here ?"—" I, eleven weeks, staring white houses, staring white walls streets, staring tracts of arid road, starin g hills from g whichwl to-morrow night at midnight. You, nine weeks and three days, at five this afternoon."-- cc Have I ever done any verdure was burnt away. The only things to be seen not fixedly staring and glaring were the vines drooping under thinghere ? Ever touched the broom, or spread the mats, or rolled them up, or found the draughts, or collected the their load of grapes. These did occasionally wink a little, dominoes, or put my hand to any kind of work ?" as the hot air barely moved th eir faint leaves. " Never!" — cc Have Y ever thought of looking to me to There was no wind to make a ripp le on the foul water do any kind of work you" John 1-iaptist answered with that within the harbour, or on the beautiful sea without. The peculiar back-handed shake of the right forefinger which line of demarcation between the two colours, black is the most expressive negative in the Italan language. and blue, shewed the point which the pure sea would cc not it never mixed. Boats without awnings were pass; but it lay as quiet as the abominable pool, with , No ! You knew fr o m the first moment when y ou saw me here, that I was a gentleman ?"—" Ar.TRO !" re whichthe , turned . John Baptist, closing his eyes and giving his head too hot to touch ; ships blistered at their mooring s ; stones on the quays had not cooled night or day, for 1 a most vehement toss. The word bein g , according to its Genoese emphasis, a confirmation, a contradiction, an