The Sun.
London, England, 1852-12-25 00:00:00

Relics of Napoleon." It should not be omitted,
that Mr. Walesby has just produced a number of
smaller copies of the late lamented Count D'Orsay's
admirable equestrian statuette of Field Marshal,
Arthur, Duke of Wellington.

Christmas Books. By Charles Dickens. Chap-

man and Hall.

Without any question the most exquisite
volume for Christmas ever published. Not merely
the cheapest, but the most exquisite. It comprises
those five stories now so familiar to the English
households, about the merits of which, too, there
has been so much wrangling in the way of criticism.
Cavillers are rife who are eager to depreciate the
value of these tales, written for the fire-side, by
that genial and original genius to which we are all
of us, old and young, indebted for so much happi-
ness. These curmudgeons appear to be anxious to
bring their literary tomahawks down upon the skull
of Ariel : their fingers seem to itch for the scalp of
Robin Goodfellow. And while they are waging
war as they imagine of the most deadly character,
while they are lumbering their bludgeons round,
they are actually only dealing empty blows upon
the air—whew ! there is Puck sailing away on a
blow-ball, and "my dainty Ariel " swinging into
security by the ringlet of a honeysuckle. The
simple matter of fact is this. There-has been a
vast quantity of bluster about four at least of the
stories contained in this charming volume—the
dissentients among the public, or at any rate among
the reviewers, declaring that they are effusions in
every respect unworthy of Charles Dickens, and
derogatory to the importance of imaginative literav
ture. About the first of the five tales we believe there
has not been one individual rash enough to raise
a finger, except in benison. But about its four
successors all sorts of horrible sarcasms have been
uttered, written, printed, and repeated. Yet they
have managed to survive notwithstanding ! And.
they will manage to survive, we fancy, yet some
little while longer. The reputation of Charles
Dickens has not altogether faded away under the
weight of the scorn provoked by his innocent little
books, published at intervals, about the season of
Christmas. The reason of all this, we take it, has
been simply the fact that the critics were, from
first to last, in a slight degree mistaken. They were
for judging a ditty by the laws of an epic—they were
for dissecting a daisy with the axe, and the saw, and
the wedge, required to fell an oak—they werefor con-
trasting the anatomy of a humming bird with that of
a condor. Here were stories, unpretending, harmless,
merry,sad, tender, solemn, andpathetic in sentiment
—stories that one would fancy to be rather told than
written—stories intended by their author for the
uncriticising ears of hdliday folks gathered round.
the crackling fire at yule-tide—judged rigidly and.
severely by all the iron laws ever contrived by the
cruelest philosophic Rhadamanthus. The thing
was absurd, and the public felt it be so instinc-
tively, and every one has consequently turned
with derision or indifference from those formal
diatribes directed against the Master-Nove-
list of the Age, the author who has been re-
cently called by Lord Denman, " perhaps the
greatest favourite the public ever had." And so the
stories so fiercely assailed have lived as freshly as
ever in the popular recollection—and so Charles
Dickens, whatever some reviewers may have al-
leged against him, is as dear as ever to the hearts
of his countrymen, and, let us add too, of his coun-
trywomen, although he has written " The Chimes,"
and " The Cricket on the Hearth," and " The
Battle of Life," and " The Haunted Man !" As
to the " Christmas Carol" there are not two opi-
nions about that. We can't easily forget what was
said of it once upon a time in the Dublin University
Magazine, by Mr. Thackeray, under his nom-de-
plume of Michael Angelo Titmarsh—when he de-
clared that he had heard the same comment upon
Charles Dickens in connection with the " Christ-
mas Carol,"—a comment uttered at different times
by two ladies unacquainted with the fact of each
other's existence, and that one comment—" God.
bless him !" For ourselves we can never speak in
measured terms of that little volume which has
been embalmed with so many tears and glorified
with so much laughter. It is among those golden
glories of literature, which are our dearest treasures
—one of those admirably compacted masterpieces
which are equivalent in prose to " those jewels five
words long" (in poetry,) " that, on the stretched
forefinger of all time, sparkle for ever"—associating
in our minds the " Carol" of Dickens, with the
" Vicar of Wakefield " of Goldsmith, and the
" Rasselas" of Johnson, and the " Robinson
Crusoe" of Defoe, and the " Candide" of Voltaire,
and the " Picciola" of Saintine, and the "Raphael"
of Lamartine, and the " Elizabeth" of Cottin, and
the " Paul and Virginia" of Bernardino de St.
Pierre. We don't so much admire it—admire
seems a weak word in its regard—as we love it.
And while the name of its author is endeared to
us by the blithe remembrances of " Pickwick," and
the varied fortunes of " Nicholas Nickleby," and.
the enthralling interest of " Oliver Twist," and the
passion of " Barnaby Rudge," and the pathos of
the "Curiosity Shop," and the humorous piquancy
of " Martin Chuzzlewit," and the tender episodes
of ' Dombey and Son," and the abounding beauties
of every imaginable description combined in the
inestimable pages of " David Copperfield"—of all,
to our thinking, the masterpiece—yet with
scarcely any one of his effusions do we asso-
ciate more affectionate sympathies, blend-
ing together the emotions . of the author
and of the reader, than with this little story of the
" Christmas Carol," a jewel of a book, brief as it is,
capable of building up any other man's reputation.
Whenever we turn over its leaves we have one feel-
ing towards Charles Dickens predominant over all
others—that of gratitude. Grateful to him, more-
over, are we, though of course in a very consider-
ably lesser degree, for the four other tales in which
he has given play to the more amiable promptings
of his imagination. Here we remember little Dot
and that comical rascal Boxer—there little Britain,
or that strange, grotesque creature, Tilly Slowboy.
We should never have got to the end of our enu-
meration, however, if we persistedin attempting any-
thing like a detailed particularity as to the various
personages introduced. Enough for our present pur-
pose to reiterate the opinion already expressed,
after critical deliberation—that the volume here
published. by Messrs. Chapman and Hall (a firm
celebrated as that of the original publishers of
Charles Dickens) is, without any doubt whatever,
awtitchhinristthme
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fiction
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Elements of Agricultural Chemistry and Geology.
By J. F. W. Johnston, M.A., F.R.SS.L. and E.
Sixth Edition. Blackwood.
We are glad to meet with a new and improved
edition of this most valuable and popular work
—of which work ten thousand copies have
already been sold at home, and very many more
in the United States, and . in the British pro-
vinces. The scientific principles upon which the
art of culture depends, " have not, hitherto," says
Mr. Johnston, " been sufficiently understood or ap-
preciated by practical men ;" and he adds that,
" Agriculture can be brought to that comparative
state of perfection which other arts have attained
only by availing itself, as they have done, of
the many aids which science affords to it."
Those aids are here, to a great extent,
placed within the reach of the practical
farmer. Here he may learn, first, what chemistry,
geology, and chemical philosophy may do for
agriculture ; and, secondly, the various proper-
ties and peculiarities of soils, plants, &c., are
both theoretically and practically explained.
Several chapters are devoted to the pastur-
age, feeding, and rearing of cattle ; another
to " milk and its products," in which is given
an analysis of the composition of milk, &e.
So clear and comprehensively are the explanations
here set forth, and illustrated when necessary by
diagrams, that the information of this volume is
easily attainable by all, while to practical farmers
it must be invaluable.

The Carpet Bag and Sketch Book Polka. By C.
Colmar. Addison and Co.) London.

The title of this lively piece of music will at
once suggest its origin. It proceeds from the pen
of Mr. Colmar, the young pianist, who has recently
obtained so much popularity by his brilliant play-
ing in Mr. W. S. Woodin's inimitable performances
at the Adelaide Gallery, and since it embraces
some degree of originality as well as considerable
vivacity, it ought to become a favourite in the
drawing-room. The 44 Carpet Bag and Sketch
Book" is an entertainment peculiarly adapted to
the drawing-room, and, of course, any accompany-
ment bit in the shape of music should be scored
for the piano, a circumstance which Mr. Colmar
has not lost sight of in his polka. It is his first
essay in this style of composition, and we hope it
will not be the last. If we are not mistaken, Mr.
Colmar, like his friend, Mr. Woodin, has a long
career of usefulness and prosperity before him.

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