The Sun.
London, England, 1841-07-01 00:00:00

PRICE 5d

that distinguished him above other men. But, in this
case, how, I ask you, has our friend's popularity been
attained-4 say how has it been attained ? It has been
attained, in the first place, during an age more prolific
of great men in poetry, and in all the various walks of
fiction, than in any other which ever illustrated the an-
nals of this country.—(Hear.) He had formidable com-
petitors and rivals, not only amongst those now living,
but amongst those who have lived for a century back ;
and when we look and consider that it is the mind of
those people he has appealed to, who are not surely igno-
rant of the immortal efforts of Defoe, Richardson, Field-
ing, and Smollett,—that it was the same nation who had
been obliged to admire the magnificent creations of
Scott, and the creations of many female writers who
have, in those particular departments of literature, shone
conspicuous. I say, when we think of these things, and
all at once find a man who, as far as I understand, had
no external aids to trust to, and a man not pandering to
the corrupt tastes of any party or class, attaining such
a popularity—(Great cheering)—to what, I ask, can
the popularity of such a man be attributed but to
that insight—that almost Divine insight—into the
working of human nature, its passions and affec-
tions, to that comprehensive soul and tender heart
which sympathises with all the griefs,'sorrows, rap-
tures, joys, and agonies of his fellow men.—(Cheers.)
Yes, GenthiSien, Ladies and Gentlemen,— yes
(Cheers andlaughter)—his fame has been achieved by
powers which are expressed in one word, the greatest of
all words when applied to an author—originality.--..
(Loud cheers.) Without originality, no man has ever
gained a very splendid reputation. It is true that some
men, with delicacy of sentiment, and with ardent and
'conscious sensibility, and with a truthful eye and a
feeling heart—with these qualities some men had gained
considerable reputation; but still, when a man strikes
out a path for himself, or strikes out on some path which
if trodden at all by men's feet, has been trodden by the
vulgar—it may be the vicious or the wicked—when such
a path has been struck out and and assiduously and suc-
cessfully followed, there falls upon that man the mantle
of original genius, of a power which is felt to be
great and universal—which speaks to the learned and
to the unlearned, to the wise and to the foolish—to
those whose minds are cultivated in all their powers,
and to those who are without any mental cultivation
at all, but who, nevertheless, possess the mental de-
velopment by which they are made sensible of some-
thing within them, the existence of which they had not
before noticed, until the sudden revelations of genius
made them familiar with things with which they had
been conversant all their life, but of which they had
suspected not the power, nor the grandeur, nor the pa-
thos. Like all those men whose names I have men-
tioned, our friend has dealt with the common feelings
and passions of ordinary men, in the common and ordi-
nary paths of life. He has not sought—at least he has
not yet sought—to deal with those thoughts and pas-
sions that are made conspicuous from afar, by the ele-,
vated stations of.. those who experience them. He has
mingled in the common walks of life—he has made
himself familiar with the lower orders of society. He
has not been deterred by the aspect of vice and wicked-
ness, and misery and guilt, from seeking a spirit of
good in things evil, but has endeavoured by the might
of genius to transmute what was base into what was
precious as the beaten gold.—(Loud cheers.) In what
is genius made so manifest as in detecting in the ordi-
, nary occurrences of life—in discovering, in the unin-
viting and flat surface of society, themes which, when
touched by a pencil of light, are read and studied by
those who knew not before the witchery of the faded
cheek, the solitary sigh, and the glistening tear, amons,
the squalid filth and dregs of life? But I shall be 'be-
trayed if I go on much longer—which it would be iin;.
proper for me to do—into something like a critical de-
lineation of the genius of our illustrious guest. I shall
not do so ; but I cannot but express, in a few and inef-
fectual words, that delight which every human bosom
feels in the benign spirit which pervades all his crea-
tions, How kind and good a man he is, I need not say,
nor what strength of genius he has acquired by that
1. profound sympathy with his fellow-creatures, whether
in prosperity and happiness, or overwhelmed with un-
fortunate circumstances, but who do not yet sink under
their miseries, but trust to their own strength of endu-
rance, to that principle of truth, and honour, and inte-
grity, which is no stranger to the uncultivated bosom,
which is found in the lowest abodes in as great strength
as in the halls of nobles and the palaces of kings.—
(Great applause.) Mr. Dickens is also a satirist. He
satirises human life ; but he does not satirise it to de-
grade it. He does not wish to pull down what is high,
into the neighbourhood of what is low. He does not
seek to represent all virtue as a hollow thing in which no
confidence can be placed. He satirises only the selfish
and the hard-hearted, and the cruel ; he exposes, in a
hideous light that principle which, when acted upon,
gives a power to men in the lowest grades to carry on a
more terrific tyranny than if placed upon thrones.—
(Great applause.) I shall not say—for I do not feel—
that our distinguished guest has done full and entire jus-
tice to one subject—that he has entirely succeeded where
I have no doubt-be would be most anxious to succeed,
in a full and complete delineation of the feiale charac-
ter.
Who-has-1 I'iyicose, with the single kxeeption,of,
Shalcspeare, it is felt that in almost every cAelineation of
female virtue arid goodness there is always something
inadequate—something which does iv,t, completely fulfil
the desire of our heart, and which does not accord with
' our own happy and blessed experience. But this he has
done. Ile has not endeavoured to represent them as charm-
ing merely by the aid ofaccomplishments, however elegant
and graceful. He has not depicted those accomplish-
ments as the essentials of their character, but has spoken
of them rather as always inspired by a love of domestic
duty, by fidelity, by purity, by innocence, by charity,
and by hope, which makes them discharge, under the
most difficult circumstances, their duties, and which
brings over their path in this world some glimpses of
the light of heaven.—(Great applause.) I shall pro-
ceed no farther in this course, which I again say I in-
tended to avoid, and I shall conclude with a very few
words. Mr. Dickens may be assured that there is felt
for him all over Scotland sentiments of kindness, affec-
tion, admiration, and love—(Loud cheers)—and I know,
for certain, that the knowledge of these sentiments
must make him happy ; for I know, though he has
been but a short time in our country—(and I trust
he will be oftener here and for a longer period)—
(Cheers)—l know well that his heart turns with fond-
ness to the lovely and endearing image of Scotland—l
know well that the dream of his past enthusiasm, and
of his imagination, has been the unequalled beauties and
sublimities of our country; but far beyond them, dear to
him, must be our time-honoured institutions—our hal-
lowed, habits—our holy customs, which have risen and
grown and flourished round the domestic hearth—that
sacred scene, where every virtue attains its full develop-
ment. , In this country there is still an unshaken, heart-
felt, awe-struck, sense of religion; and when he looks at
our kirks in their solitary situations, though now not so-
litary; for thank Heaven they are numerous, he will
understand those feelings, deeper than genius can express,
or imagination conceive—how deep-seated in every bosom
are those impressions, which, while they adorn and ele-
vate the present life, give hopes and consolations to the
life that is to come. With these few thoughts, inade-
quately expressed—for I came here unprepared, and
scarcely able to speak with that energy which I ought
to have done, I beg to propose the health of Mr.
Dickens.--(Loud and long-continued cheering.)
Mr. DICKENS was received with enthusiastic applause.
He said—lf I felt your warm and generous welcome less,
I should be better able to thank you. If I could have
listened, as you have listened, to the glowing lan-
guage of your distinguished Chairman—and if
1 could have heard,, as you have heard, the
" thoughts that breathe and words that burn," which
he has uttered, it would have gone hard but I should
have caught some portion of the enthusiasm, and kindled
at his example. But every word which fell from his lips,
and every demonstration of sympathy and approbation
with which you received his eloquent expressions, ren-
der me unable to respond to his kindness, and leave me
at least all heart and no lips.—(Great cheering.) Yearn-
ing to respond as I would do to your cordial greeting—
possessing, Heaven knows, the will, and desiring only
to find the way—the way to your good opinion, favour,
and support, has been to me very pleasant, a path
strewn with flowers, and cheered with sunshine--I feel
as if I stood amongst old friends, whom I had inti-
mately known and highly valued. I feel as if the deaths
of the fictitious creatures, in which you have been kind
enough to express an interest, had endeared us to each
other, as real afflictions dbeeeepnenre.
alfriependrashouipa,s
we had pursued together in inseparable connec-
tion, wihnose actualfor-
tunes
life. I feel as if they had
and, that I had never known them apart from you.
It is a difficult thing for a man to speak of himself or
of his works. But, perhaps, on this occasion, I may,
without impropriety, venture to say a word on the spi-
rit in which mine were conceived. I felt an earnest and
humble desire, and shall do till I die, to increase the
stock of harmless cheerfulness. I felt that the world
was not utterly to be despised—that it was worthy of
living in for ninny reasons. I was anxious to find, as
the Professor has said, if I could, in evil things, that
soul of goodness which the great Creator has put in
them. I was anxious to show that virtue may be found
n the bye-ways of the worl d—that it is not incompatible
With poverty and even with rags—and to keep steadily
through life the motto, expressed in the burning words
of your Northern poet—
The rank is but the guinea stamp,
The man's the goad for a' that.—(Loud cheers.)
And, in following this track, where could I have better
assurance that I was right, or where could I have
stronger assurance to cheer me on, than in your kind-
ness on this, to me, memorable night.—(Loud cheers.)
I am anxious and glad to have an opportunity of saying
a word in reference to one incident, in which lain happy
to know you were interested, and still more happy to
know, though it may sound paradoxical, that you were
paradoxi-al little heroine.
disappointed,—l mean the death of the _
theete
remnd I had in view.
When I first conceived the idea of coinndeducrnigingdlythatot
simple story to its termination, I d
adhere to it, and never to forsake
good
Not untried in the school of afafflictionthiinugthiet
would
dh
be
those we love, I thought what a
o
if, in my little work of
fofrpealehasflaonwt amusement,eraforthecu
;Ilpcturoueldd
substitute a garland
the tomb. If I have put into
horrors which ythoeunggrief mindof
with better thoughts o
my book anytdhiisigtg wehfichdeactahn,
ofirllsofttehne •
pyoung in older hearts : if I have written one word which canafford leisure or consolation to old ortime
of trial, I shall considered it as something achieved—