The Sun.
London, England, 1848-04-13 00:00:00

inimitably felicitous. Boxer is altogether eclipseii
by Diogenes ; and the description of railway tra
yelling is . one of the happiest sketches cf our
novelist. Captain Cuttle, moreover, is one of the very
beet characters ever painted by him—a character
which will after this occupy a prominent position in
the Boz Gallery. Before we conclude our straggling
but earnest notice of the work, we must transcribe a
capital glimpse of every-day life, contained in the
final number: it is the account of the auction at Mr.
Dombey's private residence immediately after all his
servants have departed :
" The house stands, large and weatherproof, in the
long dull street; but it is a ruin, and the rats fly from it.
‘• The men in the carpet caps go on tumbling the fur-
niture about; and the gentlemen with pens and iak make
out inventories of it, and sit upon pieces of furniture
never made to be sat upon, and eat bread and cheese
from the public house on other pieces of furniture never
made to be eaten on, and seem to have a delight
in appropriating precious articles to strange uses.
Chaotic combinations of furniture also take place. Mat•
tresses and bedding appear in the dining• room; the glass
and china get into the conservatory; the great dinner
service is set out in heaps on the long divan in the large
drawing room ; and the stair-wires, made into fasces,
decorate the marble chimney-pieces. Finally, a rug,
with a printed bill upon it, is hung out from the balcony;
and a similar appendage graces either side of the hall
door.
I " Then, all day long, there is a retinue of mouldy gigs
and chaise-carts in the street; and herds of shabby vam-
pires, Jew and Christian, over-run the house, sounding
the plate glass mirrors with their knuckles, striking dis-
cordant octaves on the Grand Piano, drawing wet fore-
fingers over the pictures, breathing on the blades of the
best dinner knives, punching the squabs of chairs and
sofas with their dirty fists, tousling the feather-beds,
opening and shutting all the drawers, balascing the
silver spoons and forks, looking into the very threads of
the drapery and linen, and &spar:wing everything.
There is not a secret place in the whole house. Fluffy
and snuffy strangers stare into the kitchen range es
curiously as into the attic clothes press. Stout men with
napless hats on, look out of the bed. room windows, and
cut jokes with friends in the street. Quiet, calculating
Spirits, withdraw into the dressing-rooms with catalogues,
and make marginal notes thereon; with stumps of pencils.
Two brokers invade the very fire escape, and take e
panoramic survey of the neighbourhood from the top of
the house. The swarm and buzz, and going up and down,
endure for days. The Capital Modern Household Fur-
niture, &c., is on view.

" Then there is a palisade of tables made in the best
drawing-room; and on the capital, French polished,
extending, telescopic range of Spanish mahogany dining
tables with turned legs, the pulpit of the auctioneer is
erected; and the herd of shabby vampires, Jew and
Christian, the strangers fluffy and snuffy, and the stout
men with the napless hats, congregate about it and sit
upon everything within reach, mantel-pieces included,
and begin to bid. Hot, humming, and dusty, are the
rooms all day; and—high above the heat, hum, and dust
—the head and shoulders, and voice and hammer of the
auctioneer, are ever at work. The men in the carpet
caps get flustered and vicious with tumbling the Lots
about, and still the Lots are going, going, gone; still
coming on. Sometimes there is joking and a general
roar. This lasts all day and three days following. The
Capital Modern Household Furniture, is on sale.
"Then the mouldy gigs and chaise-carts re•appear; and
with them come spring-vans and waggons, and an army
of porters with knots. All day long, the men with
carpet bags are screwing at screw-drivers and bed-
winches, or staggering by the dozen together on the
staircase under heavy burdens, or upheaving perfect
rocks of Spanish mahogany, best rosewood, or plate-
-glass, into the gigs, chaise carts, vans and waggons. All
sorts of vehicles of burden are in attendance, from a
tilted waggon to a wheel-barrow. Poor Paul's little
a
t
them,
ht
fioeecwu.si:
riiaossa
ciltwbieri
u.
enldwata
swocnes.oodtcedruka.rhi
course
satvteeyelhi
scattered
and
fdCar
lleael
bedstead is carried off in a donkey-tandem. For nearly
Capital Modern Household Furniture,
u ipaavg
eobsnaeot
battery
erNy catalogues,oot
thi
pneg w tse leftri
tep orte aboutpots
b ht
scrapsihned
The
nmde n with
bed-winchesthe
intcarpet-capso bags ,
shoulder gather u
and walk off: One of the pen and ink gentlemen
goes over the house as a last attention; sticking up bills
in the windows respecting the leaseof this desirable
family mansion, and shutting the shutters. At length
he follows the men with the carpet ?tips. NOne of the
invaders remain. The house is a ruin, and the rats fly
from it."

As a pendant to our previous notices of the fiction,
as it appeared in periodical instalments, we must ob-
serve that extraordinary changes are effected in the
situation of the dramatis persona before its termina-
tion. Mr. Morfin marries Harriet Carker ! Mr.
Feeder marries Cornelia Blimber ! Captain Bunsby
marries Mrs. Mac Stinger ! And Mr. Toots marries--
Susan Nipper! ! Dombey himself is utterly beg-
gared, and the account of his desolation in the empty
house, and of his ultimate reconciliation with Flo-
rence, is wonderfully touching. Through the interven-
tion of Cousin Feenix, Florence and Edith are brought
together again for an instant, and are then very un-
satisfactorily separated. At last the solitary bottle of
Madeira is broached, and the ruined merchant him-
self declares it to be " a very rare and most delicious
wine !" Phiz has been singularly successful in the
illustration of the volume, some of his etchings being
really admirable. May his artistic powers be very
speedily required again in the embellishment of some
I,ew creation of the genius of Charles Dickens !

TAIT.
A very important subject is considered in the in-
troductory contribution for April—" The IVants of
'he 'Times." According as the political opinions of
nen are biased by education or circumstances those
wants would, of course, be very differently stated.
A reasonable view, however, is taken of the neces-
sities of the age and the people, by Tait—a
view not unworthy of its established reputa-
tion. One John Wilmer reviews the condi-
ti on of the " German Colony in Texas," and Sir
Thomas Dick Lauder concludes his wanderings along
the pleasant banks of the Tyne. " Edinburgh
Lodging-house Association " is an essay upon
a scheme which has our cordial sympathies ;
and "An Evening at Victor Hugo's" is one
of those agreeable chapters of literary small-talk
which are more frequently met with of late in the
pages of the popular periodicals, Bearing in remem-
brance the share taken in the Revolution of February
by Mr. Percy B. St. John, his tale of " Miranda '
has acquired an additional attraction, for " Miranda "
is a story of the first French Revolution. It is
continued in the present number, with an
increased vivacity of style. There is afterwards con-
tributed a certain strange narrative of a Portuguese
conspiracy in the reign of Philip the Second ; it is
poetically entitled " A Star Shines through the
Mist." Goodwin Barmby's biographic sketch of
Louis Blanc—the historian of the " Reign of
Ten Years," the annotator of the French Re-
volution, the bard of Mirabeau, the panegy-
rist of Manuel, the editor of the Bone Sens, the
founder of the Revue du Progres, the contributor to
the National, the philosophic author of the " Orga-
nization of Industry," and now President of the
Commission for the Government of the Workmen of
Republican France—the sketch of this remarkable
man, we say, is clever. Here is his portraiture :
" My first sight of Louis Blanc was at the palace of the
Luxembourg. Voila la petite!' said a Frenchman
near me, as he entered. He is, indeed, a little man,
with a great distingue—a pigmy of price—a dwarf in
body, but a giant in mind. He stands hardly four feet
in height. His air, too, is extremely youthtul, with his
smooth, fair, hairless face, and his neat, slim, little figure.
Although he approaches the manhood of forty, he might
easily be mistaken for a boy of eighteen. Although
he has a stern strength about him, it might be sup-
posed from his first appearance that he was weak and
effeminate. He entered, however, as one of the Pro-
visional Government of the Republic of France, to
deliver addresses to assemblies of working-men and mas-
ters, collected together by him, in his function of
of
the
Workmen, to consult and decide on
a and
the Pre-
sident of the Commission for the
plan Government
for the
nt
organization of industry. He spoke,
working-
men were melted to tears, andeven the masters were,
moved. His tones were soft and showery, or earnest
• h his little figure buttoned up tight
in a blue coat with gilt buttons, there he stood, mounted
up, evidently awakening, convincing,
deciding, with
and energetic. •it
ection.
There he stood,
modulated voice and expressiveef
the
great mon who now
though so small, not the least
rule over the destinies of the France of the Third
Revolution."
Louis Blanc was
1813; he is consequently
introduction to the press of Paris
is interesting. Here
scription of his firstis
is
:
" He returned to Paris in borna
1834,Madrid, 28th October,
in
his 56th year. The de.
t
But Conseil was like Lost Parisian
journalists,
" to with
of
Armand
lettersd of intro-
Conseil, the collaboratorman Carrel in
the
was everywhere and nowhere. Louis
Blanc o
duction
him for many days withou h
t success. At
that time
the National was published in the Rue Crois-
sant. One day, as the young author went for the tenth
time to the offices of that journal, nearly despairing of.
N de.
stoiva ng a
he
e
ever finding the uncomeatable Conseil, he raised his eyes
towards heaven, as if to call for it to witness the inutility
of his efforts and perceived an inscription, bearing, in•
large letters, the words, Le Bons Sens. That journal
was as advanced in the advocacy of reform as the Na-
tional, and Louis Blanc, having two articles in his pocket,
decided on leaving one for the Bons Sens. It was, how-
ever, no small matter for one so modest to meet the
editor in chief. Just as he was about penetrating into
his sanctuary, a species of involuntary terror pervaded
his limbs. ' What shall I say ? ' thought he—'my
young look will go against me again. They will suppose
my articles are not my own.' The perspiration stood
upon his forehead. The door was there before him, and
he had not the strength to open it. He stood still in the
passage without advancing or receding. At length the
door opened, and he found himself face to face with'
porter. ' Who do you want?' said the porter. Louis
Blanc was caught. Sir,' he replied, seek the office
me
of the chief editor of the Bons Sens." Come with
and I will lead you to it,' was the answer. Thus
part in
provi-
dence, in the shape of a porter, played a greatLthheetdheestiwnayedespite of himself
C h
of
coniluicated
Lemaire, then principal editors of d auc
the Bons Sens. M.
Rodde received the young author
Blanc.
before
Ri no
dde an
with great affability,
but M. Cauchois-Lemaire looked more grave. He has
avowed since, that he hesitated to take as serious such
precocious maturity. He could not for the moment be-