The Sun.
London, England, 1870-08-04 00:00:00

AN AMERICAN ON DICKENS.

One bright June. day in London, several years ago,
there was a little dinner at Cattermole's, the artist, at
which Dickens had promised to be present. The company
assembled, and everything went pleasantly until the dinner
hour arrived. There was then some pause of expectation,
for Mr. Dickens had not come. Conversation became a
little more difficult ; and as the conviction gradually seized
the party that perhaps he would not come at all, there
was a very obvious disappointment. When it was
impossible to wait longer the dinner was served, and
the guests descended to the dining-room ; but it was
curious to remark the blight that had overspread
the feast. There was the usual gay murmur of a dinner
all around the table, but it seemed as if everybody was
secretly looking for something or somebody else. Sud-
denly, when the business was well advanced, there was a
loud ring at the door, which everybody heard, and the
cloud instantly lifted. " There's Dickens !" said several
of the guests, with an air of delight and relief ; and those
who did not say it looked it. The next moment a
noise was heard in the hall above, merry voices,
pleasant laughter ; and then there seemed to be
a charge of schoolboys or light cavalry down the
stairs, and Dickens and his friend John Forster
burst into the dinner-room, each loudly excusing him-
self, and accusing the other as having caused the delay.
Dickens seated himself by the mistress of the house, and
instantly, as it were, took up the conversation, and car-
ried it along with little sallies of fun ; and his " carrying
on " with the waiter when he wanted a piece of bread was
like a rollicking scene from " Pickwick." It was, the
overflow of the highest animal spirits, and it was as elec-
trical in his manner as it is in his books. He felt entirely
at home, and the feeling that the solemn English waiter
would be confounded by such antics—which, however,
did not in the least turn him into ridicule—was part of
the humour. Dickens made a mock apology for his
lay, founded upon a promise to attend a picnic in the
earlier part of the day, given by the manager of the
Opera, at which Grisi and the other singers, with the
dancers, had been present. He sketched them all with a
word and a smile. They were all vividly before the
company. He took the dinner guests, also, as it were, to
the pic-nic. " But oh ! the eating !" exclaimed he.
" Dear Madame, do you know the eating at an operatic
pic-nic—l mean, of course," he added, with a solemn, sly
twinkle of the eye, "when the ladies of the ballet attend? "
It was sheer extravaganza ; and however foolish and flat
it seems in the tame telling, it was delightful and memo-
rable. After dinner, when the ladies went upstairs,
and the children peeped in, Dickens beckoned to
them ; and, seating one on each knee, took a slate and
Pencil and drew the most grotesque figures as illustrations
of the most absurd story ; then sent the young folks away
as merry as the elders. What he did at that table he did
in the world. He told the most delightful stories, he
made the most harmless fun ; and all his story-telling and
fun-making were morally healthful. He was a great
civilising and Christianising power during thirty years.
He was one of the men of the most unquestionable genius
and positive influence that have appeared in English
literature, and meanwhile it was almost as good as his own
fun to hear the comments that were made upon the man and
upon his works. Sir Piercie Shafton, especially, was obliged
to use his pouncet-box whenever the name of Dickens
was mentioned. " Such a snob, Sir; really no gen-
tlemen at all, I assure you." There were those who
thought him a caricaturist—a writer of mere extrava-
ganzas, no artist ; a kind of newspaper reporter on the
great scale. That last criticism Dickens himself would
undoubtedly have accepted. For the business of the
great novelist is to report human life and character as
they daily appear ; but his genius makes his reports the
best of literature. As for caricature, every genius must
follow its own law. Miss Austen finished each of her ex-
quisite miniatures of character with an airy-fine delicacy
They are exact, and natural, and agreeable, but never
typical. They have not named and classified human
nature for us. The work is so elaborate and smooth that
you may bring your eye close to the surface and yet you
do not see the stroke. But however broad and coarse the
touch of Dickens may seem, the effect is wholly life-
like, and the proof is the universal acceptance of the
type. Common conversation and current literature
reflect the humour and the wisdom of this genius
as the streams and lakes reflect the bright sky.
In the Sistine Chapel at Rome, if you go close to the
huge fresco of the " Last Judgment," you are lost in
amazement that such a mass of heavy colour should be
called the greatest picture in the world. But if you will
step to the other end- of the chapel and look at it, you
will acknowledge that there is no greater. So Dickens's
Power is felt at a distance, so to speak. His fidelity is ap-
proved by the general effect he produces. It is often said,
for instance, that he could not truly describe what is called
" society ;" and that in this respect one chapter of Thack-
eray is worth all that Dickens ever wrote. But is not the
difference merely that Dickens offers the plump incarnate
fact, while Thackeray delineates it in detail? There
are plenty of Lady Dews, for instance, upon the larger
or smaller scale, in every highly artificial society, and
there is, perhaps, no Mrs. Merdle to be seen anywhere.
Therefore we say Thackeray, in the " Newcomes," really
holds "the mirror up to nature ;" while Dickens, in "Little
Dorrit," creates a monster and labels it nature. Now,
the impression produced by Thackeray is that the ten-
dency of what is called " society " is to harden the heart
and produce a wholly artificial and repulsive life. He
shews us further how it is done, and he shews it so skit-
fully that those who are familiar with the sphere and
influence that he describes accept it as masterly. But
is not the pleasure confined to them ? They follow with
delight the amusing fidelity of the work ; but that is a
purely artistic pleasure, which is not shared by the
great multitude of readers. Dickens, on the other
hand, presents an unshaded Mrs. Merdle as the repre-
sentative, the type, of the demoralization and utter arti-
ficiality wrought by society. It is recognised and ac-
cepted everywhere. That is what " the million" feel
about " society." The book speaks for them and to them.
The habitii4 of society knows that there is no Mrs.
Merdle, but he does not reach the next corner upon
his promenade without meeting a suggestion of her.
This same characteristic is known in the delightful
Dick Swiveller and Micawber. Nobody ever saw Micavy-
bee, but everybody knows him perfectly well, and this
makes Dickens what is called the story-teller for the mil-
lion. His spirit is sympathetic with man, not with classes
of characters only. In Thackeray there is no technical
" low life." He takes us into the kitchen indeed, but
that is only the downstairs
.parlour. So Scott's sympathy
with lords and ladies is never hidden, and Edie
Ochiltree is one of the figures of a feudal society. But
Dickens deals with general, common humanity His
range is wider, if in particular points his insight is not so
deep, nor his grasp so firm. Itseems worth while to say,
so now, not to insist upon comparisons, which at such a
height of genies as that of Scott and Thackeray and
Dickens are uselese, and which seem ungenerous, but be-
cause there has been a disposition to be unjust to the real
qualities of Dickens. A year ago there was a very in-
genious and brilliant depreciation of him in one of the
English magazines; and Mr. Justin M`Carthy was, he
said, surprised to find that in this country Mr. Dickens
was praised as he was not at home.—From Harper's
Monthly fur August.

VACCINATION.—In this city there died of small-
pox last week, none ; in New York, one; in Paris, two
hundred and sixty-seven persons. While in the French
capital doctors disagree as to the efficacy and the mode of
vaccination, the disease gets a frightful hold. In.this
country, where, notwithstanding all objections, vaccina-
tion is the rule, the frightful disease is comparatively rare.
In Great Britain there is some popular prejudice, espe-
pecially against the execution of the compulsory vaccina-
tion law. The chief objection madeis that cutaneous and
other diseases are spread by the use of impure vaccine
virus. There is some force in this objection ; but allthe
outward results which may happen in isolated cases are as
nothing compared with the fearful disease which vaccina-
tion certainly counteracts. And care in selecting the
subjects fromwhich the vaccine matter is taken, reduces
the weight of objection to mere prejudice.—Philadelphia
Ledger, July 18.