The Liverpool Standard and General Commercial Advertiser.
Liverpool, Merseyside, England, 1846-12-22 00:00:00

DICKENS' NEW CHRISTMAS WORK.

As this work, entitled The Battle of Life, has not yet
reached the hands of the public generally, the following
epitome and extracts may be interesting.
The Battle of Life is a tale of very simple construction,
and very unpretending in the characters that figure in it.
These are a Doctor Jeddler and his two daughters, Grace
and Marion ;—a ward named Alfred Heathfield, in love
with nirion, and beloved by her ; two lawyers (partners)
called Snitchey and Craggs ; and two domestic servants
of the Jeddlers named John Britain and Clemency New_
come, who afterwards get married, and keep an inn of the
sign of the " Nutmeg-grater and Thimble." As the
latter t,vo personages are really the principal in the book,
and as their portraiture is the most characteristic of the
author's best manner, a specimen of their courtship may
be advantageously introduced here :
" There'll be another job for Snitchey and Cram, I
suppcse," he observed, puffing slowly at his pipe. " More
witnessing for you and me, perhaps, Clemmy !"
" Lor !" replied his fair companion, with her favourite
twist of her favourite joints, " I wish it was me, Britain."
" Wish what was you ?"
" A going to be married," said Clemency.
Benjamin took his pipe out of his mouth and laughed
heartily. " Yes ; you're a likely subject for that !" he
said, " Poor Clem." Clemency, for her part, laughed as
heartily as he, and seemed as much amused by the idea.
" Yes," she assented, " I'm a likely subject for that ;
ain't I ?"

" You'll never be married, you know," said Britain,
resuming his pipe. .

" Don't you think I shall though ?" said Clemency, in
perfect good faith.
Mr. Britain shook his head, " Not a chance of it !"

" Only think !" said Clemency. "Well! I suppose
you mean to marry. Britain, one of these days; don't you?"
A question so abrupt, upon a subject so momentous,
required consideration. After blowing out a great cloud
of smoke, and looking at it with his head now on this side
and now on that, as if it were actually the question, and
he were surveying it in various aspects, Mr. Britain re•
plied that he wasn't altogether clear about it, but—ye-es--
he thought he might come to that at last.
" I wish her joy, whoever she may be," cried Clemency.
" But she wouldn't have led quite such a joyful life as she
will lead, and wouldn't have had quite such a sociable sort
of husband as she will have," said Clemency, spreading
herself half over the table, and staring retrospectively at
the candle, " If it hadn't been for—not that I want to do
it, for it was accidental, I am sure—if it hadn't been for
me; now, would she, Britain ?"
" Certainly not," returned Mr. Britain, by this time in
that high state of appreciation of his pipe, when a man
can open his mouth for a very little way for speaking pur-
poses ; and sitting luxuriously immovable in his chair,
can afford to turn only his eyes towards a companion, and
that very passively and gravely. " Oh, I'm greatly be-
holden to you, you know, Clem."
" Lor how nice that is to think of!" said Clemency ;
at the same time bringing her thoughts as well as her
sight to bear upon the candle-grease, and becoming ab-
ruptly reminiscent of its healing qualities as a balsam, she
anointed her left elbow with a plentiful application of
that remedy.

" You know I've made a good many investigations of one
sort or other in my time," pursued Mr. Britain, with the
profundity of a sage ; " having been always of an inquir-
ing turn of mind; and I've read a eood many books about
the general Rights of things and Wrongs of things. for I
went into the literary line myself when 1 began life."
" Did you though ?" cried the admiring Clemency.
" Yes," said Mr. Britain; " I was hid for the best part
of two years behind a book-stall, ready to fly out if any-
body pocketed a volume; and after, 1 was light-porter to
a stay and mantua maker, in which capacity I was em-
ployed to carry about in oilskin baskets nothing but de-
ceptions—which soured my spirits, and disturbed my con-
fidence in human nature; and after that, I heard a world
of discussions in this house, which fret my spirits; and
my opinion atter all is, that, as a safe and com.ortable
sweetener of the same, and as a pleasant guide through
life. there's nothing like a nutmeg-grater.',
Clemency was about to offer a suggestion, but he stop-
ped her by anticipating it.
" Com-bined,' he added gravely, " with a thimble."
" Do as you wold, you know, and cetrer !" observed
Clemency, folding her arms comfortably in her delight at
this avowal, and patting her elbows. " Such a short cut,
ain't it ?"

" I'm not sure," said Mr. Britain, " that it's what
would be considered good philosophy. I have my doubts
about that ; but it wears Well, and saves a quantity of
snarling, which the gl-nuine article don't always."
" See, how you used to go at once,
know !" said Clemency.
"!" said Mr. Britain. " But the most eataor-
dinary thing. Clemency, is that rshould live to be brought
round through you. That's the strange part of it. Through
you! Why, I suppose you haven't so much as half an
idea in your head."
Clemency, without taking the least offence, shook it,
and laughed, and hugged herself, and said—" No, she
didn't suppose she had."
" I'm pretty sure of it," said Mr. Britain.
" Oh ! I dare say you're right," said Mr. Clemency.
" I don't pretend to none. I don't want any."
Benjamin took his pipe from his lips, and laughed till
the tears ran down his face. " What a natural you are,
Clemrny !" he said, shaking his bead, with an infinite
relish of the joke, and wiping his eyes. Clemency, with-
out the slightest inclination to dispute it, did the like, and
laughed as heartily as he.
But I can't help liking you," said Mr. Britain ;
" you're a regular good creature in your way ; so shake
hands, Clem. Whatever happens I'll always take notice
of you, and be a friend to you."
" Will you?" returned Clemency.
very good of you "

yOurself, you

" Well ; that's

"Yes, yes ; " said Mr. Britain, giving her his pipe to
knock the ashes out of, " I'll standby you."
It should have been premised perhaps that these cha-
racters have been expressly drawn for stage representation
in the persons of Mr. and Mrs. Keeley, at the Lyceum,
where a dramatic version of the piece is to be produced
on Monday night, by Albert Smith. The work has been
altogether written with a view to stage purposes, and
hence the primary cause, probably, of the many deficiences
the discriminating reader will immediately perceive in it.
The moral of the Battle of Life is intended to be con-
veyed in the struggle Marion endures in giving up her be-
trothed husband to Grace, her sister, and marrying a
reclaimed spendthrift named Michael Warden, at the end
of six years, for whom she has no particular affection, nor
has Alfred for Grace. The motive to this conduct is very
imperfectly developed, and the incidents clumsily worked
out. But in the course of the narrative various opportu-
nities occur for the exhibition of those peculiar touches
that have procured Mr. Dickens so many admirers among
light readers. The specimen already given is about one of
the best of its kind the volume affords, but another in an
opposite style is subjoined :
" It was agreeable to see the graceful figures of the
blooming sisters, twined together, lingering among the
trees, conversing thus, with earnestness opposed to light-
ness, yet with love responding tenderly to love. And it
was very curious indeed to see the younger sister's eyes
suffused with tears ; and something fervently and deeply
felt, breaking through the wilfulne-s of what she said, and
striving with it painfully. The difference between them
with respect of age could not exceed four years at most;
but Grace, as often happens in such cases, when no mother
watches over both (the Doctor's wife was dead), seemed,
in her gentle care of her young sister, and in the steadi-
ness of her devotion to her, older than she was, and more
removed, in course of nature, from all competition with
her, or participation, otherwise than through her sympa-
thy and true affection, in her wayward fancies, than their
ages seemed to warrant. Great character of mother, that,
even in this shadow and faint reflection of it, purifies the
heart, and raises the exalted nature nearer to the angels !

" The doctor's reflections, as he looked after them, and
heard the purport of their discourse, were limited, at first,
to certain merry meditations on the folly of all loves and
likings, and the idle impositions practised on themselves
by young people, who believed, for the moment, that there
could be anything serious in such bubbles, and were
always undeceived ; always!

" But the home-adorning, self-denying qualities of
Grace, and her sweet temper, so gentle and retiring, vet
including so much constancy and bravery of spirit, seemed
all expressed to him in the contrast between her quiet
household figure and that of his younger and more beau-
tiful child ; and he was sorry for her sake—sorry for them
both—that life should be such a very incredulous business
as it was.

" The doctor never dreamed of enquiring whether his
children, or either of them helped in any way to make the
scheme a serious one. But then he was a Philosopher.
" A kind and generous man by nature, he had stumbled,
by chance, over that common Philosopher's stone (much
more easily discovered than the object of the alchemist's
researches), which sometimes trips up kind and generous
men, and has the fatal property of turning gold to dross,
and every precious thing to poor account."
All the circumstances tike place in the neighbourhood
of a retired village, about a hundred years ago, and are
assumed to have extended over nine years. The volume
is beautifully illustrated, but is not likely to sustain the
waning fame of Boz, and will assuredly provoke much
hostile criticism from most of those who do not belong to
his coterie.

" TRY."—" There was once upon a time a good little
'dwarf named Try, who was so powerful that he overcame
everything he attempted ; and yet he was so small and
ill-favoured, that people laughed when they were told of
his wondrous powers. But the tiny man was so kind at
heart, and loved so much to serve his unfortunate and
desponding brethren, that he would go and beg of those
who knew him better to intercede for him, so that he
might be allowed to help them out of their troubles; and
when once he had made them happy by his noble deeds,
they no longer despised him or drove him from them
with sneers, but loved him as their truest friend. Yet
the only return this good dwarf sought for all his services
was, that when they heard of any one who wanted a help.
ing hand, they would say a good word in his favour, and
recommend them to 'TRY.' "—The Good Genius that
Tinned Everything into Gold.
SCIENCE versus HYMEN.—The Lancaster and Carlisle
Railway is now opened throughout, and as it con-
stitutes the route to the far-famed Gretna, if the electric
telegraph should be adopted by the directers on that line,
elopements would become almost impracticable. What
an enemy science is to romance and love ! And what a
shame that young ladies who are kind enough to go a
hundred miles out of their way to make a man happy,
should, like mere mice, be thus snared and caught by
wires! To establish the telegraph in the south may be
all well enough, but to carry it to Carlisle—the last stage
to Gretna—the very vestibule to bliss—is an encroach-
ment which ought never to be permitted. It would be
directing the Galvanic battery of science against the rarest
temple Hymen has. It would destroy the little romance
of life which still lingers in a manufacturing age, and
would take away all the piquancy of love's adventure.