Bedford inquirer. [volume] (Bedford, Pa.) 1857-1884, 1867-11-01
DICKENS AND BULwER.

Translated from German Work.
Bulwer lives in his beautiful villa in Full
ham, quiet, lonely village above London.
/ a tranquility disturbed by nothing. reigns in
the house Notwithstanding the warm
spring day, BaIwer sits near the fireplace,
where bright coal FIRE is burning, Outside
the branches Of a cherry tree, covered with
an ezuberanee of blossoms, hang down on
the window, and the low, ehirping notes Of
the birds penetrate into the room. The eele-
bra;ed author - TALL slender form, wrap
ped in a sky-blue, soft lined, silken morning
gown, which IS fastened with strong cord
around his vaist-sits at bis large empty
table, and has before him only blank book,
IN which he writes his new novels.
His large, light blue eyes cast longing
glances out Of the windows; his auburn haiF
flows 10 the ringlets down on his high, narrow
forehead the large, slender nose hangs over
his small mouth, and his read whiskers fall
from bis long and narrow chin on his breast.
The whole face looks decidedly too long. lie
has sickly appearance, ana is abstracted.
His family affairs are at the bottom Of his
melancholy, which no one can fail TO perceive.
His little daughter died bis son, the heir of
his baronetcy, IS estranged from him and his
wife, lady BuIwer, has long since been sepa-
rated from him and lives in the city Let Us
enter her room.
She sits on her writing table, for she is
likewise at work upon a novel Her corpu-
/ lent form, her round face, her radiant, deep
/ blue eyes, her raven hair, every thing forms
1 a striking contrast with the appearance Of her
/ husband. She coutemplates the portrait Of
her son: she charges her husband with an
other LoveIace. and refusing to pay her debts.
/ Her large eyes look at as lasguidly her full
/ cheeks contain a number Of dimples, such as
/ Rubeus liked to paint; her lips are still as
swelling, fresh and red as those Of Titan S
( daughters. and yet she is much over forty.
/ On thinking Of this our suspicious are arous
1 cd the crimson on her cheeks is too fra
grant the heavy brajds surmountiug her fore
bead are TOO black, her manners are decided
4 - too kind aud polite, and cannot be sincere
we escape from her, bearing in mind the
bleeding heart of her melancholy husband
and the mouruful tone of his novels.
Let us now go to Charles Dickens. There
are several aristocratic carriages and plain
hacks in front Of his elegant residence, where
a numerous party Is assembled The eelebra-
ted romancist has returned from an extended
trip to Switzerland aud Genoa, and gives to.
night a soiree, such as are the order Of the
day. at bis h3spitable house He is blonde,
/ his ewes are light blue, his face flushed with
wine, neither meagre nor round but brimlul
Of good humor and kind-heartedness. He is
couversing with two ladies, who cannot re-
irain from bursting into loud laughter.
You can tell at once, on looking at his face,
which is By no means expressive in itself,
when Dickens describes, recites or satirizes.
Dickens is precisely as he writes-lively,
sanguiue, bon yIvant, now IN poetieal
mood, now observing, all seemingly superb
cially, and yet what deep heart is concealed
under this restless surface If 1t is said that
the currelts Of the world are injurious to
genius. Dickens example proves the con
trary for his creations spring from the OBJ
seryations Of life be would be nothing with,
out seeing, observing, and living with what
be beholds.
In formsr times his wife, q stately lady,
t was to be seen on such occasions. Her black
eyes, her full form, her measured conduct,
( we're in striking contrast with those of her
husband, and We regretto say that the quarrel
which disturbed their relations and their hap
piness after blisslul welded life Of many