to his brethren of the outer world, upright and honourable to the last degree; and though occupying but a humble position in life, he universally gained esteem from those placed in circumstances above him. To such, his manner was ever respectful, yet dignified. Though not the least puffed up by vanity, he knew his own worth: thus he was totally free from that mean cringing to those of high estate, which still exists to so large an extent in social life. His manner of speech was manly and straightforward. spoke straight on the point; and it has been said by his friends, more than once, that he possessed the habit of saying exactly what he thought, even to a fault."

He

As the following verses from his pen appear, in many points, applicable to his own lamentable death, we feel a melancholy pleasure in appending them to this memoir, and thus concluding, in his own words, our brief notice of one whose memory will long be cherished in the hearts of all those who best knew his worth :

THE DEPARTED.

Gone is the light that shone-the dream

Hath passed away,

As fades the sun's last radiance

At close of day;

And down the stream of Time do float

In silence on

Sensations multitudinous

Of pleasures gone.

Where is the voice whose faintest tone

Awoke to light

The utter darkness of my soul

With visions bright?

Where is the face on which to gaze

In silent joy

Was rapture, bliss unspeakable,
Without alloy ?

I look around the lonely room

No face is there

To soothe with one sweet look of love

My heart of care.

I ask, in vain, for one kind word

No kindred tone

Comes back upon my yearning ear :—

I AM ALONE!

THE

Poetical and Prose Remains,

&c.

ON THE WRITINGS OF CHARLES DICKENS.

CHAPTER I.

DICKENS AND HIS CONTEMPORARIES-THE NATURE OF HIS WRITINGS- -SKETCHES BY BOZ-PICKWICK

NICHOLAS NICKLEBY- -OLIVER TWIST.

PAPERS

It is said by a modern author, that “ a regard for our national writers enters into and forms part of the sacred feelings of an educated man; and it would not be easy to estimate in what degree it is to this sentiment that we are indebted for all of good and great that centres in the name of England."

And the remark is just; for what names shine so brilliantly upon the page of time, or cast such lustre on the history of our nation, as those of our great writers? The achievements of naval heroes, and the conquests of military commanders, may appear to future generations as so many representatives of a barbarous age, and a libel upon the intelligence of their forefathers; but the true thoughts of a great writer will go down to posterity, and pass from age to age, as the undying essence of imperishable mind. Through the mist and darkness of the past, amid the clouds of superstition and the

B

black shadows of chaotic ignorance, how brightly and gloriously appear the stars of intelligence upon the horizon, scattering the clouds and shadows that blacken the page of history, and illumining the dark period of the past.

These pages, however, will treat more of the present than the past-more of the living than the dead. Though it is a pleasant thing to hold communion with minds that have passed from us to see their productions, stamped as they are with the impress of unfading Genius, living on, through the long lapses of time, like things that can never die—to see them cherished by an intelligent and loving people, and finding a place in the affections and memories of thousands to whom they have spoken in kindness and love-and to see them, old as they are, still lingering in the heart of humanity, reverenced as records and memorials of departed greatness.

With this slight preface I will enter at once into my subject-the "Writings of Charles Dickens."

Charles Dickens, like every great writer who strikes into a new path, is the respected parent of a numerous progeny of imitators, many of whose imitations are so exceedingly poor in execution and execrable in design, that it is wonderful how they had the impudence to appear in print. Some have imitated him with comparative success; yet, not one has displayed the fine qualities, the rich depth of sympathy and feeling, the strong and vigorous combined with the soft and tender, which characterize the original. Most of them have filled up their pages with miraculous incidents, and scenes of horror and depravity, yet they lack the moral purpose and fine perception of good and evil which the writings of Dickens so eminently possess.

It is not by pourtraying scenes of low successful villany, and painting hideous pictures, that an author can effect a healthy tone of sentiment in society. It is not by the Jack Sheppard, the Tower of London, or the Guy Fawkes of Harrison Ainsworth that good effects will be produced. A succession of prison escapes, thief-catching exploits, nightly carousals with women of the lowest morals, with a plentiful infusion of guilt and wretchedness, are the chief characteristics of Jack Sheppard. The Tower of London, as its name suggests, is full of the blackest murders, and the whole of the author's late