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"The walls of the parlor upon which he had entered were lined all round with well-dressed ladies and gentlemen, sitting as erect as corpses, and gazing into the empty space in the middle of the apartment, as if some curious meteorological phenomenon were going on there, in which they all had a special interest. At the announcement of Puffer Hopkins by a pale young gentleman at the door, the corpses waked up a little, some twittered spasmodically, a few moved uneasily in their chairs, and by the time Puffer had attained a seat in the corner, the company had again subsided into its condition of tomb-like repose.

"They were presently, however, again wakened, and with rather more success, by the entrance of the host, Mr. Fishblatt himself, bearing before him, firstly, a huge ruffle, which stood straight out from his bosom like a mainsail, and secondly, reposing in the shadow of the said ruffle, a black teaboard of proportionate dimensions, garnished with small jugs or tumblers of lemonade.

"Mr. Fishblatt walked very erect and majestically, and holding the waiter at arms' length, smiling pleasantly, as a gentleman always does when he's engaged in a business he knows himself to be altogether too good for, but which the crisis of affairs requires him to look after, presented it to the ladies all around, beginning at the left hand, as he was bound to do, and skipping ever so many thirsty gentlemen who gloated on the small jugs; and then coming down toward the right hand, as he was likewise bound, he allowed the thirsty gentlemen to glean from the waiter the tumblers that remained. It is not to be supposed that Mr. Halsey Fishblatt all this time held his peace; on the contrary, the bearing of the waiter was not a tithe of his toils, for he kept strenuously urging, wherever he went, the propriety of taking a tumbler, the necessity of a draught of the lemonade to cool themselves, and particularly soliciting and entreating the ladies to make a paradise of his (Mr. Fishblatt's) parlors, by enjoying themselves with all their might and main.

"The lemonade had scarcely vanished, and the empty tumblers been gathered and borne out of sight, when it was announced, to the discomfiture and confusion of the company, that the celebrated and distinguished representative of the thirteenth ward in the city councils, Alderman Punchwind, by name, was in the house, having, as it was understood, done Mr. Fishblatt the honor to call in and partake of the agreeable hospitalities that were then and there going forward. Mr. Fishblatt, at the thought of so august a presence, recoiled a little, but recovering speedily, a deputation was immediately sent out, consisting of Puffer Hopkins and two young gentlemen who wore large watch seals and were rather ambitious of office and employment of this kind, to wait upon his eminence. In a few minutes a heavy tread was heard upon the stair, a commotion in the entry, and in stalked, in a broad-brimmed hat, a portly, capacious, and solid gentleman, of such dimensions as to resemble not a little a great school-globe, stepped out of its brass ring, and taking a walk of pleasure.

"In he marched, accompanied by his delegation, who clung close to his skirts to watch the impression his presence might make on the commonalty assembled.

“Puffer Hopkins had a glimmering reminiscence of a broad-brimmed hat, very much like the alderman's escaping into a pantry at the end of the hall as he came in at the beginning of the evening, worn by Crump-could it be so? Crump, the meek secretary who had been so browbeaten in the shower by Mr. Blinker. His brows overshadowed by the huge hat, and his chin buried in a capacious collar, Alderman Punchwind paused for a minute at the door, glanced about slowly and with an air of solemn importance, and then, without removing his hat or uttering a word, stalked across the parlor, proceeded to fill a glass from the sideboard, where relays of refreshments in liberal quantities were arranged, and at this moment, deigning to turn around and recognise the company, he intimated by a look that he would drink all their good healths; which he did, very emphatically, absorbing his wine much as the Norwegian Maelstrom might, if it were a corporate alderman and fed at the public charge. Having disposed of the wine the alderman next devoted his attention to the cake and other eatables, of which great batches disappeared from time to time; with a pause now and then, to allow him to vary the entertainment with a friendly return, just to show he hadn't forgotten it, to the decanter; which proceedings were watched with painful interest by Mr. Fishblatt's guests-who were horrified at the miraculous disappearance of the provisions for the party, and who looked upon the performance much as they would at the elephant at the managerie, feeding with a bale or two of hay, or the pagan anaconda at the museum, lunching on a pair of fowls and a live rabbit, without so much as a grace to the meal.

"As soon as Alderman Punchwind had concluded his corporate banquet by stripping the board of something more than two-thirds of its contents, solid and liquid, he wiped his lips, and marching steadily toward the centre of the rooms, there planted himself by the side of a column and looked abroad upon the company, fixing his eye, now and then, with peculiar sternness, on some young lady who happened to be fairer than her neighbors.

“After he had enjoyed this recreation for some time, various members of the company were brought up by Mr. Fishblatt, and introduced (by consent) to the distinguished functionary, who kept his ground manfully and received them all with an air of bland and gracious condescension; allowing each of them to take him by the hand, and to enjoy a few minutes' contemplation of his very classic and expressive features, and then pass off, making room for others."

Puffer Hopkins, Chap. IX.

We do not mean, nor wish to detract from the well deserved reputation of Mr. Dickens-all we ask is fair play for every author, there is room enough in the world for all! We shall conclude this by observing, in order to prevent the possibility of any retort, that the American alderman's gobbling up the destined feast of the evening party, had five years the start of the waiter's feat in Copperfield. We shall treat more of these accidental coincidences when we come to consider the writings of Cornelius Mathews in their proper place.

To return to Mr. Dickens :-it would be a curious study to go carefully through the works of every popular author, and trace the predominance of that peculiarity or excellence which first brought him into notice having contrasted Mr. Dickens with an American contemporary, and found that there could be no imitation in the matter, more especially on the other side of the Atlantic, we will compare him with an English author with whom he is on familiar terms.

A leading distinction between Dickens and Thackeray is the coolness of the latter compared with the partisanship of the other. Thackeray is a calm, observant, indifferent spectator, with a man of the world's aspect for the conventionals of life, and in spite of his sarcasms it is evident he entertains the opinion of Candide, that this is the best of all possible worlds. His paradise is a club life, with ragouts, parties and the most recherche of wines! His bower of bliss is an opera box. He looks at mankind through a lorgnette as he lounges on his seat, or enjoys the distinction of being safely ensconced in the Athenæum, while he observes the mob pass by the window.

Dickens is a poet and a zealot-with more humor than wit, and is totally destitute of sarcasm. He can vituperate, not sneer! and like most humorists, he has a tendency to exaggeration. We all know that a certain degree of exaggeration is necessary to get the reader up to the author's mark, but we maintain

that Mr. Dickens magnifies till it becomes so apparent as to expose itself. It may be necessary for an actress to rouge to a certain extent to counteract the ghastly effect of the broad stage-lights on the human countenance, but what should we say of her who daubed it on indiscriminately and unsparingly, giving as much to the nose as the cheek? So with the author, he composes in a glow, and beholds things immensely brighter than it will appear to the coldness, stupidity, or apathy of the common reader! Mr. Dickens' humor is Falstaffian, we admit, but he too frequently stuffs the fine old knight so much as to make him little better than a heap of old clothes; he buries the man in the buck basket truly, but he also requires him to wear them content, but like the grave-digger in Hamlet, he has too many waistcoats to be funny. Still there is heart and feeling in all this, and while the judicious blame the artist for his sacrifice of truth and nature, they laugh at the outrageousness of the distortion. Thackeray, on the other hand, never loses his temper or his judgment, Dickens often does: both scourge the offender, but the first does it from liking the office, and the other because he is angry, and thinks the culprit deserves it. In Vanity Fair the lash is always ringing on the back of the unhappy victim, but it is applied with the calculating prudence of the slave-driver, with a physician's regard for the life of the subject: he keeps him alive for further operations, and for future punishment. Dickens batters his opponent in a passion and gives up when tired: he rails and vituperates all the time, while Thackeray, with more severity, tortures at leisure. Both fish: but one pulls his trout out of the water at once and despatches it, while the other keeps it on the hook and drowns it by swimming. Dickens administers capital punishment on the spur of the moment; Thackeray imprisons for life, and racks his prisoner occasionally by way of amusement.

'Becky is as cold and wicked-as Quilp is a monstrous abortion-Thackeray is a Mephistophiles; Dickens a Faust!-One has

most head, the other most heart! Both are great observers, but they look different ways. The observation of Thackeray is particular, that of Dickens general; while one is content to regard only the artificial, the other narrowly chronicles the natural.

A modern critic has called Mr. Dickens the Hogarth of authors, and we think the epithet one of which the novelist may well be proud. In "Oliver Twist" we are perpetually reminded of the fact, and we can conceive nothing more perfect in the way of amusement than a novel written by Charles Dickens in his best manner, and illustrated by William Hogarth!

Among the scenes of that great fiction, one of the most touching things we ever read, is the scene where the poor sweet-hearted consumptive child, who is weeding the garden before any one else has risen, climbs up the gate, and putting his little arms through, clasps Oliver round the neck, wishing him "good bye" with a brother's kiss. They had both been beaten and starved together, and in the little child's "good bye-God bless you," rushed a world of thought, and old feelings enough to drown the voice of a poor law commissioner in tears.

It is in touches like this that Mr. Dickens is so superior to the rest of his contemporaries: he often conveys a crowd of associations in a line, but too often takes a page to reiterate what destroys the whole effect of his previous effort. He leaves nothing to the reader's imagination: indeed he so overpaints his picture as not unfrequently to obliterate the original and successful design. Numberless instances of this might be given: we content ourselves by calling the reader's attention to the description of Ruth's pudding making, too well known to quote.

Mr. Dickens tells a story remarkably well, and being a good mimic, he often imparts to the narrative the reality and vivacity of life: the anecdote of Macready and Prichard is one of his most suc

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