Scott, who in his turn inspired Massimo | derful genius, and also of perfect breedd'Azeglio; and the tale called "Ettore ing as well as of a much clearer insight Fieramosca," which carries the reader into the complex workings of human back to the times of Ariosto, was to the young men of Italy a reminder of what their countrymen had been in the past, and what they themselves might be in the future.

From The Spectator.

character in all ranks of life, would have commanded sooner or later, and probably sooner rather than later, an audience much larger than Dickens ever commanded, and would have commanded it without inspiring the same amount of just distaste. There are people we know, and people of very considerable humor as well as high literary

HOW LONG WILL DICKENS HOLD HIS instinct, who are more repelled than

PLACE IN THE FUTURE?

But

attracted by Dickens as a whole. They A SIXPENNY edition of Dickens's cannot bear his hysteric sentiment. larger stories is being brought out by They cannot endure his rather frothy Mr. Dicks, of 313 Strand, - though bonhomie. They recoil from the mosaic: "Martin Chuzzlewitt," as a complete jewelry of his picturesque sympathy.. work, costs 1s., each of the two volumes They are oppressed by his devotion to being separately published, while his milk-punch and to kissing under the "Christmas Tales " are being repro- mistletoe. They are irritated at hisduced by the same publisher at 2d. habit of marking off individualities by apiece. Thus his stories are placed physical tricks. They are offended by within the reach of the very poorest of his shallow philanthropy and his ostenEnglish readers, and it is impossible to tatious patronage of the softer emotions. doubt that during the next fifty years at And they vote him down as on the least, he may attain a popularity such whole too vulgar for enjoyment, except as in his lifetime, - when his books cir- to those for whom refinement has no culated chiefly among the middle class, real value. - he never so much as contemplated. But they are certainly quite wrong. But will his popularity last? Or will That Dickens has all these glaring his rather falsetto sentimentalism, his faults we do not in the least deny. histrionic use of the literary equivalent with his vulgarity he combines gifts of for "tears in the voice," the under- a kind which no sort of vulgarity can breeding which comes out so promi- eclipse or even obscure. When Sir nently in the jollity of Mr. Wardle's Walter Scott's daughter happened to household, the rather glaring caricatures say of something that she could not of Sir Mulberry Hawke and Lord Fred- endure it, for it was vulgar, Sir Walter erick Verisopht, the turn for edification said to her, "My love, you speak like a exhibited by the "upward-pointing very young lady; do you know after all Agnes in "David Copperfield," the the meaning of the word vulgar? 'Tis cheap melodrama of Mrs. Dombey's in- only common; nothing that is common, trigue with Mr. Carker, the mincing except wickedness, can deserve to be virtue of Esther in "Bleak House," spoken of in a tone of contempt, and the feeble satire on conventional pro- when you have lived to my years you priety in the sketch of Mr. Podsnap in will be disposed to agree with me in "Our Mutual Friend," and all that may thanking God that nothing really worth for short be called the "vulgar" ele- having or caring about in this world is ment in Dickens, interfere ultimately uncommon." In the sense in which Sir with that great popularity which at first Walter spoke he was quite right, though it may very likely tend to promote? It he certainly did not mean to assert that would be very rash to say that it will great genius is common. He held, innever tend to interfere with it. We deed, that what we call great genius is should maintain that in the end any not one of the most enviable or imporwriter possessed of all Dickens's won-tant of human gifts. Indeed, he said

屋

as much as this to Miss Edgeworth. | Dickens is, that while Scott

never

"Are you not," he asked, "too apt to painted what was morally unrefined, as
measure things by mere reference to if it were, in his opinion, worthy of
literature, to disbelieve that anybody admiration, Dickens not unfrequently
can be worth much care who has no did. The ideal of the former, in re-
knowledge of that sort of thing, or taste spect to refinement of the heart, was a
for it? God help us! What a poor true ideal; the ideal of the latter was
world this would be if that were true often false, and still oftener confused.
doctrine! I have read books enough, Now it would, we think, be exagger-
and observed and conversed with ating Dickens's hold on the popularity
enough of eminent and splendidly cul- of future generations, not to admit that,
tivated minds, too, in my time; but I so far as this radical confusion of the
assure you I have heard higher senti- higher with the lower moral qualities
ments from the lips of poor, uneducated goes, it will eventually diminish his
men and women, when exerting the command over the admiration of men.
spirit of severe yet gentler heroism But it would, on the other hand, be
under difficulties and afflictions, or putting that claim far too low not to
speaking their simple thoughts as to maintain that, in spite of these confu-
circumstances in the lot of their friends sions, in spite of the moral pinchbeck
and neighbors, that I ever yet met with which he frequently mistakes for gold,
out of the pages of the Bible. We and displays with something like self-
shall never learn to feel and respect our congratulation as if it were gold, he
real calling and destiny, unless we have has shown powers so marvellously keen
taught ourselves to consider everything both of perception and of humor, that
as moonshine compared with the educa- for many generations to come the ablest
tion of the heart." So that when Scott and most discerning will regard his
deprecated so earnestly any high esti- writings as a perfect mine of wealth, in
mate of that which was uncommon, he which, though they will find much that
certainly did mean to disparage mere is poor and spurious passed off as if it
literary genius, perhaps because he ad- were genuine treasure, they will also
mitted it to be uncommon; but he did find untold wealth of insight into the
not, we think, mean to deny that there paradoxes and eccentricities and hypoc-
is a very common sort of coarseness of risies of human nature, as well as into
the heart which is not wickedness, but that boundless variety of common things
is nevertheless very objectionable. He of which no eye but his ever saw the
thought the very highest virtues com- full miscellaneousness and quaintness.
mon, but he did not think all that was There is a superfine kind of refinement
common, good. His own writings which is so repelled by the falsetto side
abound in indications of how much he of Dickens that it cannot enjoy his al-
delighted in that "education of the most unlimited powers of perception
heart" which gives a real spiritual re- and light-heartedness. Indeed, it feels
finement to those whose intellects had his whole humor soiled by the many
been utterly neglected, how such na- indications of vulgarity of judgment
tures as those of Jeanie Deans or Edie which alloy his astonishing powers of
Ochiltree were all the dearer to him vision, and his still more astonishing
because they had this refinement of the powers of caricature. But that is a
heart without a trace of anything that fastidiousness which would impoverish
could be called intellectual polish. But the significance of English literature.
on the other hand, he could paint, and Without Dickens, we should be without
paint with great force, characters like the most wonderful eyes and without
those of Andrew Fairservice or Thorny the most wonderful sense of drollery
Osbaldistone, whose common cunning which have ever gazed upon England
or common sottishness had no touch in in this confused nineteenth century,
them of this refinement.
and recorded we may even say in
The difference between Scott and some sense catalogued-the strange

and overwhelming miscellany of its one makes it more mean and ridiculous. heaped-up wealth and rubbish, both Mrs. Gamp and Betsy Prig are pictures physical and moral. Why, because we for all time of brutal and selfish nurses see the melodramatic side of Little Nell who are as ridiculous and contemptible and her grandfather, are we to ignore to the world as they are greedy and the opulence of fun in the description hypocritical. He makes the boastfulof Mrs. Jarley's wax-works, and the ness and menaces of base grandilorivalries of Codlin and Short? Why, quence even more ridiculous than it is because we can see the unreality and odious. He makes all sorts of miserliperhaps the sickliness of Kit, are we to ness even more contemptible than it is turn aside from the abounding humor mean. Wherever he clearly sees what of Dick Swiveller's romantic scraps of is vulgar, no one shows more transong, and of the Marchioness's astute scendent power in trampling it under but crippled intelligence? Why, be- the feet of men than Dickens. And cause we cannot relish Kate Nickleby's though he often mistakes what is vulsentimental sorrows, or her uncle's self-gar and unreal for what is noble and ish malignity, are we to deprive our- true, yet if we were to think lightly of selves of the instructive and elaborate his power on that account, we should picture of Mr. Squeers's brutal cunning miss half our knowledge of the life of and cruelty-of his enjoyment, for in- the English poor, of the moral poverty stance, of the refreshing novelty of of our middle class, as well as half the beating Smike in a cab-of Mr. Lilly- buoyancy and gaiety of the literature vick's open-mouthed delight in Miss of our century. In the rather special Henrietta Petowker's "Blood-drinker's humor of personified caricature, even Burial," and of Mr. Vincent Crum- Shakespeare is not his equal.

mles's insight into the dramatic effectiveness of " a real pump on the stage? Why, because we cannot enjoy the spurious pathos of Tom Pinch's simplicity and Ruth Pinch's manipulation of the rump-steak pudding, are we to forget Mr. Pecksniff's satisfaction in winding up that wonderful contrivance, his digestive system, which, when fairly set going, made him feel "a benefactor to his race"? Why, because we have a certain sense of nausea at the pity lavished on Mr. Chuffey's sufferings and Mercy Pecksniff's woes, are we to be blind to the overflowing humor of Mr. Moddle's self-reproach when he bids Charity Pecksniff "become the bride of a ducal coronet and forget me; I will not reproach, for I have wronged you; may the furniture make some amends"? It seems to us that modern fastidiousness is so extreme that it will not pick up even the most costly diamonds out of the dust of a little vulgarity and an ostentatious display of rather cheap benevolence. Of course, the greatness of Dickens is not in his sentiment. He is often tawdry; he is always overcharged. But when he sees and despises true vulgarity, no

From The National Review. BYEWAYS IN SICILY.

BY LADY SUSAN KEPPEL.

IN Palermo recently we made up our minds to leave the tourist's track and drive along the north coast of Sicily to Messina. Owing to the repute of the district, which is bad, we had difficulty in obtaining permission from the prefect. At length, however, we prevailed. We gained his reluctant consent, and what was still more important, a mounted escort. Our Palermitan friends thought us foolhardy. As we bade them goodbye, they shook their heads, hinting at brigands and discomforts. We laughed at the thought of danger then; but recent accounts of brigandage in those parts retrospectively justify their friendly apprehensions.

We left Palermo at six in the morning, travelling by train as far as Cefalù. Here we ordered mules, and while they were being saddled went to look at the cathedral, built by Roger II. during the Norman period in Sicily, between the years 1072 and 1194, in fulfilment of

We

a vow made by that pious king when owners and the wealthier peasants, caught in a storm at sea. By the time who, in return for their spiritual miniswe had returned, the mules were ready trations, keep them provided with the and the escort was in attendance. necessaries of life. started immediately. Our first destina- After supper we were taken to the tion was a monastery erected on the chapel for evening prayers. The buildsummit of Gibelmanna, a mountain ing contains a very ancient statue of thirty-five hundred feet high. The the Madonna, which, washed up by road up was lovely. A rocky pathway the sea near Cefalù long years ago, is meandered through richly cultivated now venerated as miraculous. The vineyards, shaded by fig-trees, cork-relic is kept in a niche at the back of trees, and the manna-trees, from whose the altar. Two curtains, one of muslin feathery white flowers the mountain and the other of satin, both richly emtakes its name; the ground was car- broidered, hang before it. When we peted with bluebells, orchids, and white entered the chapel it was almost dark. cistus. Higher, the scenery changing, The lighted tapers on the altar shed a we passed under oak-trees and between warm glow over the upper half of the great bushes of yellow broom and of little building; while the lower part lay white may. Near the summit we de- bathed in a flood of silver moonrays scried the convent standing on a pla- falling aslant, through the open doorteau edged with a stone parapet, against way, on to the stone pavement. Here which leant brown-hooded monks, evi- and there knelt peasants in their workdently on the lookout for their guests. ing clothes. Soon the monks came in The monks received us hospitably, and one by one, grouping themselves on and conducted us to a low, whitewashed about the altar steps, their brown hoods building to the right of the convent, drawn up so as to conceal their faces. with four doors and four windows. A The supreme moment of the ceremony whitewashed stone cell, about twelve was the unveiling of the statue. Two feet square; a heavily barred window, monks kneeling on either side of the innocent of glass; a raised wooden plat- altar slowly drew apart the satin curform to sleep on, and a wooden table tains, and the outlines of the statue and bench such were the guest quar- became dimly visible through the folds ters! There were four cells. One was of the muslin curtains. Further ceregiven to the ladies of the party; an- monies were performed; and finally other to the men; a third, somewhat the last covering was withdrawn, leavlarger, was set apart for our escort and ing the Madonna for a few moments their horses; the fourth was for the fully exposed to the reverent gaze of mules and the muleteers. Before an the enthusiastic congregation. Bendhour had passed, however, the aspect ing low, they raised their voices in exof affairs was changed by the arrival of ultant shouts of "Viva Maria! Viva la barefooted monks, bearing straw pal-Madonna!" while bells pealed out in liasses and rough blankets, which they proceeded to make up into beds on the wooden platforms. Others, bringing our dinner, followed, and then two of our friends, Padre Guiseppe and Padre Vincente, set themselves to wait upon us, laughing and chatting with us while we ate. They gave us excellent food and capital vin-du-pays, all bestowed upon them by charity, for by the rule of their order they are not allowed to possess anything of their own, and are, therefore, dependent for their subsistence upon the good-will of the land

every part of the building. A hushed pause followed upon this burst of feeling; then, one by one, the coverings were slowly restored. The lights extinguished, the monks glided out of the chapel, their heads bowed over their joined hands.

When bidding us good-night the monks advised us to bolt our doors and windows, and on no account to open them again. Some of the rougher peasants, they told us, might indulge in jokes at our expense. This gives some idea of the state of the country. Since

our return to England, we have heard ous from the way in which they looked

from the British consul at Palermo that, on account of the increase of brigandage, the monks now consider the mountain passes unsafe for travellers. It was fortunate, then, that we made our expedition when we did. Otherwise, we should probably never have seen the Convent of Gibelmanna.

it over and pinched its sides. An hour or so later our host announced dinner with a self-satisfied air, and lo! roast kid was on the table. I held my peace, and once more dined off pasta!

We left Sancta Agatha at five in the morning. We were to go on to Patti, a town of nearly twenty thousand inhabReturned to Cefalù, we found our itants, dirty and uncivilized to the last travelling equipage waiting; three degree. That day's drive was amid stout horses in a comfortable landau, wind and showers; but the foaming sea with a net bag under the body of the looked grand as we skirted its shores vehicle for the luggage. Our first day's under great overhanging cliffs. The drive led us through wild scenery along general character of the scenery at this the seacoast to the village of San Ste- part of the coast recalls the shores of phano, where we slept. It is the most the Riviera, with its bold headlands squalid village imaginable, peopled by and land-locked bays, its hill-villages haggard men and women and ragged and hedges of prickly pear. At Patti, children. The main street is so narrow which, to our surprise, we discovered that our carriage filled it up completely, to be a garrison town, we dined at a driving the foot passengers into side table d'hôte. The room was full of offialleys, up steps, and into doorways, cers of different regiments. We were whence they peeped out at the un- minutely catechized by them, and had wonted spectacle of strangers alighting to give an account of our ages, why we before the inn. The interior of this were travelling, whether for business or inn was better than we were led to for pleasure, how much we paid for the expect from its unpromising façade. carriage. The officers, evidently, were The pasta was of indifferent quality; unaccustomed to strangers, and, like but it was abundant, and the beds were curious children, betrayed no shyness clean. Next day we skirted the sea, in their cross-examination. and spent the night at Sancta Agatha, a fishing village. The little roadside inn where we put up still lacks the upper story. It has only two sleeping apartments, one of which, at the time of our arrival, was tenanted by the landlord's family. They turned out for our benefit, and retired into a tiny pantry adjoining our rooms, where, to judge from the sounds that reached us, they spent an unprofitable night in dubious invocations over the intruding guests. When we asked for dinner we were informed that, besides the neverfailing pasta, there was nothing in the house. Our disgust was great. Waiting for the meal, such as it was, I heard a lively altercation in front of the house, and, on looking out, saw two men, one of whom was our landlord, wrangling over an unfortunate kid held head downwards, regardless of the poor little animal's sufferings. The men were bargaining. That was obvi

As we

Our plan for the next day was to be up early and drive to Falcone, about twelve miles off, there to catch the train to Messina. We consulted the landlord and the officers; but we could not discover with any certainty when the train was timed to start; the majority believed that it would be somewhere about half past nine. were anxious to loiter on the way at a village called Tyndaris, we were called at half past five and were off before seven. Tyndaris turned out to be perched on the extreme summit of a hill over the precipitous side of which we might easily have thrown a stone straight into the blue sea below, a sheer fall of seven hundred and fifty feet. The Mediterranean seemed a limitless expanse of shining water. On our right we could see Falcone, about two miles off. Our attention was arrested by a little black thing, like a worm, wriggling slowly out of it. Could that