BOZ AND HIS NICHOLAS NICKLEBY.

THE popularity of Boz, which circulates his feuillades by thou- sands, and at once floats an indifferent Magazine into a sale rivalling that of all the old-established periodicals save CHRISTO- PHER NORTH'S, is one of the literary wonders of the day ; not indeed altogether inexplicable, but made up of so many elements, that it is difficult to di,cover them all, and still more diffi- cult to assign to each its exact effect upon the result. The first quality is, no doubt, his perfect plainness, the common- life character of his subjects, and the art with which he im- parts vitality to the literal and whatsoever lies on the sur- face. He calls upon his rtudr for no exertion—requires from him no mental elevation : he who runs may read Boz—" he is plain to the meanest capacity." In addition to this, he has a kind of con- ventional Cockney humour, best described by a phrase from its own dialect, "teerry funny." But, mingled with such qualifica- tions for mob-pleasing, are powers of a higher order. Ile has much of the most electric spirit for operatieg upon the vulgar, where no appeal can be made to their interests or their prejudices— the real spirit of humanity, which spoke in TERENCE'S " Homo sum; nil humanum it me alienum puto." Boz has also touches of pathos, and of tragic sadness : he sometimes utters, sometimes suggests, penetrating reflections ; and he has often points of uni- versal truth. These things have not only contributed to give Boz part of his popularity, but have redeemed his literalness from the meanness and dryness of the inventorial style, and raised his productions above the mere ephemera of the day ; whilst the ,quaint and homely manner in which his best thoughts are mostly expressed, add to his present popularity, whatever may be their future effect.

The very faults of this writer increase his immediate circula- tion; for they appeal to the every-day experience and social pre- judices of his readers. The Cockney pronunciation, the cant words, the slang expressions interwoven in his pages, will lose their zest as soon as they are superseded by others ; but as long as they are current, they produce an effect, even upon those who can analyze their nature and detect their worthlessness. Much the same may he said of his incidental topics introduced to satirize the times : they resemble the passing hits of a pantomime—side-splitting at first, decreasing in effect at each repetition, and vapid or unintelli- gible by the end of the season. This temporary attraction, but permanent defect, extends in a measure to the characters; many of whom, thought representing an existing class, belong to a for- tuitous and temporary species, the product of a peculiar and local state of society congregated in great towns. Hence we suspect that the circulation of Boz takes certain channels, beyond which he is not greatly relished or read. it would be curious, were it attainable, to know respectively the demand for his publications in the metropolis, in large provincial towns, and in the country. In the latter we suspect it would be small, of course supposing the district removed beyond town impulses.

A proportion, too, of the popular circulation of Boz is attri- butable to mechanical circumstances. The cuts, and the pay- ment by monthly instalments, do something. The publication in numbers, not only enables the writer to render incidents, persons, and, in short, all forms, subservient to his convenience or caprice, but gives just enough to serve as a meal to the mob of readers; and this quantity, or a little more, is perhaps as much of him as can be well borne at a time. Had the Pickwick been first published in a volume, it is questionable whether its circulation would have reached one-fifth of' its actual extent, or whether the wbrk would have been read through by the multitude. It is a significant fact, that the Sketches of this writer, collected into volumes, have a far less extensive demand, although they are more adapted for connected publication. After all, something must be allowed for inappreciable in- fluences. The air induces an epidemic, we know not why ; and the mind is similarly affected. Readers not very old can remem- ber the " Tom and Jerry" mania. So, Boz is wise to make his hay while the sunshine lasts.

Of the first number of the new work, which has given occasion to this retrospective glance at the writer's peculiarities, we can of course say little. The leading characters that have yet appeared are two,—a penurious uncle, whose sole object in life is to make money by any means ; and a nephew, the Nicholas Nickleby of the tale—a high-spirited youth, who has been thrown, with his mother and sister, upon this crafty and unscrupulous hunks, in consequence of his father's death in embarrassed circumstances. The other persons likely to take a future part in the story are Wackford Squeers, a Yorkshire schoolmaster for pupils at twenty pounds a year "and no vacations," to whom Nicholas is engaged as usher, by his uncle Newman Noggs, the elder

Nickleby's clerk ; together with the widow and her young daughter. The career of this family is to be, we suppose, thn future subject of the tale. The most striking incidents in the first number are, a public meeting got up to puff a fraudulent joint stock-company, and the appearance of Mr. Wackford Squeers at the Saracen's Head, receiving pupils for Yorkshire. Of the merits of the caricatura we can scarcely speak. Judging from the part before us, the points of high quality are not so

numerous as we have met with in this writers former work, and perhaps the whole has a more forced air ; which may be merely the uncertainty of a preliminary introduction. Unless, however, con.

siderable delicacy be displayed in its conduct, the groundwork of the subject will scarcely bear such striking changes or ludicrous contrasts as Pickwick, without somewhat shocking the mind with the incredulus odi.

But, leaving the future to the ingenious author, we proceed to enable ow readers to form a judgment of the present performance by specimens.

A NON•SENTIMENTALIST.

On the death of his father, Ralph Nickleby, who had been some time before placed in a mercantile house in London, applied himself passionately to his old pursuit of money-getting ; in which he speedily became so buried and absorbed, that he quite forgot his brother for many years; and if at time a recollection of hie old playfellow broke upon him through the haze in whichhe lived—for gold conjures up a mist about man more destructive of all his old senses and lulling to his feelings than the fumes of charcoal—it brought along with it a companion thought, that if they were intimate he would waut to borrow money of him : and Mr. Ralph Nickleby shrugged his shoulders, and said things were better as they were.

COMMONPLACE SPECULATIONS.

Speculation is a round game; the players see little or nothing of their cards at filet starting ; gains may be great, and so may losses. The run of luck went against Mr. Nickleby ; is mania prevailed, a bubble burst, four stock. brokers took villa residences at Florence, four hundred nobodies were ruined, and among them Mr. Nickleby.

" The very house I live in," sighed the poor gentleman, " may be taken from me to.morrow. Not an article of my old furniture, but will be sold to strangers!" The last reflection hurt him so much, that he took at once to his bed, appu rently resolved to keep that, at all events. " Cheer up, Sir ! said the apothecary. " You mustn't let yourself be cast down, Sir," said the nurse. " Such things happen every day," remarked the lawyer. " And it is very sinful to rebel against them," whispered the clergyman. " And what no man with a family ought to do," added the neighbours. Mr. Nickleby shook his bead, and motioning them all out of the room, ern. braced his wife and children, and having pressed them by turns to his languidly. beating heart, sunk exhausted on his pillow. They were concerned to find that his reason went astray after this; for he babbled fur along time about the gene. rusity and goodness of his brother, and the merry old times when they were at school together. This fit of wandering past, he solemnly commended them to One who never deserted the widow or her fatherless children ; and smiling gently on them, turned upon his face, and observed that he thought he could fall asleep.

GOLDEN SQUARE.

Although a few members of the graver professions live about Golden Square, it is not exactly in anybody's way to or from anywhere. It is one of the squares that have been—a quarter of the town that has gone down in the world, and taken to letting lodgings. Many of its first and second floors are let furnished to single gentlemen, and it takes boarders besides. It is a great resort of foreigners. The dark-complexioned men who wear large rings and heavy swatch-guards and bushy whiskers, and who congregate under the Opera colon- made and about the box.office in the season, between four and five in the after* noon, when Mr. Seguin gives away the orders—all live in Gulden Square, or within a street of it. Two or three violins and a wind instrument from the Opera band reside within its precincts. Its boarding.houses are musical, and the notes of pianos and harps float in the evening time round the head of the mournful statue, the guardian genius of a little wilderness of shrubs, in the centre of the square. On a summer's night, windows ale thrown open, and groups of swarthy mustachioed men are seen by the passer-by lounging at the casements, and smoking fearfully. Sounds of gruff voices practising vocal music invade the evening's silence, and the fumes of choice tobacco scent the air. There, snuff' sail cigars, and German pipes and flutes, and violins and violoncellos, divide the supremacy between them. It is the region of song and smoke. Street bands are on their mettle in Golden Square, and itinerant glee- singers quaver involuntarily as they raise their voices within its boundaries.

LONDON GARDENS.

Some London houses have a melancholy little plot of ground behind them, usually fenced in by four high whitewashed walls and frowned upon by stacks of chimnies, in which there withers on from year to year a crippled tree, that makes a show of putting forth a few leaves late in autumn, when other trees shed theirs, and drooping in the effort, lingers on, all crackled and smoke.dried, till the following season, when it repeats the same process, and perhaps, if the weather be particularly genial, even tempts some rheumatic sparrow to chirrup in its branches. People sometimes call these dark yards " gardens ; "it is not supposed that they were ever planted, but rather that they are pieces of unre- claimed laud, with the withered vegetation of the original bricktield. No man thinks of walking in this desolate place, or of turning it to any account. A few hampers, half.a-dozen broken bottles, and such like rubbish may be thrown there when the tenant first moves in, but nothing more; and there they remain till he goes away again, the damp straw taking just as long to moulder as it thinks proper, and mingling with the scanty box and stunted everbrowns, and broken flowervots, that are scattered mournfully about—a prey to "blacks" and dirt.

A CHEAP SCHOOLMASTER AND A TENDER STEP.PATHER.

The stranger continued. "I have been thinking, Mr. Squeers, of placing my

two boys at your school." "It is not for me to say so, Sir," replied Mr. Squeers, "but I don't think

you could possibly do a better thing."

" Hem ! ' said the other. "Twenty pounds per annewum, I believe, Mr. Squeere ? " ' Guineas," rejoined the schoolmaster, with a persuasive smile. "Pounds for two, I think, Mr. Squeers," said Mr. Snawley, solemnly. " I don't thiok it could be done, Sir," replied Squeers, as if he had never

considered the proposition before. " Let inc see ; four fives is twenty, double that, and deduct the—well, a pound either way shall not stand betwixt us.

You must recommend we to your connexion, Sir, and make it up that way."

"They are not great eaters," said Mr. Snawley.

orals! that doesn't matter at all," replied Squeers. "We don't consider the bore appetites at our establishment." This was strictly true: they did not. Every wholesome luxury, Sir, that Yorkshire can afford, continued Squeers; "every beautiful moral that Mrs. Squeers can instil ; every—in in short, every comfort of a home that a boy could wish for, will be theirs, Mr.

&swim" "I should wish their morals to be particularly attended to," said Mr.

seawley. ri 1 am glad of that, Sir," replied the schoolmaster, drawing himself up. limey have come to the right shop for morals, Sir."

" You are a moral man yourself," said Mr. Snawley.

"I rather believe I am, Sir," replied Squeers.

"I have the satisfaction to know you are, Sir," said Mr. Smithy. "I faked one of your references, and he said you were pious." "Well, Sir, (hope I am a little in that way," replied Squeals. 01 hope I am also," rejoined the other. "Could I say a few words with you in the next box ? " oily all means," rejoined Squeers, with a grin. "My dears, will you speak to your new playfellow a minute or two? That is one of my boys, Sir. Belling his name is ; a Taunton boy that, Sir." "Is he, indeed ?" rejoined Mr. Snawley, looking at the poor little urchin, as if he were some extraordinary natural curiosity. "He goes down with me to.tuorrow, Sir," said Squeers. " That's his lug- gage that he is sitting upon now. Each boy is required to bring, Sir, two mats of clothes, six shirts, six pair of stockings, two nightcaps, two pocket liandkerchiefe, two pair of oboes, two bati,, and a razor." "A razor !" exclaimed Mr. Snawley, as they walked into the next box. "What for? "

"To shave with," replied Squeers, in 3 slow and measured tone.

There was not much in these three words, but there must have been some- thing in the manner in which they were said to attract attention, for the school- master and his companioa looked steadily at each other for a few seconds, and then exchanged a very meaning smile. Snawley was a sleek, flat-nosed man, clad in sombre garments: and long black gaiters, and bearing in his countenance tut expression of much mortification and sanctity, so that his smiling without any obvious reason was the more remarkable. "Up to what age do you keep boys at your school, then ?" he asked at length.

"Just as long as their friends make the quarterly payments to my agent in town, or until such time as they run away," replied Squeers. "Let us under- stand each other ; I see ;we may safely do so. What are these boys—natural children ?" "No," rejoined Snawley, meeting the gaze of the schoolmaster's one eye. "They an't."

"I thought they might be," said Squeers, coolly. "We have a good many of them ; that boy's one."

"Him in the next box ? " said Snawley.

Squeers nodded in the affirmative, and his companion took another peep at the little boy on the trunk, and turning round again, looked as if he were quite diuppointed to see him so much like other boys, and said he should hardly have thought it. He is," cried Squeers. "But about these boys of yours ; you wanted to speak to me ?"

replied Snawley. " The fact is, I am not their father, Mr.:Squeers ; I'm only their father-in.law."

"Oh! is that it ? " said the schoolmaster. "That explains it at once. I was wondering what the devil you were going to stud them to Yorkshire for. Ha, ha! oh, I understand now." "You see I have marl ied the another," pursued Snawley; "it's expensive keeping boys at home, and has she has a little money in her own right, I ant skald (women are so very foolish, 31r. Squeers, that she might be led to squander it on them, which would be their tuin, you know." " bee," returned Squeers, throwing himself back in his chair. and waving his hand.

"And this," resumed Snawley, "has made me anxious to put them to some school a good distance off, where there are no holydays—none of those ill.judged comings borne twice a year that unsettle children's minds so—and where tiny may rough it a little—you comprehend ? " "The payments regular, and no questions asked," said Squeers, nodding his

heed.

"That's it exactly," rejoined the other. "Morals strictly attended to, though."

" Strictly," said Squeers. "Not too much writing home allowed, I suppose?" said the father-in-law, hesitating." "None, except a circular at Christmas, to say that they never were so happy, and hope they may never be sent for," rejoined Squeers. "Nothing could be better," said the father-innaw, rubbing his hands.