THE ELOQUENCE OF DICKENS.* Ir is always delightful to have

a good excuse for re-reading the classics of fiction. Messrs. Chapman and Hall in their "Authentic Edition" have provided us with an irre- sistible reason for reopening our Dickens, and not satisfied

with reading the two novels (The Pickwick Papers and the Tale of Two Cities) which are all that are given us at first, we

may take down the well-worn volumes from the bookshelves and again renew our acquaintance with a crowd of old friends whom we have rather, perhaps, neglected of late. Of course, the first question which the impartial critic will ask himself is, bow have the novels stood the test of time ? Fashions of thought and fashions of feeling have all changed, and the sentiment of Dickens, because it is not cast in the

form now in vogue, seems to us mawkish and absurd. No modern author, to take an instance from David Copper- - field, would write of the fisherman class from the standpoint of the " middle " middle class. To-day our best fiction is either of the slums slummy, or deals with the Peerage and the decidedly upper middle class. The points which have not suffered in Dickens are his humour and his astonish- ing vigour. The amount of " stuff " he put into each novel is something prodigious. The modern novelist may remorselessly conduct his hero from the cradle to the grave, but yet his work will appear thin and attenuated beside that of Dickens, for in the most favourable cases it is very seldom that more than three or four of the characters of a novel of the day really live. The background is filled with out- lines. There were very few outlines in Dickens's work, and a crowd of subordinate characters spring at once to mind. Take, as examples, Dr. Strong, Mrs. Micawber (a brave and lively shade, to whom the writer presents the most respectful admiration), Mr. F.'s Aunt, Miss Snevellicci, the immortal Crummles, the brothers Cheeryble,—what are these but minor characters ? Yet one and all they are possessed with a vigour and a life only accorded to " principals " by the parsimonious novelist of to-day.

Another striking quality in Dickens is his exceeding elo- quence. When he bestows a flow of words upon one of his personages, what a very Niagara he gives us ! And in most of his novels he takes more than one opportunity to overwhelm us, to carry us away on a torrent of eloquence, which leaves the reader breathless and half-bewildered. Facile princeps in this great art of eloquence is Mrs. Gamp. Her two immortal discourses on the occasion of going down to the docks to see off the " Ankworks package" show the eloquence of Dickens

at his best :—

"'Which shows,' said Mrs. Gamp, casting up her eyes, what a little way you've travelled into this wale of life, my dear young creetur. As a good friend of mine has frequent made remark to me, which her name, my love, is Harris, Mrs. Harris through the square and up the steps a turnin' round by the tobacker shop, "Oh Sairey, Sairey, little do we know wot lays afore us !' "Mrs. Harris, ma'am," I says, "not much, it's true, but more than you suppoge. Our calcilations, ma'am," I says, "respectin' wot the number of a family will be, comes most times within one, and oftener than you would suppoge, exact." "Sairey," says Mrs. Harris, in a awful way, "Tell me wot is my individgle number." "No, Mrs. Harris," I says to her, " ex-cuge me, if you please. My own," I says, "has fallen out of three-pair backs, and had damp doorsteps settled on their lungs, and one was turned up smilin' in a bedstead, unbeknown. Therefore. ma'am," I says, "seek not to proticipate, but take 'em as they come and as they go." Mine,' said Mrs. Gamp, mine is all gone, my dear young chick. And as to husbands, there's a wooden leg gone likeways home to its account, which in its constancy of walkin' into wine vaults, and never comin' out again 'till fetched by force, was quite as weak as flesh, if not weaker.'"

That is true eloquence ; but even better is the actual address to the " Ankworks package " :—

"Oh that you!' said Mrs. Gump, shaking her umbrella at it, 'you're a nice spluttering noisy monster for a delicate young creetur to go and be a passenger by ; an't you! You never do no harm in that way, do you? With your hammering, and roaring, and hissing, and lamp-iling, you brute ! Them Confusion steamers,' said Mrs. Gamp, shaking her umbrella again, 'has done more to throw us out of our reglar work and bring ewents on at times when nobody counted on 'em (especially them screeching rail- road ones), than all the other frights that ever was took. I have heerd of one young man, a guard upon a railway, only three year opened—well does Mrs. Harris know him, which indeed he is her own relation by her sister's marriage with a master sawyer—as is godfather at this present time to six-and-twenty blessed little • 2'he Pickwick Papers and A Tale of Two Cities. By Charles Dickens. "Authentic Edition," VolsJ. and IL London : Chapman and Hall. M. each.]

strangers, equally unexpected, and all on 'um named after the Ingeins as was the cause. Ugh ! ' said Mrs. Gamp, resuming her apostrophe, one might easy know you was a man's invention, from your disregardlessness of the weakness of our naturs, so one might, you brute!'" In the same book, and as an example of eloquence in the grand manner, we may quote the rolling phrases of one of the "two literary ladies," who were "both transcendental," and who, after presenting their compliments to the mother of the modern Gracchi, joined the little "le-Yee," graced by the

honourable Elijah Pogram and Mrs. Hominy :—

"'Mind and matter,' said the lady in the wig, 'glide swift into the vortex of immensity. Howls the sublime, and softly sleeps the calm Ideal, in the whispering chambers of Imagination. To hear it, sweet it is. But then, outlaughs the stern philoso- pher, and saith to the Grotesque, "What ho ! arrest for me that Agency. Go, bring it here!' And so the vision fadeth.' "

The unfortunate Flora, the stout and widowed early love of Arthur Clennam, in _Little Dorrit, is also one of the most breathlessly eloquent of Dickens's characters. It will be remembered that poor Flora was always trying to revive the "dear old days gone for ever," and on the occasion of the following discourse she, accompanied by the late Mr. Finching's aunt, had come to visit Clennam in his counting

house :—

One last remark,' resumed Flora, I was going to say I wish to make one last explanation I wish to offer, Mr. F's Aunt and myself would not have intruded on business hours Mr. F having been in business and though the wine trade still business is equally business call it what you will and business habits are just the same as witness Mr. F himself who had his slippers always on the mat at ten minutes before six in the afternoon and his boots inside the fender at ten minutes before eight in the morning to the moment in all weathers light or dark—would not therefore have intruded without a motive which being kindly meant it may be hoped will be kindly taken Arthur, Mr. Clennam far more proper, even Doyce and Clennam probably more business-like' 'Very polite of you to say so Arthur— cannot remember Mr. Clennam until the word is out, such is the habit of times for ever fled, and so true it is that oft in the stilly night ere slumber's chain has bound people, fond memory brings the light of other days around people—very polite but more polite than true I am afraid, for to go into the machinery business without BO much as sending a line or a card to papa—I don't say me though there was a time but that is past and stern reality has now my gracious never mind—does not look like it

you must confess.' Though indeed,' she hurried on, nothing else is to be expected and why should it be expected, and if it's not to be expected why should it be and I am far from blaming you or any one, When your mama and my papa worried us to death and severed the golden bowl—I mean bond but I dare say you know what I mean and if you don't you don't lose much and care just as little I will venture to add—when they severed the golden bond that bound us and threw us into fits of crying on the sofa nearly choked at least myself everything was changed and in giving my hand to Mr. F I know I did so with my eyes open but he was so very unsettled and in such low spirits that he had distractedly alluded to the river if not oil of something from the chemist's and I did it for the best.'" No wonder that the only contribution which Mr. F.'s Aunt can find an opportunity to make to the conversation is "the inexorable and awful sentence " :—" There's mile-stones on the Dover road !"

Another lady who suffers from determination of words to the mouth is Mrs. Nickleby, who on one occasion excuses herself for fainting in the following terms :—

"'It's a weakness in our family,' said Mrs. Nickleby, so, of course, I can't be blamed for it. Your grandmama, Kate, was exactly the same—precisely. The least excitement, the slightest surprise, she fainted away directly. I have heard her say, often and often, that when she was a young lady, and before she was married, she was turning a corner into Oxford Street one day, when she ran against her own hair-dresser, who, it seems, was escaping from a bear ;—the mere suddenness of the encounter made her faint away directly. Wait, though,' added Mrs. Nickleby, pausing to consider, 'Let me be sure I'm right. Was it her hair-dresser who had escaped from a bear, or was it a bear who had escaped from her hair-dresser's ? I declare I can't remember just now, but the hair-dresser was a very hand- some man, I know, and quite a gentleman in his manners ; so that it has nothing to do with the point of the story.'" It was not always on the more voluble sex that Dickens

bestowed his gift of tongues. Although chiefly epistolatory, what can equal the polished periods of the eloquence of Mr. Micawber ? On at least one occasion he let himself go in spoken words, and showed what he could do in the way of a flow of language when roused. Mr. Micawber on the occasion in questionbad the melancholy induced by being confidential clerk to Uriah Heep enhanced by a regretful visit to an ancient haunt. He had been to visit the King's Bench Prison, "the serene spot," as he remarked," where some of the happiest hours of my existence fleeted by?' And the regretful aspirations toward that part of his career were too much for him, for as he told David Copperfield : "When I was an inmate of that retreat I could look my fellow.man in the face and punch his head if he offended me. My fellow-man and myself are no longer on those glorious terms." Later in the afternoon Mr. Micawber for the first time in his life broke down in the corn. pounding of punch, and burst into tears. On being asked to say what was the matter, and reminded of the presence of none but friends, Mr. Micawber exploded into the following harangue :—

" Among friends, sir ?' repeated Mr. Micawber ; and all he had reserved came breaking out of him. 'Good Heavens, it is principally because I am among friends that my state of mind is what it is. What is the matter, gentlemen? What is not the matter ? Villainy is the matter ; baseness is the matter ; decep- tion, fraud, conspiracy, are the matter; and the name of the

whole atrocious mass is—Hp!' . The struggle is over!' said Mr. Micawber, violently gesticulating with his pocket-hand- kerchief, and fairly striking out from time to time with both arms, as if he were swimming under superhuman difficulties. 'I will lead this life no longer. I am a wretched being, cut off from everything that makes life tolerable. I have been under a Taboo in that infernal scoundrel's service. Give me back any wife, give rue back my family, subztitute Micawber for the petty wretch who walks about in the boots at present on my feet, and call upon me to swallow a sword to-morrow, and I'll do it.

With an appetite ! ' I'll put my hand in no man's hand,' said Mr. Micawber, gasping, puffing, and sobbing, to that degree that he was like a man fighting with cold water, until I have— blown to fragments—the—a—detestable—serpent—KEEP! I'll partake of no one's hospitality, until I have—a—moved Mount Vesuvius—to eruption—on—a—the abandoned rascal— KEEP! Refre,hment—a—underneath this roof—particularly punch —would—a—choke me—unless—I had—previously—choked the eyes—out of the head—a--of—interminable cheat, and liar-- KEEP ! know nobody—and—a—say nothing—and—a 1--live nowhere—until I have crushed—to—a—undiscoverable 'atoms—the transcendent and immortal hypocrite and perjurer— KEEP!' No, Copperfield !—No communication—a- until—Miss Wickfield—a—redress from wrongs inflicted by con- summate scoundrel }rm.!' (I am quite convinced he could not have uttered three words, but for the amazing energy with which this word inspired him when he felt it coming.) 'In- violable secret—a—from the whole world—a—no exceptions— this day week—a—at breakfast time—a—everybody present- -including aunt—a—and extremely friendly gentleman—to be at the hotel at Canterbury—a—where—Mrs. Micawber and my. self—Auld Lang Syne in chorus—and—a—will expose intolerable ruffian—KEEP! No more to say—a--or listen to persuasion—go immediately—not capable—a —bear society—upon the track of devoted and doomed traitor—KEEP !

Of course Mr. Micawber afterwards must needs write a letter to explain the appointment he has so breathlessly made, which epistle is so entertaining that, but for the length this article has already reached, it would not be possible to resist quoting it. Enough, however, has been set before the reader—though we have not even alluded to Serjeant Buzfuz and Mr. Spottle- toe—to give him some slight reminder of the eloquence and wit lying ready though half-forgotten in the novels of Charles Dickens.