and take them to our hearts in time. That not more vivid contrasts the obscure strugwe understand how rich, in the common in-gle of the weak and lowly, than with heritance of man, even the poorest of the fierce alternations of light and dark traverspoor should be. That we clearly under-ing that little rule, that little sway, which stand what Society has made, of what Na- is all the great and mighty have between ture meant to make. That we try in some the cradle and the grave. But whereas, in sort to undo this, and begin by making our the former stories of Mr. Dickens, even in laws his security, which have been hereto- the death of his little Nell, pleasure won fore his enemy. That even in his guilt, the victory over pain, we may not flatter with due regard to its temptations, we ourselves that it is so here. There is a treat him as a brother rather than an out-gloom in the mind as we shut the book, cast from brotherhood. For that, in the which the last few happy pages have not equal sight of the highest wisdom, the hap- cleared away; an uneasy sense of deprespiness of the worst of the species is as much sion and oppression; a pitiful consciousness an integrant part of the whole of human of human sin and sorrow; a feeling of some happiness as is that of the best. frightful extent of wrong, which we should somehow try to stay; as strong, but apparently as helpless, as that of the poor Frenchman at the bar of the Convention, who demanded of Robespierres and Henriots an immediate arrestment of the knaves and dastards of the world!

In this spirit the little story before us is conceived. There is bitter satirical exposure of the quackeries of quasi-benevolence. There is patient, honest, tender-hearted poverty, forgetting its weary wants, in the zeal with which it ministers to wants even wretcheder than its own. There is the aw But then, says the wise and cheerful novful lesson, too little thought of by the most elist to this, there are knaves and dastards thoughtful men, of how close the union of our own world to be arrested by all of is between wants of the body and an ut- us, even by individual exertion of us all, ter destitution and madness of the soul. Henriots and Robespierres notwithstanding. There is profound intimation of the evil It was for this my story was written. It that lies lurking in wait for all the innocent was written, purposely to discontent you and all the good over all the earth. There with what is hourly going on around you. is the strength and succor of Guilt Resisted, Things so terrible that they should exist and deepest pity for Innocence Betrayed. but in dreams, are here presented in a And all this, gently and strongly woven dream; and it is for the good and active into a web of ordinary human life, as it lies heart to contribute to a more cheerful realwithin the common experiences; woven in-ity, whatsoever and howsoever it can. For to that woof of tears and laughter, of which ourselves, we will hope that this challenge all our lives are day by day composed, with may be taken. Those things are to be incomparable art and vigor, and the most held possible, Lord Bacon thought, which compassionate touching tenderness. are to by done by some person, though not by every one; and which may be done by many, though not by any one; and which may be done in succession of efforts, though not within the hour-glass of one man's effort. And we thus will think it possible that something may at last be done, even by hearts which this little book shall awaken to the sense of its necessity, in abatement of the long and dire conspiracy which has been carried on against poverty, by the world and the world's law.

Could we note a distinction in the tale, from the general character of its author's writings, it would be that the impression of sadness predominates, when all is done. The comedy as well as tragedy seems to subserve that end; yet it must be taken along with the purpose in view. We have a hearty liking for the cheerful side of philosophy, and so it is certain has Mr. Dickens but there are social scenes and experiences, through which only tragedy itself may work out its kinder opposite. Even the poet who named the most mournful and tragic composition in the world a Comedy, could possibly have justified himself by a better than technical reason. Name this little tale what we will, it is a tragedy in effect. Inextricably interwoven, of course, are both pleasure and pain, in all the conditions of life in this world: crossing with

In so far as there is the machinery of a dream, the plan of the Carol is repeated in the Chimes. But there is a different spiritual agency, very nicely and naturally derived from the simple, solitary, friendless life of the hero of the tale. He is a poor old ticket-porter of London; stands in his vocation by the corner of an old church; and has listened to the chiming of its Bells

so constantly, that, with nothing else to love, and marry him on the morrow, New talk to or befriend him, he has made out for Year's Day. So, for further celebration himself a kind of human, friendly, fellow of this coming joy, she has brought her favoice in theirs, and is glad to think they ther an unexpected dainty of a dinner of speak to him, pity him, sympathize with tripe; and as he eats it with infinite relish him, encourage and help him. Nor, truly, on the steps of an adjoining house, where have wiser men than Toby Veck been wise they are joined by Meg's lover himself, the enough to dispel like fancies. There has door opens and other personages step upon been secret human harmony in Church- the scene. Bells always; life and death have sounded Mr. Alderman Cute and his friend Mr. in their matin and vesper chime; with Filer. The Alderman, great in the city; every thing grave or glad they have to do, shrewd, knowing, easy, affable; amazingly prayer and festivity, marriage and burial; familiar with the working classes; a plain and there has never been a thoughtful man practical dealer in things; up to all the that heard them in the New-Year seasons, nonsense talked about' want,' all the cant to whom their voice was not a warning of in vogue about starvation,' and resolved comfort or retrieval-telling him to date to put it down. Mr. Filer, a dolorous, dry, his time and count up what was left him, pepper-and-salt kind of a man; great in out of all he had done or suffered, neglected calculations of human averages; and for or performed. It is the New-Year season filing away all excesses in food and popuwhen they talk to Toby Veck; but poor lation. Thus he falls at once on poor ToToby is not sufficiently thoughtful to avoid by's tripe, which he shows to be so expenfalling into some mistakes now and then re- sive a commodity, with such a deal of specting what they say. waste in it, that Toby finds himself on a He is a delightfully drawn character, this sudden robbing the widow and orphan, and unrepining, patient, humble drudge-this starving a garrison of five hundred men honest, childish-hearted, shabby-coated, with his own hand.' The Alderman laughs simple, kindly old man. There is not a at this mightily, takes up the matter in his touch of selfishness, even in the few com-livelier way, and gives it quite a cheerful plaints his hard lot wrings from him. Thus, aspect. There is not the least mystery or when a pinching east wind has nigh wrench- difficulty in dealing with this sort of people ed off his miserable old nose at the opening if you only understand 'em, and can talk to of the story, he says he really could'nt 'em in their own manner. In their own blame it if it was to go. It has a precious manner, accordingly, the good justice bard service of it,' he remarks, ' in the bitter talks to them. He proves to Toby in a weather, and precious little to look for-trice that he has always enough to eat, and ward to: for I don't take snuff myself' of the best. He chucks Meg under the But there is a wrong extreme even in un- chin, and shows her how indelicate it is to selfishness, and Toby is meant for its ex- think of getting married; because she will ample. He has had such a hard life; has have shoeless and stockingless children, hope of so little to redeem the hardship; whom he as a justice will find it necessary and has read in the newspapers so much to put down; or she will be left to starve, about the crimes of people in his own con- or practice the fraud of suicide, and suicide dition that it is gradually bringing him and starvation he must put down. He banto the only conclusion his simple soul can ters the young smith with incessant urbanity understand, and he begins to think that, as as a dull dog and a milksop, to think of the poor can neither go right nor do right, tying himself to one woman, a trim young they must be born bad, and can have no fellow like him, with all the girls looking business on the earth at all. But while he after him. And so the little party is broargues the point with himself, the bright ken up poor Meg walking off in tears; eyes of his handsome little daughter look Richard gloomy and down-looking; and suddenly into his own, and he thinks again the miserable Toby, in very depths of dethey must have business here, a little.' spair, receiving a sixpenny job of a letter What follows, lets us into their humble his- from the alderman. He is now confirmed tory; and we learn that this pretty, hard- in his notion, that the poor have no business working girl, has been three years courted on the earth. The Bells chime as he goes by a young blacksmith; and that Richard off upon his errand, and there is nothing has at last prevailed with Meg to run the but the Cute and Filer cant in what risk of poverty against the happiness of they seem to say to him. Facts and fig

ures; facts and figures!' 'Put 'em down; put 'em down!'

home; secretly expends the sixpence he has just earned, for his entertainment; and The letter is to a very great man, who half loses his wits with delight as he sees his flounders a little in the depth of his obser- dear Meg (whom he had found in tears; vations, but is a very wise man, Sir Joseph her proposed wedding broken off as he ima Bowley. It is about a discontented labor-gines) bring back cheerful warmth and er of Sir Joseph's, one William Fern, whom comfort to the poor little half-starved Lilian. the alderman has an idea of putting down; There is not a more quiet, a more simply and Toby, in delivering it, has an opportu- unaffected, or a more deeply touching picnity of hearing this philosopher's views ture, in the whole of Mr. Dickens' writings; about the poor man, to whom he considers often as they have softened, in the light of himself, by ordainment of Providence, at a most tender genius, the rough and coarsfriend and father. The poor man is to pro- er edges of lowly life. His visitors gone to vide entirely for himself, and depend entire- what indifferent rest he can provide for ly on Sir Joseph. The design of his crea- them, old Toby is again alone. He falls tion is, not that he should associate his en- again into the thought of the morning; pulls joyments, brutally, with food, but that he out an old newspaper he had before been should feel the dignity of labor; go forth reading; and once more spelling out the erect into the cheerful morning air, and crimes and offences of the poor, especially and stop there! Toby is elevated by the those whom Alderman Cute is going to put friendly and fatherly sentiments, but as much down, gives way to his old misgiving that depressed to hear they are repaid by black they are bad, irredeemably bad; which ingratitude. And his heart sinks lower as turns to frightful certainty when he reads he listens to Sir Joseph's religious remarks about a miserable mother who had attempton the necessity of balancing one's accounts ed the murder of herself and her child. at the beginning of a New Year, and feels But at this point his friends the Bells clash how impossible it is to square his own in upon him, and he fancies they call him small score at Mrs. Chickenstalker's. He to come instantly up to them. He staggers leaves the house of this great man, more out of the house, gropes his way up the old than ever convinced that his order have no church stairs into the Tower, falls in a kind earthly business with a New Year, and re- of swoon among the Bells, and the DReam ally are intruding.' has begun.

But on his way home, falling in with The third quarter of the little book opens the very Will Fern whom the alderman and with the goblin scenes; done with a fertile Sir Joseph are about to put down, he hears fancy, and high fantastic art, which tax somewhat of the other side of the question. even the pencil of Mr. Maclise to follow The destitute, weary countryman, jaded them. The Bells are ringing; and innuand soiled with travel, has come to London merable spirits (the sound or vibration of in search of a dead sister's friend; carries the Bells) are flitting in and out the a little child in his arms, his sister's orphan steeple, bearing missions and commissions, Lilian; and sudden sympathy and fellowship and reminders and reproaches, and punishstart up between the two poor men. Fern denies none of the Bowley complaints, of his ingratitude. When work won't maintain me like a human creetur; when my living is so bad, that I am Hungry out of doors and in; when I see a whole working life begin that way, go on that way, and end that way, without a chance or change; then I say to the gentle folks," Keep away from

me.

Let my cottage be. My doors is dark enough without your darkening of 'em more. Don't look for me to come up into the park to help the show, when there's a birthday, or a fine speechmaking, or what not. Act your Plays and Games without me, and be welcome to 'em, and enjoy 'em. We've nought to do with one another. I'm best let alone!" Toby brings him to his sorry

ments and comfortable recollections, to all conditions of people. It is the last night of the old year, and men are haunted as their deeds have been. Scourges and discord, music and flowers, mirrors with pleasant or with awful faces, gleam around. And the Bells themselves, with shadowy likeness to humanity in midst of their proper shapes, speak to Toby as these visions disappear, and sternly rebuke him for his momentary doubt of the right of the poor man to the inheritance which Time reserves for him. His ghost or shadow is then borne through the air to various scenes, attended by spirits of the Bells charged with this trust : That they show him how the poor and wretched, at the worst-yes, even in the crimes which aldermen put down, and he

has thought so horrible-have yet some de- [ distant from herself, and fearing for her formed and hunchbacked goodness clinging to them, which preserves to them still their right, and all their share in Time.

Toby wakes up over his own fire. He finds the newspaper lying at his foot; sees Meg sitting at a table opposite, making up the ribands for her wedding the morrow; But for the old man is reserved an even and hears the bells, in a noble peal, ringing more desperate trial. After lapse of fur- the old year out and the new year in. And ther years, his daughter Meg is presented as he rushes to kiss Meg, Richard dashes in another aspect. As the last chance of in to get the first new-year's kiss before him saving Richard, she has married him; on-and gets it; and every body is happy; his death is left with an infant child; sinks and neighbors press in with good wishes; to the lowest abyss of want; and at last into and there is a small band among them, the clutches of despair. Seeing death not Toby being acquainted with a drum in pri

vate, which strikes up gaily; and the sud-Jet-jug, as they did over the port-wine decanden change, and the ringing of the Bells, ter," when George III. was king;" and and the lively music, so transport Toby, that there is no little of cant in the outcry that he is, when last seen, leading off a country- has been raised about certain travellersdance in an entirely new step, consisting of our jovial prince among the number-viothat old familiar Trot in which he transacts lating the sacred relationship of social interthe business of his calling. course. In any case, what the reader has to inquire on such occasions is-are the disclosures worth the paper and print which is employed in their record? And if the answer be in the affirmative as in most instances it undoubtedly will be in the case of Prince Puckler, and especially so in the work before us-let those look to it who cannot keep their own counsel; let them remember that when they lionize this prince of literary gossips, if they will be so inconsiderate as to say or do any thing worth re

May this wise little tale second the hearty wishes of its writer, and at the least contribute to the coming year that portion of happiness which waits always upon just intentions and kind thoughts.

PRINCE PUCKLER MUSKAU'S TRAVELS IN membering, he is the man to remember it,

EGYPT.

From the New Monthly Magazine.

Egypt under Mehemet Ali. By Prince

Puckler Muskau. 2 vols.

for others' benefit as well as his own.

It must not, however, be supposed, from what has now been said, that there is much Puckler. It is in fact the most grave, of mere gossip in this new work of Prince steady, and well-considered of all his proIn spite of his princely, as well as his ductions-that in which he has taken the personal peculiarities-or, it may be, in longest time, and the most pains to weigh consequence of them-there is no denying and ponder the political, social, and personthat Prince Puckler Muskau is a pleasant al opinions, which the course of his wanwriter in his way-" pleasant but wrong" derings calls on him to put forth, and conse-the "wrong," however, being decidedly quently that which will best stand the test the pleasanter, as well as the more instruc-of time and of critical examination. tive portion of his qualities as a writing trav- The title of the book- Egypt under eller. The Prince evidently travels not Mehemet Ali"-will speak its general scope merely for himself, but for other people- and object-that of giving a comprehensive not merely to see and hear, but to tell the picture of the pasha's dominions, as they and world what he sees and hears. He obtains, their inhabitants have been moulded and by the prestige of his name and rank, per-modified by the efforts of his genius, and sonal communications with all the celebri- the results of his rule. But there is an inties of the countries he visits-communica-dividual feature of the work which we must tions which the ordinary customs and courtesies of life, mark" private and confidential;" by the bonhommie of his manner and bearing, he invites that full freedom of intercourse which nothing else can engender between comparative strangers, but which that never fails to induce in those minds which are worth the trouble of looking into; he treasures up the results for after use and study; and in due time puts them into a book for the benefit and amusement of mankind in general.

regard not only as fraught with more of immediate interest, but with more of permanent value and importance than the result just named; we mean that personal portrait of Mehemet Ali himself, which has the air of being more true and trustworthy as a likeness than any other that has yet been given to the world. For the deeds of this extraordinary man, and their visible and tangible consequences on those immediately affected by them, and on the rest of the world, speak for themselves, and will conAnd who shall quarrel with this system tinue to do so for ages to come. Whereas of composition? Certainly not we who profit by it. And, if the truth were known, quite as little will those who are benevolently said by the rest of the world to be aggrieved by it. People now-a-days do not tell the secrets of their souls over their clar

the personal character of the agent by whom these have been brought about will presently pass away from the scene, and none will be left to estimate or record it but those who can have no object in doing so, but personal ones, and no interests but