make known to the world. "Oh, sir,” he replied, "ask as many questions as you please; as an American, it is one of your inalienable rights to ask questions; and this, I fancy, is the reason why the Yankees are so intelligent." I inquired if, in portraying his characters, he had not, in every instance, his eye upon some particular person he had known, since I could not conceive it possible for an author to present such graphic and natural pictures except from real life. "Allow me to ask, sir," I said, "if the one-eyed Squeers, coarse, but good John Browdie, the beautiful Sally Brass, clever Dick Swiveller, the demoniac and intriguing Quilp, the good Cheeryble Brothers, the avaricious Fagin, and dear little Nelly, are mere fancies ?" "No, sir, they are not," he replied: “they are copies. You will not understand me to say, of course, that they are true histories in all respects, but they are real likenesses; nor have I in any of my works attempted anything more than to arrange my story as well as I could, and give a true picture of scenes I have witnessed. My past history and pursuits have led me to a familiar acquaintance with numerous instances of extreme wretchedness and of deep-laid villany. In the haunts of squalid poverty I have found many a broken heart too good for this world. Many such persons, now in the most abject condition, have seen better days. Once they moved in circles of friendship and affluence, from which they have been hurled by misfortune to the lowest depths of want and sorrow. This class of persons is very large. "Then there are thousands in our parish workhouses and in the lanes of London, born into the world without a friend except God and a dying mother. Many, too, who in circumstances of trial have yielded to impulses of passion, and by one fatal step fallen beyond recovery. London is crowded, and, indeed so is all England, with the poor, the unfortunate, and the guilty. This description of persons has been generally overlooked by authors. They have had none to care for them, and have fled from the public gaze to some dark habitation of this great city, to curse the cold charities of a selfish world, and die. There are more broken hearts in London than in any other place in the world. The amount of crime, starvation, nakedness, and misery of every sort in the metropolis surpasses all calculation. I thought I could render some service to humanity by bringing these scenes before the minds of those who, from never having witnessed them, suppose they cannot exist. In this effort I have not wholly been unsuccessful; and there is nothing makes me happier than to think that, by some of my representations, I have increased the stock of human cheerfulness, and, by others, the stock of human sympathy. I think it makes the heart better to seek out the suffering and relieve them. I have spent many days and nights in the most wretched districts of the metropolis, studying the history of the human heart. There we must go to find it. In high circles we see everything but the heart, and learn everything but the real character. We must go to the hovels of the poor and the unfortunate, where trial brings out the character. I have in these rambles seen many exhibitions of generous affection and heroic endurance, which would do honour to any sphere. Often have I discovered minds that only wanted a little of the sunshine of prosperity to develop the choicest endowments of Heaven. I think I never return to my home after these adventures without being made a sadder and a better man. In describing these characters I aim no higher than to feel in writing as they seem to feel themselves. I am persuaded that I have succeeded just in proportion as I have cultivated a familiarity with the trials and sorrows of the poor, and told their story as they would have related it themselves.” I spoke of the immense popularity of his works, and remarked that I believed he had ten readers in America where he had one in England. 66 Why, sir, the popularity of my works has surprised me. For some reason or other, I believe they are somewhat extensively read ; nor is it the least gratifying circumstance to me, that they have been so favourably received in your country. I am trying to enjoy my fame while it lasts, for I believe I am not so vain as to suppose that my by any books will be read but the men of own times." I remarked that he might consider himself alone in that opinion, and that it would probably be no easy matter to make the world coincide with him. He answered with a smile, " I shall probably not make any very serious efforts to do it !" It happened, as, indeed, it always has in my conversations with literary men whom I have met in England, that your name was mentioned. It is scarcely necessary to say that Mr. Dickens is no less an admirer of your writings than we are ourselves. Nor is it unpleasant to your countrymen abroad to hear the same opinions. expressed by foreigners of your works, that we have so long cherished. No man has done so much to win from the European world respect for our literature as yourself; and for it you deserve our gratitude. It is in the memory of many, that, before the Sketch Book was written, American literature was treated with utter contempt by Englishmen. True, it is still matter of great surprise to English ladies and bishops to learn that we |