ever to characterize the nobility of genius, puts on airs as if he be longed by birth and breeding, to those higher classes which constitute the "Corinthian capital" of English society. Mistaken effort! It is not by wearing white kid gloves on a railroad and steamboat journey in a New England Febru. ary-it is not by being unable to understand the possibility of a gen, tleman's dining earlier than the latest possible hour-it is not by the most punctilious observance of the arbitrary conventionalities of fashionable life-least of all, is it by a fault-finding, querulous disposition in respect to accommodations at an inn, or on board ship-that true good breeding is infallibly known. Yet the reading of this book, as well as some Boziana' which have come to our knowledge from other sources, incline us to the opinion, that Mr. Dickens has mistaken such things as these for the surest indications of a fine gentleman, or perhaps for the very quality of gentility itself. Sometimes we have even queried, whether his studied cool contempt for religion in every form-the scorn which he so obtrusively expresses for the low practice of total abstinence from intoxicating drinks -and the sympathy which he seems to have with those who have no interest in the miseries and vices of the poor, except as matters of gov. ernmental regulation, or picturesque objects of contemplation, do not also enter into his idea of a highbred gentleman. It often fares with pretenders to high breeding, as with pretenders to godliness; they know something traditionally about "the form," but "the power" is beyond the sphere of their knowledge; and thus, while they make an ostentatious and perhaps troublesome display of the former, they cannot but expose themselves by their manifest deficiencies in respect to the latter.

And here, as we find ourselves tending to a somewhat philosophic mood, we may take occasion to observe that the reception which any foreigner of note meets with among us, is to some extent, a mirror of his own character. The class of society with which he becomes acquainted, the character of his admirers, and the marks of distinction with which they favor him, are so many indications of the manner in which he has impressed himself upon the public mind. How different, probably, have been the impressions made on the mind of Lord Morpeth, by his visit to America, from those received by Mr. Dickens; and that mainly for the reason that the truly gentlemanly demeanor and the unsullied reputation of the former, introduced him into circles in which the latter was not at all at home. If the illustrious Brougham or the revered and venerable Chalmers, should cross the Atlantic, how dif ferent would be their opinions of American society and institutions, from those of the Marryatts and the Trollopes. Those travelers who have attempted to describe American manners, have often succeeded in describing the manners only of that particular class of society to which they have been able to gain admission; or of that particular class which their habits and their intellec tual and moral sympathies enabled them to understand. And the best mode of reforming American manners, which some of these writers could adopt, would be to reform their own manners, and then return and view themselves in a mirror into which they were before unable to look.

Whether Mr. Dickens was ac. quainted with the principle just stated, and felt that it would hardly be complimentary to himself to speak of those who in some instances were forward to welcome him, we cannot say; but for some reason he has deemed it expedient to make no al.

lusion to them whatever. He simply remarks at the close of his Notes "I have made no reference to my reception, nor have I suffered it to influence me in what I have written; for in either case, I should have of fered but a sorry acknowledgment, compared with that I bear within my breast, towards those partial readers of my former books, across the waters, who met me with an open hand, and not with one that closed upon an iron muzzle."But we cannot persuade ourselves that this is all the notice which he intends to take of his reception here; and when these catch-penny Notes shall have had their run, and the more formal stories of American society shall make their appearance, then may his beloved transatlantic friends be furnished with pleasing reminiscences, and "pictures to match." He will not be so ungrateful as to deny those who took such pains to render themselves conspicuous, the privilege of appearing in print. They are engraven on his heart, and Cruikshank will soon be called in to copy and preserve the likeness.

We have been greatly disappointed in the perusal of these "American Notes." We were well aware that there are some defects in our social organization, which might be hit off to advantage by a masterhand; and we had hoped that Mr. Dickens' keen perception of the ludicrous, would be exercised at our present expense, though for our ultimate profit. We should have thanked him for a humorous exhibition of our weak points of national character; but he seems either to have failed to apprehend them, or to have felt an unwonted reserve in making his "police reports.' These Notes are barren of incident and anecdote, deficient in wit, and meagre even in respect to the most ordinary kind of information. They give no just conception of the physical aspect of the country of which

they treat; much less do they introduce the reader to the homes and firesides of its inhabitants. Nor could any thing better have been expected, since Mr. Dickens merely skimmed over the country, seldom remaining longer in a place than to learn its name, to acquaint himself with the facilities for eating, drinking, and sleeping, afforded by its principal hotel, to note down a few particulars respecting its public buildings and institutions, and to inquire with a professional feeling, concerning its alms-houses, its prisons, and its purlieus of low vice and wretchedness. The little information to be gleaned from these two volumes, with few exceptions, might be gained much more advantageously from the map and gazetteer. The perusal of them has served chiefly to lower our estimate of the man, and to fill us with contempt for such a compound of egotism, coxcombry, and cockneyism. We shall follow him in his tour, as far as patience will allow us, and then take some brief notice of the other productions of his pen.

The first two chapters of these Notes, descriptive of the departure and passage out, are, on the whole, rather entertaining, and exhibit more of that pleasantry which has hitherto characterized the productions of the author, than any of the succeed. ing chapters; though even here he sometimes fails in his attempts at wit. His description of the sensations produced by sea-sickness, have the merit of being intelligible, whatever may be thought of the taste of a writer who can expatiate on such a theme. He represents the anguish which he suffered, “when recommended to eat any thing, as second only to that which is said to be endured, by the apparently drowned, in the process of restoration to life;" and truly his sufferings must have been intense, if we may believe that even during the short space of their continuance, he

enough; and if not, we doze and talk alternately. At one, a bell rings, and the stewardess comes down with a steaming dish of baked potatoes, and another of roasted apples and plates of pig's face, cold ham, salt beef; or perhaps a smoking mess of rare hot collops. We fall to upon these dainties; eat as much as we can-we have great appetites now-and are as long as possible about it. If the fire will burn (it will sometimes) we are pretty cheerful. If it won't, we all remark to each other that it's very cold, rub our hands, cover ourselves with coats and cloaks, and lie down again to doze, talk, and read, (provided as aforesaid,) until dinner time. At five, another bell rings, and the stewardess reappears with another dish of potatoes-boiled, this timeand store of hot meat of various kinds:

not forgetting the roast pig, to be taken medicinally. We sit down at table again (rather more cheerfully than before): prolong the meal with rather a mouldy dessert of apples, grapes, and oranges; and drink our wine and brandy and water. The bottles and glasses are still upon the table, and the oranges and so forth are rolling about according to their fancy and the ship's way, when the doctor comes down, by special nightly invitation, to join our evening rubber: immediately on whose arrival we make a party at whist, and as it is a rough night and the cards will not lie on the cloth, we put the tricks in our pockets as we take them. At whist we remain with exemplary gravity (deducting a short time for tea and toast) until eleven o'clock, or thereabouts; when the captain comes down again, in a sou’wester hat tied under his chin, and a pilot coat; making the ground wet where he stands.

those in his own country and on the Continent. He deserves credit in this as in other instances, for giving praise where it is due, even in little things.

His first day in Boston was the Sab. bath. Modestly declining a score of invitations to church, for want of

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any change of clothes," he strolled abroad in his humble, unsanctified attire, to view the city. He seems to have been greatly amused with its "light, unsubstantial" appearance, as he is pleased to term it, notwithstanding the masses of Quincy granite by which he was surrounded, and the iron balconies that frown over the dark receding portals of stone. He was altogether amazed in walking the streets of a modern and growing city, not to find in every structure the solidity and grandeur of an Egyptian pyramid. The explanation of which is, that he missed the dense, dark atmosphere of London, and the vast cloud of smoke from bituminous coal, which hides the pure light of heaven from the natives of Cock aigne, and covers every thing with sooty stains. So to a man who had never been out of Pittsburg, Boston might seem as white, and airy, and unsubstantial, as it seemed to our author. His first impressions of the city are thus described.

"When I got into the streets upon this Sunday morning, the air was so clear, the houses were so bright and gay; the signboards were painted in such gaudy colors; the gilded letters were so very golden; the bricks were so very red, the stone was so very white, the blinds and area railings were so very green, the knobs and plates upon the street-doors so marvellously bright and twinkling; and all so slight and unsubstantial in appearance-that every thoroughfare in the city looked exactly like a scene in a pantomime. It rarely happens in the business streets that a tradesman, if I may venture to call any body a tradesman where every body is a merchant, resides above his store; so that many occupations are often carried on in one house, and the whole front is covered with boards and inscriptions. As I walked along, I kept glancing up at these boards, confidently ex

pecting to see a few of them change into something; and I never turned a corner suddenly without looking out for the clown and pantaloon, who, I had no doubt, were hiding in a doorway or behind some pillar close at hand. As to Harlequin and Columbine, I discovered immediately that they lodged (they are always looking after lodgings in a pantomime) at a very small clock-maker's, one story high, near the hotel; which, in addition to various symbols and devices, almost covering the whole front, had a great dial hanging out to be jumped through of course.'

Now there is no doubt that all this appeared to Charles Dickens, Esq. to be very witty indeed; and after he had written it he probably read it many times aloud, picturing to himself a nation convulsed with laughter at every word. Yet we must confess that, as we were so apathetic in the proximity of Mr. Dickens, so now we are so obtuse that we cannot discover the wit of this exceedingly funny description. It has moved us only to a sort of commiseration for the writer. It reminds us of that scene described in the Pickwick Papers, where Mr. Stiggins, being thoroughly warmed with apple-toddy, clambers up the ladder to the temperance meeting in the loft, and looking round upon the audience with swimming eyes, expresses it as his decided conviction, that "the meeting is drunk." The truth is, that Mr. D. had not yet recovered from the bewildering effects of his sea-sickness, or at least of the remedy which he drank with such "unspeakable disgust," and in the confusion of his ideas he altogether mistook the harlequin.

On the whole, however, he acknowledges that Boston is "a beautiful city." He speaks favorably of "the intellectual refinement and superiority" of the inhabitants, which he refers mainly, perhaps too much, "to the quiet influence of the university of Cambridge;" though it is unquestionably true that both the intellectual and moral influence of such an institution is always widely

felt through the surrounding region. He speaks favorably of the American collegiate system, especially in respect to its liberal and practical nature; though nothing is more ev. ident than that he knows very little on the subject. Mr. Dickens remained longer, we believe, in Boston than in any other city, and perhaps received more attention from literary men there than any where else. That "Dickens dinner" was a great affair in its day-it seemed almost of a piece with the Cunard steamers, the Western Railroad, and the Bunker Hill monument. All sorts of the distinguished men of Boston and its vicinity, "judges, generals, legislators"-old Hartford Convention federalists, and locofoco philosophers of the newest schoolUnitarian preachers, and orthodox professors of theology-united in paying such homage to the author of Oliver Twist as was never paid to the author of Paradise Lost. The President of the Senate of Massachusetts brought all his own wit to honor the occasion, besides cramming himself beforehand with the printed wit of Mr. Dickens. The President of Harvard University, with all his years and all his laurels, came down from his academic dignity, to honor the author of the Pickwick Papers. Some of those gentlemen would probably be very willing now to forget the adulation which they bestowed on the author of "American Notes for General Circulation."

Mr. Dickens justly praises the "public institutions and charities" of Boston and its vicinity, and gener ally of the United States. We have respected him for the sympathy manifested in his writings for the unfortunate and the oppressed, and have sometimes felt that his stories might not be without advan tage in directing the attention of certain classes in Great Britain toward the starving thousands around them. As his descriptions of our