MR. DICKENS' NEW STORY—"LITTLE DORRIT."

Lyttelton Times, Volume VI, Issue 358, 9 April 1856, Page 5

MR. DICKENS' NEW STORY—"LITTLE DORRIT."

(From the " Itlustrutnd Nuws.") We have received tlie first number of " Little Dorritt," which smacks throughout of the best qualities of its writer. There is the same happy invention in contriving to interest ; the same sag-acions and searching observation of men and tilings..;, the same dexterity in selecting odd circumstances, and assembling aronnd them odd associations ; and, above all, the same skill in creating characters new in fiction and yet true to every-day life. The story opens at Marseilles. The very air of the description is suffocating:—

Thirty years ago Marseilles lay burning in the sun one day. A blazing sun upon a fierce August day was no greater rarity in southern France then, than at any other time, before or since. Everything in Marseilles, and about Marseilles, had stared at the fervid sky, and then had been sta-ed at in return, until a staring habit had become universal there. Strangers were stared out of countenance by stariuu white houses, .siariug white walls, staring white streets, staring tracts of arid sand, staring hilU from which verdure was burnt away. The only things to be seen not (ixedly staring and glaring were the *ines drooping under their load of grapes. These did occasionally wink a little, as the hot air barely moved their faint leaves.

There was no wind to make a ripple on the foul .vsiter within the harbour, or on the beautvful .sea without The line of demarcation between the tivo colours, black and blue, showed the point which* the pure sea would not pass-; but it lay as quiet as the abominable poni with which it never mixed. Boats without awnings were too hot io touch; ships blistered at their moorings; the stones of the quays had not cooled, night or day, for months. Hindoos, Ilii-siaus, Chinese, Spaniards, Portuguese, I£u<rlUhinen, Frenchmen, Genoese, Neapolitans, Venetians, Greeks, Turks, descendants from all the builder-; of Babel, come to trade at Marseilles, sought the sh-uie alike— taking refuge in any hiding place from a sea too inien>eiy blue to oe looked at, and a sky of purple, set with, one great flaming jewel to lire. The universal stare made the eyes ache. Towards the distant line of Italian coast, indeed, it was a little relieved hv li^ht clouds of mist, slowly rising from the evaporation of ihe sea; luu it softened nowhere else. Far away the siarinyf roads, d?ep in du?t, stared from the hillside, stared from the hollow, stared from (he iniermiuable plain. Far away the dusty vines overhanging way side collates, and the monotonous wayside avenues of parched peas without shade, drooped beneath the stare of earth and sky. So did the horses, with drowsy bells, in loiiir files of carts, creeping slowly towards the interior; so did their recumbent drivers when they were awake, which rarely happened ; so did the exhausted labourers in the field*. Everything that lived or grew was oppressed with the glare; except the lizard, pas>ing swiftly over rouiih stone walls, si.ml the circnhi. chirping his dry, hot chirp, like a rattle. The very dust was scorched brown, and something q .m»ved in the atmosphere us if the air itself >vere paining. Blind-, shutters, curtains, awnings, were all closed and drawn to keep out the stare. Grant it lull a chink or keyhole, and it shut in' like a while hot arrow. Tlie churches were the freest from it. To come out of the twilight of pillars and arches—lireamUv dotted with winking; lamps, dre.iiuilv peopled with utfly old shadows puH!>!y dozing, spitting-, and begging—was to plmiiie into a fiury river hum >wim ioi life to the Heart st trip of shade. So, with people lounging1 and Ivinir, wherever shade was, but with little liiiui oi lontrue"", or barking >n dogs, with occasimial janirli'iy of divordant church iieiU ami Tattling of i ioimts di unis, Mar-eilles—a fact to lie strongly smelt and lasted—lay hioiling iv the sun one iliy.

In chapter ii. we are introduced to an open uir scene at Marseilles, in which the dramatis persouae are Father arid Mother Measles, their daughter Pet, and her attendant, or lady's maid, Tattycnram ; a Mr, Artlmr Glennm—a young gentleman on his return to Enylaml from China; and a Miss Wade. Father Mealies is an inimitable creation. He is an eminently practical Londoner ; vveii to do in the world, with a fondness for travelling, and a rooted determination to speak English wherever lie goes, thoroughly convinced " that individuals, were bound to understand it somehow." Hear ho\v lie accounts lor the odd name of Tattyeoiam : — lie spoke t.i a hiinrfsotne su\ wiih lustrous, (iiuk hail- anil eves, anci » cry neatly iire<seif. wlu> (i'vlieii \\\\\\ a li:ilJ' eurl*ey as >'he passed oR m -tin; irain of Mt-. Mea»le.s* autl Pet. Tiiev crosse ci tlu> b:u'e scuii-iiffi teriiice, ali Uiree to^eUier, ami tlisaj)|>eatvti through ;i >tarintr wluu* ;i!eliw;«v, I\lr Mtimle's ci>n»i>;iii)>>ii, ii ijrave iii«vk in.in (>f f.rty, Mill stood' looking tou;irds (his an;irway after ihey weve gone ; until. My. Mtis^tes Uippeci lan) ojj the ami.

"I beg your pardon" said be, starting-. '■' " N.u at all," said Mr. Meagks. They look one silent turn backward ami forward in the shade of the wall, getting1 at the height on which ihe quarantine barracks ate placed what cool refreshment of sea breeze lfre"ve was, at seven in the morning. Mr. JJenules companion resumed the conversation. "May. l ask you," he said," what is the name of— " Tntlycoram ?" Mr Meagles s'.Titck in, "I have not the least idea." *'■ I thought,'* said the other, " thai"— •'Tattycor'ins ?'v suggested Mr. Meagles again. " Thank you—that Tattycoram was a name ; and I have several limes wondered at the oddity of it.'' "Why, the fact is," said Mr. Meagles "Mrs. Measles and myself are, you see, practical people." "That you have frequently mentioned in the course of the agreeable and interesting conversation we have had together, walking- up and down on these stones," said the other, with a half smile breaking through the gravity of his dark face. " Practical people. So oiie day, five or six years ago now. when we took Pet to church at he Foundling—you have heard of the Foundling Hospital in London ?—similar to the institution fur the Found Children in Paris?' " I have seen it." t; *Veli ! One day when we took Pet to church there to hear ihe music—because, as practical people, it is the .business of our lives to shew her everything that we can think can please lier—:Mother (my usual name for Mrs Meagles) began to cry so, that it-was .necessary to take her out. 5 What's the matter, Mother?' said I, when we had brought her a Jiltie round :' you are frightening Pet, mv dear.' ,'Yes. I know that, Father,' says Mother,' but I think it's through .ray loving her so much, that it ever came into my head.' 'That ever what came into your bead, Mother?' k O dear, dear!' cried Mother, breaking out again, ' When I saw all those children ranged tier above tier, .and appealing from the father none of them has ever known on earth, to the great Father of us all in heaven. I thought, does any wretched mother ever come here, and look among those young faces, wondering which is ihe poor child she brought into this forlorn world, never through : a!l its life to know her "love, her kiss, her face, her voice, even her name!' Now that was .pr.ictical in Mother, and I told her so. I said, ' Mother, that's what 1 call practical in you, my -dear.' " The other, not unmoved, assented. "So I said next day : ' Now Mother, I have a proposition to make, that I think you'll approve of. Let us take one of those same children to be a little maid to Pet. Wo are praet'eal people. So if we should find her temper a little defective, or any o! her ways a little wide of ours, we shall know what we have to take into j account. We shall know what ;m immense deduction must be made from all ihfii.fluenct.-s and experiences they have formed us —no parent*, nt> child, brother or sister, no individuality ol home, no Glass Slipper, or Fairy God- I mother.' And that's the way we came by ' Tatty cos am." "And the name itself'l "By George!" snid Mr. Mea-rle?, -I was forgetting the name itself. Why, she was called on the in.-titution Hartiett Beadle—an arbitrary name, of course. Now Harriett we changed into Hatty, and then into Tatty, because,"as j practical people, we thought eVfii a pb.vful name inL'tit be a new thinV to her, and niiuht have a softening an ,| nffjetionate ki:i<{ of cff-.-cl, i ■ don'i you see? As to Beadle, dial I needn't Ray was wholly out of the question. If there is an) thing that is not to be tolerated on any terms, anything tii..tis a type of Jiick in office, | insolence aii'l absoi-iiiiv, sinythiiiif that repre- j sums in coats-, waistcais, aim hi^r sticks, our ! English holding <>v by nonsense, after evf-rv '■ one has found it out, it is a beadle. You haven't seen a bexik- btie'v ?" " As an Enulisbin-tn, who has be»>n inoreihuu twt v y years in China, in>." "Then J-aid Mr. Mea»le, laying his forefinger on his companion's breast with great nniinatio1.), "'limt you sec a beadle, now, if you <win help it. \Vi;euever I see a beadle in full I'lZ, coming down a .street on a Sunday at the head of a charity school, I am obliged v> turn arid run away, or I should hit him. The name pf Beadle being out of the question, and the

originator of the Institution of these poor fomnllings having been a blessed creature of the nuine of G.train, we gave that name to Pet's little itiaid. At one time she was Tatty, and at one time she wis Co rain, until we got into a way of mixing the two names together, and now sli3 is always Tatlycoram."

Of the bits of painting in this chapter here is a sample —

The rest of the party were of the usual materials. Travellers on business, and travellers for plea?ure ; officers from India on leave; merchants in the Greek an-l Turkey trade ; a clerical liusbami in a meek strait-waistcoat, on a wedding trip with iiis young wife ; a nj-«je*tic English mamma ami papa of the patrician onler, with a family of three growing-up daughters, who were keeping1 a journal for the confusion of their fellow creatures ; and a lie-.if old English mother, tough in travel, with a very decidedly grown-up daughter indeed, which daughter went sketching about the universe in the expectation of ultimately toning herself off into marriage state.

In chapter 111. tlie narration moves from Marseilles to London. Mr. Arthur Clennan has returned home anil visits his widowed mother. Herj we are introduced to the widow, a marvellous piece of puritanticalVtiffness. and to her attendants, Mr. and Mrs. Flintwinch. Mrs. Flint winch promises to be a very happy and original creation. We wish we could find room for a charming bit of satire about church bells and Sunday in London ; but this the reader must gather for himself and from the number itself. We close "Little Dorrit*' with a wish that Christmas was nearer than it is. Little Dorrit—we may observe from the glimpse we obtain of her—is a little girl or 4" whim" of the widow Clennam's.