Miscellany [pp. 472-474]

472.AIISCFLLANY
rAPRTL 27,
in its course through the JourxAL, we recom mend its perusal in its now complete form, and
can promise them no little pleasure if they
have appreciation of naturalness, freshness,
and vivacity, in character- drawing. Miss
Broughton has the art of endowing her hero ines with an abundance of faults, and yet de spite, or perhaps because of, their failings,
heartily enlisting the reader's sympathy in
their behalf.
Scientific readers will be glad to learn that
the issue of a new and revised but much
cheaper edition of Louis Figuier's scientific
books has been commenced by D. Appleton &
Co. The first of the series is "The World before the Deluge," which will be rapidly followed by the other volumes. The new 6dition is
in neat 12mo size, containing all the elaborate and choice illustrations of the larger volumes. The popularity of Figuier's books,
even in the costly form in which they have
been published, has been remarkable, and we
may naturally expect a great enlargement of
his circle of readers.
Professor Yonge's "Three Centuries of
Modern History," which will shortly appear
from the press of D. Appleton & Co., seems,
though he does not exactly say so, to be designed as a sequel to Hallam's "Middle Ages."
Professor Yonge modestly admits that he does
not attempt "to present a complete history of
any one country, nor even of any one period in
the history of any country." But he considers
that he has produced a satisfactory sketch-map
of modern history, which will be of great value
to all students in showing them what to seek,
and how to look at it, in other works.
The long literary quarrel between George
Sand and Paul de Musset, which led to the
publication of "aYle," "fi," and "tLui et
Elle," is not yet at an end. Louis Ratisbonne
will give his version of the matter in a book
entitled" EIux" (" They"), in which he will try
to refute some of Louise Colet's assertions in
regard to Alfred de Musset. Louise Colet herself, who died last year at Nice, is said to have
left abundant materials for another book on
this literary cause cilbre.
The widow of Grote, the historian, is preparing a biography of her distinguished husband.
This piece of literary intelligence comes with
two other items as regards the doings of the
English poets. Tennyson, we are told, is engaged on a poem on the illness of the Prince
of Wales. American readers would quite as
lief he burned instead of printing it. Swinburne is writing a poem on the death of Mazzini. This We shall look for with interest.
"A Shadow of Dante," by Miss Rossetti, is
an attempt to explain and summarize the purpose and theory of the great Italian poet, and
hence is designed mainly for those not familiar
with the "Divina Commedia." " A shadow,"
says the author, "may meet the gaze of some
who never looked upon the substance."
Victor Hugo has rejected the offer of a German irmpressario to lecture under his management in Germany and Austria, although he
was promised a compensation of one thousand
dollars for every lecture he would deliver.
Dr. Rudolph Doehn, who is now regarded
in Germany as the leading authority on American literature, was formerly a school-teacher
and a member of the Missouri Legislature.
The copyright of Pierer's "Cyclopmdia" in
Germany was recent y sold for forty-two thousand thalers.
Louis Kossuth is about to remove to Paris,
where he will publish a weeklyjournal in French
and Hungarian.
Spielhagen, the German novelist, is at work
upon a history of journalism in Germany.
Jules Michelet will soon publish a work on
the " Plague" in ancient times.
Charles Dickens.
Charles Dick~ns.
IS favorite exercise was walking; and,
iwhen in America, scarcely a day passed,
no matter what the weather, that he did not
accomplish his eight or ten miles. It was on
these expeditions that he liked to recount to
the companion of his rambles stories and incidents of his early life; and, when he was in
the mood, his fun and humor knew no bounds.
He would then frequently discuss the numerous
characters in his delightful books, and would
act out, on the road, dramatic situations, where
Nickleby or Copperfield or Swiveller would
play distinguished parts. I remember he said,
on one of these occasions, that during the composition of his first stories he could never entirely dismiss the characters about whom he
happened to be writing; that, while the "Old
Curiosity Shop" was in process of composition, Little Nell followed him about everywhere; that, while he was writing "Oliver
Twist," Fagin the Jew would never let him
rest, even in his most retired moments; that
at midnight and in the morning, on the sea
and on the land, Tiny Tim and Little Bob
Cratchitt were ever tugging at his coat-sleeve,
as if impatient for him to get back to his desk
and continue the story of their lives. But he
said, after he had published several books,
and saw what serious demands his characters
were accustomed to make for the constant
attention of his already overtasked brain, he
resolved that the phantom individuals should
no longer intrude on his hours of recreation
and rest, but that when he closed the door of
his study he would shut them all in, and only
meet them again when he came back to resume
his task. That force of will with which he was
so preeminently endowed, enabled him to ignore these manifold existences till he chose
to renew their acquaintance. ile said, also,
that when the children of his brain had once
been launched, free and clear of him, into the
world, they would sometimes turn up in the
most unexpected manner to look their father
in the face.
Sometimes he would pull my arm while we
were talking together, and whisper, "Let us
avoid Mr. Pumblechook, who is crossing the
street to meet us;" or, "Mr. Micawber is
coming; let us turn down this alley to get out
of his way." He always seemed to enjoy the
fun of his comic people, and had unceasing
mirth over Mr. Pickwick's misadventures. In
answer one day to a question, prompted by a
psychological curiosity, if he ever dreamed of
any of his characters, his reply was: "Never;
and I am convinced that no writer (judging
from my own experience, which cannot be altogether singular, but must be a type of the
experience of others) has ever dreamed of
the creatures of his own imagination. It
would,"~he went on to say, "be like a man's
dreaming of meeting himself, which is clearly
an impossibility. Things exterior to one's self
must always be the basis of dreams." The
growing up of characters in his mind never
lost for him a sense of the marvellous. "What
an unfathomable mystery there is in it all!"
he said one day. Taking up a wineglass, he
continued: "Suppose I choose to call this a
character, fancy it a man, endue it with cer tain qualities; and soon the fine filmy webs
of thought, almost impalpable, coming from
every direction, we know not whence, spin
and weave about it, until it assumes form and
beauty, and becomes instinct with life."
In society Dickens rarely referred to the
traits and characteristics of people he had
known: but, during a long walk in the country, he delighted to recall and describe the peculiarities, eccentric and otherwise, of dead
and gone as well as living friends. Then
Sydney Smith, and Jeffrey, and Christopher
North, and Talfourd, and Hood, and Rogers
seemed to live over again in his vivid reproductions, made so impressive by his marvellous memory and imagination. As he walked
rapidly along the road, he appeared to enjoy
the keen zest of his companion in the numerous impersonations with which he was indulging him.
Curiosities of Vision.
We presume that most of our readers have
a general notion of the structure and working
of the human eye. They know that the little
sphere, of an inch or so in diameter, which
forms the eyeball, is a camera, essentially
like the one used by the photographer to
throw the image of external objects upon the
surface prepared to receive it and placed within
the apparatus. The mere forming of this picture inside the eye is not, however, seeing.
The picture might as well be anywhere else,
if there were not some means of making the
mind aware of its existence. The optic nerve
answers this purpose-a branch of the brain
which enters the eye through a small hole in
the rear, and spreads out in a delicate net-work
over the surface whereon the picture is formed.
The impression made by the rays of light upon
this net-work of nerves, is telegraphed to the
mind, which then sees the object, or, rather,
from seeing its image in the eye, comes to recognize the existence of the object itself outside the eye.
If the optic nerve should be severed, the
picture in the eye might be as perfect as before, but we would nevertheless be blind to it.
If any portion of the net-work of nerves just
mentioned should be paralyzed, we would
cease to see part of the picture formed on the
portion of the eye's inner surface. If the entire image of some small object should fall
upon that insensible spot, we could no more
see it, even though looking straight at it, than
if we had no eyes or kept them shut. It is a
curious fact that there is such a "blind spot"
in every human eye; and, what is more curious,
it is found to be jtest where the optic nerve enters the eye-the very place which we might
suppose would have the keenest sight of all.
Here is a simple little experiment, by which
we can prove the existence of this blind spot
in our eyes. Shut your left eye, and with the
right one look steadily at the cross just below,
holding the paper ten or twelve inches from
X 0
the eye. Now move the paper slowly toward
the eye, which must be kept fixed on the cross.
At a certain distance the other figure —the
letter O-will suddenly disappear; but, if you
bring the paper nearer, it will come again into
view. You may not succeed in the experiment
on the first trial, but, with a little patience,
you can hardly fail; and the suddenness with
which the black spot vanishes and reappears
is very striking. Now, examination has shown
that, when it disappears, its image falls ex
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