CHARLES DICKENS'S DOMBEY AND SON.

CnanLEs DICKENS at home again ! He reappears in a green-coloured faseiculus, the first of twenty to be issued monthly ; he introduces us at once to the world of London—with its business, its oddities, its monoto- nies, and its vital interests of humanity going on under all that bustle and mechanical routine. The manner is Dickens all over, to the very colon. The matter, especially at the beginning, is of the author's best. The im- portant Mr. Dombey and his family come upon the scene, with a mixture of the ludicrous and the comical that promises well for the sequel. There are strange dependents with whimsical names—a Mrs. Chick, a Miss Tox, and the like. There is an old-fashioned nautical-instrument maker's shop, painted with the minute exactitude of a Miens; and inside are an odd, benevolent old tradesman, and his boy nephew, the future hero. Much cannot of course be said from this twentieth part of the tale,—nor needs be said, since the " part " will soon be in most peoples hands. Wherefore we content ourselves with announcing the book, and extracting a few samples.

THE EXORDIUM.

Dombey sat in the corner of the darkened room in the great arm-chair by the bedside, and Son lay tucked up warm in a little basket bedstead, carefully dis- posed on a low settee immediately in front of the fire, and close to it; as if his con- stitution were analogous to that of a muffin, and it was essential to toast him brown while he was very new. Dombey was about eight-and-forty years of age. Son about eight-and-forty minutes. Dombey was rather bald, rather red, and though a handsome, well-made man, too stern and pompous in appearance to be prepossessing. Son was very bald, and very red, and though (of course) an undeniably fine infant, somewhat crushed and spotty in his general effect, as yet. On the brow of Dombey, Time and his brother Care had set some marks, as on a tree that was to come down in good time--remorseless twins they are for striding through their human forests, notch- ing as they go—while the countenance of bon was crossed and recrossed with a thousand little creases, which the same deceitful Time would take delight in smoothing out and wearing away with the flat part of his scithe, as a preparation of the surface for his deeper operations. Dombey, exulting in the long-looked, for event, jingled and jingled the heavy gold watch-chain that depended from below his trim blue coat, whereof the but- tons sparkled phosphorescently in the feeble rays of the distant fire. Son with his

little Este curled up and clenched, seemed, in his feeble way, tole squaring at el- istence for having come upon him so unexpectedly.

" The house will once again, Mrs. Dombey," said Mr. Dombey," be not only in name but in fact Dombey and Son; Dom-bey and Son!" The words had such a softening influence, that he appended a term of endear- ment to Mrs. Dombey's name (though not without some hesitation, as being a man but little used to that form of address): and said, " Mrs. Dombey my—my dear." A transient flush of faint surprise overspread the sick lady's face as she raised her eyes towards him. " He will be christened, Paul, my—Mrs. Dombey—of coarse." She feebly echoed " Of coarse," or rather expressed it by the motion of her lips, and closed her eyes again. " His fether's name, Mrs. Dombey, and his grandfather's. I wish his grand- father were alive this day!" And again he said, " Dom-bey and Son," in exactly the same tone as before.

Those three words conveyed the one idea of Mr. Dombey's life. * * • They had been married ten years, and until this present day on which Mr. Dom- bey sat jingling and jingling his heavy gold watch-chain in the great arm-chair by the side of the bed, had had no issue. —To speak of; none worth mentioning. There had been a girl some six years before, and the child, who had stolen into the chamber unobserved, was now crouching timidly in a corner whence she could see her mother's face. But what was a girl to Dombey and Son ? In the capital of the House's name and dignity, such a -child was merely a piece of base coin that couldn't be invested—a bad boy —nothing more.

THE MOTHER DIES.

" Why, my dear Paul !" exclaimed his sister, as he returned, "you look quite pale,. There's nothing the matter 2"

" I am sorry to say, Louisa, that they tell me that Fanny—" " Now, my dear Paul," returned his sister rising, " don't believe it. If you have any reliance on my experience, Paul, you may rest assured that there is nothing wanting but an effort on Fanny's part. And that effort," she continued, taking off her bonnet, and adjusting her cap and gloves, in a business-like manner, "she must be encouraged, and really, if necessary, urged to make. Now, my dear Paul, come up stairs with me." Mr. Dombey, who, besides being generally influenced by his sister for the reason already mentioned, had really faith in her as an experienced and bustling matron, acquiesced; and followed her at once to the sick-chamber. The lady lay upon her bed as he had left her, clasping her little daughter to her breast. The child clung close about her, with the same intensity as before; and never raised her head, or moved her soft cheek from her mother's face, or looked on those who stood around, or spoke, or moved, or shed a tear. "Restless without the little girl," the Doctor whispered Mr. Dombey. "We found it best to have her in again." There was such a solemn stillness round the bed, and the two medical attend- ants seemed to look on the impassive form with so much compassion and so little hope, that Mrs. Chick was for the moment diverted from her purpose. But pre- sently summoning courage, and what she called presence of mind, she sat down by the bedside, and said in the low, precise tone of one who endeavours to awaken a sleeper: "Fanny! Fanny !" There was no sound in answer but the loud ticking of Mr. Dombey's watch and Doctor Parker Peps's watch, which seemed in the silence to be running a race.

"Fanny, my dear," said Mrs. Chick, with assumed lightness, "here's Mr. Dona- bey come to see you. Won't you speak to him? They want to lay your little boy. —the baby, Fanny, you know; you have hardly seen him yet, I think—in bed; but they can't till you rouse yourself a little. Don't you think it's time you rous- ed yourself a little? Eh?"

She bent her ear to the bed, and listened: at the same time looking round at the bystanders, and holding up her finger. "Eh?" she repeated, "what was it you said Fanny? I didn't hear you." No word or sound in answer. Mr. Dombey's watch and Dr. Parker Peps's watch seemed to be racing faster. "Now, really, Fanny my dear," said the sister-in-law, altering her position, and speaking less confidently, and more earnestly, in spite of herself, "I shall have to be quite cross with you, if you don't rouse yourself. It's necessary for you to make an effort, and perhaps a very great and painful effort which you are not disposed to make; but this is a world of effort you know, Fanny, and we must never yield, when so much depends upon ns. Come! Try ! I mast really scold you if you don't!'

The race in the ensuing pause was fierce and furious. The watches seemed to jostle, and to trip each other up.

" Fanny I" said Louisa, glancing round, with a gathering alarm. "Only look at me. Only open your eyes to show me that you hear and understand me; will you? Good Heaven gentlemen, what is to be done?" The two medical attendants exchanged a look across the bed; and the phy- sician, stooping down, whispered in the child's ear. Not having understood the purport of his whisper, the little creature turned her perfectly colourless face and deep dark eyes towards him : but without loosening her hold in the least. The whisper was repeated.

"Mama!' said the child.

The little voice, familiar and dearly loved, awakened some show of consciousness, even at that ebb. For a moment, the closed eye-lids trembled, and the nostril quivered, and the faintest shadow of a smile was seen. " Mama!" cried the child, sobbing aloud. "Oh, dear mama! oh, dear mama I" The Doctor gently brushed the scattered ringlets of the child aside from the face and month of the mother. Alas ! how calm they lay there; how little breath there was to stir them !

Thus, clinging fast to that slight spar within her arms, the mother drifted out upon the dark and unknown sea that rolls round all the world.

THE NURSELESS BABY.

"I shall never cease to congratulate myself," said Mrs. Chick, "on having said, when I little thought what was in store for us,—really as if I was inspired by something,—that I forgave poor dear Fanny everything. Whatever happens, that must always be a comfort to me I " Mrs. Chick made this impressive observation in the drawingroom after having descended thither from the inspection of the mantaa-makers upstriirs, who were busy on the family mourning. She delivered it for the behoof ot Mr. Chick, who was a stout, bald gentleman, with a very large face, and his hands continually in his pockets; and who had a tendency in his nature to whistle and hum tunes, which, sensible of the indecorum of such sounds in a house of grief, he MIS at some pains to repress at present.

"Don't you over-exert yourself, Leo," said Mr. Chick, "or you'll be laid up with spasms, I see. Right tol loon rul! Bless my soul, I forgot! We're here one day and gone the next Mrs. Chick contented herself with a glance of reproof, and then proceeded with the thread of her discourse.

"I am sure," she said "I hope this heart-lending occurrence will be a warning to all of us, to accustom ourselves to rouse ourselves and to make efforts in time where they're required of us. There's a moral in everything, if we would only avail ourselves ot it. It will be our own faults if we lose sight of this one." Mr. Chick invaded the grave silence which ensued on this remark with the sin- gularly inappropriate air of "A cobbler there was"; and checking himself, in some confusion observed, that it was undoubtedly our own faults if we didn't improve such melancholy occasions as the present.. •

" How's the baby, Loo?" asked Mr. Chick; to change the subject. "What baby do you mean?" answered Mrs. Chick. "I am sure the mowing I have had, with that diningroom down stairs one mass of babies, no one in their senses would believe."

"One mass of babies!" repeated Mr. Chick, staring with an alarmed expression about him.

"It would have occurred to most men," said Mrs. Chick, "that poor dear Fanny being no more it becomes necessary to provide a nurse." "Oh ! all!" said Mr. Chick. " Toor-rol—such is life, I mean. I hope you are suited, my dear."

"Indeed, I am not," said Mrs. Chick; "nor likely to in, so far as I can see. Meanwhile, of course, the child is—"

"Going to the very Deuce," said Mr. Chick, thoughtfully, "to be sure." Admonished, however, that he had committed himself, by the indignation ex-

pressed in Mrs. Chick's countenance at the idea of a Dombey going there; and

thinking to atone for his misconduct by a bright suggestion, he added: " Couldn't something temporary be done with a teapot?"