nay, among the
masterpieces of English literature: "The Christmas Carol."

All Dickens' great gifts seem reflected, sharp and distinct, in this
little book, as in a convex mirror. His humour, his best pathos, which
is not that of grandiloquence, but of simplicity, his bright poetic
fancy, his kindliness, all here find a place. It is great painting in
miniature, genius in its quintessence, a gem of perfect water. We may
apply to it any simile that implies excellence in the smallest
compass. None but a fine imagination would have conceived the
supernatural agency that works old Scrooge's moral regeneration--the
ghosts of Christmas past, present, and to come, that each in turn
speaks to the wizened heart of the old miser, so that, almost
unwittingly, he is softened by the tender memories of childhood,
warmed by sympathy for those who struggle and suffer, and appalled by
the prospect of his own ultimate desolation and black solitude. Then
the episodes: the scenes to which these ghostly visitants convey
Scrooge; the story of his earlier years as shown in vision; the
household of the Cratchits, and poor little crippled Tiny Tim; the
party given by Scrooge's nephew; nay, before all these, the terrible
interview with Marley's Ghost. All are admirably executed. Sacrilege
would it be to suggest the alteration of a word. First of the
Christmas books in the order of time, it is also the best of its own
kind; it is in its own order perfect.

Nor did the public of Christmas, 1843, fail to appreciate that
something of very excellent quality had been brought forth for their
benefit. "The first edition of six thousand copies," says Forster,
"was sold" on the day of publication, and about as many more would
seem to have been disposed of before the end of February, 1844. But,
alas, Dickens had set his heart on a profit of L1,000, whereas in
February he did not see his way to much more than L460,[18] and his
unpaid bills for the previous year he described as "terrific." So
something, as I have said, had to be done. A change of front became
imperative. Messrs. Bradbury and Evans advanced him L2,800 "for a
fourth share in whatever he might write during the ensuing eight
years,"--he purchased at the Pantechnicon "a good old shabby devil of
a coach," also described as "an English travelling carriage of
considerable proportions"; engaged a courier who turned out to be the
courier of couriers, a very conjurer among couriers; let his house in