In
the same way we listen to a story with greater zest when there are
others present at its narration besides ourselves. Aware of this,
authors without due reflection have repeatedly attempted, by supposing
a circle of listeners, to imbue their narratives with the interest
of sympathy. At a cursory glance the idea seems plausible enough. But,
in the one case, there is an actual, personal, and palpable
sympathy, conveyed in looks, gestures and brief comments- a sympathy
of real individuals, all with the matters discussed to be sure, but
then especially, each with each. In the other instance, we, alone in
our closet, are required to sympathise with the sympathy of fictitious
listeners, who, so far from being present in body, are often
studiously kept out of sight and out of mind for two or three
hundred pages at a time. This is sympathy double-diluted- the shadow
of a shade. It is unnecesary to say that the design invariably fails
of its effect.
In his preface to the present volume, Mr. Dickens seems to feel
the necessity for an apology in regard to certain portions of his
commencement, without seeing clearly what apology he should make, or
for what precise thing he should apologize. He makes an effort to
get over the difficulty, by saying something about its never being
"his intention to have the members of 'Master Humphrey's Clock' active
agents in the stories they relate," and about his "picturing to
himself the various sensations of his hearers-thinking how Jack
Redburn might incline to poor Kit- how the deaf gentleman would have
his favorite and Mr.
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