thor has surpassed it. If there is less of
the exuberance of "Pickwick," there is also less of the
characteristic exaggeration of Dickens; and the pathos of the
ex-convict's return is far deeper than the pathos of
children's death-beds, so frequently exhibited by the author.
"Great Expectations," for all its rare qualities, has never
achieved the wide popularity of the novels of Charles Dickens
that preceded it. We are not generally familiar with any name
in the story, as we are with at least one name in all the
other novels. Yet, Pip, as a study of child-life, youth, and
early manhood, is as excellent as anything in the whole range
of English fiction.

_I.--In the Marshes_

My father's family name being Pirrip, and my Christian name Philip, I
called myself with my infant tongue Pip, and came to be called Pip.

My first most vivid impression of things seems to me to have been gained
on a memorable raw afternoon, one Christmas Eve. Ours was the marsh
country, down the river, within twenty miles of the sea; and I had
wandered into a bleak place overgrown with nettles called a churchyard.

"Hold your noise," cried a terrible voice, as a man started up from
among the graves at the side of the church porch. "Keep still, you
little devil, or I'll cut your throat!"

A fearful man, all in coarse grey, with a great iron on his leg. A man
who had been soaked in water, and smothered in mud, and cut by stones;
who limped and shivered, and glared and growled.

"Oh! don't cut my throat, sir," I pleaded in terror. "Pray don't do it,
sir."

"Tell us your name! quick!"

"Pip, sir."

"Show us where you live," said the man. "P'int out the place. Who d'ye
live with?"

I pointed to where our village was, and said, "With my sister, sir--Mrs.
Joe Gargery--wife of Joe Gargery, the blacksmith, sir."

"Blacksmith, eh?" said he, and looked down at his leg. Then he took me
by the arms. "Now lookee here. You know what a file is?"

"Yes, sir."

"And you know what wittles is?"

"Yes, sir."

"You get me a file, and you get me wittles. You bring 'em both to me, or
I'll have your heart and liver out. You bring the lot to me, to-morrow
morning early, that file and them wittles you bring the lot to me at
that old battery over yonder. You do it, and you never dare to say a
word concerning your having seen me, and you shall be let to live. You
fail, or you go from my words in an