Middletown transcript., 1912-02-10
MIDDIETOwx. DEL, FEB. 10, 1912
CHARLES DICKENS

February 7th, 1912, the centen-
arv of the birth of Charles Dick
ems! What Burus is among
poets and Lincoln among states
men, Dickens is among novel
ists-the apostle of the common
people. All three arose out OF
the lowly bosom of the common
people, knew and shared their
hard poverty, their sorrows and
their virtues; and because all
three dedicated their geuius to
the cause of humanity, are they
alike enshrined in its heart fer
ever.
The magic of Dickens genius
has created a little world cf char
acters that will perennially warm
mems hearts; move them to pity
and tears at earth's sorrows;
arouse their smiles and their
laughter at life's foiles, or stir
their hot wrath against its
wrongs.
Truly, to him was given that
rare faculty that is the divine
prerogative Of Genius only, to
breathe into these children of his
brain, the very breath of life,
until like Gods creatures they
too became living souls. And it
is because these characters Of
Dickens are creatures Of real
flesh and blood that "more, live
and have their being in actual
life all about us, that heis always
a "best seller.
That these creations Of his
possess the quality of immortal
ity is proven by the fact that
many of them have become house
hold words-haye entered into
the very warp and woof of our
English speech to endure as long
as the language itself.
Who has not known a pompous
Podsnap, a canting Pecksniff or
a sleek Uriah Heep ? A pragma
tical Gradgrind or another such
an old dude as Turveydrop, or
careless, jolly lads like Dick
Swiveler, or Alfred Jingle? Every
community has its generous
hearted Cheerybles, its Micaw-
bers and its Captain Cuttles.
Thank heaven Little Dorrilts and
Miss Manettes devoted, loving
daughters-yet abound-and 50
we might goon through Dickens
big catalogue of characters and
point out their similars in every
society.
The paid puffery Of the news
paper and the craze to read "the
latest" may give TO the ephem-
eral trash Of the hour q tempo
rary vogue, but they cannot con
fer Immortality. The modern
novel is as much a machine pro
duct as shoes or bricks. The
formula for their making is
somewhat thus: So mnch "plot"
more or less probable, plus so
many lay figures carefully draped
in the attire of either sex and
moving mechanically to a Gus
tomary climax. They are but
lifeless manikins, (which have
eyes to see and see not-ears to
hear and they hear not; and be
holding their antics as the author
pulls the strings, one must needs
believe with Hamlet that "some
of Natures journeymen had
made men and had not made
them well, they initiated human
ity so abominably." How can
this modern fiction olive, never
having been born? Hence it goes
out of the fashion with las sea-
sons shape of bodice or bonnet.
Truly, the dictum of Horace as
to the poet, has a wider scope-is
true of all artists, novelists in-
cluded so one must say: "artJer-
tabuIGrun1 ScriptOr-naScitor non
ft"-"the artist-the novelist-is
born, not made. "
But Dickens was prose poet
as well as a novelist, and best of
all, an accusing prophet, fear
lessly exposing and denouncing,
like Hebrew seer of old, the
crimes and tyrannles of the
strong and rich against the weak
and poor. And for this mankind
will always revere his memory as
well as revel in his works.