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DEAN STANLEY on CHARLES DICKENS.

PROFESSOR JOWETT, M A., ON…

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PROFESSOR JOWETT, M A., ON CHARLES DICKENS. At the special Sunday evening service at West- minster Abbey, on Sunday evening, the Rev. B. Jowett. Professor of Greek at Oxford, alluded as follows to the death of Mr. Charles Dickens. After referring to men of genius who had previously de- parted, the rev. gentleman proceeded I have already detained you too long, and yet I do not like to conclude without saying one word more-that word which has been in the hearts and on the tongues of most of us during the past week. We know that we cannot leave the grave of 1I..1eparted friend without taking a last look, and we like to think of the rays of the setting sun upon his resting- place. He whom we now mourn was the friend of mankind, a philanthropist in the true sense, the friend of youth, the fri-:nd of the poor, the enemy of every form of mean- ness and oppression. I am not going to attempt to draw a portrait of him Men of genius are different from what we suppose them to be: they have grea'er pleasuns and greater pains, greater affections, and greater tempta- tions than the generality of mai kind, and they c'ln never ba altogether understood by their fellow men. We do not wish to intrude upon them. or analyze their lives and cba- racters. They are extraordinary persons, and we cannot pre- stribe to them what they should be. But we feel that a light has gone out, the world is darker to us, when they depart. There are so very few of them that we cannot afford to lose them one by one, and we look vainly round for others who may supply their places. And he whose loss we now mourn occuoled a greater space than any other writer in the minds of Englishmen during the last 35 years. We read him. talked about him, acted him we laughed with him, we were roused by him to a consciousness of the misery of others, and to a pathetic interest In blmin life. The workhouse child, the cripple, the half- clothed and half starved inhabitant of a debtor's priron found a way to his heart, and. through the exertions < f his geuiun, to our hearts aino. Works of fiction would be in- tolerable if they attempted to ba sermons directly to instruct us but indirectly they are great iiietrietorq of this world, and we can hardly exaggerate the debt of gratitude which is ilus to a writer who hauled us to sympathiza with these good, true, sincere, honest Ergiish characters of ordinary life, and to laugh at the egotism the hypocrisy, the false re- spectability of religious professors and others. To another great humorist who Ileis tn this church the words have been applied that the gaiety (f nations was eclipsed by his death. But of him who has been recently taken I would rather say, in humbler language, that no one was ever so much beloved or so much mourned. Men seem to have lost not a great writer only, but one whom they had personally known. Aud so we bid him farewell.

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