“Then came the time when, inseparable from one’s own birthday, was a certain sense of merit, a consciousness of well-earned distinction. When I regarded my birthday as a graceful achievement of my own, a monument of my perseverance, independence, and good sense, redounding greatly to my honour.”—Charles Dickens, The Uncommercial Traveller.
The great Boz was born on this day in 1812. I commend to your attention the following excerpts from my book Victoriana:
and assorted Dickensian posts: