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Updated: May 1, 2025
These books, which seem like pastimes in the midst of Howells's serious work, are likely to live long, not only as playful autobiographic records, but as vivid pictures of life in the middle west in the middle of the nineteenth century.
"I can fight with a clear conscience," Bobby cried. "I wasn't asleep when Howells's body altered its position. Do you realize what that means to me? For once I was wide awake when the old room was at its tricks." "If Howells were alive," Graham answered shortly, "he would look on the fact that you were awake and alone with the body as the worst possible evidence against you."
In 1909 he was made president of the American Academy of Arts and Letters. Mr. Howells's death occurred May 11, 1920.
Howells's pictures are not mere stiff, hard, accurate photographs; they are photographs with feeling in them, and sentiment, photographs taken in a dream, one might say. As concerns his humor, I will not try to say anything, yet I would try, if I had the words that might approximately reach up to its high place.
I thought of it just before I went to sleep." Graham reached out again. This time he touched Howells's head. It rolled over on the pillow. "Good God!" he said. They stared at the red hole, near the base of the brain, at a fresh crimson splotch, straying beyond the edges of the darker one they had seen that afternoon.
If we follow that up only in the references given above, we shall find our book list for Venice, just as it comes, in no order but that of accident, is: St. Real, Relation des Espagnols contre Venise. Otway's Venice Preserved. Shakespeare's Merchant of Venice. Howells's Venetian Life. Blondus. De Origine Venetorum. Muratori's Annals. Ruskin's Stones of Venice. D'Israeli's Contarini Fleming.
"I'll admit that," Rawlins answered, "but she wasn't far away, and she got here before I could investigate, and she's kept the door locked ever since until just now." He lifted the exhibits out. The shape of the cast, the monogram on the handkerchief cried out their testimony. Robinson grasped Howells's report and glanced over the fine handwriting. After a time he looked up.
I've been wondering if they've got track of Howells's report which we told Jenkins to hide." "Why," Bobby asked, "should that involve Katherine?" "Howells may have written something damaging to her. He knew she was devoted to your interests." Robinson called to them from the library. "Won't you please come in, Mr. Blackburn?" Bobby and Graham continued to the library.
I wonder if, in spite of Howells's evidence, we're not all a little afraid since this afternoon, of something such as Katherine felt last night something we can't define. Howells alone is satisfied. We must believe in the hand of another man. Doctor Groom talks about indefinable hands." "Uncle Silas was so afraid last night!" Katherine whispered. "That," Bobby cried, "is the fact we must have."
Witness the kindliness and delicate sympathy of his letters during the Lord Byron trouble.... Miss W. has read us some of Howells's 'Hazard of New Fortunes. It strikes me that it is a strong book. That indomitable old German, Linden that saint of the rather godless sect of dynamiters and anarchists is a grand figure; one can't help loving him."
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