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Updated: May 1, 2025
Among contemporary writers he knew some of Howells's novels and liked them, but said: "Literature in the United States at present seems to be in the lowest trough of the sea between high waves."
Howells's Willis Campbell, a witty and cultivated Bostonian, says, in The Albany Depot, "I guess we better get out of here;" Mr. Ade's Artie, a Chicago clerk, says, "I got a boost in my pay," meaning "I have got:" the locution is very common indeed. It is no more defensible than "swelp me" for "so help me."
"I didn't mean to hurt you," he said, "but there is something I must tell you now that may hurt you a little." And he explained how Graham had awakened him at the head of the stairs. "You're right," he said. "I was sure then it was myself, in spite of Howells's movement. It followed so neatly on the handkerchief and the footmarks. But now he has come back, and it changes everything.
We hope to find there an explanation of a part of the mystery the motive, at least, for Howells's death; perhaps your own exoneration. You'd do anything to have that, wouldn't you? You've said so." "At her expense!" Bobby cried. "You've no right to go to her room. She's incapable of a share in such crimes.
I will never 'add a sentiment' except in the case of applicants who can give me proof that they have read all my books, now some thirty or forty in number. "W. D. Howells." It need hardly be added that Mr. Howells's good nature prevented his adherence to his rule!
This does not mean, of course, that they ought always to be studying "what the public wants." The dramatist should give the public what he himself wants but in such form as to make it comprehensible and interesting in a theatre. Howells's admirable novel, The Story of a Play, protests in vigorous and memorable terms.
Fuller in The Chevalier of Pensieri-Vani and The Chatelaine of La Trinité played with sentimental pilgrimages in Italy or the Alps, packing his narratives with the most affectionate kind of archaeology and yet forever scrutinizing them with a Yankee smile. A little later, when Howells's followers had become more numerous, Mr.
Howells's: "In fact, the whole belief in genius seems to me rather a mischievous superstition, and if not mischievous, always, still always, a superstition. From the account of those who talk about it, genius appears to be the attribute of a very potent and admirable prodigy which God has created out of the common for the astonishment and confusion of the rest of us poor human beings.
"If he could elude you so easily last night, it's common sense to put him where you can find him in case of need. He's given you excuse enough." "The man's got me guessing," Robinson mused, "but there are other elements." "What's happened since we left?" Graham asked quickly. "Have you got any trace of Howells's evidence?" Robinson smiled enigmatically, but his failure was apparent.
Howells's words, the world would long ago have tired of him. The irruption into letters of the wild and lawless, or of the strained and eccentric, can amuse and interest us only for a moment. It is because these are only momentary phases of him, as it were, and because underneath all he embraces the whole of life and ministers to it, that his fame and influence are still growing in the world.
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