New-York tribune., 1920-05-12

in way. and in spite of varying for
tunes and many changes" chronicles
Howells in "My Literary Passions"
From a letter Of my great grand
mothers written to n stubborn daugh-
ter upon some untilial behavior, like
running away to be married, 1 suspect
that she was fond of the high-colored
fiction Of her day, for she tells the
wilful child that she has planted a
dagger in her mothers heart"
There is an interesting and n
strangely modern sound about his es-
timate of the Bohemian colony of New
York, of 1860, which might almost have
been written Of the Greenwich Village
of this date. at was in fact" he writes
in Literary Friends and Acquaint-
ances," "but a sickly colony trans
planted from the mother asphalt Of
Paris, but never striking root in the
pavements Of New York; it was col
ony of ideas, of theories which had
perhaps never had any deep root any
where. What these ideas, these the
cries were in art and in life, it would
not be very easy to say; but in The
Saturday Press they came to violent
expression, not to say explosion,
biity. II responsibility was your bette
y
if you were in the habit Of rendering
yourself in prose then you necessarily
shredded your prose into very fine
paragraphs Of a sentence each, or Of a
very few words, or even OF one word
l long desired to write in that
fashion myself, but | had not the
courage"
Perhaps the most priced recollec-
tions in Howellss crowded lie were
those told in the volume "My Mark
Twain" Here is the story he tells of
one jolly feast with Mark in Boston:
There was T. B. Aldrich, there was
j. 7. Fields, much the oldest of our
company, who had just freed himself
from the trammels of the publishing
business, and was feeling his freedom
in every word; there was Bret Harte,
who had lately come East in his prince
ly progress from California, and there
was Clemens. Nothing remains to me
of the happy time but a sense Of idle
and aimless and joyful talk-play, begin
ming and ending nowhere, of eager
laughter, of countless good stories
from Fields, Of heat-lightning SHIN
mer of wit from Aldrich. of an occa-
| sional concentration Of our joint mock
cries upon our host, who took it glad
| ly, and amid the discourse, so little
ship Bret Harte's fleering dramatiza-
tion Of Cemens's mental attitude
toward a symposium of Boston ilumi-
| mates.
But modern authors, as we'll as these
| contemporaries of his busy middle
life, have known and loved the man
/ "Amercan literature has lost leader,
Owen Wister said yesterday in Phila
lelphia. "Surely no established authol
was ever more generous of his mint
and his heart to younger men,
He has been both artist and teach
er," DR.. Lyman Abbott said, "but hi
teaching mas been through his art, no
added to it,
He was always very kind to me,
was the first word in comment upon th
news of Mr. Howells's death of Senate
Henry Cabot Lodge, and f. V. Lucas. tn,
English writer, recalled long ag'
luncheon in London and said. II wa
very much attracted by his splendi,
personality"
Hamlin Garland, the novelist, be
tween whom and Mr.. Howells a sympa
thetic friendship had existed for man,
years, said yesterday: "Iiis death af
fects me- as the passing away of grea
mountain peak from my horizon. Con
cerning his genius, nothing need b.
added to the pnans already sung in hi
honor. But too much cannot be sal
of his kindlness in his attitude towar
other members Of the craft of letters
If all the writer's whom he has helpe
by his suggestions and otherwise wer
to gather at his funeral they you'd fiji
every inch Of room in the church. On
Of the most remarkable things abou
him was that he remained ever youna
In spite of his years, he was quick t
see what was worth while in the new
and while keeping respect for the pas
he was also alive to the future" Nj
Garland added that the Authors Clu
and other organizations Of literar
men and women doubtless would hol
memorial services in Mr.. Howells
honor.