direction is determined by what are called mere systems of philosophy.
The novelist may not know whether he is steered by Kant, or Hegel, or
Schopenhauer. The humanitarian novel, the fictions of passion, of
realism, of doubt, the poetry and the essays addressed to the mood of
unrest, of questioning, to the scientific spirit and to the shifting
attitudes of social change and reform, claim the attention of an age
that is completely adrift in regard to the relations of the supernatural
and the material, the ideal and the real. It would be natural if in such
a time of confusion the calm tones of unexaggerated literary art should
be not so much heeded as the more strident voices. Yet when the passing
fashion of this day is succeeded by the fashion of another, that which
is most acceptable to the thought and feeling of the present may be
without an audience; and it may happen that few recent authors will be
read as Scott and the writers of the early part of this century will be
read. It may, however, be safely predicted that those writers of fiction
worthy to be called literary artists will best retain their hold who
have faithfully painted the manners of their own time.

Irving has shared the neglect of the writers of his generation. It
would be strange, even in America, if this were not so. The development
of American literature (using the term in its broadest sense) in the
past forty years is greater than could have been expected in a nation
which had its ground to clear, its wealth to win, and its new
governmental experiment to adjust; if we confine our view to the last
twenty years, the national production is vast in amount and encouraging
in quality. It suffices to say of it here, in a general way, that the
most vigorous activity has been in the departments of history, of
applied science, and the discussion of social and economic problems.
Although pure literature has made considerable gains, the main
achievement has been in other directions. The audience of the literary