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Cambridge Neighbors (from Literary Friends and Acquaintance) by William Dean Howells
page 10 of 37 (27%)
alien words, alien situations; and in estimating Boyesen's achievements
we must never forget that he was born strange to our language and to our
life. In 'Gunnar' he handled the one with grace and charm; in his great
novel he handled both with masterly strength. I call 'The Mammon of
Unrighteousness' a great novel, and I am quite willing to say that I know
few novels by born Americans that surpass it in dealing with American
types and conditions. It has the vast horizon of the masterpieces of
fictions; its meanings are not for its characters alone, but for every
reader of it; when you close the book the story is not at an end.

I have a pang in praising it, for I remember that my praise cannot please
him any more. But it was a book worthy the powers which could have given
us yet greater things if they had not been spent on lesser things.
Boyesen could "toil terribly," but for his fame he did not always toil
wisely, though he gave himself as utterly in his unwise work as in his
best; it was always the best he could do. Several years after our first
meeting in Cambridge, he went to live in New York, a city where money
counts for more and goes for less than in any other city of the world,
and he could not resist the temptation to write more and more when he
should have written less and less. He never wrote anything that was not
worth reading, but he wrote too much for one who was giving himself with
all his conscience to his academic work in the university honored by his
gifts and his attainments, and was lecturing far and near in the
vacations which should have been days and weeks and months of leisure.
The wonder is that even such a stock of health as his could stand the
strain so long, but he had no vices, and his only excesses were in the
direction of the work which he loved so well. When a man adds to his
achievements every year, we are apt to forget the things he has already
done; and I think it well to remind the reader that Boyesen, who died at
forty-eight, had written, besides articles, reviews, and lectures
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