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Literary Friends and Acquaintance; a Personal Retrospect of American Authorship by William Dean Howells
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criticisms in our own paper. These, as well as my feats in the renowned
periodicals of the East, met with kindness, if not honor, in my own city
which ought to have given me grave doubts whether I was any real prophet.
But it only intensified my literary ambition, already so strong that my
veins might well have run ink rather than blood, and gave me a higher
opinion of my fellow-citizens, if such a thing could be. They were
indeed very charming people, and such of them as I mostly saw were
readers and lovers of books. Society in Columbus at that day had a
pleasant refinement which I think I do not exaggerate in the fond
retrospect. It had the finality which it seems to have had nowhere since
the war; it had certain fixed ideals, which were none the less graceful
and becoming because they were the simple old American ideals, now
vanished, or fast vanishing, before the knowledge of good and evil as
they have it in Europe, and as it has imparted itself to American travel
and sojourn. There was a mixture of many strains in the capital of Ohio,
as there was throughout the State. Virginia, Kentucky, Pennsylvania, New
York, and New England all joined to characterize the manners and customs.
I suppose it was the South which gave the social tone; the intellectual
taste among the elders was the Southern taste for the classic and the
standard in literature; but we who were younger preferred the modern
authors: we read Thackeray, and George Eliot, and Hawthorne, and Charles
Reade, and De Quincey, and Tennyson, and Browning, and Emerson, and
Longfellow, and I--I read Heine, and evermore Heine, when there was not
some new thing from the others. Now and then an immediate French book
penetrated to us: we read Michelet and About, I remember. We looked to
England and the East largely for our literary opinions; we accepted the
Saturday Review as law if we could not quite receive it as gospel. One
of us took the Cornhill Magazine, because Thackeray was the editor; the
Atlantic Monthly counted many readers among us; and a visiting young lady
from New England, who screamed at sight of the periodical in one of our
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