Whilomville is any obscure little village one may happen to think of. To
write of it with such sympathy and understanding, Crane must have done
some remarkable listening in Boyville. The truth is, of course, he was a
boy himself--"a wonderful boy," somebody called him--and was possessed
of the boy mind. These tales are chiefly funny because they are so true
--boy stories written for adults; a child, I suppose, would find them
dull. In none of his tales is his curious understanding of human moods
and emotions better shown.

A stupid critic once pointed out that Crane, in his search for striking
effects, had been led into "frequent neglect of the time-hallowed rights
of certain words," and that in his pursuit of color he "falls
occasionally into almost ludicrous mishap." The smug pedantry of the
quoted lines is sufficient answer to the charges, but in support of
these assertions the critic quoted certain passages and phrases. He
objected to cheeks "scarred" by tears, to "dauntless" statues, and to
"terror-stricken" wagons. The very touches of poetic impressionism that
largely make for Crane's greatness, are cited to prove him an ignoramus.
There is the finest of poetic imagery in the suggestions subtly conveyed
by Crane's tricky adjectives, the use of which was as deliberate with
him as his choice of a subject. But Crane was an imagist before our
modern imagists were known.

This unconventional use of adjectives is marked in the Whilomville
tales. In one of them Crane refers to the "solemn odor of burning
turnips." It is the most nearly perfect characterization of burning
turnips conceivable: can anyone improve upon that "solemn odor"?

Stephen Crane's first venture was "Maggie: A Girl of the Streets." It
was, I believe, the first hint of naturalism in American letters. It was