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HE most prominent figure in the present literature of the United States is Mr. Howells. Even those who disagree with him cannot deny him that prominence so long as they retain their present fondness for disagreeing with him in print. In one of the most difficult and delightful walks of literature he is without a peer: he is the greatest American humorist. He has another of the rare marks of genius: he is sincere and genuine. His individuality breathes through all his writings. You can form from the latter some mental picture of the man. In this respect he differs from Henry James, who has progressed so far beyond "the confidential attitude of Thackeray" that his personality entirely eludes us. You may like or dislike Mr. James's writings without being either attracted or repelled by the man. Your feelings towards Mr. Howells, whether favorable or unfavorable, are distinctly personal ones.

The series of critical papers which Mr. Howells is contributing to Harper's Magazine are entertaining and instructive, even to one who does not accept his conclusions. He has thought earnestly, and he says what he thinks, without regard to the prejudices or conventions or established principles he may offend. He is not afraid to adopt a little of the infallibilist air; he is careless of the hard things that may be said against Sir Oracle. Towards the college of American novelists he cheerfully adopts the position of Dean. Above all, he is not afraid of being inconsistent,—the final test of genuineness and strength. Whether these papers have any great critical value may be doubted, in view of the frankness of their partisanship. A critic who "finds no fault" with Henry James's "Princess Casamassima" is certainly entirely alone in the present, and it is not likely that his solitude will be shared in the immediate future.

An amusing instance of Mr. Howells's inconsistency is afforded by his recent diatribes against critics and criticism. He says much that is very just. But his strictures on the limitations of modern criticism are strictures on the limitations of human nature. Critics are not very wise; but neither is the rest of humanity. All men talk an immense amount of nonsense; the wisest utters but one true word in a thousand. Critics, in order to have any influence at all, must be a little wiser than the unthinking masses whom they address. They can bring the masses up to their own low level and leave their higher education to higher influences. Human progress is not attained by leaps, but by slow toilsome ascent of the rungs of a ladder whose summit is hid far, far up in the future. The lowest rung is as necessary as its fellow above it. But modern criticism, Mr. Howells proceeds, only amounts to this,—the critic likes or dislikes a certain performance, and he says so. Well, it is a good sign that critics are independent Only out of the clash of many discordant opinions can the truth be evolved. Mr. Howells's own criticisms arc Largely the announcements of individual preferences, and derive their chief value from that fact. Again, the utterances of critics frequently give pain to their betters. But warfare, whether literal or