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193 letter 66 To Edmund Clarence Stedman November 18, [1887] [New York City, New York] Thursday Nov 18th1 Dear Stedman You remember what Ruskin said—that it required some watching over himself to keep him from writing querulously?2 Consequently if you see any such expression in me give a hint. Houghton Mifflin & Co are mistaken about Two Men being fairly before the public.3 Stoddard says that really Bunce & Huntingdon4 never existed as a house. Old Huntington, a music publisher wished to set his son up, gave him the money, and supposing Bunce to be a business man, took him for a partner—Bunce not proving so the old man wiped them out. Stoddard made a volume of selections, his little book of Madrigals and had an edition of the Kings Bell, for this, and Two Men, he got a hundred dollars!5 There must have been a small edition of the novel, for the book stores and stalls have been explored in vain—such as it was however some copies must have been sold. Bunce told me about that time that he knew it was to fail. He talks differently now. Two Men met with a violent death. The Morgesons was published ten days before Bull Run.6 It was selling but from that day stopped. The Morgesons was my Bull Run, but it had a “success of esteem.”7 A very great deal was said about it. Fanny Fern8 bought a paper copy. She and her family, so she said literally read it to pieces, and then she bought another. I heard enough from outsiders, to feel inflated, but Wilson never liked my novels, my family did not. Dick was unmoved, it did not sell—so I had enough to keep me on the ground. Carleton published Temple House because I asked him to—I do not think he lifted a finger to push it but I consider it my worst failure. It was published by a well known house, and set before Houghton 194 and Mifflin’s “Public.” This was the “straw” for me for my truest work is in T H. I notice a reference in Aldrich’s letter.9 I have thought over his opinion of Howell’s10 superior success. Where he lacks wit Aldrich has it. Where he lacks naturalness Aldrich has it, and in my opinion Aldrich stands above Howells in many ways. Howell’s whole habit of life, thought, temperament, his wife,11 situation &c—have prevented him from being what I call a novelist. If Thackery is one, H is not. I scribble this at leisure and let me say that you need not reply to me only as you feel ready to, and do not allow any intrusions upon your time by me. Another point in your letter—that people have tried to antagonize you and Stoddard. A person well known, told me from hearsay, that your anger was so great against Stoddard for stealing your title as in Merry Mount,12 and the French names, killing your poem, that you fairly “spluttered” against him. What does and has irritated the surface of my friendship for you is your inaccuracy of statement some times, the unsound theory you sometimes propound of persons, the stranger to me, because of your penetration and clearness of insight at other times. I can give you no better example than what you said of Lorry the other night, when he answered your question concerning his plans. What an impression a stranger would have had of him! a copying [dude?] and ridiculous ass. Here are the facts—he could not twist his mustache, as you said, for he had none, he never leans against a mantle piece, for he does not imitate De Maurier in Punch,13 he never uses the words you put in his mouth, and he never would have replied with dis-respect to a question from such a man as you taking an interest in a boy like him—the truth was that he answered as best as he could without a plan at all. So you often astound me with information, about persons whom I have seen “as in a looking glass,” till I conclude I have got strabismus,14 or that the persons are but “German plate”15 after all, or, that I must fight and deny you. You are very right about yourself.16 Your pluck, energy, unfailing powers amid so many crosses and distractions are amazing. I think that...

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