Perhaps the delicacy of Mr. Howells’ touch and the gentle subtlety of his satire are nowhere better illustrated than in the little drawing-room “farces” of which he frequently publishes one in an American magazine about Christmas time.  I call them farces because he himself applies that name to them; but these dainty little comediettas contain none of the rollicking qualities which the word usually connotes to English ears.  They have all the finesse of the best French work of the kind, combined with a purity of atmosphere and of intent that we are apt to claim as Anglo-Saxon, and which, perhaps, is especially characteristic of America.  One is tired of hearing, in this connection, of the blush that rises to the innocent girl’s cheek; but why should even those who are supposed to be past the age of blushing not also enjoy humour unspiced by even a suggestion of lubricity?  The “Mikado” and “Pinafore” have done yeoman’s service in displacing the meretricious delights of Offenbach and Lecocq; and Howells’ little pieces yield an exquisite, though innocent, enjoyment to those whose taste in farces has not been fashioned and spoiled by clumsy English adaptations or imitations of intriguing levers-de-rideau, and to those who do not associate the name of farce with horse-play and practical joking.  They form the best illustration of what has been described as Mr. Howells’ “method of occasionally opening up to the reader through the bewilderingly intricate mazes of his dialogue clear perceptions of the true values of his characters, imitating thus the actual trick of life, which can safely be depended on to now and then expose meanings that words have cleverly served the purpose of concealing.”  If I hesitate to call them comediettas “in porcelain,” it is because the suggested analogy falls short, owing to the greater reconditeness, the purer intellectual quality, of Mr. Howells’ humour as compared with Mr. Austin Dobson’s.  So intensely American in quality are these scenes from the lives of Mr. and Mrs. Willis Campbell, Mr. and Mrs. Roberts, and their friends, that it sometimes seems to me that they might almost be used as touchstones for the advisability of a visit to the United States.  If you can appreciate and enjoy these farces, go to America by all means; you will have a “good time.”  If you cannot, better stay at home, unless your motive is merely one of base mechanic necessity; you will find the American atmosphere a little too rare.

A recent phase of Mr. Howells’ activity—­that, namely, in which, like Mr. William Morris, he has boldly risked his reputation as a literary artist in order to espouse unpopular social causes of whose justice he is convinced—­will interest all who have hearts to feel as well as brains to think.  He made his fame by consummately artistic work, addressed to the daintiest of literacy palates; and yet in such books as “A Hazard of New Fortunes” and “A Traveller from Altruria” he has conscientiously