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To W. D. Howells, in Boston:
HARTFORD, Nov. 23, '75.
MY DEAR HOWELLS,--Herewith is the proof. In spite of myself, how
awkwardly I do jumble words together; and how often I do use three words
where one would answer--a thing I am always trying to guard against. I
shall become as slovenly a writer as Charles Francis Adams, if I don't
look out. (That is said in jest; because of course I do not seriously
fear getting so bad as that. I never shall drop so far toward his and
Bret Harte's level as to catch myself saying "It must have been wiser to
have believed that he might have accomplished it if he could have felt
that he would have been supported by those who should have &c. &c. &c.")
The reference to Bret Harte reminds me that I often accuse him of being
a deliberate imitator of Dickens; and this in turn reminds me that I
have charged unconscious plagiarism upon Charley Warner; and this in
turn reminds me that I have been delighting my soul for two weeks over a
bran new and ingenious way of beginning a novel--and behold, all at once
it flashes upon me that Charley Warner originated the idea 3 years ago
and told me about it! Aha! So much for self-righteousness! I am well
repaid. Here are 108 pages of MS, new and clean, lying disgraced in
the waste paper basket, and I am beginning the novel over again in an
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