To the present literary era, we are indebted, also, for the higher development of that peculiar form of fiction called the short story, the popularity of which has at least served to give employment to a large number of worthy people who would otherwise have been compelled to eke out an existence by humbler and more exhausting forms of labor. No sooner had the short-story fever taken possession of the magazine offices than there appeared from various corners of the earth men, women, and children, many of whom had never written anything before in their lives, but who now besieged the Franklin and Union Square strongholds, bearing in their inky hands manuscript which in many instances they were fortunate enough to dispose of, to the rage and wonder of those old-timers who, having learned their trade under Mr. Bonner and Dr. Holland, now found themselves too old to readily fall in with the new order of things.
Of this new brood a few were chosen, and among them were the writers of dialect stories, which enjoyed an astonishing vogue for several years, and are now, happily enough, losing ground. I think the banner writer of dialect stories of this period was a certain Mr. William McLellan, who contributed a number of unique specimens of his wares to Harper’s Monthly. He could spell more words wrong than any other writer I ever heard of and I have often wished that I could read one of his stories.
Some of these short-story marvels have been extremely successful, and now take rank as first-class writers of fiction. I would have a much higher regard for them, though, if they could write novels—not serials, but novels.
Among other notable products of the fecund Johnsonian age the future historian of American literature will dwell upon the Century war-papers, well calculated to extend the circulation of the magazine over vast areas in the South as well as the North where it had been almost unknown before; the Siberian experiences of Mr. George Kennan; autobiographies of celebrated men and women; and idyllic phases of New England life from the pen of the inimitable Mr. Gladden.
The Kennan articles were of enormous value, apart from their own intrinsic merit, because their purpose was the reform of certain abuses. We Americans are so fond of reform that we are always getting it in one shape or another, and the more we get of it the more we want; and these papers were aimed only at the Czar of Russia and his advisers—men who neither subscribe for nor advertise in American monthlies. I doubt if a proposition to undertake a crusade against plumbers and compel them to lower their prices would awaken a tidal wave of enthusiasm in the Century office.
CHAPTER VII.
WOMAN’S INFLUENCE IN THE JOHNSONIAN PERIOD.
It seems to me that so long as a literary man can hold a pen in his hand there is no danger of his going to the poorhouse; for when he becomes too old to give satisfaction as a reporter, or too prosy and stupid to write essays on “The Probable Outcome of the Briggs Controversy” for the religious journals, he can always find a purchaser for a series of Letters to a Young Man on the Threshold of Life, and the sillier the letters the greater will be their success.
I have read dozens of books of this sort, and have often wondered at the uniform ignorance and stupidity which characterized them. There was a time when I wondered who bought these books, for no young man on the threshold of life would be seen reading one of them. I know now that they are not written to suit the tastes of the young men themselves, but of the old grannies who will buy one at Christmas-time as a present for Bob or Tom or Bill.