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    The Register
    The Register
    The Register
    Ebook42 pages35 minutes

    The Register

    By William Dean Howells

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    About this ebook

    William Dean Howells (1837-1920) was an American realist author and literary critic. He wrote his first novel, Their Wedding Journey, in 1871, but his literary reputation really took off with the realist novel A Modern Instance, published in 1882, which describes the decay of a marriage. His 1885 novel The Rise of Silas Lapham is perhaps his best known, describing the rise and fall of an American entrepreneur in the paint business. His social views were also strongly reflected in the novels Annie Kilburn (1888) and A Hazard of New Fortunes (1890). While known primarily as a novelist, his short story "Editha" (1905) - included in the collection Between the Dark and the Daylight (1907) - appears in many anthologies of American literature. Howells also wrote plays, criticism, and essays about contemporary literary figures such as Ibsen, Zola, Verga, and, especially, Tolstoy, which helped establish their reputations in the United States. He also wrote critically in support of many American writers. It is perhaps in this role that he had his greatest influence.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherStart Classics
    Release dateJan 8, 2015
    ISBN9781633555495
    The Register
    Author

    William Dean Howells

    William Dean Howells was a realist novelist, literary critic, and playwright, nicknamed "The Dean of American Letters". He was particularly known for his tenure as editor of The Atlantic Monthly, as well as for his own prolific writings.

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      Book preview

      The Register - William Dean Howells

      I

      SCENE: In an upper chamber of a boarding-house in Melanchthon Place, Boston, a mature, plain young lady, with every appearance of establishing herself in the room for the first time, moves about, bestowing little touches of decoration here and there, and talking with another young lady, whose voice comes through the open doorway of an inner room.

      MISS ETHEL REED, from within: What in the world are you doing, Nettie?

      MISS HENRIETTA SPAULDING: Oh, sticking up a household god or two. What are you doing?

      MISS REED: Despairing.

      MISS SPAULDING: Still?

      MISS REED, tragically: Still! How soon did you expect me to stop? I am here on the sofa, where I flung myself two hours ago, and I don't think I shall ever get up. There is no reason WHY I ever should.

      MISS SPAULDING, suggestively: Dinner.

      MISS REED: Oh, dinner! Dinner, to a broken heart!

      MISS SPAULDING: I don't believe your heart is broken.

      MISS REED: But I tell you it is! I ought to know when my own heart is broken, I should hope. What makes you think it isn't?

      MISS SPAULDING: Oh, it's happened so often!

      MISS REED: But this is a real case. You ought to feel my forehead. It's as hot!

      MISS SPAULDING: You ought to get up and help me put this room to rights, and then you would feel better.

      MISS REED: No; I should feel worse. The idea of household gods makes me sick. Sylvan deities are what I want; the great god Pan among the cat-tails and arrow-heads in the 'ma'sh' at Ponkwasset; the dryads of the birch woods--there are no oaks; the nymphs that haunt the heights and hollows of the dear old mountain; the -

      MISS SPAULDING: Wha-a-at? I can't hear a word you say.

      MISS REED: That's because you keep fussing about so. Why don't you be quiet, if you want to hear? She lifts her voice to its highest pitch, with a pause for distinctness between the words: I'm heart- broken for--Ponkwasset. The dryads--of the--birch woods. The nymphs--and the great--god--Pan--in the reeds--by the river. And all--that--sort of--thing!

      MISS SPAULDING: You know very well you're not.

      MISS REED: I'm not? What's the reason I'm not? Then, what am I heart-broken for?

      MISS SPAULDING: You're not heart-broken at all. You know very well that he'll call before we've been here twenty-four hours.

      MISS REED: Who?

      MISS SPAULDING: The great god Pan.

      MISS REED: Oh, how cruel you are, to mock me so! Come in here, and sympathize a little! Do, Nettie.

      MISS SPAULDING: No; you come out here and utilize a little. I'm acting for your best good, as they say at Ponkwasset.

      MISS REED: When they want to be disagreeable!

      MISS SPAULDING: If this room isn't in order by the time he calls, you'll be everlastingly disgraced.

      MISS REED: I'm that now. I can't be more so--there's that comfort. What makes you think he'll call?

      MISS SPAULDING: "Because he's

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