"W. D. Howells."
It need hardly be added that Mr. Howells's good nature prevented his
adherence to his rule!
Rudyard Kipling is another whose letters fairly vibrate with
personality; few men can write more interestingly, or, incidentally,
considering his microscopic handwriting, say more on a letter page.
Bok was telling Kipling one day about the scrapple so dear to the heart
of the Philadelphian as a breakfast dish. The author had never heard of
it or tasted it, and wished for a sample. So, upon his return home, Bok
had a Philadelphia market-man send some of the Philadelphia-made
article, packed in ice, to Kipling in his English home. There were
several pounds of it and Kipling wrote:
"By the way, that scrapple--which by token is a dish for the
Gods--arrived in perfect condition, and I ate it all, or as much as I
could get hold of. I am extremely grateful for it. It's all nonsense
about pig being unwholesome. There isn't a Mary-ache in a barrel of
scrapple."
Then later came this afterthought:
"A noble dish is that scrapple, but don't eat three slices and go to
work straight on top of 'em. That's the way to dyspepsia!
"P. S. I wish to goodness you'd give another look at England before
long. It's quite a country; really it is. Old, too, I believe."
It was Kipling who suggested that Bok should name his Merion home
"Swastika." Bok asked what the author knew about the mystic sign:
"There is a huge book (I've forgotten the name, but the Smithsonian will
know)," he wrote back, "about the Swastika (pronounced Swas-ti-ka to
rhyme with 'car's ticker'), in literature, art, religion, dogma, etc.
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