James Howell (c. 1594—1666), Epistolæ Ho-Elianæ, with an Introduction by Agnes Repplier, vol. I. (Boston and New York, 1907) Introduction, pp. v.-vi.:
If the unresponsive gods, so often invoked, so seldom complaisant, would grant me one sweet boon, I should ask of them that I might join that little band of authors, who, unknown to the wide careless world, remain from generation to generation the friends of a few fortunate readers. Such authors have no conspicuous foothold among those opulent, symmetrical volumes that stand on drill in rich men's libraries, as well uniformed and as untried as a smart militia regiment. They have been seldom seen in the lists of the hundred best books. The committees who select reading matter for their native towns are often unacquainted with their titles. The great department stores of our great cities never offer them to the great public in twenty-five cent editions. Yet they live for centuries a tranquil life of dignified seclusion. When they are lifted down from their remote corners on the book-shelves, it is with a friendly touch. The hands that hold them, caress them. The eyes that glance over them, smile at the familiar pages. Their readers feel for them a personal sentiment, approaching them with mental ease, and with a sweet and certain intimacy of companionship. These authors grow very shabby as the years roll by, and sometimes—though rarely—a sympathetic publisher turns his attention from the whirling vortex of new books, and gives them a fresh outfit; presents them—if he has a generous soul—with the clearest of type, the finest of paper, the richest and most appropriate of bindings. So embellished, they enjoy little dignified triumphs of their own, and become the cherished property of that ever diminishing minority who, by some happy turn of fate, are fitted to enjoy the pleasure which literary art can give.
Such a writer—half forgotten, yet wholly beloved—is James Howell . . .
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