From The Critic Vol. 14 No. 347 (Aug 23, 1890)
There is said to be ‘something like a craze’ over Mary E. Wilkins's stories among her admirers in England.
Our neighbors across the ocean — who are nine minutes nearer us since the latest ocean racer's record — lo not, possibly, care much for us in a literary way; they often say that they do not when they come to us here. But when one of our writers, from Hawthorne and Longfellow down to this humble romancer who speaks to them of New England life in an unhackneyed way, lets them have the pleasure of hearing a fresh voice, they appreciate it. Our prophet, who lives half an hour out [from Boston] on the Old Colony road, is not without honor in her own country also.