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United States (United States) (search for this): chapter 12
Colonel Edmund Burke Stedman and his wife Elizabeth Clement (Dodge) Stedman. His great-grandfather was the Reverend Aaron Cleveland, Jr., a Harvard graduate of 1735, and a man of great influence in his day, who died in middle life under the hospitable roof of Benjamin Franklin. Stedman's mother was a woman of much literary talent, and had great ultimate influence in the training of her son, although she was early married again to the Honorable William B. Kinney, who was afterwards the United States Minister to Turin. Her son, being placed in charge of a great-uncle, spent his childhood in Norwich, Connecticut, and entered Yale at sixteen, but did not complete his course there, although in later life he was restored to his class membership and received the degree of Master of Arts. He went early into newspaper work in Norwich and then in New York, going to the front for a time as newspaper correspondent during the Civil War. He abandoned journalism after ten years or thereabouts,
Florence, S. C. (South Carolina, United States) (search for this): chapter 12
to grotesque and humorous exploits — a welcome such as a prince in his breathing-hour might give to a new-found jester or clown ; and when he says, in reply to English criticism, that there is something worth an estimate in the division of an ocean gulf, that makes us like the people of a new planet. Turning back to Stedman's earlier book, the Victorian poets, one finds many a terse passage, as where he describes Landor as a royal Bohemian in art, or compares the same author's death in Florence at ninety, a banished man, to the death of some monarch of the forest, most untamed when powerless. Such passages redeem a book from the danger of being forgotten, but they cannot in the long run save it from the doom which awaits too great diffuseness in words. During all this period of hard work, he found room also for magazine articles, always thoroughly done. Nowhere is there a finer analysis, on the whole, of the sources of difficulty in Homeric translation than will be found in Ste
Europe (search for this): chapter 12
failings, Stedman says, have perplexed the poet's friends and teased his reviewers. Yet Lowell's critic is more chargeable with diffuseness than is Lowell himself in prose essays, which is saying a good deal. Stedman devotes forty-five pages to Lowell and thirty-nine even to Bayard Taylor, while he gives to Thoreau but a few scattered lines and no pretense at a chapter. There are, unquestionably, many fine passages scattered through the book, as where he keenly points out that the first European appreciation of American literature was almost wholly due to grotesque and humorous exploits — a welcome such as a prince in his breathing-hour might give to a new-found jester or clown ; and when he says, in reply to English criticism, that there is something worth an estimate in the division of an ocean gulf, that makes us like the people of a new planet. Turning back to Stedman's earlier book, the Victorian poets, one finds many a terse passage, as where he describes Landor as a roya
New Castle, New Hampshire (New Hampshire, United States) (search for this): chapter 12
vival of strength and animation; he talked of books, men, and adventures, in what was almost a monologue, and went away in comparative cheerfulness with his faithful literary associate, Professor George E. Woodberry. Yet I always associate him with one of those touching letters which he wrote to me before the age of the typewriter, more profusely than men now write, and the very fact that we lived far apart made him franker in utterance. The following letter came from Keep Rock, New Castle, New Hampshire, September 30, 1887:-- You are a noble kinsman after all, of the sort from whom one is very glad to get good words, and I have taken your perception of a bit of verse as infallible, ever since you picked out three little Stanzas for Music as my one best thing. Every one else had overlooked them, but I knew that-as Holmes said of his Chambered Nautilus --they were written better than I could. By the way, if you will overhaul Duyckinck's Encyclopedia of literature in re Dr. S
Mount Auburn (Massachusetts, United States) (search for this): chapter 12
catch up. Oh, I can't tell you, the books, the letters, the debts, the broken contracts. Then the deaths of my wife and my son, and all the sorrows following; the break — up of my home, and the labor of winding up so much without aid. But from all the rack I have always kept, separated on my table, all your letters and remembranceseach one adding more, in my mind, to the explanation I had not written you.... Your attached kinsman and friend, Edmund C. Stedman. Stedman came from Mount Auburn to my house after the funeral of Aldrich, with a look of utter exhaustion on his face such as alarmed me. A little rest and refreshment brought him to a curious revival of strength and animation; he talked of books, men, and adventures, in what was almost a monologue, and went away in comparative cheerfulness with his faithful literary associate, Professor George E. Woodberry. Yet I always associate him with one of those touching letters which he wrote to me before the age of the typewr
Venice (Italy) (search for this): chapter 12
tz-Gerald to undertake. After a few years of occasional correspondence, there came a lull. Visiting New York rarely, I did not know of Stedman's business perplexities till they came upon me in the following letter, which was apparently called out by one of mine written two months before. 71 West 54th Street, New York, July 12th, 1882. My Dear Colonel,--I had gone over with the majority [that is, to Europe], when your friendly card of May 9th was written, and it finally reached me at Venice. In that city of light, air, and heavenly noiselessness, my son and myself at last had settled ourselves in ideal rooms, overlooking the Grand Canal. We had seclusion, the Molo, the Lagoon, and a good cafe, and pure and cheap Capri wine. Our books and papers were unpacked for the first time, and I was ready to make an end of the big and burdensome book which I ought to have finished a year ago. Dis aliter visum! The next morning I was awakened to receive news, by wire, of a business loss
Turin (Italy) (search for this): chapter 12
Stedman and his wife Elizabeth Clement (Dodge) Stedman. His great-grandfather was the Reverend Aaron Cleveland, Jr., a Harvard graduate of 1735, and a man of great influence in his day, who died in middle life under the hospitable roof of Benjamin Franklin. Stedman's mother was a woman of much literary talent, and had great ultimate influence in the training of her son, although she was early married again to the Honorable William B. Kinney, who was afterwards the United States Minister to Turin. Her son, being placed in charge of a great-uncle, spent his childhood in Norwich, Connecticut, and entered Yale at sixteen, but did not complete his course there, although in later life he was restored to his class membership and received the degree of Master of Arts. He went early into newspaper work in Norwich and then in New York, going to the front for a time as newspaper correspondent during the Civil War. He abandoned journalism after ten years or thereabouts, and became a member o
Lowell (Massachusetts, United States) (search for this): chapter 12
and I'll begin by thanking you for calling my attention to the error in re Palfrey — which, of course, I shall correct. Another friend has written me to say that Lowell's father was a Unitarian — not a Congregationalist. But Lowell himself told me, the other day, that his father never would call himself a Unitarian, and that he find the author deep in a discussion of Lowell, for instance, and complaining of that poet's prose or verse. Not compactly moulded, Stedman says, even of much of Lowell's work. He had a way, moreover, of dropping like his own bobolink, of letting down his fine passages with odd conceits, mixed metaphors, and licenses which, as ahere are good enough counters in the language for any poet's need. These failings, Stedman says, have perplexed the poet's friends and teased his reviewers. Yet Lowell's critic is more chargeable with diffuseness than is Lowell himself in prose essays, which is saying a good deal. Stedman devotes forty-five pages to Lowell and
Petersburg, Va. (Virginia, United States) (search for this): chapter 12
ldrich from a career of singular contentment, Stedman after ten years of almost constant business fast years of his life : As you probably know, Stedman died poor. Only a few days ago he told me thcended. At the time of this mutual discovery Stedman was established in New York, and although I s Visiting New York rarely, I did not know of Stedman's business perplexities till they came upon moet's prose or verse. Not compactly moulded, Stedman says, even of much of Lowell's work. He had anguage for any poet's need. These failings, Stedman says, have perplexed the poet's friends and tn prose essays, which is saying a good deal. Stedman devotes forty-five pages to Lowell and thirtyhe people of a new planet. Turning back to Stedman's earlier book, the Victorian poets, one find in Homeric translation than will be found in Stedman's review of Bryant's translation of Homer, and kinsman and friend, Edmund C. Stedman. Stedman came from Mount Auburn to my house after the
Norwich (Connecticut, United States) (search for this): chapter 12
nfluence in the training of her son, although she was early married again to the Honorable William B. Kinney, who was afterwards the United States Minister to Turin. Her son, being placed in charge of a great-uncle, spent his childhood in Norwich, Connecticut, and entered Yale at sixteen, but did not complete his course there, although in later life he was restored to his class membership and received the degree of Master of Arts. He went early into newspaper work in Norwich and then in New YNorwich and then in New York, going to the front for a time as newspaper correspondent during the Civil War. He abandoned journalism after ten years or thereabouts, and became a member of the New York Stock Exchange without giving up his literary life, a combination apt to be of doubtful success. He married, at twenty, Laura Hyde Woodworth, who died before him, as did one of his sons, leaving only one son and a grand-daughter as his heirs. His funeral services took place at the Church of the Messiah on January 21, 19
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