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105 letter 33  To Edmund Clarence Stedman July 12, 1863 New York City, New York NY. July 12th—63 Whatever you are my dear and whatever you do, I always take the same pleasure in your clear and beautiful intellect and I lament that we cannot be together more. I could talk with1 now with more satisfaction than ever. I know more than I did when I last saw you, the hairs of Destiny’s head are not numbered are they?2 It is two years I think since I saw you.3 I have been disappointed when you have been on4 because you did not always come here, had you written me beforehand I would have followed you up somewhere. I find few people who can help me out of the subtle difficulties of feeling my life leads me into, you I think might. How many things have happened even in a year! You have heard of the episode of our meeting with Edwin Booth & his wife5 and of our intimacy have you not? She died in February. He is with us every day nearly at present—Did you also hear of Wilson’s severe illness at the time of Mrs Booth’s sickness and how I went to Fort Monroe after him and brought him home, and put him into my bed, you must though for Piatt6 told you he saw him. He has been acting in Dix’s7 place—while Dix was away lately and is tired out with work and anxiety. He has done well ever since he has been in the war, is popular and respected. Ever since Willy died he has been a great stay and comfort to me. Last night I returned from Penn. having been there a week to pay the last attentions to Fred Taylor.8 He was engaged to a lady he met when on parole at Annapolis9 & she came to the funeral also. The ring she gave him was on his finger when he fell—his men took it off, and his mother gave it back to her. His sword and sash came home, and that is about all that remains of his 23 years of life. Your poor brother too!10 Life is miserable is not [illegible] [illegible] is it than that. Death makes us so sad! Fiske11 106 came home last week. The Grahams are coming in September and the Taylors. We shall be glad to be reunited. Bayard has not gained anything in this Ruskin business. He has too much vanity which leads him to make mistakes, but he is a [illegible] good man. I am writing a novel12 —trying to write the history of a man this time, it is an awful task and I write it by the square inch—I do not seem to gain any facility in composition with practice—It must be so I suppose—Your [illegible] way of writing your poems is a lazy way after all, a novel cannot be done so. Details however are my destruction. I despise them, and do not manage them well— however I may do something with this book—if slow hard labor can compel success, I shall have a little. I have a reputation now—but it is one that makes everybody cock their heads to one side when I am mentioned. By the way your review of the Morgesons was terrific.13 I felt myself a monster when I read it. How is it that I inspire love as a woman Edmund, with these terrific qualities—men and women still love me with a headlong feeling which sends them into an exaltation. You said something last summer about a story of mine— that somebody said they know the characters etc.—it is a lie—the story was imaginative tell those who said it so. My last was “Osgood’s Predicament” in June Harpers—I write those things for money,14 for we are poor though all our friends are better off than they were. I hope I shall see you in August—make a point of it, please— Yours ever EDBS Manuscript: Edmund Clarence Stedman Papers, Rare Book and Manuscript Library, Columbia University notes 1. Stoddard appears to have left out the word “you” here. 2. A reference to Matthew 10:30, “And even the very hairs of your head are all numbered,” a reminder of God’s control over all things. 3. Stedman remained in Washington, D.C., where he worked for the...

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