In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:

220 letter 75 To Edmund Clarence Stedman October 22, 1891 New York City, New York 22nd Oct-91. 329 E 15 Dear Stedman Your note has come back to me this morning, I have been wrapped in the unreality of life and death, these past days. I saw again the struggle, and the fight are with life, not death. We were not expecting the end when it came.1 What appeared to ail Father was a constant exhausting cough. I was in the next room to him, when I heard a loud shuddering sigh, something different—I hurried to him, and then for his wife2 and Anne,3 he was quiet, his arms stretched beside him, not a motion or gesture, his eyes were shut, and with another sigh, he was gone—arrested. During this illness, he never told us how he felt, never complained—the Dr asked him one morning what kind of a night he had had “A kind of Oh dear night”—he said. I am sure that he would rather have been let alone more and only complied with our wishes because we wished them—Ah me the years, the years. It is an [extraordinary?] household, there his wife went out and resumed her work in the kitchen, his sister-in-law,4 who has lived with them, and who was much attached to him, went on with her supervising duties, every thing was dreadfully decent, and orderly. Father has been tenderly nursed and cherished by both these women a long time, his Dr was a devoted friend, in fact father had many friends, the poor loved, and the rich respected him. He has left a son, whom Wilson named George Arnold,5 as fine and strong a nature as I have known, it was lovely to hear that boy say “father.” On his account George has staid at home, took a place in a grocery there, he is twenty three, big, with a low voice like father’s, and a temperament like his. It adds to the exquisite sense I have of my poverty and powerlessness , that I can do nothing for him, for with a chance he could 221 be something, there isnt a weak thread in him. I went down in the beginning of the easterly gale, and when it shook the old house, and filled it with draughts, it shook me with a violent rheumatizm in, and through my left side. The night I could not lie down and was racked with nausea. I could not help thinking, what father once said, that he had the prospect of losing all his children first. It was touching to see the tears in my Dick’s own eyes, when I got back yesterday. He owns he was very lonesome without that inspiring nagging atmosphere I am so redolent with. Here I am the little strings invisible to others, will tighten round me, andholdmedown,andpeoplewillthink,“Whydontshedosomething.” Poor Marie,6 had she taken my advice which is so good for others, she would not be in that house.7 Give my love to Laura, I shall be glad to see you— Yours ever EDBS Manuscript: Edmund Clarence Stedman Papers, Rare Book and Manuscript Library, Columbia University notes 1. Stoddard’s father, Wilson Barstow Sr., died on October 16, 1891. 2. Jane Faunce Barstow. See Letter 6, note 1. 3. Anne Barstow (Harvey). See Letter 70, note 8. 4. Sylvia Faunce (1831–??). 5. George Arnold Barstow (1867–1941). 6. Marie Taylor. 7. Stoddard seems to be referring here to the fact that Marie was living with her daughter Lily and Lily’s husband, Dr. Otto Theobald Kiliani. See Letter 74, note 6. ...

Share